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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/78850-0.txt b/78850-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba2f4c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/78850-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9891 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78850 *** + + [Cover Illustration] + + + + + POSSESSION + + + + + [Illustration] + + MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited + LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA • MADRAS + MELBOURNE + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO + DALLAS • SAN FRANCISCO + + THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. + TORONTO + + + + + _POSSESSION_ + + + + BY + MAZO DE LA ROCHE + + + MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON + 1923 + + + + + COPYRIGHT + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN + + CONTENTS + + + PART I + CHAPTER PAGE + I. THE HALIGONIAN - - - - - - 3 + II. MAY MORNING AT GRIMSTONE - - - - 16 + III. LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS - - - - - 25 + IV. SALE AT DURRAS—GRETTA VAN LOWE - - - 39 + V. DARK WATER-LILIES - - - - - 48 + VI. CHERRIES AT DAWN - - - - - 57 + VII. THE FOLLY OF SOLOMON - - - - - 69 + VIII. JULY NIGHT AT GRIMSTONE - - - - 74 + IX. SOLOMON IN HIS GLORY - - - - - 80 + X. CHRISTMAS AT GRIMSTONE - - - - 94 + XI. THE RILL IN THE WOOD - - - - - 115 + XII. THE WIND OUT OF WINDMILL’S SAILS - - 123 + + PART II + + I. AN EAR-RING UPON THE EAR OF THE GUILTY - 137 + II. HUBBUB AT GRIMSTONE - - - - - 148 + III. “FOR SUCH PERSONS——” - - - - - 162 + IV. DULCE DOMUM - - - - - - 179 + V. EDMUND - - - - - - - 193 + VI. SWEET APPLES ON A RUSTIC SEAT - - - 201 + VII. SALE AT DURRAS—DARBY - - - - - 213 + VIII. THINGS THAT HE LEARNED - - - - 227 + IX. JAMMERY - - - - - - - 247 + X. PEGLEG - - - - - - - 259 + XI. LOVE AMONG THE HUMMOCKS - - - - 274 + XII. BUCKSKIN STRIKES HIS TENT - - - - 285 + + + + + TO + + CHRISTOPHER MORLEY + + + PART I + + + + + CHAPTER I + THE HALIGONIAN + + 1. + +On an evening in early May, a young man was walking sharply along the +country road that passed through the fishing-village of Mistwell, and, +following the shore of one of those inland seas, oddly called great +lakes, led to the town of Brancepeth, seven miles away. + +The young man was just above medium height and just under thirty, and he +walked with a resolute and eager step that spoke of some elation of +spirit. As the deep ruts of the road were half frozen he kept to the +side, where a narrow path was beaten, looking about him with the +interest of one who sees his future surroundings for the first time. His +wide-open, greenish-blue eyes rested with pleasurable curiosity, first +on the budding orchards to his right, and then on the level expanse of +the lake, flushed pink by the reflection of the western sky, to his +left. + +His eyes were not only wide open, as though they looked life eagerly in +the face, expecting more than most men: but they had a free, fearless, +careless look, that, combined with his closely cropped fair hair, and +small, tawny moustache, made him appear even younger than he was. His +strong limbs denoted vigour and his full, round chin and rather wide +nostrils indicated some rashness and dominance of character. + +He stopped to snuff the crisp air from the lake and to watch a flock of +gulls circling in pursuit of their evening meal. + +He now saw that he was not alone, for another pedestrian had appeared +around a bend of the road behind him. He watched the approach of the +newcomer with the same look of pleasant curiosity that he had given to +the landscape. As he came up beside him, he said: + +“Can you tell me whether I am near a place named Grimstone?” + +He spoke in the full, agreeable tones of a Nova Scotian; the other +replied with a slight North of Ireland accent: + +“You are. It’s not above half a mile from here. I’m going past the gate +myself, and, if you like, I’ll bear you company.” + +They walked along together, the Nova Scotian keeping to the narrow path, +while his companion strode doggedly over the frozen ruts. He was a +slender, wiry man, with thin, ruddy cheeks and hard, light-blue eyes. +His coat-collar was turned up against the frosty air, and he swung a +carved walking-stick, as though he had a fierce pleasure in movement. + +“I take it that you’re young Mr. Vale himself,” he said. + +The young man nodded, smiling with a little embarrassment. + +“It’s queer they didn’t come to meet ye.” + +“They are not expecting me till to-morrow. I found I could get away a +day earlier, and—well, I suppose I was in a hurry to see the place.” + +“Naturally. It’s a fine place, but not kept up as it should be. But +perhaps you’ve visited it before?” + +“No. I have never been west of Quebec till now.” + +“Perhaps you’ve never taken much interest in farming, eh?” His tone was +inquisitive. + +“Very little. I’m an architect. But I like the country. Riding, fishing. +That sort of thing.” + +“Well, you’ll find life different here. Of course, Grimstone is a small +place, just two hundred acres; it’s not a great charge. Now, we have +eight hundred acres, and the finest herd of Holsteins in the Province. +You must come to see us, Mr. Vale, and I’ll show you about. I manage the +farm lands for Mr. Jerrold, the owner. My name is Hobbs.” He gave the +information about himself with a certain swagger. Obviously, he was a +man to be reckoned with. + +While he discoursed with fluency of prize bulls, butter-making contests, +and fattening steers, young Mr. Vale, half wishing he were alone +again—this man seemed to take the glamour from his adventure—peered +into the now deepening dusk for the first signs of his new habitation. + +He had been told at the station that a little graveyard lay just east of +Grimstone, and now the road, sweeping sharply to the very edge of the +steep shore, almost circled a grove of ragged pines, among which he +caught the pale glimmer of gravestones. The gentle swish of the water +seemed at his very feet. A white wooden house appeared like someone +waiting at the roadside. Hobbs was saying: + +“This is where Chard lives. You’ll not find him much of a neighbour. Now +I’ll just tell you what he’s like. Not long ago he hired some men from +Mistwell to help him dig drains. Very well; when the end of the week +came he paid the men, all but old Peek. And he says to him—‘Peek, +you’re so old and feeble that you can’t do as much as the others, so +you’ll come back to work two days more before I give ye a week’s wage.’ +And the poor old devil had to. So now I’ve introduced Chard, the +Superintendent of the Sunday-school, and a damned good farmer. But +that’s what I call sharp and hard, Mr. Vale, and yet I’m called hard +sometimes by the thirty-odd men under me. Now here’s your gate, and +good-night to you. Don’t forget to come over and see our herd.” + +Touching his cap, he hurried down a sudden steep that fell from the +gates of Grimstone, ending in a little bridge that spanned an unseen +stream whose gushing murmur proclaimed it swollen with the spring rains. + + 2. + +Derek Vale stood still. He did not want to open the gate till Hobbs was +out of sight. Then—“My gate,” he thought, and laid his hand on the cold +iron almost caressingly. The dark bulk of a low, broad, stone house rose +before him, surrounded by the massive trunks of trees whose lowest +branches were higher than its chimneys. The front of the house was in +darkness, but he could see a light in one of the back rooms. He +determined to go to the window where the light was and get a glimpse of +the occupants of the house, so that he might have the advantage of +having seen them unobserved. + +The light was cast by an oil lamp on the kitchen table. Derek drew near +the window with caution. He felt beneath his feet the stone of a flagged +yard. A noise of stamping and singing came from within. He was +astonished and amused by what he saw. + +In the circle of ruddy light a girl was dancing a sort of breakdown, +supplying the music for her performance with her own lusty, clear voice. +She seemed charged with rough vigour, snapping her fingers and stamping +her feet in almost frenzied rhythm. Her full breasts bounced, her strong +legs leaped against her long, heavy skirt; the lamplight sparkled on the +thick spectacles she wore. Around her were grouped four men and an old +woman. “She must be Mrs. Machin,” thought Derek, “the housekeeper . . . +the men, farm labourers, of course.” + +He was fascinated by the dancing of the girl. Only when she had dropped +panting into a chair could he give more than a glance to the men. Two +were seated at the table facing each other. They had been playing at +dominoes and they now returned to the game, their faces still fixed in +the grin with which they had watched the dance. One was a red-cheeked +youth with a black bullet head, beady eyes, and a sly smile. His +opponent had a narrow head, a fair, reckless face, and the look of a +sailor rather than a farm labourer. Talking and laughing with the girl, +the third man showed through his open collar a full brown throat and +chest; he had an honest, stubborn face. The fourth had been sitting in +the shadow, but he now drew a match across a stove-lid and held it to a +cigarette, the flash illuminating for a moment his prominent, well-cut +cheek-bones, bright eyes, and curly brown hair. He rose, stretched +himself, and came towards the window. Derek hastily turned away, and, +finding himself facing the door, he gave a sharp, yet nervous rap. + + 3. + +The man with the cigarette opened the door. A collie dog at his side +barked noisily. + +“I should like to see Mrs. Machin,” said Derek. + +The old woman instantly appeared, pushing aside the dog and man, and +presenting a peremptory front to Vale. + +“You are the housekeeper, aren’t you?” he said. + +She looked at him shrewdly. “My goodness, don’t tell me you are Mr. +Vale! We didn’t expect you till to-morrow. Of course, it don’t matter to +me. But one of these boys should ha’ met you.” + +“I’ve enjoyed the walk,” said Derek. “Shall I come in at this door?” + +“Well, I expect you can come in at any door you please. It’s your house. +But if I was you, I’d go round and come in at the front. It’d be more +seemly for the master.” + +Derek laughed. “I think I shall come this way if you don’t mind. It +looks rather more cheerful.” + +The young men had got to their feet, but the girl, evidently overcome by +shyness, sat with her face hidden in the curve of her arm, supported by +the back of her chair. + +Mrs. Machin put the dog outside and shut the door sharply. She said: + +“Now you are in the kitchen, Mr. Vale, I may as well name over these +idle rascals to you. The two playing dominoes are Bob Gunn and John +Newbigging. Bob used to be in the Chube Wur-rks in Glesca, he says. He +means he used to be in the Tube Works in Glasgow.” The bullet-headed +youth grinned. “John Newbigging has been all over creation and he has an +old mother in Dundee he never writes to. Perhaps you’ll be able to stop +him and Bob quarrelling as to which is the worst city, Glesca or Auld +Reekie. I can’t.” Both men burst into embarrassed laughs, and Newbigging +said, “It’s no fair, Mrs. Machin, to be tryin’ to prejudice Mr. Vale +against us frae the start.” + +“This one,” proceeded Mrs. Machin, indicating the honest-faced fellow, +who still kept near the girl, “is Hugh McKay. He’s a Galloway shepherd, +and he’ll talk about sheep to you all day long if you’ll let him.” McKay +came forward with dignity and held out his hand. + +“Mrs. Machin’d be givin’ us all a character,” he said. + +“Well, I’m prepared to do a good deal of talking about sheep,” said +Derek, shaking the proffered brown hand, and liking McKay at once. + +“Phœbe, get up out of that chair and speak to Mr. Vale.” But the girl, +though she rose, uncovering her comely, red face, would not speak. She +stared, teetering on her feet, and holding to McKay’s coat sleeve. + +“Are you Scotch, too?” asked Derek. + +“No, she comes from Kent. She used to work in the hop-fields,” replied +McKay. “That’s where she learned to dance.” + +“To hop, as it were,” said Derek. The joke brought a roar of laughter +from the men. + +“This is Mr. Windmill,” interrupted Mrs. Machin. He threw away his +cigarette and came forward. “He’s out here to study farming. But he just +works and lives like the rest of us. Except he wears gloves to plough.” + +Windmill flushed but smiled good-humouredly. “The horses don’t seem to +mind me having gloves on.” + +“No, but Mike minded you having boots on when you kicked him the other +day.” + +“Didn’t I say she’d be givin’ us all characters?” said McKay. + +Mrs. Machin had lighted a tall brass lamp; picking it up, she said: +“Well, you’ve had a look at us, Mr. Vale, and if you’ll come to the +dining-room now, I’ll lay you a bit of supper.” As she preceded Derek +with the lamp, she called back, “Wood and water, boys.” + +She was a repellent old woman, he thought, with her yellow face, black, +oily hair, eyes the colour of an oyster, and stiff, white apron. And she +had hurried him out of the kitchen, his own kitchen, in a very +domineering fashion. Well, since she seemed so capable, and so used to +ordering the men about, it would relieve him of the necessity of taking +the reins into his unaccustomed hands at once. + +The dining-room was a low-ceilinged room wainscoted in white and papered +in dark green. The furniture was black oak, and two deep, built-in +cupboards filled with blue china lent a comfortable old-world air. There +were two large steel engravings on either side of the chimney-piece: +Wellington and Blücher after Waterloo, and The Trial of William, Lord +Russell. The large fireplace had been papered over. Tapping it with his +knuckles, he thought, “I’ll have that opened up,” but, as Mrs. Machin +looked at him sharply, he picked up a china greyhound from the mantel +and examined it. His greyhound . . . but it was ridiculous. + +Mrs. Machin set him down to cold beef, bread and butter, bramble jam, +and tea. + +“Home-made bread?” he asked, with his mouth full. + +“No, indeed. We’ve plenty to do without bread-making and the baker three +times a week from Mistwell. Ain’t it good?” + +“Delicious,” he replied, abashed. + +Mrs. Machin had closed the door between the dining-room and kitchen and +established herself in a straight-backed chair against the wall. She +said: + +“I should know you for a Vale anywhere. I s’pose that’s why your uncle +took to you.” + +“It was a great surprise. It scarcely seemed fair to my brother.” + +“Fair! What’s unfair about it? Couldn’t he leave his property where he +liked?” She stroked her apron with her large-knuckled hands. “Well I +remember when he went away to Halifax ten years ago to choose which one +he would make his heir. When he came back he said to me—‘I’ve made my +choice, Mrs. Machin. His name’s Derek. The other one is no Vale,’ says +he. He was terrible proud of this place. I s’pose you know that your +great-grandfather built it above a hundred years ago.” + +“My uncle talked to me a great deal when he was in Halifax. He spoke of +you too.” + +“He might well speak of me. I’ve served his family faithful for—let’s +see—fifty-four years this month. And the last two years, I’ve run the +place myself, you might say. Not bad for a woman of seventy-two, eh?” + +“Wonderful.” + +“And now I want to know if you’re going to keep me on. It don’t matter a +bit to me because I’ve got a sister in Mistwell that wants me to live +with her, and I haven’t slaved all these years and saved nothing, you +may depend on it.” + +For all her air of independence Derek could see that she was fiercely +eager to stay. He did not want her, yet he was afraid to be left alone +in charge of the four men and the girl. He might make himself +ridiculous. He said: + +“In his will my uncle recommended you. Of course I shall want you to +stay on.” + +“Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Not that it matters to me, though I do +look on Grimstone as my home, having lived here ever since my father was +drowned.” + +“In the lake here?” + +“Why not? There’s plenty of room, ain’t there? It gets all the Mistwell +fishermen sooner or later. It didn’t get pa till he’d fathered six of +us, so that wasn’t so bad. But it laid low and got two out of the six. +Fools, to be fishermen!” + + 4. + +When she was gone and the door closed behind her, Derek stretched his +legs and felt for his pipe. He lay back in his armchair staring at the +ceiling darkened by the soot from a stove-pipe that crossed it from end +to end. “Stove-pipe’s got to go,” he muttered, between puffs. “Just a +big open fireplace—and logs.” He got up and began restlessly to pace +the room. He examined Wellington and Blücher again, shaking hands so +cordially, the dead and dying tumbled plentifully about their horses’ +hoofs. + +He next observed a sampler, The Lord’s Prayer, worked by Agnes Vale, +aged nine years, in the year of our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and +Thirty-six. Seventy-five years ago. Cousin Agnes in England must be +named for her . . . he thought of Cousin Agnes, whom he had never seen. +He thought of Edmund, his only near relation. How Edmund would laugh if +he could see him now! He felt that Edmund would have been better able to +cope with Mrs. Machin. He wished that she and the others would go to bed +so that he might adventure further. No doubt they were talking him over +in the kitchen. Now he heard a shuffling of feet and the click of a +bolt. He returned quickly to his chair and crossed his legs. + +The door behind him opened. It was the women. Mrs. Machin gave the +impression of driving Phœbe before her. The girl’s hand was over her +mouth, as though at any moment she might explode with laughter. Mrs. +Machin gave a curt good-night, and they disappeared into the dark +passage. Soon the three Scotchmen went through in Indian file. They were +in their stockinged feet, and McKay carried a short end of candle. They +said “Good-nicht, sir,” in a friendly chorus, but kept their eyes shyly +averted. Derek waited impatiently for the Englishman, Windmill. It was +quite half an hour before he followed the others. He wore slippers and +carried a small lamp. He hesitated, smiled pleasantly, and said: + +“There is a step down into the hallway, Mr. Vale. I thought I should +warn you.” + +“Oh, thanks,” said Derek. + +He was alone. + +A clock in the hall struck ten with harsh, penetrating tones. + +The dog was snuffling at the crack under the door, evidently disturbed +by the strange presence. + +Derek went to a window and looked out. No moon; he had never seen such +utter darkness. It was as though Grimstone had swallowed him, and a +tangible body was reared between him and the world he had known. He +turned back to the room and picked up the lamp. Mrs. Machin had told him +that she had prepared two bedrooms for him—one downstairs—one above. +(It didn’t make no difference to her which he took.) Detestable old +woman. Why had she not warned him of the step? Even knowing of it he +almost stumbled. The lamplight showed him a severe hall with five closed +doors, and a hatstand, on either side of which a deer’s head peered at +him with startled brown eyes. The tall clock stood under the stairway +beside a narrow door, which, when he opened it, disclosed only a closet +hung with hats and coats, and a shelf of old magazines and ledgers. His +uncle’s clothes. He closed the door feeling a little rebuffed for his +curiosity, and opened a door opposite. Here was the parlour: a long, +narrow room with two doors opening on the hall, and a row of low +windows, hung with straight green curtains. There were many walnut +chairs and tables, the latter ornamented with brass-bound books, and +glass candelabra with hanging prisms. A group in marble stood on the +closed piano; a few oil-paintings hung against the pale walls. A room +full of memories; not to be taken possession of lightly, rather +repelling intrusion. + +Across the hall he found a bedroom whose tall four-poster and deep +leather chair pleased him at once. The old English sporting prints on +the walls were nice, too. He was tired but he would not go to bed till +he had seen the upstairs. + +So he ascended the uncarpeted steps, the lamp at a precarious angle. He +explored three bedrooms and a dingy little study, and peered down a +narrow passage that led to the rooms occupied by the help. + +As he undressed he wondered how they were disposed: probably the robust +girl and the dry old woman together; Windmill alone; the three Scots +sleeping like logs. He found his bed, when he plunged into it, amazingly +soft and enveloping. He had never slept on feathers before. As he drew +the quilt to his chin he gave an amused little chuckle. It seemed to him +that he had taken command of a storm-worn old ship and was outward bound +on an unknown sea. Well, he had a hardy old pilot in Mrs. Machin . . . +and, thinking of her, he fell asleep. + + CHAPTER II + MAY MORNING AT GRIMSTONE + + 1. + +It was a rippling, throaty noise, sweet and oft-repeated; scarcely +enough to rouse one from deep slumber. But the vibrant, clanging note +which followed, effectually wakened him. The early sunlight was flooding +the room, and, beyond the open window, the lake stretched, a vast shield +of radiant blue and gold. He sat up in bed, half bewildered, staring. A +spreading bush of bleeding heart grew before the low window. It was in +full bloom, its long sprays of deep, pink hearts hanging, like jewels, +against the green of the wet lawn. A slow procession now passed: seven +bronze turkey-hens, with necks outstretched, went by in single file, and +a little space behind them, every feather bright with a metallic sheen, +his wattles, blue and scarlet, dangling beneath his open beak, the +gobbler. Close by his side, with light steps, a snow-white turkey-hen +walked delicately. + +Derek could have shouted, the picture was so beautiful, so arranged, as +for a stage effect. He thought of it the while he dressed, and dashed +his face with icy water from the ewer. + +The table was set for him in the dining-room. The sound of turning +machinery and a loud voice singing came from the kitchen. Mrs. Machin +appeared. In the daylight her face looked yellower, her eyes more like +oysters, and her apron more snowy than ever. She twisted her pale lips +into a smile. + +“Good-morning. Will ye take porridge?” + +“Please. And bacon and eggs, Mrs. Machin.” + +“You don’t want them all at once, do ye?” she answered sharply. + +“Oh, no,” he said, feeling rebuffed. He took his place at the table, and +hoped she noticed his displeased silence while she served him. But he +could not remain displeased; the food was good, his appetite sharp; he +smiled at her like a boy, in spite of himself. + +“What’s the excitement in the kitchen?” he asked. + +“Oh, that’s Phœbe separatin’. She always hollers when she does it. I’ll +tell her to stop.” + +But the machine was stopping with a slow, whining rasp. Mrs. Machin went +out. Silence prevailed in the kitchen. He heard Phœbe go singing towards +the barn. + + 2. + +A door opened from the dining-room on the flagged yard. He stood there +in the sunshine looking over his new possessions. A wide, rolling field +stretched before him to the banks of the stream, and rose beyond it in a +high, level meadow, fringed with warped trees whose stems and limbs were +bent in a single direction, away from the gently rippling lake, cowered +in their old age from the mutable master who had so cruelly lashed them +when they were but striplings. + +But the stately group of trees about the house, whose massive trunks +supported such a fragile foliage that it scarcely threw a shade, seemed +never to have been fretted, but towered in upright dignity above the +solid walls. No shrubs or hedges softened the stern aspect of the place. +Grimstone fronted an unbroken view of cliff, and lake, and sky. Yet all +was not harshness, for a cherry orchard, in full bloom, crowded to the +very kitchen doors, the moist ground beneath the trees already white +with the tender petals that fell before the rough May wind. Behind the +cherry orchard rose the ordered ranks of the apple orchard barely in +bud, excepting a few crab-apple trees in pink flower, that filled the +air with their lovely scent. West and south of the orchards were the +plantations of small fruits, and, beyond them, fields and pastures, and +a dark pine wood. + +Derek could see a group of figures kneeling among the rows of an immense +strawberry bed over which the collie was scampering, barking in +scatter-brain fashion at the circling gulls. He saw Newbigging and Gunn +and three barelegged village boys placing little plants in a shallow +trench. Mrs. Machin stood over them, directing the “puddling” of the +roots in a basin of earth and water, and the position of them in the +trench. + +“We’re settin’ out some fresh strawberry plants,” she explained. “Them’s +Mistwell lads helping us, and they’d do naught but scuffle if I didn’t +watch them.” + +“Where are the others?” + +“Hugh McKay is ploughing, and Windmill has gone back to look for the +horses. Phœbe’s feedin’ the calves.” + +“What buildings are those on up the road?” + +“Mr. Jerrold’s stables, and Hobbs’s house. You can’t see Jerrold’s house +from here. Those are his orchards beyond the lane, and his house is hid +by them. It stands far from the road, with its back against a big wood.” + +“I met the overseer, Hobbs, last night.” + +“He’s a sharp ’un. But I don’t see how Mr. Jerrold could get on without +him. As it is, they can’t raise fodder enough off that great place to +feed their own creatures, but have to come buyin’ hay off us.” + +Newbigging looked up from where he knelt. + +“The men say that so long as they keep the horses and traps in fine +order, Mr. Jerrold don’t care a tinker’s dam about anything else.” + +“Ay,” said Gunn, sitting on his heels, “and Miss Jerrold has the +gairdeners off their work half the time, plantin’ daffydils in the +woods, the way they grow wild in Scotland.” + +“The Jerrolds are gentry,” said Mrs. Machin, “and you can’t expect no +better of them.” + +“I don’t blame them,” said Newbigging. “I like a place to look bonny +mysel’. Don’t you call that a fine view over the sea, Mr. Vale?” He made +a broad gesture of his hand that held a strawberry plant. + +“They all talk about the sea,” interrupted Mrs. Machin, “and they will +have it there’s a tide. I don’t pay no heed to views or tides. I’ve +never had no time for it.” + +“Jock!” shouted Gunn to the collie. “If ye’ll no quit chasin’ they +seagulls, I’ll sort ye.” + +The dog came bounding across the beds; the gulls rose, whimpering; two +steamers, passing, saluted each other hoarsely. It was a jolly thing to +be standing in the breeze on one’s own land. + +“Well, I’m off exploring,” said Derek. + +“Take a look at Chard’s place. There’s a farm in order. He’s what I call +a good man. He gets something out of every inch of his land.” + +“And gives no heed to bonny views,” added Newbigging, slyly. Gunn and he +chuckled and giggled, glad of any diversion from work. + + 3. + +In two hours Derek had inspected his apple, cherry, plum, and pear +trees; his thimbleberry, raspberry, and blackberry canes; leaned over +the pig-sty and held friendly converse with a Yorkshire sow which was +suckling eleven young; and searched for eggs in the poultry-house. He +had inspected the contents of the carriage-house; looked wisely at the +remainder of last year’s crops; crossed the stepping-stones of the +stream, and tried to make friends with the velvet-coated, dark-eyed +Jersey herd, grazing in the meadow next the shore. + +Now he was loitering up the lane, boundary between Grimstone and Durras, +as the Jerrolds’ place was named. White and red wood-lilies, like +children at play, peeped among the undergrowth along the fence; in every +sheltered corner clumps of violets grew in moist seclusion. + +He wished again that Edmund could see him. Edmund had been rather +facetious about the farm. He had counselled Derek to rent or sell it. +But Derek, though he liked his profession of architect, had often longed +for more adventurous living than the pleasant, ordered days of Halifax +could offer. He was thrilled by the thought that he owned all this +cared-for, fertile land; these grazing creatures, who did not know him +for their master; all these flowering trees, straining towards fruition; +even the tender, helpless violets were his to protect. The desire to +protect was (though unknown to himself) the strongest instinct of his +nature. + +His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of shouts and halloos in some +field ahead. There were cries of: “Head them off there! Whoa! Whoa! +They’re Vale’s horses! Catch the mare! Whoa, girl!” + +He began to run. Now there were open fields on either hand. There came a +thud of horses’ hoofs. Then he saw Newbigging, Gunn, and McKay trying to +catch the galloping beasts, while Windmill stood astride of the fence +and shouted orders. Some of Mr. Jerrold’s men came running up headed by +Hobbs. He was swearing vigorously. + +“Why in hell don’t you fellows mend your fences? This is the second time +in a week those horses have broken into our place.” + +“Make it a month, Hobbs,” drawled Windmill. + +“No. A week. . . . Look at that, now! There’ll be mischief done yet.” + +Derek now perceived that only six of the animals were his; and that the +men were endeavouring to separate them from Mr. Jerrold’s horses, a much +handsomer lot, who were mingling wildly with the intruders, snorting and +giving vicious kicks as they flew past. The Grimstone horses were led by +two long-tailed Welsh ponies—mother and son, Derek afterwards +learned—and it was absurd to see the heavy farm horses capering and +careering at the beck of these vicious little fellows. The men ran till +the sweat poured down their faces, yelling, waving their arms, and +dodging kicks. At last Windmill leaped from the fence and joined the +chase. Hobbs, seeing Derek, came to him. + +“I hope you’ll improve your fences, Mr. Vale. Your uncle never would. +This sort of thing’s a disgrace, happening every little while. Look at +that, now. I knew it would happen. Well, it’s not our fault.” + +Blood was running down the flank of one of the Grimstone horses. He +paused for a moment, trembling, then, with a plunge that sent a spray of +red drops over the man who had approached him, he was off again. +“Fools!” muttered Hobbs, and threw down his cap. Suddenly, springing, +with surprising agility, in front of the ringleader, he caught her +dexterously by the nose and brought her sharply to a halt. Her son, +seeing his mother captured, stopped of his own accord, and laid his head +across her shoulders. In a few minutes the horses were separated and +Vale’s were being led quietly through the break in the fence by the +crestfallen men. + +Derek could not but admire Hobbs for accomplishing in a flash what all +these fellows had failed to do. He came up laughing, his face red, and +self-conscious. + +“I have to show ’em, every now and then,” he said. “But it’s nothing to +be cock-a-hoop about. Any live man could have done it. Miss Jerrold and +her father saw the whole thing. They are in the meadow beyond on their +horses.” + +He pointed beyond the pasture. Derek saw a man on a tall grey horse, and +a woman on a slender chestnut. She rode side-saddle. He could see a +gleam of bright brown hair beneath her small black hat. He said: + +“Mr. Jerrold looks to be a big man.” + +“He’s the biggest man and the handsomest man in the county. There’s just +the two of them. Always together. Come on across and I’ll give ye an +introduction.” + +“Thanks, not to-day. I’ll have to see about my horse. He’s bleeding +pretty freely.” + +“Better telephone for the vet., and have him put a few stitches in. And +you ought to get rid of those little Welsh devils. They’re a perfect +nuisance. They were just pets of your uncle’s. Odd old fellow.” + +Derek resented Hobbs’s interference. He determined to keep the ponies. +Leaving Hobbs abruptly, he went to them where they stood together +beneath a tree in the lane, reaching up with soft lips for the tender +foliage. He patted the moist, shaggy sides, and they turned to stare at +him, slowly drawing in the green leaves that projected from the corners +of their mouths. + +Looking up, he saw that Hobbs had crossed the pasture and was talking to +the Jerrolds. Telling them, doubtless, that he was not cock-a-hoop over +what he had done. Perhaps telling them that their new neighbour had +refused to be introduced. . . . Well, he did not care. He would meet the +Jerrolds; but not through Hobbs. + + 4. + +As he neared the house, he overtook a man on foot, driving a team of +yellow-maned horses, harnessed to a harrow. Two little boys ran +alongside. When the man was aware of Derek he drew up his horses and +turned to him with a wide, pale smile. + +“I am your next-door neighbour,” he said, “H. P. Chard. I daresay you’ve +heard of me. I’m pleased to welcome you to the neighbourhood. We need +more enterprising young men around here.” + +They shook hands. Chard’s smile deepened to a grin. “I do hope you’ll +soon feel at home here, and be one of us. I don’t know what Church you +belong to, but we all go together to the Methodist Church at Mistwell. +You’ll get a hearty welcome there.” + +“Thanks. Are those your boys?” + +“Yes. I’ve four boys and four girls. And they all look alike.” + +Derek, observing the dingy tow heads of the youngsters, and their broad, +pasty faces, of which the nostrils seemed the only noticeable feature, +thought it a pity, but he said: + +“They look lively.” + +“They are. And they’re all trained to help as soon as they’re able. +We’re great workers, Mr. Vale. And I must be moving on now. It’s near +dinner-time. Good-day.” + +Derek watched his figure in soiled khaki shirt and trousers move away, +with a strong feeling of distaste for the man. + +As he sat at his midday dinner he suddenly remembered the harrow, and he +stopped Phœbe as she was about to return to the kitchen. + +“What harrow was that Chard was taking away?” + +“Oh, it was ours. He always borrers it.” + +“Hasn’t he one of his own?” + +“No. Mrs. Machin lets him borrer anythink he wants. He’s such a hard +worker.” + +“Humph. What sort of pudding is this?” + +“Spotted Dick.” + +“Spotted Dick! Good Lord! Why Dick? and why spotted?” He blew a +spoonful. “It’s awfully hot.” + +“It’s spotted because of the raisins, and it’s Dick—just ’cause it is. +It’s a clout puddin’, y’ see.” + +He did not see, but he attacked it vigorously. + + CHAPTER III + LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS + + 1. + +By Derek’s first Sunday at Grimstone he had explored every corner of the +farm; had pushed his way through the densest undergrowth of the wood; +knew when certain cows were expected to calve, and a mare to foal; and +had even had a lesson in ploughing from Hugh McKay, which the others +ceased working to observe with tolerant amusement. + +He felt a sort of peace and repose on this warm, bright morning which, +he liked to think, was the feeling experienced by labourers of the soil +on peaceful Sunday morns. He stood with Newbigging smoking in silence +while they both gazed across the lake. There was a land wind, warm, and +sweet with the fragrance of blossoms and moist earth. + +“On days when it blows like this,” said Newbigging, at last, “ye can +always see yon wide strip of pinkish red next the shore. It’s awful +bonny, I think, for it makes the other part green by contrast.” + +“The cliffs are red shale,” said Derek, “and I expect it extends for +some distance. As you say, it’s—bonny.” + +“It makes a mon restive wi’ the fairm work, sir. Though I do like it +here, and I’ll stick by ye through the summer and the apple-pickin’.” + +“Good. Can you tell me, Newbigging, what sort of trees these are? I +don’t know them. They’re alive with black squirrels. There are white +buds on the branches, too.” + +“These are elm-locusts with the coarse bark. See this bit of iron +projecting. It’s just a hint, sir, of a bridle hook fastened there +generations ago, they say, for tying your horse to. But the bark’s grown +over it till it’s well nigh hidden. The others are walnut trees. They +get bushels of fine nuts off them in the autumn. That’s why there are so +many squirrels hereabouts. I think it’d be fine to be a squirrel, Mr. +Vale, always independent, and out of reach, livin’ up next the sky, and +speirin’ for nuts.” + +“I’m afraid you’re a dissatisfied fellow, Newbigging,” Derek said, +laughing. + +“Weel, I micht have done worse. I’d sooner be mysel’, for instance, than +Chaird yonder, goin’ off to the Methodist Chapel wi’ his fat wife, and +eight yellow-faced bairns.” + +Derek had a glimpse of a waggonette, packed with his neighbour’s family +and drawn by the yellow-maned horses. Newbigging gave a sly smile. He +said: + +“I suppose you’ll be wantin’ me to get the dogcart for ye? There’ll be +no time to spare.” + +“Thanks; no,” said Derek. “But I suppose you and the other Scots are +going. You’re a nation of churchgoers, aren’t you?” + +“When we’re at home, perhaps. But not one of the three of us have been +inside a church since we left the Old Land. But I’m English Church +mysel’. I used to sing in the choir in St. Mary’s, in Dundee, when I was +a lad.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he said: + +“Look here, Mr. Vale. If I get the cart for ye, would ye drive to the +English Church at Brancepeth? Mr. Jerrold and his daughter go there. +It’s a pretty drive along the shore.” He looked genuinely eager. + +To Derek suddenly came a recollection of the two figures on horseback, +and of the brightness of Miss Jerrold’s hair under her black hat . . . +and he had not yet seen Brancepeth. “Very well, Newbigging,” he said, “I +believe I shall go to church.” + +Newbigging soon brought around a good bay gelding harnessed to a +heavy-wheeled dogcart. The road to Brancepeth lay close along the shore, +now high, and, it seemed, dangerously near the edge of the bluffs; now +dipping suddenly to cross some willow-shaded stream. Orchards in a storm +of bloom trooped almost to the water’s edge. Brancepeth was sedate, +respectable, very different from the rowdy, good-humoured poverty of +Mistwell. He left his horse in the stable of the “Duke of York,” a +deep-porched little hotel near the church. + +He was late, and had half a mind not to go in. He pushed the inner green +baize door a few inches open and saw the congregation kneeling. A low +murmur came from them—“That we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, +and sober life.” . . . Like the subdued sound of waves their voices rose +and fell in solemn prayer and muffled response. Then came a scraping of +feet, a relieved heaving of bodies, and they rose. Derek felt his arm +grasped from behind, and a stout, determined-looking gentleman pushed +him irrevocably inside, and conducted him to a pew. He took a +prayer-book from the rack before him, and found the place. As he +mechanically sang the words of the _Venite_, he looked about for the +Jerrolds. Then he remembered that he had no way of recognizing them +except that Hobbs had told him that Mr. Jerrold was the handsomest man +in the countryside. Decidedly, then, he was not the man directly in +front of him with the sloping shoulders, red hair, and protruding ears. +Nor the one opposite with the officious Adam’s apple and nasal voice. +Could it have been he who led him into the church? He thought not. . . . +Then, suddenly he saw them; considerably in advance of him, across the +aisle. That was certainly the massive figure he had seen on horseback. +He seemed to rise above the commonplace figures about him like a dark +rock out of an expanse of shingle. Of his face, Derek could see only the +healthy olive cheek, and, as he turned a little, a regular profile, with +beautifully cut mouth and chin. Miss Jerrold was almost hidden by her +father, but, once, when she remained on her feet a second longer than +he, Derek had a glimpse of a fair oval face framed in the bronze-gold +hair, surmounted this time by a violet-coloured toque. + +He thought of Edmund in the old garrison church at Halifax. He would +write and describe the Jerrolds to Edmund, and make him envious. + +The rector was a robust, smooth-shaven man and he preached in a hearty +way, as though he enjoyed the sound of his own vibrant voice. He +preached so long that Derek lost the thread of what he was saying and +began to fidget. Mr. Jerrold began to fidget, too. He crossed and +recrossed his legs, and turned sidewise in his pew to get more room for +his length of limb. Derek could now see him very plainly. He saw him +remove his watch an inch or two from his waistcoat pocket. An expression +of chagrin crossed his handsome face. It had stopped. Surreptitiously he +began to wind it. The sound it made was scarcely audible to Derek, but +he perceived at once that the clergyman heard it. He ceased his +asseverations that the Fruit of the Spirit is long-suffering, and fixed +his eyes very sternly on Mr. Jerrold. + +Mr. Jerrold’s colour rose, but he continued winding. Absolute silence +prevailed except for the one delicate, persistent sound. When he had +finished, Mr. Jerrold returned the watch to his pocket, folded his arms +on his powerful chest, and raised his eyes with a look of encouraging +interest to the clergyman. The sermon proceeded. + +At last those who were not remaining for the Communion Service rose to +go. Derek felt under the pew for his hat; then he saw a whispered +conference between the Jerrolds, and hesitated. Very few were +remaining—only about twenty—among them the Jerrolds. A compelling +impulse made Derek lay his hat down. Then he half rose. Then he +encountered the stare of the man with the nasal voice, across the aisle, +and he dropped to his knees. There was a creaking of large boots, and +the man who had led him in moved up to the pew behind him. There was now +no hope of escape. He buried his face on his arm and tried to compose +his mind. + +“Lift up your he-earts.” The sonorous, muffled tones came from a long +way off, it seemed. + +“We lift them up unto the Lo-ord,” moaned the twenty people on a note of +abject misery. + +Across his arm Vale saw Miss Jerrold’s head drooping above her clasped +hands; like some lovely flower bending to receive the dew of Heaven, he +thought, and felt surprised at his own poetic fancy. There was a +movement now towards the chancel. He shut his eyes for a time, and when +he opened them it was his turn to go forward. Mr. Jerrold and his +daughter were already in the aisle and he stepped out directly behind +them. . . . The man with the creaking boots pressed close after, and +they stood motionless for a space between the rows of staring +choir-boys, while three women who had just received the Communion filed +past them with meekly lowered eyes. + +The sunlight through stained glass windows fell in ruddy efflorescence +on the white silk altar-cloth. Derek knelt, and fixed his eyes on the +solemn shine of the cross. Then altar and cross were hidden by the +billowing folds of a surplice, and sacred words were murmured above his +head. . . . When he rose to his feet his eyes fell on Mr. Jerrold. He +was still kneeling; erect and motionless as the brass eagle of the +lectern. + + 2. + +Some impulse, and he was frequently the subject of unexpected impulses, +caused Derek to hurry from the church and climb into his cart at the +“Duke of York” without another glance in the direction of the Jerrolds. +The gelding was wild to be home, and stretched his long legs to good +purpose along the sandy road. In spite of this Mr. Jerrold overtook him, +driving a pair of spirited horses whose silver chains made a sprightly +clatter as they passed. + +As Derek turned in at his own gate he saw his neighbour’s family +entering theirs. Chard saw him also and solemnly raised his whip to the +brim of his hat. When Derek next met him a degree of sourness had crept +into his pale smile. + +Newbigging and Gunn took the horse, both clambering into the cart and +driving at a gallop to the stables. Derek had alighted near the open +door of the empty apple-house, and, glancing in as he passed, he saw +Phœbe and McKay inside. He had his arms around her, and evidently +pinched her, for she screamed and slapped him. His attentions to her +usually took the form of squeezing and pinching, and from their vicinity +there often issued her cries of delighted discomfort. + +Indoors was a smell of hot roast beef. Derek, thinking of the two in the +apple-house, broke into a merry whistle. + + 3. + +In the afternoon he had descended the tottering flight of steps that +were sunk into the bank before the house, and was stretched on the fine +sand listening to the cries of the gulls and the rhythmic wash of the +waves upon the shore. He was very drowsy, indeed almost asleep, when he +felt the contact of a moist tongue on his cheek, and looked up into the +face of a rough-haired Irish terrier. Mr. Jerrold was cautiously +descending the steps accompanied by two other dogs. + +“If these steps give way, and I break my leg,” he called out, “you are +responsible, Mr. Vale. Come away, Badger, you rascal!” He crossed the +sand and Derek sprang to his feet. + +“Mrs. Machin told me I should find you down here. I hope you’re not +hiding from her. I’m sure I’d be afraid of her. I am William Jerrold, a +neighbour of yours. I came to see if you will come over to my place and +have a cup of tea with us. I saw you in church this morning. How did you +like it?” + +“That’s very kind of you,” said Vale. “I liked the church. Good sermon, +too.” + +They both laughed. “My watch was rather unmanageable, wasn’t it? But +Ramsey has forgiven me. He’s at the house now. You’ll like him—out of +church, anyway.” + +“I liked him in church. But his sermon was certainly long.” + +“Get him talking about strawberry growing, or poultry-raising, or the +best recipe for jugged hare, and he’s decidedly interesting.” + +They had climbed the steps and were walking along the road now. Derek +watched Mr. Jerrold’s face with interest as he talked. In his rough +tweed coat and soft hat he looked even more handsome than in church. His +black wavy hair, which was becoming thin at the forehead, still curled +closely around his temples. His finely moulded mouth expressed at once +engaging good humour and an ardent, quick temper. But it was his large, +dark eyes under their black brows, eyes pathetic, wistful, yet full of +fire, that stirred the emotions of the observer. + +The two men were strongly contrasted, yet a boyish love of life and a +certain pleasure in their own bodies drew them together, and each found +much in the other to attract. They were talking like familiar friends +when they reached the door of Durras. A fire burned in the drawing-room +and its light was softly given back by ornaments of brass and silver, +and dark polished wood. + +Derek was introduced to Miss Jerrold and Mr. Ramsey, and a stout +Aberdeen terrier was tipped from a chair to make room for him. He was +provided with a cup of tea and a scone; the Aberdeen, which a moment +before had seemed stupefied by sleep, sat up briskly before him waving +its forepaws, and fixing him with glowing, greedy eyes. + +“That is Sgaith,” said Miss Jerrold. “She is a great nuisance.” + +“Dear old Sgaith,” said Mr. Ramsey, “come and have a bit of scone.” + +Sgaith turned to him without enthusiasm and he gave her a morsel, taking +care that her nose should not touch his hand. + +“Sgaith always favours the newest friend with her attentions,” said Miss +Jerrold, as the terrier returned to Derek and again sat up with agitated +forepaws. + +“She knows I like her,” said Derek in a low tone. + +“And that Mr. Ramsey is only pretending to like her.” She looked into +his eyes with an amused and friendly smile. He thought he had never seen +a face in which reserve and mobility were so delicately blended. + +Mr. Ramsey said: “I was delighted that you should so soon join us in +partaking of the Holy Eucharist, Mr. Vale. I am sorry to say that your +uncle was not a regular communicant. Your promptness is all the more +agreeable.” + +“I was there, too,” said Mr. Jerrold, with a challenging smile. + +“And equally welcome,” affirmed the clergyman. + +“I had to do something to make up for the ill-behaviour of my watch.” + +“Mr. Jerrold, I give you my permission to bring the clock from your +stable tower and wind it, if you will become a regular communicant.” + +“That’s handsome of you, and I’ll consider it,” returned his host. “Have +another scone, Ramsey. And you, Mr. Vale. That rascal, Sgaith, has eaten +half of yours.” + +“Did you notice our Communion vessels?” asked Mr. Ramsey. “They are +unusually beautiful. They were presented to the church by Queen Anne.” + +“I’m afraid I didn’t. Everything was new to me, and I am very +unobservant.” + +“I must let you examine them some day. The chasing is very beautiful.” + +“How is your poultry?” interrupted Mr. Jerrold. + +“He has the most amazing White Wyandottes,” said Miss Jerrold. “They +always lay when our hens are either moulting, or sitting, or just too +fat. Hobbs can never get our Leghorns or Dorkings to lay like that.” + +“Yet he is always boasting about them,” said Mr. Ramsey. “I never meet +him but he has some record broken.” + +“Hobbs is a good man with cattle,” declared Mr. Jerrold, “but he does +not understand poultry as you do.” + +“They take a great deal of understanding, but they repay you in the end. +Why, bless you, I don’t know how I should make ends meet if it weren’t +for mine. I shipped forty-eight dozen eggs this week. At thirty cents a +dozen that amounts to fourteen dollars and forty cents. Not bad, eh? Of +course, the commission comes off that; still, it’s not bad. And I shall +soon have some plump broilers ready.” + +“Poor little darlings,” put in Miss Jerrold. + +“Oh, but, my dear young lady, we couldn’t have those young cockerels all +over the place. And they’ve had a very happy life.” + +“But so short.” She looked pensive. + +“I shall let all mine grow up to be hardy old cocks,” said Derek. + +“And Mrs. Machin will make you eat them in the end,” retorted the +clergyman. He went on: “Now, what do you suppose happened while I was at +church this morning? I had six hens sitting in an old corn crib, and if +you’ll believe me, they all hatched their broods during the service. +Thirteen apiece. When I fed them at eight o’clock there were just a few +shells chipped. When I went to them after Matins, there were +seventy-eight little chicks, all dry, and as yellow as daffodils. +‘Worthy old hens!’ I exclaimed, ‘you have my deepest respect.’” + +“When had you set them?” asked Miss Jerrold, innocently. + +“Three weeks ago to the very day.” + +“On a Sunday,” shouted Mr. Jerrold. “Well done, Grace! You cornered him. +The parson sets six hens on the Sabbath. No wonder my watch stopped!” + +“Come, this is too cruel,” expostulated Mr. Ramsey. “What was I to do? +The hens were clucking. The eggs were warm. I said a little prayer over +each, and so made a respectable ceremony of it. The resultant chicks +look as though they had just fluttered down from Heaven.” + +It was plain that he was eager to spend the remainder of the afternoon +talking about his poultry, but Mr. Jerrold proposed that they take a +stroll about the farm. He wanted to show Derek the stock, and to get Mr. +Ramsey’s opinion of a new mare. + +The two older men walked ahead, Derek following with Grace Jerrold. He +felt an increasing sense of happiness in the possession of such pleasant +neighbours, especially since they seemed inclined to make him one of +their little circle. + +“Do you know, it’s quite exciting to us to have a new neighbour,” she +said, as they crossed the lawn. “You have been one of the principal +topics of our conversation since you came.” + +“I was afraid I was in disgrace since my horses break into your place so +often. About once a week, I think Hobbs said.” + +“Oh, that just provides a little agreeable excitement for the men. +Please don’t mend the fences.” + +“It was very good of your father to fetch me to tea.” + +“Oh, I sent him.” She had, it seemed, an ingenuous little way of +beginning her sentences with “Oh,” like a child. Then she added quickly, +with a flush—“I thought you might be lonely—so far from home.” + +“I was—a little. There are just my brother and myself. I feel very much +separated from him here.” + +“It’s a lonely spot,” she said. “We have lived here six years, since I +lost my mother. I should be very lonely if father and I were not such +good companions. We go about the place together all day, and at night we +read aloud, or play cribbage.” + +“I admire your father tremendously. He attracts me more than any other +man I can remember.” + +Her eyes were bright with pleasure. “He is attractive, isn’t he? And +very clever, too. But, really, I believe I have the better business head +of the two. I mean I think I have a clearer grasp of the essentials, and +I don’t get enthusiastic over new projects till I’ve looked into them a +bit.” + +“What’s that, Grace?” said Mr. Jerrold, turning round suddenly. “What’s +she saying about me?” + +“I was remarking, William dear, that I have a better brain for business +than you. Mr. Vale says he can easily believe it.” + +They were entering the stables now, and her father replied: “Well, Mr. +Vale may see for himself how I manage these.” + +The new mare was inspected, a daughter of Hearts Courageous, twice +winner of the King’s Plate. But the sixty milch cows in their immaculate +stalls, the black and white of their soft coats gleaming, their +over-developed udders pink and clean, roused in Derek both admiration +and envy. His own little Jersey herd, of which he had been so proud, +dwindled to insignificance. Mr. Jerrold, and Hobbs who had joined them, +expatiated on the superior virtues of the Holstein. Hobbs said he +wouldn’t give a Jersey stable-room. + + 4. + +It seemed natural that Derek and Grace Jerrold should eventually +separate from the others, while she took him to see the rose garden +where the tight little olive buds were barely in sight, and the kitchen +garden already heavy with the scent of lilacs. They followed the stream +that entered Durras from Grimstone till they reached a low-lying meadow +so wet they could not cross it. Here marsh marigolds crowded in golden +profusion, more brilliant, it seemed to Derek, than anything he had ever +seen. + +“I think Durras is beautiful,” he said. “It is like a fine English +place. I had not expected anything so—mellow.” + +“It used to be a part of Grimstone, you know, till about thirty years +ago, when our predecessor bought it from your grandfather. Aren’t you +sorry he bought it?” + +“No,” said Derek, positively, “I’m very glad. I shouldn’t know what to +do with such a big slice of land. Besides, I want you for neighbours. +It’s much jollier.” + +“This place is a great expense.” She drew a deep breath that was almost +a sigh. + +They now were retracing their steps. A primrose yellow filled the sky +behind the burnished bloom of the cherry orchards. + +They were silent a while, then, as they drew near the gate, Derek said, +“I’ve been wondering, Miss Jerrold, if I were to rig up a tennis-court, +whether you would come over and play.” + +“Oh, I should love to! But why can’t we have it here? Our lawns are more +level, I think.” + +“I want _some_ attraction at Grimstone,” he said, and she remarked, +though not for the first time, that look of happy expectancy in his +greenish-blue eyes. + + CHAPTER IV + SALE AT DURRAS—GRETTA VAN LOWE + + 1. + +Every spring Mr. Jerrold held a sale of his surplus cattle, and those +interested in Holstein breeding came long distances to be present. It +was the principal event of the year in the neighbourhood of Brancepeth +and Mistwell. Waggonettes, dogcarts, and motors were sent to meet the +morning trains, and a substantial lunch was set out in Hobbs’s house for +those who had made long journeys. There was also a steady stream of +farmers’ vehicles up to the time of the sale, and for two days after it +there was the business of driving or carting away the purchased stock. + +The morning broke cloudy and cold. Jagged lines of foam curled across a +steel-grey lake. Farmers driving by had their collars turned up to their +ears. Jock, the collie, raced up and down the road barking ceaselessly. +Derek decided to take Windmill with him for company. He would have liked +to give the four men a half-holiday that they might all go, but he was +afraid of Mrs. Machin. There was no doubt about it, he was afraid of +her. + +There she stood on the flagstones outside the kitchen door, the wind +blowing her apron in snowy folds about her stiff black person, her lips +twisted in a smile of contempt for the hurrying passers-by. + +“Fools,” she said. “Tumblin’ over themselves to pay fancy prices fur +cows that’s no better than any other cows only they’re fed up till their +bags is fit to bust. You stop crammin’ the high-priced feed down ’em and +they soon stop their fancy milkin’. Them Jerrolds make me sick. I can +tell you, your uncle had no use for him.” + +“Why?” + +“Well, fur one thing he pays higher wages than anyone hereabouts can +afford, and that makes it hard fur the farmers to get good help. Then, +when he first come here, he asked old Mr. Vale’s advice about his small +fruit, and your uncle went over and advised him just what to do and when +to do it. But after a couple o’ seasons’ worry with pickers my fine +gentleman flew in a temper and had it all ploughed under and swore he +wouldn’t have a berry on the place. Your uncle had no respect fur him +after that. . . . Phœbe! have ye naught to do but stand gapin’ at them +ninnys goin’ by? Get back to your churn, and be quick about it.” + + 2. + +Tiers of seats were raised about the auctioneer’s stand for the +accommodation of the crowd. These were well filled when Derek and +Windmill arrived, so they had to be content with places at the back. +From there they looked down over a lively scene. Horses and vehicles of +all sorts were tied to trees and fences on the outskirts of the crowd; +late comers were hurrying to secure what positions they could; Hobbs was +shouting orders to stablemen who were already leading out the heavy, +slow-moving animals; the auctioneer and his assistant were consulting +over a list. Mr. Jerrold sat on his grey horse near the stand, an +expression of mingled pride and amusement on his face. + +The auctioneer was loquacious, animated; he punctuated the sales by racy +anecdotes; the prices paid filled Derek with surprise. More and more as +the afternoon wore on he longed to possess one of these peerless, +soft-eyed creatures as the foundation of a new and lucrative herd. +Windmill continually urged him to buy, saying that he only wished _he_ +had the chance. The auctioneer drew attention to the line of the back, +the shape of the udder and teats, the milk-vein of the animal before +him. The calf at her side, he affirmed, was the sweetest thing that had +ever come under his hammer. The mother had a record of 640 pounds of +butter from 17,610 pounds of milk. He was shocked at the languid +bidding. + +Truly it was getting late, and many were leaving to catch their trains. +Derek felt that it was an auspicious time to bid. After a short struggle +between himself and an unseen, husky-voiced competitor, the pair were +knocked down to him, and the auctioneer congratulated him on the +excellence of his judgment. Mr. Jerrold met him as he was leaving and +said he had done something he would never repent. He was delighted that +Gretta would be next door where he could watch her progress, for she was +one of his favourites. + +Windmill remained to get the cow, and as Derek walked home, he felt a +new sense of elation and proprietorship in Grimstone. + +Mrs. Machin was laying tea-towels on the gooseberry bushes in the +kitchen garden, and she turned enquiringly toward him as though to ask +how the sale had gone. For some reason he did not wish to tell her of +his purchase just then. He passed her and went on to the stream, on +whose grassy bank he could see Hugh McKay shearing sheep. Gunn, +Newbigging, and Phœbe were looking on, now and then giving a helping +hand. + +The sheep lay as though dead, her pale tongue lolling, her legs stiff; +only her thick white eyelashes flickered above her yellow eyes as she +felt the shears pass over her body. + +“Ah, Rosebud,” said Hugh, comfortingly, “you’re no sae bad as you think +you are.” + +“It’s a fine fleece. Ain’t it, Mr. Vale?” said Phœbe. + +“Wonderful. Be careful not to nip her, Hugh.” + +McKay laughed. “I never cut a sheep in my life, sir. And there’s the +fleece all complete in one piece for ye. Get up, Rosebud. Are ye wantin’ +to lie all day?” + +She sprang suddenly to her feet and ran bleating to her twin lambs, who +stared in stupefaction, scarce recognizing their dingy, rotund mother in +this skipping, snow-white creature. They nosed her for a moment and +then, ferociously, began to suck. + +There was a guffaw from Newbigging, Gunn, and Phœbe, but McKay smiled +tenderly at his handiwork. + +“We’ll be haein’ a new wee lamb afore the morn,” he whispered to Vale. + +“Really?” Derek looked speculatively over the little flock. + +“It’s Nonesopretty, over yon. I like the new lambs awful well. I wish +ye’d get more sheep, Mr. Vale. This is a paltry few. I could do with +five times as many.” + +“I bought a cow and calf at the sale,” said Derek. + +Phœbe overheard. “A cow from Jerrold’s!” she cried. “Mrs. Machin will be +in a fine taking. She hates them Holsteins. She says the milk’s so poor +you could see a silver coin lying in the bottom of a pail of it.” + +“I did not buy the cow to please her,” said Derek sternly. + +Nothing abashed, Phœbe chattered on. McKay caught another sheep and +began shearing it. Presently they saw Windmill driving Gretta van Lowe +through the gateway, her thick-legged milk-white calf gambolling at her +side. Windmill drove her gently with an air of importance. As she came +up to the group by the stream they closed about her, admiring her fine +proportions and looking into her large, sad face. Newbigging caught the +calf by the head and held him still. + +“He’s as big as a year-old Jersey heifer already,” exclaimed Windmill +proudly. “Stop your sheep-shearing and look at him, Hugh.” + +“I’ve no time to spare. I’ll go down to the byre and see them later.” + +“Here comes Mrs. Machin!” + +She was approaching them at a slow, solemn gait. She did not speak but, +throwing a look of bitter scorn at the cow, passed on into the barn, +slamming the door behind her. She did not look in Vale’s direction for +weeks. + + 3. + +The next morning Vale was about early. On the way to the stables he met +Hugh McKay coming to the house carrying a newborn lamb. + +“I telled ye we’d be haein’ a wee lamb the morn,” he said, beaming with +happiness. “I thought I’d tak’ it to the kitchen to warm it. It’s a weak +one.” + +“You are a woolly little fellow,” said Derek, stroking it. “How is +Gretta, Hugh?” + +“Ah, she’ll no let down her milk nor taste her mash. She’s homesick for +the fine byre yonder. She’ll do no guid.” + +Derek hurried to see her, full of anxiety. + +Gretta van Lowe stood solemnly alone in the cow-stable. The stalls must +have been built for smaller cattle; her flanks projected far into the +passage. An untouched pail of mash stood before her. + +“Why isn’t she out with the other cows?” Derek asked Gunn, who was +cleaning the stable. + +“They all tuk after her and butted her,” he replied, grinning. “There’s +none of them like her. They dinna like the colour o’ her.” + +“Rubbish. Well, turn her into the yard where she’ll get the sun. She’ll +never thrive in this dark hole. Where’s the calf?” + +“In the meadow wi’ the ither calves. He’s fine.” + +Majestically Gretta left the byre and lay down in the yard. + +She never re-entered. When night came she refused so stubbornly to go in +with the other cows, that it was held wise to humour her. Each day after +that she seemed to decline in spirits and strength. The veterinary was +sent for and prescribed, but it was of no avail. Her milk became unfit +for use. It was plain that she was going to die. Nothing would induce +her to enter the stable, and Derek began to hate the sight of the large +black and white mound in the stable-yard. He was glad when he saw her, +at last, heaved on to a stone-boat and hauled to the woods for burial. + +Mrs. Machin became affable. + +“The vet. said it was ulcer of the stomach, didn’t he?” she asked. + +“Yes.” + +“Is Mr. Jerrold goin’ to make you pay for her?” + +“Just for the calf.” + +“Oh, well, you can easily get a good price for him, Mr. Vale.” + +“I’m not going to sell him,” said Derek, testily. “It’s my farm, and if +I want an odd bull or so for a pet, I suppose I can have it.” + +Because he thought everyone was against the young bull, it became his +favourite creature on the farm. + + 4. + +Derek had written to his brother to send him his canoe which he had left +in Halifax. It arrived one evening in June, and the Scotchmen, who had +never seen one before, carried it to the stream, Derek following with +Mrs. Machin and Phœbe, eager to see him set out. + +“There isn’t money enough in Canada to pairsuade me to go oarin’ in yon +skittish thing,” said Newbigging, as the canoe slid into the water. +“I’ve knocked aboot in vessels of all sorts, but I draw the line at +egg-shells.” + +“I’d go in a minute,” said Phœbe, with a look at Vale. + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Machin. “And don’t be +impident.” + +At the same moment Hugh McKay pinched her, and Windmill frowned and +shook his head. + +Derek was already paddling down the stream, enjoying the pleasant +feeling that the canoe was conscious of him and responded eagerly to +him. All but Mrs. Machin ran before him to the little bridge where they +collected to watch him pass beneath. He was getting very fond of them, +he thought, as he looked up at their excited, sunburned faces. + +“Mr. Vale! Ye can paddle your ain canoe, noo,” called Gunn after him. + +“Take me next time, Mr. Vale!” cried Phœbe; and shrieked again at a +second, severer pinch from Hugh. He was alone save for a little group of +fishing-boats in the distance, and a flock of gulls that flew high above +him, angelic creatures that beat their silvery wings against the rosy +sky. + +He paddled close to the shore in the direction of Durras, half hoping to +be seen by the Jerrolds. When he guessed that he was opposite their +gates he laid his dripping paddle athwart and lit a cigarette. + +Scarcely had an ash formed when the figure of Grace Jerrold appeared on +the bank above him. Outlined against the sky, and dressed in white, she +seemed akin to the shining gulls, and, like them, more of the air than +of earth. + +She called, “How happy you look! Is it as nice as the North-West Arm of +the Harbour?” + +“Oh, yes. But I miss the tang of salt in the air. Won’t you come for a +paddle?” + +“How should I get down?” + +“Fly. You look as though you might. Just spread your wings and gently +float down to this blue cushion in front of me.” + +“I’d like to, but my father and I are going for a walk. I am waiting for +him.” + +“To-morrow, then?” + +“I’m sorry. To-morrow I am going away on a visit. It will be several +weeks. But when I come back——” + +“Very well. The canoe shall be freshly varnished and the tennis-court +got ready.” + +Mr. Jerrold joined his daughter and the two stood looking down at Vale +as he paddled away. + +“How well he paddles.” + +“I can paddle just as well,” said her father. “I shall go out with him +sometimes while you are away, dear.” + +“Oh, please don’t, William! You are much too heavy for a canoe. Promise +me, or I shan’t have a minute’s peace.” + +“But I can swim like a fish, Gay.” + +“I know. But I don’t want you two out in a canoe. You’re both too +reckless.” + +“Vale reckless?” + +“Oh, yes. I think there’s a headlong look in his eyes.” + +“And what sort of look is there in mine?” he asked, bending them on her. + +“A look of a wild eagle. Will you promise?” + +“Yes, darling. May I have him to dinner, then? Or are you afraid we +should overeat?” + +“Yes, have him to dinner. Look, he is almost out of sight.” + +They turned to walk, holding each other’s hands. The sun was gone and +the clear, pale moon was gaining colour every moment. The gulls, too, +had disappeared, and in their place a flock of cliff swallows darted +about, silent as bats. + + CHAPTER V + DARK WATER-LILIES + + 1. + +The canoe had been varnished; the tennis-court was in process of +preparation. Mrs. Machin grumbled because he took the men from their +work to help him with his play. One morning in the latter part of June, +she marched over to him, as he was directing the rolling of the lawn by +Gunn and Newbigging, and said: + +“Them fellas will just have to leave off that foolery to-day, and help +get the Indians’ shack ready. They’ve sent word that they’ll be here +to-morrow, and they’ll be mad if they find the roof not mended. They was +nearly flooded out before they left last year. Of course, if you don’t +care, Mr. Vale, what sort of accommodation you give the poor things, it +don’t matter to me.” She folded her arms across her stomach and stared +into the lake. + +“I didn’t know they were coming,” said Vale, meekly. “Is that the little +house in the orchard?” + +“Yes. How did ye s’pose the fruit got picked? The strawberries is tame, +but they won’t hop off the vines into the baskets themselves, I can tell +ye. With this hot sun there’ll be a pickin’ ready in a day or two.” + +“Very well. I’ll let them off in a few minutes.” And he persisted for a +time in rolling, while Mrs. Machin stood by, impatient and contemptuous. +He would not let her domineer over him before the men, for he had seen +them grinning on more than one occasion, when he had been worsted by +her. + +Derek had scarcely noticed the small shack in the far end of the +orchard. It was so dilapidated, so weather-beaten that he had supposed +it to be but an unused out-house. + +Now he stood dismayed at the squalor of the hovel. It had been thrown +together of odds and ends of boards; the roof had been covered with +tar-paper, now flapping loosely; the one small window showed the bare +interior. The mud floor was still wet from spring rains, the walls were +lined with bunks half filled with evil-smelling straw. Under a lean-to +outside he saw a cooking-stove red with rust, and, beneath the trees, a +long table with benches on either side. + +“This is horrible,” he said. “Do you mean to say they sleep here?” + +“Indeed they do,” said Mrs. Machin, “and it’s better than they get lots +of places. I know of farms where they just live in the barns and sleep +in the mow.” + +“Just the same,” put in Windmill, “the Government is putting a stop to +that sort of thing. If an inspector comes round and finds them all +sleeping in one room you’re liable to get into trouble.” + +“How many are there?” + +“About fifteen. Old Solomon Sharroe, his wife, two daughters and their +husbands, some younger boys and girls, and Jammery. He’s quite above the +rest of them.” + +“We must get another room fixed up for those women. I won’t stand their +living like animals.” + +“Your uncle never minded,” said Mrs. Machin. + +“Well, he should have been ashamed of himself.” + +“Look here,” said Windmill, “there’s a pile of timber down by the barn. +I believe we could run up an extra room for the women in no time.” + +“And I shall drive to Brancepeth,” said Vale, “and buy a couple of +bedsteads and a chest of drawers.” + +Mrs. Machin’s disgust was so deep that she could not abide to listen to +their plans. Calling Phœbe, she stalked gloomily down the orchard path, +wondering audibly how long Grimstone would endure under such +mismanagement. + + 2. + +The men, delighted by a change of work, threw themselves heartily into +the building of the additional room. By evening of the next day, it was +not only built but the bedsteads, the chest of drawers, and a small +looking-glass had been arranged inside. However, Derek held it as only a +makeshift, and determined that before the next fruit season, he would +have a proper cottage where the Indians could dispose themselves +properly. He was eager to meet them and see their pleasure in the new +comforts he had provided. + +He rose early the next morning after the shack had been completed, and, +after breakfast, strolled through the orchard to take a final look at +it. He thought it would look rather jolly when a spiral of blue smoke +curled from the rusty stove-pipe. He opened the cupboard door and looked +complacently at the gaudy new set of dishes he had bought at Brancepeth. +A sound of children’s voices made him start. He saw what seemed a long +procession of dusky people coming up the orchard path. Four little girls +danced ahead while the men and women approached slowly, laden with +burdens and infants. A boy of ten came last, carrying on his back an +idiot boy a couple of years younger. + +The women chattered cheerfully in Indian, as they came up, and stared in +a friendly, amused way at Derek and the addition to the shack. + +“I s’pose you’re Mr. Vale,” said a tall old man coming up to Derek. +“Mrs. Machin, she told us we’d find you up hereabouts. I’m Solomon +Sharroe, an’ all these folks is my family. We’ve been pickin’ fur your +uncle a good many years. You like livin’ here?” + +“Yes,” said Vale, “and I’m very glad to see you. The strawberries need +your attention, I think.” + +“We get something to eat now, and then me and the other men start in. +The women will want the rest of the day fur gettin’ settled.” His dark +eyes rested indulgently on the group of women and girls, who were +already lighting a fire in the stove and unpacking bread, bacon, and +bottles of pickles from a basket. + +There was a grave dignity about the old man that pleased Derek. His +rugged, bronze face, high, deeply lined forehead surmounted by a thatch +of thick iron-grey hair, gave no evidence of racial degeneration. The +women, too, were attractive, plump, round-faced, with soft, quick +movements and shy, sidelong glances at him. The young men had +disappeared inside the shack, but one of them now came out and Solomon +motioned him to approach. + +“This is Jammery,” he announced with a wave of his dark hand on which +shone a silver ring. Jammery held out his hand. + +“How do you do, Mr. Vale?” he said in a soft voice. + +Vale took the proffered hand. It was small, very smooth, and limp. He +returned his own to his pocket after the contact. + +“Are you a son or son-in-law?” he asked, the old man having been called +away by his wife. + +“Neither.” Jammery stroked his slender, black moustache. “I’m no +relation to these people. I’ve just thrown my lot in with theirs for a +while. I’m not much of an Indian.” + +“No, I see that.” He was, indeed, only olive in complexion. “You speak +English well.” + +Jammery gave a shrug. “I can scarcely speak Indian at all. But I know +what they say.” + +“I suppose Jammery was originally Jean-Marie.” + +He shrugged again. “No idea,” he said. “It’s my first, last, and middle +name. The only one I’ve got.” + +Derek looked him over curiously, wondering what wild and picturesque +past had gone to the making of this handsome, unscrupulous-looking +little fellow. “Well,” he said, “if you need anything let me know. I +want you to be as comfortable as possible.” + +“Thank you,” said Jammery. “Lots of the fruit-growers don’t care how we +live so long as they get plenty of work out of us. They don’t treat us +as well as their animals.” + + 3. + +A new life and activity took possession of Grimstone. It seemed to Vale +that in whatever direction he looked he saw one of the dark tribe of +pickers. The men and older women set stolidly to work in the strawberry +beds; the two young boys ran continually from the barn to the shack +carrying armfuls of straw or tin pails of water; when he went to the +kitchen the round faces of two twelve-year-old girls were pressed +against the screen door. “Phœbe,” one of them was calling, “kin we git a +point of milk?” Seeing Vale she smiled broadly. + +“What is your name, youngster?” he asked. + +“Beulah. This here’s my niece, my oldest sister’s girl. Ain’t she +white?” This with candid pride. “The Government gent he wouldn’t give +her no allowance last time—she was so white.” + +The girl’s skin was indeed white, but she preserved a stoical Indian +calm while being discussed. Laughing-eyed Beulah chattered on: “Will you +come and see our gorden? It’s terr’ble pretty. We’ll git the point of +milk when we come back. The gorden’s on the shore, won’t you come? Gosh! +you’ve got pretty hair.” + +Derek suffered himself to be led by Beulah and her solemn niece, Alma, +to the shore. He had no idea what a “gordon” was, but he liked children, +especially dark-eyed little girls. They made him feel weakly +good-humoured, almost helpless. On the sand three younger girls were +bending over a miniature garden, made of bits of water-weeds and +flowering grass and intersected by paved walks of broken glass and +coloured stones. Derek was amazed at the nice care with which the +pattern was laid, and the dainty gestures of the small brown hands as +they placed a pebble or were clapped together in delight. He sat down on +the sand beside them and began to build a wall around the “gorden.” The +children pressed about him and ran to fetch little shells to ornament +the top of the wall. He caught the smallest in his hands and rolled her +on the sands. “Oh, you are a fonny man!” they shrieked. They found a +long grey quill from a gull’s wing and stuck it in his hair, chuckling, +“Now you are an Indian, like us.” + +Even when darkness came they were not to be ignored. A shaft of light +struck through the orchard from a lantern hung by the door of the shack, +and a great blaze danced up from the shore where they made a bonfire at +the water’s edge. + +Vale, sitting with his pipe on the porch, could see flames leaping above +the crest of the bluff, and he began to feel nervous lest the flying +sparks should do damage. Mrs. Machin had driven into Mistwell or she +would have gone down to them, he knew. By the screams and shrill +laughter he felt sure that the young women and girls were in bathing and +had made the fire to warm and dry themselves. + +Half amused, more than a little annoyed, he crossed the lawn, quietly +passed through the gate and hid himself in the clump of stunted cedars +that overlooked the shore. His nostrils were tickled by a pungent odour +that quenched the sweetness of the locust flowers. Ruddy tongues licked +about a heap of driftwood and cast their fierce reflection on the water +next the shore. In this molten pool five little girls, three young +women, and a boy of fourteen were bathing. The boy, like a bronze imp, +chased one after another of his naked sisters, the captured one being +roughly splashed, and then held under water despite her cries. Their +smooth, brown bodies caught the glow from the fire like copper urns; +Derek could see even the jewel-like glitter of their eyes. He watched +them smiling, forgetting his annoyance. + +The boy, soon tiring of his easy prey, swam outward into the darkness. +One of the girls raised her arms to her head to fasten the long wet hair +that had fallen about her shoulders. Derek’s heart gave a sudden leap; a +hot thrill of pleasure stirred, like a pain, in his breast. She seemed +to rise, a dark water-lily on its stem, a flower of unearthly beauty, +springing from the water, fed by the flames, filling the night air with +the perfume of her desire. At her side the dark head of the smallest +child lay on the water between its outstretched arms like an +olive-tinted bud. It was a moonless night and the sky hung low, dark as +a bowl of wine. + +All the bathers were motionless now, or nearly so. Yes, they were +water-lilies, resting languorously in this secret place, their petals +drawn together, holding the sweetness of the night. + +He gazed at them each in turn, but found none so lovely as she whose +slender arms still curved above her head. + +She left the water and came slowly to the fire; picking up a cloth, she +began languidly to dry her breast. Her sisters followed her, and, as +they crouched together, their interlacing limbs made intricate linear +designs against the sombre glow of the subsiding fire. + +When they had drawn on their dresses they ascended the steps in the +bank, talking softly in Indian. Their mood of noisy gaiety seemed to +have passed; their faces were pensive, even sad. They were so near for a +moment that he might have touched them. He longed to put out his hand +and draw that supple, sweetest one in among the cedars, hold her in his +arms, and tell her how beautiful she was. + +Their feet made a little rustling in the grass; the gate creaked and +they were gone. + +The boy, returning to the shore, and finding himself deserted, began +carefully to extinguish the fire. With sand and stones he smothered it, +and, running up the steps, passed Derek, loudly whistling. + +Once more the perfume of the locust flowers drenched the air; with it +mingled the sharp, sweet smell of the cedars, and the faint odour of +burnt wood. The waves commenced a sudden, crisp lapping on the shore, as +though the business of the night had just begun. All about his feet he +saw the dim, white heads of mushrooms. + +“I must have some of those for my breakfast,” he thought. + +He re-lit his pipe and sauntered to the house. + + CHAPTER VI + CHERRIES AT DAWN + + 1. + +A man could not help but feel proud to see the baskets of plump, ripe +strawberries spread in rows over the barn floor. They were so fresh, so +excellent, that they could not fail to bring the highest price. Phœbe, +kneeling on the floor, packed them into crates, each holding two dozen +boxes. Mrs. Machin, sitting on a chair, examined each carrier of six +boxes, as it was brought in, and, if it were satisfactory, paid the +picker in tickets valued at one cent each. Solomon Sharroe and Jammery, +she told Vale, were the best pickers, and could pick four hundred boxes +each in a day, in the height of the season. The women picked well but +were not to be depended on, often leaving the patch half picked, to take +the tram-car to Brancepeth, where they would spend all their earnings on +fancy shoes and hats, and, often, their men’s earnings too. + +Vale had taken up a basket and was picking out the largest berries and +eating them with a boy’s mischievous pleasure in Mrs. Machin’s +disapproving glances. He dropped one to a rangy Dorking rooster which +was picking in the straw at his feet. The bird, snatching up the +unexpected prize, gallantly called his hens who came with long strides +from the barnyard, wings spread and beaks agape. The crimson berry was +presented with coaxing clucks to the favourite, who gulped it whole and +pecked greedily at the juice on her lord’s yellow beak. Vale began +tossing berries to the other hens. + +“I will not have them fowls encouraged to come into the barn,” exclaimed +Mrs. Machin, angrily. + +“But they like the berries,” protested Vale. + +“Well, give them the whole mornin’s pickin’, then. I wash my hands of +it.” She jumped to her feet. + +“Sit down. Sit down,” soothed Vale. “I’ll take them somewhere else. This +young Indian can help me shoo them out.” + +“I’ll help you,” cried Phœbe. + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Machin. “I never see such a +girl. She’d sooner do anything under the sun than her proper work. Here, +Fawnie, help Mr. Vale scare these hens away and don’t set them floppin’ +over the berries neither.” + +The young girl set down the carrier she had brought and began gently to +urge the fowls through the door. Derek went ahead dropping berries +before them. He saw that she was the girl he had watched the night +before, whose shining brown-black hair had fallen about her wet +shoulders. He scarcely glanced at her but led the way around the barn +towards the poultry-house, which was partitioned by wire netting from +the byre. + +“I think we had better put them inside,” he said, “and shut the door or +they will follow us straight back to the berries.” He opened the +half-door and entered the poultry-house backwards. He set the remainder +of the basket of berries in the straw on the floor. Instantly it was +covered by a tangle of wings, beaks, and wattles. He shut the door and +smiled at the girl. “That was neatly done. They’re all in, I think.” + +The open windows looked over a stream and a flat meadow where the sheep +were grazing. + +“The little new lambs are awful pretty,” she said in a soft, husky +voice. + +“Yes, aren’t they?” He stared openly at her now, trying to recapture the +sensation of the night before. But now he saw only a pretty Indian girl +whose straight little body was covered by a coarse blue dress, who had +an empty berry-basket on her stomach, and whose pouting lips were +stained by the fruit to a brighter red. There was no mystery now, no +thrill, but she was amusing; and those fawn’s eyes of hers . . . they +called her Fawnie . . . and that round coffee-coloured neck with the +soft lock on the nape. + +“I like eggs,” she was drawling, while she peered into the nests. +“Here’s a big brown one—as hot as hot——” She put it in his hand. +“That ole black hen laid it. She’s mad because I took it.” + +He dropped the warm egg in her berry-basket. “Keep it,” he said, “and +cook it for your tea, Fawnie.” + +“Here’s five more. All white. I do like white eggs. They’re jus’ laid +too. Hot as hot. Feel.” + +“Take them, too. But don’t mention it to Mrs. Machin.” He flushed as he +said this. He was really afraid of her then . . . no—not afraid, but he +did not want her interference. + +“Tell you what I’ll do! I’ll set them. You jus’ lend me this ole black +hen that’s all rumpled up cluckin’ an’ I’ll take her up to the shack an’ +set her and get some nice little chicks, eh?” Her eyes sparkled, he +could see his face reflected in them . . . useless for him to resist +dark-eyed little girls. . . . “Take her, then,” he said weakly. Good +Lord, she was only seventeen! If she wanted a hen to set, why not? + +They chased the hen, caught her; Fawnie pressed her firmly against her +side while they searched for more eggs. In the horse-stable they found +seven—five on a shelf inside an old horse-collar, two in the manger of +one of the Welsh ponies, wet with his slobber. + +They set out like children, Derek carrying the eggs in his hat. They +took a roundabout way to the shack through the arching blackberry and +thimbleberry canes. Two babies rolled on a blanket on the beaten earth, +by the door, tended by an older child. The idiot boy, perched in the +crotch of an apple tree, stared blinking at the sky. + +“Where shall we set her?” asked Derek. + +“Under my bunk,” she chuckled. “It’s nice an’ dark there.” + +“Oh no. I’ll get a coop and set her in the orchard.” + +“The ole woman’d find her there first thing. I want her under my bunk.” +She stroked the hen’s head with a brown, supple hand. + +“Very well. Which is your bunk?” They went into the dim hut, stuffy with +the smell of straw and old clothes. + +“Beulah and Alma and me sleeps in this one,” she said, crouching before +one of the lower bunks. “You hold the hen.” + +He held the warm bundle of feathers while she dragged forth an empty box +and half filled it with straw pulled from her bed. Derek felt hypnotized +by her soft, swift movements. She talked in a little muttering way to +herself as she arranged the nest: + +“Here’s nice yaller straw already warmed—here’s a nasty ole +thistle—get out, you ole prickly thistle, on the floor—I hope Alma +will step on you—here’s a pigeon’s feather sure enough—that brings +luck—come, lazy-bones”—reaching up for the hen—“get on your eggs an’ +mind you hatch ’em all out or Derek will pluck you alive, won’t you, +Derek?” + +Derek lit a cigarette to drown the odours of the shack. “Who +told—you—my name?” he asked, between puffs. + +“I heerd Phœbe an’ Bob Gunn talkin’ about you an’ they called you Derek. +They said you was afraid of Mrs. Machin. Are you?” + +“A little,” he admitted. “Are you?” + +“Not a bit. I ain’t afraid of nobody—except Jammery. . . . If any of +them kids touches this hen o’ mine I’ll chop their heads off. Ain’t she +nice?” + +The hen was settling herself on the nest with elaborate care. Every +feather on end, she drew the eggs under the body by convulsive movements +of her encircling wings. With her beak she pressed the last one under +her full, downy breast. She looked from side to side to make sure that +none protruded, then, with a last shudder of sensuous delight, she half +closed her eyes, parted her beak, and settled down to her twenty-one +days’ vigil and retreat. + + 2. + +It was an extraordinary fine season for fruit. The strawberries ran a +luxuriant course, without burning heat to shrivel them or storms to beat +them into the soil. Cherries were not successful everywhere, but the +cherries at Grimstone hung in large, plump clusters that almost hid the +foliage. The raspberries were the finest in years, and a good crop of +pears and apples was promised. Not only was there an abundance of fruit +but the stock was doing well. Six of the ewes had twins, there were +seven little Jersey calves, and a likely-looking foal. In the heavy soil +at the back of the farm there was a fine showing of oats, wheat, and +plump roots. Derek had had the fences between Grimstone and Durras +mended and intended in the autumn to paint some of the out-buildings and +build new houses for the pigs and poultry, separate from the other +stock. He wrote enthusiastic letters to his brother, urging him to pay +him a visit while the fruit was in its prime and the boating and bathing +good. + +He was eating his bacon and eggs one morning, his brain busy with +agreeable plans, when he heard excited voices in the kitchen. + +“I’ll go and tell him,” he heard Phœbe say. + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” came sharply from Mrs. Machin, “just +let me get my hands out of this flour and I’ll tell him myself.” + +Then Newbigging spoke: “Whist, can’t ye? I’ll go mysel’.” + +He came to the door, cap in hand. + +“Weel,” he announced, with a grin, “they’ve flitted.” + +“Flitted? Who? Where?” + +“The Indians. They’ve all gone to Chaird’s to pick. There’s neither hide +nor hair o’ them aboot the place.” The others crowded about him, staring +in at Derek. + +He set down his teapot with a bang. Why was bad news so often announced +in the middle of a comfortable meal? “Why did they go?” he asked. “What +do you expect me to do about it?” + +“Chaird has gie’d them a fine new cottage he had built for his parents +who died last winter, and he has twice as many raspberry canes an’ +currants an’ black-caps coming on. His missus is goin’ to teach the +girls to sew an’ read, and she’s goin’ to doctor the bairn that has +fits.” + +“He wouldn’t have dared do this in your uncle’s time, the scoundrel,” +said Mrs. Machin. + +“You’re changing your tune about him, aren’t you?” said Windmill, +sarcastically. “But he’s only living up to his reputation for +shrewdness.” + +“Good God,” said Vale, “what shall we do? Can’t we force them to come +back? The cherries are fairly dropping off the trees for ripeness.” + +No one answered him. They had turned back to the kitchen with angry +looks towards someone who had come in. Then Derek heard the soft voice +of Jammery. He followed the others into the kitchen. + +Jammery stood in the open doorway, an amused smile curving his sensitive +lips. + +“Well,” cried Mrs. Machin, “this is a nice way to treat us after all +these years, and all we’ve done for you.” + +“It’s not my fault, really,” protested Jammery. “It’s the old man. Mr. +Chard got around him somehow, and we’ve got to do what he says or he and +the old woman’d make the place too hot to hold us.” + +“What is to become of my fruit?” demanded Vale. “Where are the white +pickers who used to pick for Chard—the mean cur? Could we get them?” + +“They have a prejudice agin us here because we’ve always employed +Indians,” said Mrs. Machin. “But we’ve got to get pickers from +somewheres, for to-morrow’s the last day for the Saturday market.” + +“I was thinking,” said Jammery, “that if Mr. Vale will pay my way I’ll +go to Brancepeth and see a family of Indians I know there. I might be +able to get them.” + +“If you do I’ll make it worth your while.” Already Vale was growing +hopeful for his cherries. “And you fellows,” he added, turning to his +men, “can get busy and help pick. I shall take a hand at it myself.” + +“I’m cuttin’ hay,” protested Hugh McKay. + +“Cuttin’ hay, are you?” snapped Mrs. Machin. “I’m glad you told me. I +thought you was just standin’ there gapin’.” + +“Weel, I’m goin’ to cut it, if I can ever get out o’ this kitchen,” +shouted McKay, angrily, and, pushing Jammery out of his way, he flung +off to his fields. + +Mrs. Machin turned to Windmill. “You take the light waggon and go into +Mistwell and see what left-overs you can pick up. Tell them the pickin’s +fine and there’ll be hot tea supplied at noon. Bob and Jim and Phœbe and +I can turn right in now.” + +That afternoon as Derek stood beside a prolific young Montmorency, +dropping its blood-red clusters into an eleven-quart basket at his feet, +Mr. Jerrold called. + +“I hear your Indians have decamped,” he said. “Gone over to our friend +Chard, eh?” + +“Yes. We’re all doing our best to save the cherries, but the raspberries +need going over and I don’t see how it’s to be done. Jammery went to +Brancepeth after pickers. Had no luck at all. And I wish you could see +the bunch Windmill got at Mistwell: two fat old women, three little +boys, and a young married woman named Orde with a two-year-old child +that has to be suckled every ten minutes or so.” + +“Oh, I know the Ordes. He fishes in the winter and loafs all summer +while she supports him by picking berries. I tell you, Vale, small fruit +is the very devil. That’s why I ploughed mine under. I know a poor chap +from the city who got a place beyond mine, and planted an immense lot of +gooseberries. Last summer he came to me with tears streaming down his +face. He couldn’t get a soul to pick the damned gooseberries and he had +been working at them alone till he was worn to fiddle-strings and his +hands all scratched and bleeding. His wife was going to have a baby, +too.” + +“Lord! What became of them?” + +“We got a spell of heat and drought then and they all withered up on +him. He was sold out last spring.” + +“Poor beggar. Well, Jammery’s coming over at daybreak to-morrow to pick +till noon when we ship. He is quite a decent fellow.” + +“I shouldn’t trust him. Look here what I’ve done for you.” Holding his +walking-stick under one arm he had picked cherries till one large, +shapely hand was brimming. + +“Fine,” said Derek, “just drop them in the basket.” + +“I’ll light a cigar before I pick any more. Have one?” + +“No, thanks. Too busy.” + +“I wish Gay were here. She’d enjoy this.” + +“When is she coming back?” + +“Very soon. She can’t stay away from her father very long.” + +Newbigging came up, a full basket in either hand. “Hoo many hae ye +plucked, Mr. Vale?” he asked, cheerily. + +“This is my third. How are the Mistwell folk getting on?” + +“Not too bad. Mrs. Orde’s away the best, but she has to back down her +ladder every wee while to nurse the bairn.” + +The child, unspeakably dirty, ran up to Newbigging and began to throw +handfuls of earth on him. “Aw, Tommy,” said the Scot, “it’s a guid thing +for you I’m no your dada.” + +The boy galloped back to the foot of the ladder up which he could see +his mother’s draggled skirt. “Mammy! Mammy!” he yelled, and beat on the +rungs with his fists. + +“Little brute,” said Mr. Jerrold. He hung his stick on a branch, and the +two men worked in agreeable silence, broken only by the soft dropping of +fruit into the basket, and now and then, a snatch of jiggy song from the +tree where Gunn was perched. The smoke of Mr. Jerrold’s cigar hung in +fragrant blue wisps among the cherries. + + 3. + +Vale was awakened by the same noise that had disturbed him on his first +morning at Grimstone, the boisterous gobble of the turkey-cock. He sat +up in bed and through the open window could barely see them as they +passed, for it was not yet sunrise. The white hen-turkey came last, +uttering little liquid sounds like dropping water. + +He remembered his cherries with a pang. Oh, that those treacherous +Redskins were safely back at their job! Well, there was Jammery this +morning, at any rate. He made up his mind to be out before any of the +household. It would be a good thing, he thought, for them to see that he +would do everything in his power to prevent waste, and it would be +pleasant among the trees before the sun was up. He drew on a thin jersey +and a pair of old duck trousers. + +The bees were already humming in the tops of the locust trees. A pale +saffron streak lay between lake and sky. A faint half-moon behind the +orchard was casting her last, timid gaze upon the world. + +He went to the apple-house and got some empty baskets, then entered the +regular rows of the cherry orchard. Besides numerous ladders there were +several tall wooden stands on top of which two people could sit at ease +and strip the highest branches. Peering up, he could see Fawnie sitting +cross-legged on one of these, her dress dimly blue as the brightening +sky, her hair hanging unbound about her shoulders. + +“Come on up,” she said, softly, leaning towards him, “come and sit +alongside o’ me. I’ll learn you how to pick our way.” + +He clambered up the rungs and sat beside her, his legs dangling. “This +is ripping,” he laughed. “I didn’t expect anything so exciting.” + +“Don’ you get excited or you’ll fall.” + +He lit a cigarette. “Do you smoke, Fawnie? Will you try one?” + +“I take a puff at the ole woman’s pipe sometimes when she’s not lookin’, +but I don’ want one o’ them.” + +“Why?” + +“It’d be like flirtin’, surely.” She resumed her cherry-picking with +deft fingers. + +Vale laughed and began to pick, too. “I was surprised to find you here, +Fawnie.” + +“I wanted to help you, and Jammery said I could. We’ve been here since +the first crack o’ day.” + +“Good girl. I’ll do something nice for you.” + +“What?” She was choosing two pairs of the finest cherries from her +basket. + +“What would you like?” + +She hung the cherries over her ears like scarlet ear-rings and looked at +him. The ruddy shine of the fruit, hardly fresher than her pouting lips; +the dark masses of her hair, her slender, coffee-coloured neck, her +slanting, humid eyes, awoke in Derek the same sensation he had had when +he watched her bathe. He experienced an intense consciousness of the +earth—mother of him and of all thriving, air-sucking things—men, deer +in the forest, trees interlacing their branches in the wind and their +roots in the life-giving soil—all driven by the same force, all feeling +the same, sharp, sweet urge. . . . He took her in his arms and kissed +her quickly on the cheeks and mouth. They clung together till the voice +of Newbigging below made them start apart. + +“Hoo many hae ye plucked, master?” he said, with a broad grin on his +upturned face. + +Vale looked down at him sternly. “Get about your work, Newbigging. If I +have any cheek from you, you’ll go.” + +He was abashed, mortified at being caught in such a position. He fancied +the jests that would pass among the men. He stared, red-faced, at his +dangling boots for a space, and then muttered, sulkily: + +“You’re a little baggage, Fawnie.” + +She smiled at him from under her lashes. “You mean I act like I was +white,” she said. + + CHAPTER VII + THE FOLLY OF SOLOMON + + 1. + +“They’re goin’ to flit again,” said Newbigging. + +“The Indians?” asked Vale. + +“Ay. They’re leavin’ Chaird in the lurch this time. That is, they’re all +leavin’ but the eldest daughter and her husband, and young Fawnie and +Jammery. Chaird’s fair wild.” + +“I suppose he’ll be after my few Mistwell pickers now.” + +“He’ll never get them. They’re insulted because he turned them away for +Indians.” + +“But why are they leaving?” + +“It’s the auld man—Solomon. He was fiddlin’ away at the door of his +cottage yesterday when up marched Chaird and told him that the +black-caps were droppin’ off the bushes. ‘Let ’em drop,’ says Solomon. +‘The spirit’s on me to fiddle and I’ve got to fiddle though every berry +in the country rots.’ Chaird said he would not have an Indian on his +farm who would not pick every day and all day. Solomon said that was all +very well for squaws, but he was a chief and a gentleman and old Mr. +Vale had always treated him as such. This morning he and his family are +all packed up ready to go to Reuben MacNeil, who grows hops as well as +fruit, so auld Solomon says he’ll ‘make plenty money’ there. It sairves +Chaird right, and nobody’s sorry for him.” + +Derek, however, could not help feeling sorry for Chard. He had +experienced so much anxiety himself over his cherries and raspberries +and had lost such a considerable portion of the crop through lack of +pickers, that, though Chard had been the cause of his troubles, he felt +himself better able to bear the loss than a man with a family of young +children. He had heard, too, that Mrs. Chard worked slavishly between +her periods of child-bearing, and now there would be still more to do. + +He felt disgusted with the Indians. They were like naughty children. Yet +they were infinitely more efficient as pickers than the women and boys +of Mistwell. He could see some of the boys now scuffling among the +black-caps, probably trampling them. He told Newbigging to go and make +order among them, and himself went to inspect the raspberries. They were +almost over, and gentle little Mrs. Orde was cleaning up the last of +them, handicapped, as usual, by her greedy son. + +He strolled among the canes, the new growth as high as his shoulder, the +last, sun-warmed berries smelling strangely sweet, like violets. Some +milkweed had come up among them and, here and there, a bursting pod +scattered its shimmering fluff. He found the nest of a yellow warbler +dangling, light and dried, from a curving cane. It seemed abnormally +deep and when he pulled it apart to examine it he discovered a tiny +separate compartment in the bottom almost filled by a large, whitish egg +and a very small blue one. + +“Look here, Fawnie,” he called, for he saw her wandering among the canes +a short way off. She came slowly, picking raspberries and poking them +into her childish mouth. “I’m gettin’ my breakfas’ off your berry +patch,” she said. “I’m mad at everybody and I won’ eat with them.” + +“What made you mad, Fawnie?” + +“The ole man. He wants me to go pickin’ hops and I won’t. I got my hen +and chickens to look after, and Jammery and me’s goin’ to pick +thimbleberries for you. . . . What’s that you got?” + +He showed her the strange nest. + +She chuckled. “Oh, don’ you know what that’s for, Derek? Gosh, them +little birds are sly! I’ll tell you now. They built their nice little +nest, and the little squaw-bird, she laid a pretty blue egg in it, then +she flew away to eat a strawberry and rest awhile before she laid some +more. When she got back her ole man was perched on the side of the nest, +scratchin’ his head and lookin’ awful mad. ‘Come here, missus,’ he says, +‘and jus’ see what some darned cowbird’s did. Laid her egg alongside +what’s goin’ to be our little papoose.’ She hurried up to see if he was +lyin’, ’cos he often lied to her. But this time, sure enough, he was +tellin’ the truth. She swore pretty fierce and pecked him ’cos he hadn’t +guarded her egg better. Then they both set to work and built a new +bottom to the nest, right on top of the cowbird’s egg, and then she laid +some more eggs and hatched ’em out, but the cowbird’s egg got cold and +died—and so did her first poor little egg lyin’ there beside it. But +the ole man thought, ‘Oh, well, I don’ care—it’s one less to feed.’” +She smiled roguishly and shrugged her plump shoulders. “You like that +story? Yes? Well, kiss me, then.” + +“I like your story, but your cheeks are berry-stained and if I kissed +you everyone would know. The stains are purple. Have you been trying the +thimbleberries? You’ll be sick, Fawnie, they’re not ripe.” + +“Yes, they’re gettin’ ripe fast—millions of them. Oh, I forgot, Derek, +my paw wants to see you. He’s waitin’ by the shack. Come along.” + +“Do you think he’s coming back to pick for me?” asked Derek, hopefully, +as they passed the thimbleberry canes whose purple clusters of fruit +were becoming dark and shiny. + +“No. He’s goin’ to MacNeil’s to pick hops. But he wants to see you +first.” + +They found Solomon Sharroe sitting on the edge of the long table beneath +the apple trees. His wife inside the shack was making a bundle of some +bedding. Fawnie’s hen, with her lusty, fluttering brood about her, was +scratching in the doorway. Solomon greeted Derek with a dignified +inclination of his iron-grey head. + +“Mr. Vale,” he said, “I am goin’ to leave Chard to-day and take all my +family except Esther and her husband, and Jammery.” + +“And me, paw!” cried Fawnie. “I’m goin’ to stay.” + +“You’re goin’ to stay,” repeated Solomon, with a scornful gesture of his +dark hand. “Nobody cares what you’re goin’ to do because you’re so lazy. +Even Beulah, who is four years younger, picks faster than you. Yet when +the hot bread and the ham and the pickles are put on the table, you are +the first one to sit down and eat all you kin.” He turned to Derek with +a sombre smile. “There is no harm in her, but she was made for play. The +man who marries her will have to pick for the two of them.” + +“I wish you would come back to me,” said Derek, abruptly, his eyes on +the vast stretch of his thimbleberry canes, almost threatening in their +imminent ripeness. “You know I never interfere with you.” + +“You are a gentleman,” said Solomon, simply, “and I am a chief. I have +given my word to Mr. MacNeil that I will take my family to him to-day, +but next season we will come to you and stay till the last Spy ripens, +if you need us. . . . Your uncle would have lent me five dollars, for I +have done very badly at Chard’s. I would repay it next season and it +would make me certain to come. Your uncle knew that a chief is to be +trusted.” + +Derek felt in his pocket. The five dollars was transferred to the hand +of Solomon. “The gulls are flying low, and screaming,” he said, his eyes +raised to the tree-tops. “That means a storm.” He muttered a sentence in +Indian to the woman, who, raising the heavy bundles, followed him meekly +through the orchard. + + CHAPTER VIII + JULY NIGHT AT GRIMSTONE + + 1. + +Vale was lounging on the steps of his porch, alone with his pipe. The +night was intensely dark and opulently warm. The lake lay tranquil and +dark as though sleeping, touched only by the light on some anchored +schooner, and a faint glimmer of star-shine. In the stress of summer +work the unused lawn, on the side of the house next Chard’s, had been +allowed to grow tall and rank. This evening Newbigging had mowed it and +he now lay prone upon one of the mounds of moist, sweet-smelling grass. +Vale could not see him, but the knowledge that he was there brought a +comfortable sense of companionship. Of the four men in the house he +liked this reckless, fair-haired Scot best. Windmill was aloof, +reticent, often brooding, though his quick smile was pleasant; Gunn was +lazy, and sometimes quarrelsome as he expounded his socialistic opinions +in the kitchen; while Hugh McKay was always preoccupied with lambs or +Phœbe. + +Newbigging struck a match and lighted a cigarette. Vale had a fleeting +glimpse of his head and shoulders before he settled himself once more. A +sudden chill air rose from the lake and enveloped Grimstone like an +embrace from the tomb. It seemed to penetrate to the very bone. + +“Lord!” exclaimed Newbigging. “D’ye feel that, sir?” + +“I’ve often noticed it at night. It will pass.” + +It passed quickly as it had come, and a tide of warm air rushed in to +take its place. The night became sultry. Across the lake sheet lightning +began to play about the horizon. + +Derek heard the gate click and he listened for voices or footfalls on +the drive. The silence was profound. Then a flash of lightning more +vivid than what had gone before discovered a small, white figure but a +yard or two away. He rose and went to it. + +“Is it you, Fawnie?” he whispered. “Anything wrong?” + +She caught his hand in her fingers and drew him away from the house. + +“Come and walk with me,” she breathed. “I’m lonesome.” + +He took her hand and led her across the lawn between the tall trunks of +the locust and walnut trees that rose like pillars of some dark aisle +about them. They crossed the old strawberry bed, now weed-grown, and +marked for the plough, and came to the bank of the stream. + +He emptied his pipe and dropped it in his pocket. His arm drew her to +his side. + +“What are you lonely for?” + +“You. . . . I want to go out in the canoe.” + +“In this inky darkness?” + +“I like it. It’s awful to feel the way I do. Like as if my blood was +dancin’ in my body. If I could get out in that canoe I’d feel nice and +quiet.” + +“All right,” said Derek. He felt suddenly restless himself, and the +thought of being in a canoe with Fawnie on the vast darkness of the lake +was soothing. “But keep very quiet. Don’t speak above a whisper. And +keep hold of me. We’ll scramble down the bank right here.” + +She clutched his sleeve, and the two descended the steep bank overgrown +with brambles and wild roses. The stream that had gushed so freshly on +the night of his arrival at Grimstone, now trickled thinly over the +ledges of its chalky bed. Under the bridge it had formed a dark pool and +there the canoe was tied. While Derek unlocked the chain that secured it +the slender girl crept in and knelt in the bow. He handed her a paddle +and dropped down behind her. + +Under the low bridge it was profoundly dark. The moist, velvety air +seemed to envelop them; to press down upon them; even to support them, +as upon a sombrous cloud. The silence was scarcely disturbed by the +delicate ripple of the stream as it crept languidly across the beach and +entered the lake. + +Vale, taking up his paddle, said: + +“Are you lonesome now, Fawnie? Is this dark enough for you?” + +Her voice answered out of the blackness—“I am not lonesome—but I’m +listening.” + +“Listening. What do you think you hear?” + +“Footsteps.” + +“Footsteps!” he murmured. “Where? On the bridge?” + +“No . . . down the road . . . a lot o’ them. Listen hard. Don’t you +hear?” + +“Not a sound. They must be your people.” + +“No . . . men marching.” + +As he strained to listen a sudden burst of music broke forth but a few +hundred yards away—the cheerful, brazen music of a band. The arch of +silence above them was thrown into fragments like a shattered bowl. With +every heartbeat the music grew louder, more penetrating. + +“I know,” she said. “It’s the band from Mistwell. They march up to +Jerrold’s once every summer—in July—that’s where they’re marchin’ now. +Mr. Jerrold he gives them lemonade and sandwiches and cake +and—twenty-five dollars—every blessed year. The horns frighten me.” + +The bandsmen were now ascending the slope to the bridge. The wild music +of the horns was deafening; the beating of the great drum was just above +their heads; the bridge vibrated beneath the tramp of feet. There must +have been many hangers-on from Mistwell following. A blaze of light from +torches fell upon the stream, and glittered on the sticky leaves of the +Balm of Gilead trees that overhung it. The darkness was driven back, +receding up the stream and under the bridge where Derek and Fawnie were +hiding. They seemed to be under a whirlpool of strident music and +leaping light. She stretched her hand back to his and clasped his +fingers. The band descended the opposite slope; the blaze of the torches +was withdrawn as abruptly as it had appeared, and now fell in waning +blotches on the field of ripened grain beyond the bridge. Gradually the +sound of the horns became less strident, then was softened by distance +into a plaintive reiteration of a few notes. Fawnie uttered a deep sigh. +Once more darkness enfolded them. + +Derek dipped his paddle. . . . + +“Which way?” he asked, as the canoe slipped into the lake. + +The only light visible was a calm, pale beam from the Mistwell +lighthouse. + +“Away from that light,” she whispered. + +Derek turned the canoe in the direction of the unseen cliffs that rose +before Durras. Fitful lightning, now and then, played upon their sides +and showed him where he was. No sound broke the stillness now but the +delicate drip of water from their paddles. + +It seemed to the young man that a long time passed, and still she did +not speak. A glimmer of lightning showed him her upright, slender body +with bared arms using her paddle with short, quick Indian strokes. What +were her thoughts? he wondered. Where was she leading him? He felt an +immense curiosity aroused by this half-civilized girl—creature of +masterful emotions, in her element where there was darkness and storm. + +“Where are we going?” he asked, at last, and ceased to paddle. + +A pinkish light hung tremulously between sky and lake. It made rosy for +a second the face of the low cliff above them. It made rosy the ripply +sand of the little sheltered cove hardly more than a paddle’s length +way. + +“I know this place,” she said. “Let us rest here for a little.” + +She turned the bow of the canoe toward the shore. It grounded with a +soft jar. Derek, without a word, leaped to the sand and drew the little +craft to security after him. The two stood in silence for a moment +enveloped in the languorous darkness. . . . “Fawnie!” he cried low. + +He felt her soft mouth under his; he was overcome by a sort of +giddiness, and, at the same time, filled by an immense compassion for +her. . . . + + 2. + +They parted on the driveway, she going towards the orchard and he +crossing the wet lawn. As her hand was withdrawn from his, it crossed +his mind that during all this time he had never once seen her face. + +He was about to enter the house when he remembered Newbigging, whom he +had left lying on the mound of freshly-cut grass. He went to it and +discovered the Scot heavily sleeping. + +“Newbigging!” he said, shaking him, “do you want to get your death of +cold?” + +Newbigging sat up, rubbing his eyes like a drowsy child. Derek felt his +shirt. + +“Good Lord, man! You’re wet through. Get up!” + +“That’ll no hurt me,” said Newbigging, stretching. “I like sleepin’ in +the open.” + +“Just the same, I think you should have a drop of something to warm +you.” + +“Weel—it micht be safer.” + +They went around to the side and quietly entered the dining-room. From +the cupboard beneath the stairs Derek got a bottle of Canadian Rye and +poured Newbigging a glass. + +“Your health and very good fortune, sir.” He stood with one hand on the +back of a chair while he drank, then carefully set the empty glass on +the table. + +“Mr. Vale,” he said, with his bright, blue eyes on Derek’s face, “if it +wasn’t for a few things—why—life wouldn’t be worth livin’.” + + CHAPTER IX + SOLOMON IN HIS GLORY + + 1. + +September was waning; the thimbleberries had been picked, Vale scarcely +knew how. Mrs. Orde and the other village women and boys had been +faithful, and Jammery and Fawnie picked from dawn to dark, but there had +been times when they could not keep up to the bountiful crop, and +over-ripe shipments had been sent down at the railway station that had +oozed juice in a purple stream straight across the platform. + +Now mellow pears hung in proud fruition. Every now and again one would +drop with a soft thump on the golden stubble beneath the pear trees to +be instantly pierced by the voracious beak of some attentive fowl. +Mounds of red and green and yellow apples were piled beneath the orchard +trees. The men worked all day packing barrels for shipping. A large +portion were to be stored in the apple-house for winter use, and to sell +as the prices rose. The defective were stored in the barn for the stock, +and, last of all, the pigs would be turned into the orchard to clean up +the ground for themselves. + +It was a happy time at Grimstone; rough jokes were shouted from tree to +tree, Old Country songs were sung as the tops were hammered into +barrels, even Mrs. Machin relaxed and carried a brimming jug of cider to +the thirsty men, Phœbe’s blue dress gleamed bright as a bit of sky among +the branches of a Greasy Pippin tree. + +Grace Jerrold had been home for a month. The tennis-court was in fairly +good condition and, almost every day, she came over for a game. Mr. +Jerrold was too heavy to play, but sometimes Mr. Ramsey accompanied her, +and when Vale was busy, the Vicar and she would play together. + +This morning she and Vale were opponents. It was a calm, fair day of +perfect peace. The gulls sailed idly above the lake, bright, angelic +creatures sporting for pleasure in the lustrous ether. A large, white +yacht lay becalmed with sails collapsed; they could see the figures of +people aboard her moving about her deck. In the distance a steamer with +scarlet funnels was heading towards Niagara. + +It was delightful on such a morning to run and leap after the ball over +the closely shaven lawn. The delicate foliage of the walnut trees cast a +light shade on the court; sometimes a walnut in its smooth, green burr, +smelling like bergamot, would fall noiselessly on the grass. + +“Oh, I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a game so much!” cried Grace +Jerrold, as they rested after a hard-fought contest. + +“And yet you were beaten,” said Derek. + +“Still, I almost won, and, after all, it’s the good fight that counts.” + +He looked into her fair, flushed face, curiously. “Are you that way +about the big things—in life I mean?” + +“Yes, I think I am. Father is like that, too. He has often played a +losing game, but his spirits are always good.” + +“I believe if things went very wrong with me I should turn sulky and +give up trying.” + +Miss Jerrold laughed, and then looked seriously into his candid, +greenish-blue eyes. “I don’t see you being unhappy,” she said. “Your +eyes seem to me to be looking straight into a golden future.” + +“They’re looking straight at you.” + +“Oh, I’m afraid I cannot do much towards your happiness.” + +“You do a great deal simply by coming over to play tennis with me.” + +“Then we had better begin another game and not lose any time.” She +picked up a walnut on her racquet and tossed it to him. + +He caught it on his and then took it in his hand. “It smells sweet and +yet sharp,” he said, sniffing it. “Is it like bergamot, or what?” He +held it to her nose—a beautiful little nose, he thought, with its +slender nostrils and delicate aquilinity—made for sweet smells, and the +expression of slightly amused scorn. “It is like lemons, and verbena, +and half a dozen elusive odours,” she declared. He dropped it on his +jacket that lay on the grass. “I’m going to keep it,” he said. + +“But you have thousands of them.” She looked up into the trees. + +“None like this.” + +“Because I sniffed it?” + +“Yes.” + +“If you are so silly I shall spend my morning sniffing walnuts all over +the place. Then you’ll have to save them all.” + +“I certainly shall. I’ll throw the apples out of the apple-house and +store all the nuts you have sniffed in there. Then I shall spend my +winter in the middle of them like a luxurious squirrel.” + +She crossed the court laughing, but as she raised her arm to serve, the +smile left her face and she stared with a puzzled look at the road. +Derek’s eyes followed hers. “There is something wrong with that old man +on the waggon,” she said. “Look. The other man is holding him up.” + +“Why, it is Solomon Sharroe,” exclaimed Vale. “He must be sick. I shall +go and investigate.” + +Grace Jerrold followed him, and the two were filled with pity by the +plight of the old man. He was sitting on the narrow, uncomfortable seat +of a light fruit-waggon, his head resting weakly on the shoulder of the +sullen youth who held the reins. His hollow eyes stared blankly before +him; his dark hands were clasped resignedly between his bony knees. + +“What is wrong with him?” Derek asked of the boy. + +“I dunno. He ain’t been much good fer a week, but he got took worse last +night and Muster MacNeil waount have him dyin’ on him, so I’ve brung him +back to Chard’s where he come from.” + +“Where is his family?” + +“Comin’ by tram.” + +“Mr. MacNeil has a comfortable buggy,” cried Grace. “Why did he send him +in this wretched waggon?” + +The youth grinned. “He thought it was good enough fer an Injun, I +s’pose.” + +“Oh, the brute! I shall have my father write him a letter. We must get a +doctor at once.” + +“Where do you feel the worst, Solomon?” asked Derek, raising his voice. + +“My spirit,” he answered, in a surprisingly strong voice. “My spirit +. . . is broke. . . . You are a gentleman and I am a chief . . . you +understand. Now about that five dollars . . . I have done very badly at +MacNeil’s. He treated me like a dog. . . .” + +“Never mind about the money. I am going to send for a doctor for you. +Have you any special pain? Would you take a little brandy?” + +“Yes, I would. You get me a little in a bottle and my old woman will fix +me a dose when I need it. MacNeil he give me just one mouthful before I +left.” + +Derek ran to the house and brought a flask. When he had taken a drink +Solomon put the flask carefully in his pocket and turned his eyes, +filled with a sombre brightness, on Derek and Miss Jerrold. He said +solemnly: + +“You are a gentleman, Mr. Vale, and you know what becomes a chief. When +I get better I will tell you tales of the old days—not so long ago, +either—when my people owned all this”—he extended his arm in a noble +gesture over lake and land. “That was before you drove us back as the +waves wash away those dark red cliffs. I will tell you tales my +grandfather taught me—yes, and you, too, young lady—that will make +your hair rise.” He showed his yellow teeth in a ghastly smile. “We +didn’t go picking berries then, by God! . . . No, we didn’t go picking +berries. Ho, ho, ho!” + +He laughed deeply, and would have fallen from his seat but that the boy +clutched him and, at a nod from Derek, drove on. + +“What he says is true,” said Grace, soberly. “We have taken their land, +and civilization demoralizes them.” + +“Yes, but we have made a better land of it, and I think they are better +employed picking berries than scalping each other.” + +“I should like to hear some of his tales.” + +“I’m afraid he won’t live to tell them. I shall send for a doctor right +away, and have Mrs. Machin pack a basket of groceries for his family.” + +“Our men have killed a calf to-day. I shall send them some veal and some +eggs.” + +“Never mind the eggs,” said Derek. “They can steal them from Chard.” + + 2. + +The butter had just come after a long churning. Beads of perspiration +glistened on Phœbe’s rosy face and little strands of hair curled damply +on her forehead. Derek had come to the kitchen for a drink of +buttermilk. She got a glass from the dresser and filled it to the brim. + +“Look at the bits of yellow butter floatin’ about,” she said, “that’s +what I call good buttermilk.” + +“Splendid,” said Derek, taking a draught. “You’re a fine butter-maker, +Phœbe.” + +“If I wasn’t, Mrs. Machin’d take my head off. She’s an old terror, she +is. This ’ud be a pretty hard place for a gal if it wasn’t for the +lads.” + +“Come now, Phœbe, you have an easy time of it. I see you playing about +by the hour.” + +She tossed her head. “Ay, but think of the work I’ve done before I play! +I wouldn’t think you’d be so hard on me, Mr. Vale.” + +“Hard on you, Phœbe? No . . . I like you too well. You’re a good girl.” + +She came close to him, and tilted her chin. “Will you untie the knot in +my sunbonnet? It’s fallen down my back, and the knot’s fair chokin’ me.” +He set down his empty glass and fumbled with the knot against her +milk-white, softly throbbing throat. “Oh, I couldn’t deny you anything, +Mr. Vale,” she panted, “not if it was ever so.” + +“Well,” he said, cheerfully, loosening the knot, “give me another glass +of buttermilk, then, unless you’re saving it for Hughie.” + +“Hughie!”—scornfully. “What do I care about Hughie, when you’re by?” +She turned the tap of the churn and refilled his glass. There was a soft +knocking on the screen door. Beulah’s round face was pressed against the +netting. + +“Say, Phœbe,” she said, solemnly, “the ole man’s dead.” + +“What, Solomon?” + +“Yes. My paw. He died a little while ago. We’re goin’ to have a funerl.” + +“I’m sorry,” said Derek. “The doctor told me yesterday he might get +better.” + +“Well, he ain’t. He couldn’t be worse. He’s as dead as the blackbird Mr. +Chard nailed to his barn-door. We’re goin’ to have a funerl with a +minister. Paw’s other wife’s comin’ too.” + +“Good Lord! Has he got another wife?” + +Beulah grinned. “He had her before he had Maw, but she was no good so he +fired her. But she’s comin’ to his funerl. . . . Miss Jerrold sent a lot +of things. Phœbe, kin I have a point of milk?” + +“Buttermilk?” + +“No. Real milk.” + +“Where’s your money?” + +“I’ll pay you after the funerl, Phœbe.” + +“Give her the milk,” said Vale, curtly. He was shocked by the child’s +callousness. “Aren’t you sorry he is dead, Beulah?” + +“Yes. He was a great chief. Mrs. Chard she’s makin’ a purty thing out of +flowers for his grave. Gates of Jar, she calls it. Are you comin’ to the +funerl?” . . . + +All the next day there was a feeling of excitement in the air. Phœbe +spent most of the morning peering through the picket fence that +separated the yards. She reported stirring events. Indians were arriving +from all directions. A large table was being laid for a feast under the +apple trees. She had squeezed through a gap in the fence, and seen with +her own eyes The Gates of Jar . . . it was unaccountably lovely. She had +not seen Solomon himself, but one of the Chard boys had told her that he +was all got up in war paint and feathers. Phœbe scarcely knew whether to +believe this but, if it were true, he must be terrible. . . . They said +he died hard. + +Mrs. Machin thought it would be only the respectable thing for herself, +attended by one of the men, to go to the funeral. Windmill accompanied +her, carrying his bowler hat in his hand, and trying to conceal his +amusement by a frown. + +The funeral was at three o’clock. It was a hazy, languid day of yellow +sunshine and smoky horizon. As the hour drew near the three Scots and +Phœbe gathered in the cherry orchard behind the kitchen garden, from +whence they could view the ceremony. Derek did not know whether to join +them or not. As he was standing undecidedly in the porch Mr. Jerrold, +his daughter, and Mr. Ramsey came down the road. They turned in at the +gate followed by their dogs. + +“Are we too late to see the ceremony?” asked Mr. Jerrold. “Gay has never +seen an Indian funeral and she’s determined not to miss the +opportunity.” + +“From what I hear,” said Derek, “it is to be very civilized. No savage +rites for Chard. He has a minister from Mistwell who is to bring an +autoharp.” + +“I think that’s a splendid idea,” said Mr. Ramsey. “I must get one.” + +“Oh, we shouldn’t make fun of the Chards,” said Grace Jerrold. “Mrs. +Chard is a very good woman and very sincere in her religion.” + +“Lead on, Vale,” interrupted her father. “I want to see the show.” + +They found an open space near Phœbe and the men, from which they could +watch the proceedings almost unobserved. The body of Solomon in its +cheap coffin had been carried from the cottage and placed on a pair of +trestles near the table spread for the feast. About fifty Indians were +seated in a half-circle on the ground, except a few of the older ones +for whom chairs had been placed. Chief among these was the former wife, +an enormously fat squaw in a bright green skirt and red shawl. Her brown +hands were crossed complacently on her stomach, and there was about her +an air of stoical triumph. Two elderly Indians in check shirts and black +trousers sat on either side of her. Near by, wearing a clean white apron +over her torn skirt, sat Solomon’s present wife. She wiped her face +continually with a red-and-white handkerchief and gazed with sorrowful +eyes at the floral Gates Ajar that Mrs. Chard had placed upon the +coffin. Around her were grouped her family—the little girls and idiot +boy at her feet, her daughters and their husbands holding moon-faced +babies behind her. A little aloof stood Fawnie and her nineteen-year-old +brother Charles, the young fellow dapper in city clothes with a straw +sailor, a bow tie, and polished shoes with broad ribbon laces. Bobby, +the boy whom Derek had first seen bathing with his sisters, had refused +to join the mourners and had mounted a large swing beneath an elm tree, +and there swung lazily to and fro, his handsome, inscrutable face turned +towards the officiating minister. + +“I like the boy in the swing,” whispered Grace Jerrold to Derek. “He +strikes a really barbaric note.” + +“To me,” said Derek, “the minister is the one barbaric thing present.” + +He was a lank man with a damp black lock pendent over his forehead. He +wore a black frock coat, a turn-down collar, and striped trousers. On a +small table before him lay his autoharp; he held a Bible in one hand, +while the index finger of the other stabbed dramatically at its open +pages as he spoke. Behind him were ranged the Chard family, +large-bosomed Mrs. Chard in respectable black, grasping a tow-headed +child in either hand. With them stood Mrs. Machin and Windmill, her hand +resting on his arm, he jauntily holding his bowler hat. Overhead the +inquisitive gulls swept with glistening wings, peering down at the +mysterious conclave. + +When the minister had finished his discourse he announced the number of +a hymn. Vale then perceived that all present had been supplied with +small red hymn-books. Solomon’s former wife was so heavy that she had to +be raised to her feet by the united strength of the elderly men in check +shirts. As she rose a lunch that she had been holding in her lap rolled +to the ground, the red handkerchief in which it was wrapped fell open, +and the idiot boy, seeing the food, like manna, at his very hand, +snatched a cold sausage and a piece of cheese, and scuttled to the +shelter of his mother’s skirt with them. None of the Indians could read, +but they stared at their books with solemn attention. The minister +struck a few tinkling notes on the autoharp and raised his nasal tenor +voice. The Chards and Windmill supported him so sturdily that the air +swelled to a considerable volume. Like a metallic thread the voice of +the autoharp persisted thinly from first to last. The spectators in the +cherry orchard could distinguish some words of the refrain: + + “I’ll stand by until the morrow, + I’ve come to save you, do not fe-ar; + I’ll stand by until the mor-row, + I’ve come to save you, do not fear.” + +The minister’s voice rose with a swoop of indescribable anguish on the +first “fear.” A guffaw burst from the three Scots, silenced only by a +frown from Derek. The boy in the swing, wrought upon by the sensuousness +of the scene, bent and straightened his body vigorously so that he swung +in great semicircles under the elm, now up among its branches, now +skimming above the ground. + +When the hymn was finished the little red books were collected by the +eldest Chard boy, and returned to the minister, who stood mopping his +brow with a white handkerchief. The Indians arranged themselves in +single file and began slowly to pass the coffin to take their last look +on the face of Solomon, upturned, with sunken eyes and cheeks, and a +smile of bitter composure. His wife came last, and bent for a moment to +press her round wet face against his cold one. Then a loud wail broke +from her and she clutched him by the shoulders and tried to drag him +from the coffin. Moans of sympathy came from the other squaws, excepting +Solomon’s other wife, who stared at her successor with the ponderous +contempt of a mountain for a brawling stream. + +The coffin was hidden by a surging crowd. The minister carefully laid +his autoharp in its case. Chard was very busy giving orders; then the +coffin reappeared borne on the shoulders of six men. A wavering +procession was formed, brightened by the gay colours of the women’s +shawls and the flowery hats of the girls. Jammery carried the Gates +Ajar. They were now bound for the little graveyard. + +A cry of anger burst from Phœbe: “Let loose, now, Hughie—this minute,” +she was saying. + +“What are you up to, Hugh?” asked Derek, reproachfully, with a glance +towards Mr. Ramsey. + +“He’s been and took my spectacles,” cried Phœbe, “and I couldn’t see the +percession at all. He’s an unnatural lover, if ever there was one.” + +“Give them back to her,” ordered Derek, and Hugh sheepishly handed them +over. + +“Rose-coloured spectacles, I am sure,” said Mr. Ramsey, airily. + +“I’m watching that young boy,” said Mr. Jerrold. “He has never left his +swing. What do you suppose he is thinking?” + +The procession had disappeared, but the boy hung motionless as a snake +on the ropes of the swing which barely stirred beneath him. + +“Mischief, I’ll be bound,” said the Vicar. + + 3. + +They strolled through the apple orchard, examining the quality of the +fruit. Grace Jerrold paused before a mound of Tolman Sweets. “Oh, may I +have a few of these to take home? There is nothing I like so well, and +we haven’t one.” + +“I shall send a basket to you,” said Vale. He selected one of the finest +and handed it to her. As she bit into it their eyes met; they smiled. +Suddenly they seemed to be alone in the orchard. “With that golden apple +at your lips, and the golden light on your hair, you are exactly like +Eve,” whispered Derek. + +She laughed and he could see the white bit of apple in her mouth. + +“This Spy is delicious,” said her father, crunching it like a schoolboy. + +“I am hungry,” said Mr. Ramsey, “but it seems to be tea I want.” + +“Look here,” said Derek, “you must all stay and have tea with me. I’ll +go and tell Mrs. Machin.” He felt a little nervous as he hurried towards +the house. He had not entertained guests at Grimstone before and he was +afraid Mrs. Machin’s way of doing things might seem a little rough. + +Mrs. Machin did not take the announcement amiss. Excitement was in the +air; half the day was wasted; one might as well be hanged for a sheep as +a lamb. She would make little sweet muffins and butter them well while +hot. “Make plenty of tea,” said Derek. “Mr. Ramsey can drink a potful.” + +“He’s got a thirst for more than tea from what I hear,” said Mrs. +Machin. “They say he can swig down beer with the best of ’em at the +‘Duke of York.’” + +“Oh, Mrs. Machin!” cried Phœbe, shocked. + +“You get busy and cut some bread,” ordered Mrs. Machin. + +“And for heaven’s sake, cut it thin!” said Vale. . . . + +Tea was a distinct success. The Vicar found the muffins excellent. He +sent a message of praise by Phœbe to Mrs. Machin. Phœbe, pink-cheeked +and white-aproned, bore herself admirably. Grace Jerrold admired the +homely dignity of the old-fashioned room. As she poured tea into his +grandmother’s dark blue cups, Derek thought, “How thoroughly at home she +looks . . . as if she belonged here . . . and the turn of her wrist +above the teapot. . . .” He asked for another cup of tea just for the +pleasure of seeing her pour it. + +“Some of those young Indian girls are lovely,” Mr. Jerrold was saying. +“Hobbs caught one of them in my woods the other day with a rabbit she +had just killed. She’d set a trap for it. He brought her to me, rabbit +and all, for a lecture, but she was so confoundedly pretty I couldn’t be +cross to her. She said her name was Fawnie—Fawnie Sharroe. Have you +noticed her, Vale?” + +“Yes,” answered Derek, stirring his tea. “I’ve noticed her.” + + CHAPTER X + CHRISTMAS AT GRIMSTONE + + 1. + +Edmund wrote that he had got leave from his regiment, the Royal +Canadians, and would spend Christmas with Derek. They had never been +separated for so long before and Derek counted the days till he should +meet him at the station with his new red sleigh and black bear robes. +But winter seemed loath to descend from the low grey skies or to set his +foot sharply oh the quiescent earth. November was hazy and warm; +December was like Indian summer; on Christmas Eve there had not been a +fleck of snow. Derek, in disgust, ordered Gunn to wash the muddy trap, +and scrub the bay gelding’s sides, for he had seen fit to roll on the +muddy bank of the stream. + +It seemed that train time would never come. He looked at his watch every +five minutes; he went upstairs twice to inspect Edmund’s room. He even +wound the grandfather clock in the hope that he might hurry Time along. + +At last Gunn’s rosy face appeared in the door. “Hadn’t we better be +gettin’ along, sir?” he asked. + +“Yes, yes,” said Derek, “it must be time.” + +He and Gunn got into the cart and Phœbe ran ahead to open the gate. Jock +snapped at the gelding’s legs, and circled the trap with exasperating +yelps. They sped quickly along the hard road, for now it seemed that +after all the waiting they were a little late. As they passed the +graveyard they saw Solomon Sharroe’s grave surmounted by the skeleton of +the Gates Ajar, a few dead leaves clinging to the wire frame. The pier +at Mistwell was white with gulls, basking in the sun. Before they +reached the station they heard the train whistle at a crossing. + +Derek drove the horse behind the station and gave the reins to Gunn just +as the roar of the locomotive subsided to a hiss. He hurried along the +platform looking eagerly for his brother. Edmund alighted from the last +coach, followed by a porter with his travelling-bag. + +“I’ve got a trunk somewhere,” he said, after they had shaken hands. + +“I’ll give the check to the bus-driver and he can bring it later. My +trap is behind the station. Jove, you look well!” + +“So do you. I expected you to meet me on a load of hay, wearing a coon +coat. You’re far too swell for a farmer.” + +Derek felt boyishly happy as they rolled briskly along towards +Grimstone. It was good to have Edmund with him; he had scarcely realized +how fond he was of him; he wished Gunn were not behind so they might be +quite alone. He fired rapid questions at him about friends in Halifax. +Edmund told him the latest jokes of his regiment, and he laughed +uproariously. As they neared Grimstone he looked anxiously at his +brother to see what effect the place would have on him. + +“Nice old house, but rather bleak,” was the verdict. + +“You should see it in summer. Isn’t that a great view?” + +“Fine. Where do the Jerrolds live?” + +“Over there. You can’t see the house. She’s a lovely girl, Ted, bronzy +hair, and eyes almost violet. . . . There’s my barn and stables. If it +isn’t too dark after tea we’ll go and have a look at the stock. Have a +beautiful filly.” + +“Is she at home now?” + +“At home? Oh, yes, she’s not broken in yet.” + +“Good heavens! I meant Miss Jerrold.” + +Derek heard Gunn snigger. He looked at him sternly as they alighted at +the door. He felt that some day he should cuff Gunn’s ears. + + 2. + +Edmund Vale was a year younger than Derek, slenderer, more supple, and +not so tall. They bore a brotherly resemblance, but their eyes were so +different that the difference was more pronounced than the resemblance. +Derek’s, wide-open, nearer green than blue, were expectant, confident, +mirthful; Edmund’s, velvety brown with a slightly oblique slant, were +questioning rather than expectant, pleading rather than confident, +malicious rather than mirthful. His lips were pouting, and when he +smiled, as he did readily, he showed excellent white teeth. + +He was immensely amused by Derek’s situation at Grimstone; he chaffed +him about the number of his “retainers” and the beauty of his +“handmaidens.” It was easy to see that he had at once slipped into the +good graces of Mrs. Machin. When she and Derek were alone for a moment +she said that she could not see for the life of her what his uncle had +had against Edmund. For her part she thought him a fine young man that +any uncle might be proud to make his heir. + +They had a hearty meal, and it was pleasant indeed to Derek to have +someone to talk and laugh with, over his food, after eating so long by +himself. After the meal it was still light enough for a casual +inspection of the stock and farm. They filled their pockets with apples +for the horses, and Edmund could hardly tear himself away from the two +Welsh ponies who, like forward children, pushed and jostled each other +and their new friend in their desire to be fed and petted. In fact he +seemed more interested in them than in the skittish filly, or the two +“drivers,” or the broad-backed farm horses. When Derek took him to the +cow-stable he had little enough to say about the two fine Holstein cows +that had been purchased in the autumn to mate with the young son of +Gretta van Lowe. Yet he hung fascinated over the calf-pen to watch Phœbe +feed twin Jersey calves, late comers in the season, her arm rising, +round and white, from the warm, sickly-smelling milk, her face flushed +with exertion as she cuffed back the other twin. + +“Hello,” said Derek, sharply, “you dropped a cigarette stub. If you were +a hired man I’d fire you.” He put his foot on the smouldering spark. + +“Mr. Vale’s awful partic’ler about cigarette stubs,” said Phœbe, drawing +her hand from the clinging mouth of the calf. “He nearly sacked Bob Gunn +for dropping one once.” + +“Very well,” said Edmund, petulantly, “if I can’t drop a few cigarette +stubs about the place, I’d better go home, eh, Phœbe?” + +“Come along,” said Derek, “you scarcely saw the bull. Then there are the +pigs and sheep and poultry.” + +The turkeys had got into the poultry-house and were resting on the +highest perch, pecking the heads of the unhappy fowls beneath, so that +most of the hens had huddled together in a corner of the floor, while +the cocks with ruffled plumage strode up and down before the perches, +longing but not daring to attack the intruders. Derek began to throw the +turkeys out over the half-door. With heavy beating of wings they alit in +the barnyard and, with scornful dignity, walked unhurriedly to the rail +fence where they were supposed to perch. + +“Why do they want to be in here?” asked Edmund, cautiously grasping the +white hen-turkey. + +“Pure cussedness. They know the fowls hate them, and they know we’ll +throw them out if we catch them, yet they persist.” + +“Perhaps they’re cold.” + +“Not a bit. Feel the depth of that plumage.” He plunged his hand into +the downy whiteness of her breast. She drew her head back sharply, +uttering a strange hissing noise, and staring into his mouth with her +wild black eyes. + +“She’d like to peck out one of my teeth. Put your hand on her neck.” + +“She’s lovely. Like a graceful, pale woman. She’s afraid, poor thing. +I’ll send her after the others.” He dropped her lightly over the +half-door, and they watched her as she delicately walked into the dusk, +trailing her long feet. + +“She’s absolutely useless,” said Derek. “She should have been eaten for +Christmas. She sat twice last summer and didn’t hatch a poult. But she’s +so damned decorative——” He closed the door and bolted it, and they +turned to go. Their feet scuffled the deep, clean straw; the perches +were full of gentle, puffed-out hens, with here and there the toothed +comb of a cock rising watchfully. On the lowest perch a row of +immaculately white Wyandotte pullets pressed shoulder to plump shoulder. +The air, smelling of straw and feathers, was full of comfortable, sleepy +twitterings and cluckings, sometimes broken by a complaining note as +some greedy perch-fellow pressed too close against another. + +They passed between the dim rows of cows, gently clanking their chains +as they stooped for cut hay and chop, and came upon Hugh McKay putting +mangolds through the pulping machine. Behind him the blackness of the +root cellar yawned like a cave, but his strong body and swinging arms +were illuminated by the red glow of a lantern that hung from a rafter +above. His shirt was thrown open and the curly hairs on his broad breast +glistened in the light. The machine gave forth a crunching, pulpy sound +as it disgorged the cut-up mangolds that lay in a juicy mound on the +floor, white, rosy pink, and purple. The nearest cow stretched her neck +towards it, protruding her tongue, and rolling her liquid, dark eyes. + +As they went up the stairs Derek said to his brother: “That fellow, +Hugh, is sweet on Phœbe, the girl who was feeding the calves.” + +“He is a fine-looking fellow. Looks as though he would be a good +worker.” + +“He is. He has only two interests in life—the farm, and Phœbe. I wish +you could see her dance. She used to be a hop-picker in the Old +Country.” + +It had grown dark outside. “It is too late to see anything more +to-night,” said Derek. “To-morrow morning I shall take you all over the +place. We are to have dinner with the Jerrolds at two, and in the +evening I’m giving a party for the “help.” Phœbe’s been begging for one +for a month and I thought we might as well have it while you are here.” + +“By George, I shall dance with Phœbe!” + +“Not too often or you will have Hugh after you.” + +“Are they engaged?” + +“I expect so, but he’s far too good for her. She’s not to be trusted.” + +“Where is the woman who is?” exclaimed Edmund, cynically. + + 3. + +For the first time since he had come to the farm Derek had a lamp +lighted in the drawing-room. Edmund sat down at the old square piano and +played with lightness and vigour popular music, and some of Derek’s +favourites from the operas; Derek lounged on the brocaded sofa and +smoked, while the eyes of those who had built and cherished Grimstone +looked soberly down from the walls. + +In a pause of the music Derek said: “Oh, I say, Edmund, I have a +Christmas present for you. Shall I give it to you now or shall you wait +till to-morrow?” + +Edmund swung around on the stool and faced him. “I think I’ll wait. I +have something for you too. Only a trifle. Not at all what I should have +liked, but you know how it is with me. I’m always hard up.” + +“Oh, that’s all right. How would you like a game of cribbage? I should +like to give you a good licking before you go.” + +“All right. The piano is out of tune but it has a nice tone. Better get +it tuned before it is too late.” + +“For whom?” asked Derek. + +“Miss Jerrold, of course. I see her firmly established here as mistress +by my next visit.” + +“Rot. I’ve no intention of getting married. I like the freedom of my +life just as it is. I’m wedded to old Grimstone.” + +“Well, get the cribbage board, and I’ll make you sorry you spoke.” + +They went to the dining-room to play. The doors of the pantry between it +and the kitchen were open and their game was frequently interrupted by +noisy talk and laughter. + +“Deuce take those hoodlums,” muttered Derek. “I’ll shut the doors.” + +“Not for a bit. I want to hear them. One of the Scotchmen is reading +aloud—something from ‘Jack Canuck,’ I think. He sounds aggressive.” + +“He is—in the kitchen. That’s Gunn. There; I peg two on you. That’s +what you get for not attending to the game.” + +“Whatever are they doing now? Listen.” + +A hoarse guffaw came from the kitchen. “There goes Newbigging! Ho! ho! +ho! There goes Gunn! Gie a blink, Phœbe, and knock Windmill off. There +he goes—ho! ho! ho!” + +“What are they up to, Derek?” + +“Phœbe is sticking apple-seeds to her eyelids. She names each of them +for one of the boys, and the one that hangs on longest . . .” + +“Now there’s only Hughie and the two chaps in yonder.” . . . “Aw, she +put a extra dod o’ spit on them, ye can be sure.” Mrs. Machin spoke. +“Sh. They’ll hear you.” A smothered burst of laughter followed, and a +whispered—“There go Hugh and the master! Gosh! There’s only Captain +Vale left.” Mrs. Machin then slammed the door. + +“Now, Ted,” said Derek, sternly, “are you going to play or are you not?” + +Edmund was going to play, and played so well that he won two games, with +Derek many points behind. Then supper was laid on the table—good cold +beef, cheese, and baked apples, and Derek fetched two bottles of ale +from the cupboard beneath the stairs. As they sat down, the party from +the kitchen filed past on their way to bed, Phœbe in a state of +impending collapse from stifled laughter. She had removed her spectacles +for the test of the apple-pips, and, being almost blind without them, +she clutched Hughie’s sleeve for guidance. + +The brothers, left to themselves, grinned at each other across the +table. + +“This place of yours is a regular picnic,” said Edmund. “Tell me, are +you always so hilarious? I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I like +your old dining-room. That china greyhound on the chimney-piece seems a +friendly soul, and even the pictures, though at first glance they seem +depressing, are really jolly. I’ve never seen dying men look so neat and +comfortable as those chaps scattered about Wellington and Blücher. +Except perhaps the fellow bent across the cannon. Then that ‘Trial of +William, Lord Russell’—there’s a good, solid air of comfort about it. +Yes, I like your house and your stock and, above all, your ‘help.’ No +one could feel blue with Hugh and Phœbe about. I’m awfully glad to find +you so comfortable here, Derek.” + +What a decent fellow Edmund was! Not a hint of envy—of grudging him his +good fortune! Derek made up his mind to destroy the cheque he had +written for him and to write a more substantial one. + +The ale had put an agreeable glow into their veins. They were as +light-hearted as schoolboys. Derek told his brother of all his ambitions +for Grimstone, and impressed him with the knowledge of farming he had +gained in the past months. They went to the kitchen where the collie +lay, stretched on his mat beside the cooking-stove. Plates of +apple-parings on the table reminded them of Phœbe’s eyelids and the +apple-pips. They laughed, and then suddenly began to scuffle. Around the +kitchen they strained and heaved, getting more in earnest every moment. +At last Derek bent Edmund across the table and, holding his head down, +administered some hearty thumps. The collie sprang up and began to bark. + +“You blasted idiot, you’ve hurt me,” groaned Edmund. “My hair’s full of +apple-parings.” + +“Be a little soldier,” said Derek. “Here, have a drink of cream. I’ll +wager you’ve never seen cream like this.” He lifted the lid from an +earthen crock and showed the bubbly, yellow foam. + +Edmund came over, nursing his elbow. “You hurt me,” he repeated. “I’m +damned if I have another tussle with you. What cream!” He took the cup +that Derek gave him, and dipped it. “I wonder if it will hurt me,” he +said. + +“No, but Mrs. Machin will if she finds out; we shall have to wash the +cups.” + +The kitchen clock, with red roses on its dial, struck twelve. “We had +better go to bed,” said Derek. “I’ll get a candle and light you to your +room.” + +“Rot,” said Edmund. “I’m going to sleep with you in that big +four-poster.” + +“Good. It will be a regular Christmas Eve. We should hang up our +stockings. Do you remember the time . . .” Remembrances occupied them +till they were in bed. They did not draw the blind, and the clear, +wintry moonlight flooded the room. They stretched luxuriously side by +side on the soft feather bed, their full, firm limbs outlined under the +blankets. They lay in drowsy silence breathing the sharp, pure air that +came in from the lake. + +At last Derek said: “You remember those Indians I had here?” + +“Of course.” + +“There was one young girl . . . she was really lovely . . . just +half-civilized, you know . . . and her eyes—like a fawn’s. She liked me +and I liked her. One couldn’t help it. Do you know what I mean? She was +more like a tender, timid, audacious little animal than a woman. Only +seventeen.” + +“Tell me about her,” said Edmund, turning on his side and putting one +arm across his brother. + +They lay awake talking for a long time. + + 4. + +Edmund shivered and laughed on Christmas morning as he splashed the icy +water from the ewer over his face and neck. From the kitchen came the +sound of Phœbe’s voice singing “Christians, Awake,” as she turned the +separator. He had been mightily pleased with the cheque Derek had given +him impulsively, as soon as they were out of bed, and Derek had been +equally pleased by the old English hunting print brought from Halifax. + +The day was fine, and so mild that the bare earth and moist, brown +orchard trees seemed to be stretched in but a feline half-sleep and +needed only a whisper or a touch to awaken to activity. They spent the +morning in visiting every building on the farm. They walked to the wood, +followed all the way up the lane by the two Welsh ponies. There the +paths were slippery with pine needles; beds of moss dotted with scarlet +wintergreen berries looked like diminutive cultivated gardens. They sat +on a fallen tree watching the smoke from their cigars wind like a blue +veil in and out among the pines. Rabbits and squirrels were about +hopping and scampering in the sun. Presently the four men came out to +cut spruce and hemlock branches to decorate the house for the dance. +Mrs. Machin and Phœbe were busy baking cakes and tarts, and decorating +freshly-boiled hams with frills of fringed pink tissue paper. Into the +fat they pressed many cloves. + +At two o’clock the brothers were met at the door of Durras by Mr. +Jerrold himself. He took them into the drawing-room where there were +already Grace Jerrold, Mr. Ramsey, and a young lady from Brancepeth of +whom the Vicar spoke as “my tower of strength in the Chancel Guild.” +Miss Edna Pearsall was dark-haired, pale, with square, plump jaws, +permanent dimples in her cheeks, and glistening grey eyes. The presence +of four unattached males exhilarated her pleasantly. She had an especial +air for each of them. Towards the Vicar she was at once deferential and +mischievous; towards Mr. Jerrold child-like and yet knowing—even +naughty; towards Edmund, worldly, richly cultivated; but towards Derek +there was a deadly seriousness in her manner that alarmed him. They were +seated beside each other at table, and Mr. Ramsey smiled encouragingly +at them. Edmund, on Grace’s right hand, seemed entirely absorbed by her, +talking in a low voice, and only joining in the general conversation +occasionally. Mr. Jerrold and the Vicar were boisterously happy, +praising the juicy turkey and drinking freely of the good wine. Wreaths +of holly hung against the panelled walls; dark pictures reflected the +ruddy candle-shades. + +“How invigorating and cheering is this excellent port!” intoned Mr. +Ramsey, as they reached the walnuts and raisins. “There is no drink so +healthful, and so calculated to bring out the most amiable qualities in +one, as wine, taken in moderation, of course. I deplore the taste for +whisky in our country. It comes, I suppose, from our strongly Scotch +ancestry. Now, if our working classes drank light wines, as the French +do, it would be better for them.” + +“Canadian wines are very poor,” said Mr. Jerrold. “The summer is so +short, even in the Niagara peninsula, that there is very little natural +sugar in the grapes. Probably the soil has something to do with it, too. +Consequently we have to sweeten the wine with manufactured sugar, which +makes it very indigestible. I think the working man is safer with his +glass of whisky.” + +“Why not beer? The Americans and English drink beer.” + +“We are a stubborn Northern race,” said Edmund. “Beer is too insipid for +us.” + +“I think if a drink could be invented with a flavour like whisky but +without its evil effect, it would very soon supplant it, don’t you, Mr. +Vale?” said Miss Pearsall, arranging her fingers about the stem of her +wine-glass. + +Vale’s dislike of her was turning to hatred. He had an overwhelming +desire to shock her, even if in doing it he disgusted Grace Jerrold. +“Just to show what a childish illusion that is,” he said in a sulky, +muffled voice, “I shall tell you a little story about a hunting party I +was once with. There were six of us deer-shooting in the North, and we +had taken a keg of Scotch with us. The weather was so cold and rainy +that it went much faster than we had expected. We could plainly see that +the last week there would be nothing to drink. One of the party got an +empty bottle and, unknown to the rest of us, filled it from the keg and +hid it, so that on the last day when we should be preparing the cabin +for the winter, and have a twelve-mile walk through the forest ahead of +us, he might produce this pleasant surprise. The last week was a sterile +one, no deer—nothing to drink but prepared coffee. The last morning +broke cold and damp. Everyone out of sorts. Then appeared our friend, +beaming, with his bottle of Scotch. Now the sad thing was that the empty +bottle he had got, though it had a good Scotch label on it, had once +been filled with coal oil, and the idiot had never smelled it. Imagine +our feelings when we tasted it! Imagine the abuse we heaped on his +head!” + +“You would just have to throw it out, wouldn’t you, Mr. Vale?” + +“No. That’s the strange part of it. We kept sniffing it and tasting it +to see how bad it was till, if you’ll believe me, we ended by drinking +every drop of it, and by that time we loved the taste of coal oil.” + +“How horrible!” said Grace Jerrold, on a note of disgust. + +“I don’t agree with you, Grace,” cried Miss Pearsall. “To me there was +something fine about those huntsmen. Their single-mindedness, their +subduing of the flesh——” + +“To the spirits,” suggested Mr. Jerrold. + +“It seems to me that such a man,” she went on, “would be capable of +tremendous self-sacrifice for one he loved.” + +“Dear Edna,” said the Vicar, “she has the temperament of the artist. By +the way, you young men must hear her sing. She has a lovely soprano +voice. . . .” + +In the drawing-room after dinner she sang. Like most singers she was +easy to start and hard to stop. Grace Jerrold played her accompaniments. +She sang, her glistening grey eyes on Derek’s face, and a professional’s +smile deepening the dimples in her cheeks. It irritated Derek to see his +brother’s supple figure lounging against the piano. Edmund was already +more familiar with Grace, he thought, than he who had known her so long. +It was the first time he had ever come to Durras when he had not +thoroughly enjoyed himself. He wished he had not told that story of the +hunting party. He was always doing things he afterwards regretted. Good +heavens, couldn’t Edmund tear himself away from the piano? He thought of +their tussle the night before, and wished he had hurt him more. If they +had another . . . + +At last Miss Pearsall ceased singing and a game of billiards was +proposed. Mr. Jerrold, Mr. Ramsey, Miss Pearsall, and Derek went +upstairs to the billiard-room. The other two said they would follow +later; they were going to try over some music. Derek enjoyed the +billiards. One could not help enjoying a game with Mr. Jerrold. He threw +himself into it with such zest, made such daring, brilliant shots, and +was so unconscious of his fine physique and power. Grace and Edmund +appeared after a while and remained as spectators. + +It was dark, and the tea-things had been taken away when Derek +remembered the party at Grimstone. “We shall have to go,” he said. “I am +giving a dance for Phœbe and the boys to-night and I must see how they +get on.” + +“How interesting!” exclaimed Miss Pearsall. “I should love to see +peasants dancing.” + +“There are fishermen, and farm hands, and berry-pickers, and servant +girls, but there are no peasants that I know of,” said Derek, coldly. + +“Ah. I love peasants. One always thinks of the Happy Peasant!” + +“Why not the Hungry Peasant? Or the Half-hanged Peasant? Or the Hideous +Peasant?” + +Miss Pearsall gave a little shriek. “How brutal you are! Is your brother +always so cruel, Captain Vale? But indeed, I have no repartee. All I can +do is to dance in the sun and sing!” She danced a few graceful steps, +and trilled a bar or two. + +The Vicar was warming his legs before the fire. He said: “It would not +be a bad idea, really, for me to drop in on the dancers. Many of them +must be parishioners of mine. It might encourage them if I put in an +appearance, eh?” + +“They don’t need encouraging in what they’re up to this evening,” said +Mr. Jerrold. “I shouldn’t go, if I were you.” + +“One thing that has surprised me since I came here,” said Derek, “is +that the Scots do not go to church. I had always thought they were +inveterate churchgoers.” + +“We all have our illusions,” laughed Mr. Jerrold. “I used to think that +the Englishman of the labouring class was a domineering fellow, rather +rough with his women-folk. I know now that, whatever he may be abroad, +he is amazing meek at home and it is the woman who does the bossing. +They are Tartars, too.” + +Grace followed Derek to the hall when he went for his top-coat. “I like +your brother,” she said. + +“I liked him too—until to-day.” + +She flushed and said plaintively: “You do take sudden dislikes, don’t +you? You don’t like Miss Pearsall; you have turned against your own +brother; shall I be the next?” + +“Well, be careful what you do,” he warned. + + 5. + +The footsteps of the brothers rang crisply on the smooth, hard road as +they returned to Grimstone. On their left, the frosty stubble of the +shore meadows swept in silvery undulations beneath the bright half-moon +that, like a noble ship, ploughed her way across a billowy sky. Clouds +and moon were alike reflected on the still, burnished shield of the +lake. + +As they neared the house they heard the scrape of fiddles, and the stamp +of jigging feet. Lights streamed from the dining-room, kitchen, and +back-kitchen. Derek quickened his steps. He strained towards the crude +jollity of the dance. Here, at least, there would be no Miss Pearsall. + +They entered quietly by the front door, hanging their caps and coats in +the hallway before they went to the dining-room. The dancing was in full +swing, but there was a moment of hesitation and embarrassment when the +Vales entered. Derek at once introduced Edmund to Miss Carss, the +handsome daughter of the head gardener at Durras, who was too proud to +dance with any of the Mistwell lads, or any of Vale’s men, except +Windmill. She had been brought by Hobbs, who looked rather horsey in a +check suit, red tie, and hunting-crop tie-pin. Derek took as his partner +the plump daughter of a fisherman, Nan Hinton. She was a good dancer in +a hearty, stamping way, and a certain roughness in his nature responded +to the appeal of her throbbing, healthy body, her coarse, curly hair +which tickled his cheek, and the clasp of her strong, freckled hand. The +rooms were hot and heavy with the perfume of the balsam and hemlock +boughs which the Scotchmen had hung above the doorways. He saw Mrs. +Machin staring at him with disapproval in her eyes. He held Nan the +closer for that, and threw himself with more energy into the dance. Gunn +was whirling round and round with a black-eyed, plump girl, as rosy as +himself. They looked into each other’s eyes, grinning happily. +Newbigging had kissed his partner, and she was protesting loudly that +she would dance with him no more, the while she still jigged on and +courted another kiss. Only Hugh McKay looked glum, standing in a corner, +gnawing his knuckle, for Phœbe hung exultantly on the shoulder of a +young fisherman whose eyes shone in his tanned face, blue as the winter +lake. Derek felt sorry for Hugh and when the waltz was over he went to +Phœbe and said sternly: + +“You must go and dance with Hugh, Phœbe. He’s getting very huffish.” + +“Huffish, is he? Oh, the very idear! How can he be huffish after the way +I bear with him month in and month out? Oh, he’s an unnatural lover if +ever there was one!” + +But she went to him and, though at first he refused her belated +compliance, he was before long dancing in sulky submission. + +After supper, which was hot and substantial, Hobbs took Miss Carss away, +lest the increasing roughness should offend her. He told Derek he was +glad to see him mixing with his “help.” “I’m a good mixer, myself,” he +said. + +As the evening wore on the room became very hot, the music wilder, the +dancers more abandoned to pleasure. The faces of the men grew red, their +collars sagged, the eyes of the girls grew languorous, it seemed that +their hair must fall down; the rhythmic beat of their feet on the floor, +the swaying of their healthy bodies, their clasped, hot hands held them +in a spell. Mrs. Machin had gone to bed. An epidemic of kissing broke +out. Derek and Edmund slipped quietly into the passage, and went +upstairs to the cold little study. + +“Have you had enough?” Derek asked. + +“I’ve never spent such a Christmas!” declared Edmund, thumping him +joyously on the shoulder. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. There’s +something about those simple, country wenches that is very attractive. I +danced with every blessed one of them. . . . How cold it is here!” + +“Light your pipe,” said Derek, “that will help warm you. They’ll go very +soon.” He got a travelling rug and laid it over his brother’s knees. + + 6. + +Edmund stayed two weeks with Derek. A part of almost every day was spent +with the Jerrolds. The roads were good, the air pleasantly crisp; the +four took long rides together. Derek felt that he had shown himself +churlish on Christmas Day, so after that he almost invariably dropped +behind to ride with Mr. Jerrold while Edmund and Grace cantered ahead. + +On New Year’s Day, as they rode beside the bluffs, Grace’s horse took +fright at a white cat that crossed the road dragging the body of a +rabbit, and shied almost to the edge of the rocky steep. It was Edmund +who reached her first, who caught the bridle, and led the rearing horse +to safety. Father and daughter seemed to look on him as a splendid +fellow. And so he was! A brother to be proud of. Why then the sullen, +burning anger when the voice of Grace floated back next day, calling him +Edmund? Was this shameful feeling jealousy? Derek thought not. One must +be in love first. . . . He was scarcely in love with Grace. He liked +her, admired her; the thought of her pretty hair would come to him at +the most unexpected times. Sometimes he met her eyes or her cool, amused +little smile in his dreams. Still, that was scarcely love. He could +spend whole days among his horses and cattle and never think of her. And +she so near! He concluded that it was just a precious friendship, and +that some base strain in himself resented the thought of Edmund’s being +admitted to the same friendship. As a kind of discipline, then, he would +stay at home sometimes and let Edmund go to Durras alone. Or was it +cowardice that kept him home? The childish fear of seeing them together? + +He was not introspective. He was singularly inarticulate. He did not try +to analyze his feelings or find words for them. He groped among them as +he tramped over his fields or exercised his arms in currying the silken +sides of the new filly who blew her sweet breath down his neck as she +turned to nose him. The brothers did not speak of Grace until they stood +on the platform the day of Edmund’s departure. Then Derek said: + +“I don’t suppose I need look forward to a long separation, Ted. . . . +Not with such an attraction next door.” + +Edmund answered seriously: “I can never hope for anything there. I’m too +damned poor.” + +“Is she—going to write to you?” + +“Of course.” + +There was that wretched stab at his heart again! He was thankful for the +shriek of the locomotive. He wrung Edmund’s hand. + +He did not go to the Jerrolds’ for a fortnight. + + CHAPTER XI + THE RILL IN THE WOOD + + 1. + +When spring came Derek had the new red sleigh stored away under canvas. +He heaved a deep sigh as he gave the order, for there had been no snow +all winter, and the sleigh had never been out of the carriage-house. +Still, it had been a pleasant winter, days when there was always +something of interest on the farm, long evenings spent before the +fireside at Durras. His relations with Grace Jerrold had become happy +again, though not quite so happy as before Edmund’s visit. Still, +sometimes there were little flashes of atoning tenderness between them, +when her gentle, ironic smile would become almost maternal. + +At Grimstone things went very well, though there was occasionally some +roughness of temper in the men thrown together so constantly, with +little amusement, except what they made for themselves. Windmill came in +for a good deal of chaff because of his attentions to Miss Carss. They +were often seen walking on the bluffs in the moonlight, his arm about +her shapely waist, and her long scarf streaming in the wind. + +Phœbe lost a front tooth in February, broken off while biting a hard +russet apple. Not at all abashed by the loss, she smiled, it seemed, +more broadly than ever, as though she were rather proud of the gap. It +was evident that she was secure in Hugh’s love and admiration; as a +matter of truth, no man could look on the milk and roses of Phœbe’s +cheeks or the subtle curves of her smooth arms and neck without +admiration. + +It was a forward spring, and all hands were needed for the rush of farm +work. Derek, therefore, was exasperated, even hurt, when Gunn came to +him one morning in April and announced that he had engaged to work for +Chard. He wished to leave that night. + +“Well, Gunn, it is very annoying,” said Derek, “after my keeping you in +comparative idleness all winter, to have you leave me just when you +would be of some use.” + +“Comparative idleness!” cried Gunn. “Idleness! What about all them +drains we dug, and the care of the stock? Do ye ca’ that idleness?” + +“Two men could easily have done what the four of you did. Do you suppose +for a minute that I should have kept you sitting beside the stove all +winter if I had known you would leave in the spring?” + +“Well, I’m goin’ anyway.” His small black eyes were sulky. + +“What the devil’s the matter? Is Chard paying you more?” + +“It’s no money. It’s environment. I dinna like the environment here. For +one thing, I’m sick to death o’ Mrs. Machin’s cookin’. She maks our +porridge so stiff ye could stumble over it, and she gie’s us clout +puddin’s nearly every day. She doesn’t gie us what you get on your table +at all. Mrs. Chaird is a fine cook. She bakes pies and cakes every +morning. Their Dick tells me he’s treated just like one o’ the family. +Another thing. Newbigging and I can’t get on togither and never shall. +And I’m awfu’ sick o’ watchin’ Phœbe and Hughie spoon, and o’ Windmill +and his upstairt ways.” + +“It is time you went. But, you know, I have the power to hold you for a +month’s notice, Gunn.” + +Gunn grinned. “I dinna think I’d be much guid if I was held,” he said. + +“Well, you’re no prize at your best,” said Derek. “You can go.” + +Shortly afterwards Gunn carried his tin box through the gate. That +afternoon, walking through his orchard, Derek saw him at work hoeing +among Chard’s gooseberry bushes, Chard by his side. “Chard will get the +last squeak out of him, and I wish him luck,” thought Derek. + + 2. + +Windmill and Newbigging were spraying the orchard. Windmill held the +hose while Newbigging pumped the machine. A glittering green rainbow of +the evil-smelling Bordeaux mixture curved above the freshly budded +trees. Newbigging sang a sailor’s chanty as he pumped. His mind seemed +full of the sea those spring days, and Derek feared that some day he, +too, would get restless and leave. In spite of Mrs. Machin’s protest, he +raised the wages of the remaining men. + +He climbed the low fence at the end of the orchard and, passing the +acres of pruned berry canes, entered the lane. He intended to inspect a +field of fall wheat at the back of the farm, now submerged by recent +rains. + +At the edge of the wood he heard his name called, and saw Mr. Jerrold +striding towards him across the grass meadow. His dogs were as always at +his heels. He came up and rested his arm on the fence. He began to talk +with what seemed to Vale rather forced cheerfulness, of the prospect of +early crops. Presently he said, looking into Derek’s eyes with sudden +seriousness: + +“I wonder if you could lend me some money.” + +“Rather,” said Derek, quickly, trying not to seem taken aback. “How +much?” + +“I know you’re surprised at my asking, Vale, but things have gone very +badly with me the past year. I have notes to meet. Expenses are +devilishly high. It takes a pile of money just to pay the men’s wages. +Of course, last year was exceptional. Everything went against me. It +will probably never happen again. As a matter of fact, I can see the day +approaching when Durras will flourish and repay me all the money I have +put in it. In the meantime”—he gave his confident smile—“I thank God I +have a good friend who comes to my assistance.” + +“Mr. Jerrold,” said Derek, “I wish you would get rid of Hobbs. I don’t +think he is the best man for this place. He talks impressively, and he +understands his work, I grant, but he spends a great deal of time on the +road driving that fast white horse, or boasting about his achievements +at the ‘Duke of York.’ Mrs. Machin says—oh, well, you needn’t laugh, +she’s a pretty shrewd old head—she says that you could do with far +fewer men; and you told me yourself that a carload of your apples went +to waste last year, and you lost Count Robert because Hobbs didn’t send +for the vet. in time. I hope you don’t mind my talking like this.” + +A shadow flitted over Mr. Jerrold’s vigorous, sanguine face. “No, no. I +don’t mind a bit. It’s true, too, what you say. But, look here, Vale, +are you under the impression that Hobbs is a poor man? That seems a +ridiculous question . . . the truth is . . . oh, Lord! I’ve borrowed +money from the man. An uncle died in the Old Country two years ago. Left +him rich. I haven’t borrowed a little. I’ve borrowed a lot.” He stood +shamefaced, like a boy who has made a confession, hitting his leg with +the stick he carried. + +Derek was aghast. “Why did Hobbs stay on then—after the fortune was +left him?” + +“I don’t know. Said he liked the job. Hopes some day perhaps—well, he’s +a fool. I’ll pay him off very soon and fire him. I’m tired of him; +though in some ways I don’t see how I shall replace him.” + +“Well, I am very glad you came to me,” said Derek. “How much do you +want?” + +He was surprised at the largeness of the sum mentioned by Mr. Jerrold, +but he promised to write a cheque for it that day. + + 3. + +A little stream, nothing more than a rill, nosed its way delicately +among the ferns and brambles of the Grimstone wood, and, after curving +about a bank of violets, slipped under the boundary fence into Durras, +hurried over a sloping meadow and was lost in the creek. + +When Mr. Jerrold and he had parted Derek strolled musingly along the +bank of the rill, his mind dwelling, now on Mr. Jerrold’s ill fortune, +now, half consciously, upon a certain melancholy unrest within himself. +He was absent-minded, erratic, changeable, and he wondered vaguely why. +He had set out to inspect the fall wheat, and now he did not care +whether it were submerged or not. He was much more interested in the +fate of an empty bird’s-nest, doubtless torn from its branch by some +boy, robbed of its eggs, and thrown in the little stream. It bobbed and +jigged like some ludicrous old boat; its progress was stayed by a few +spears of grass; it was free again, and caught in a tiny eddy, whirled +and danced as though it had never held five throbbing little hearts +within its woven curve. + +The white turkey-hen came from under an elderberry bush, trailing her +slender feet, and craning her neck to peer at the bird’s-nest. She gave +Derek a gloomy yet not unfriendly glance. “She feels like I do,” thought +Derek, “and Newbigging is the same. There’s a vagabond streak in all +three of us.” She swept back into the shadow of the bush and sank +wearily and yet mysteriously to her nest. Derek followed her and looked +down. “You know,” he said, “I’m perfectly aware of what you’re up to. +And it’s no use. You never bring anything out. I don’t believe there’s +anything to bring. That empty nest was an omen for you. Better give up +trying and just be ornamental.” She looked out at him, her head +delicately poised, with the cold, aloof regard of a snake. + +A meadow lark rose from its nest in the meadow beyond. Turning his eyes +to watch its flight Derek saw Grace Jerrold kneeling bareheaded by the +rill. Her face was half hidden, but her posture suggested sadness. She +sad, too, on this mirthful day of spring! As he looked, she raised her +hand from the moist grass and held it to her eyes. She was quietly +crying. Again she laid her hand on the grass—a gentle white hand, he +thought, like a flower. He wanted very much to comfort her. But how to +speak—how to pass comfort through this damnable barbed-wire fence! His +eyes fell on the bird’s-nest. He snatched it up. It should bear the +cargo of his comfort past that barbed barrier. He took a small note-book +from his pocket, tore out a leaf, and wrote, very carefully, so that one +might read it easily through tears—“Please don’t cry.” He folded it, +laid it in the nest, now a useless derelict no longer, and set it +carefully in the middle of the rill just under the fence. He loosed it. +For a space it floated languidly against a spray of watercress, then a +masterful current took it in hand, and hurried it quickly on its +mission. The rill broadened where Grace knelt and Derek feared for a +moment that his note would be rushed past her unseen, but the instant +the nest appeared before her, the white hand that had been raised to +wipe another tear, darted out and swept it ashore. She opened the note. +She read. She sprang to her feet and faced him. He could see then that +her white cheeks were dabbled with tears. + +“You looked like a Greek girl,” he said, to make light of the situation, +“kneeling to pray to the deity of the stream.” + +“Offering my tears,” she said, with a little smile, coming towards him. +She still held the nest as though it were a treasure. Derek suddenly +remembered his conversation with Fawnie among the raspberry canes about +a goldfinch’s nest. + +“Can I help?” he asked. + +“That’s the trouble. I’m crying because father has asked you to help. I +begged him not to. But he has. When I saw you two talking—and your +expressions—I knew.” + +“You know too,” he said, gently, “that it gives me real pleasure to help +your father. And it will make it easier for me to ask his help some day. +Think how gladly he would give it.” + +“Oh, but you don’t understand! Things are going very badly with us. Of +course, William will repay you this loan, but—he is so optimistic, and +he does not foresee great difficulties arising—as I do. But don’t let +us talk of it any more. Tell me where you found the nest. You know, that +was rather a sweet thing you did. I shan’t forget it.” + +He noticed then that she was wearing a white skirt and a close-fitting +green jersey. Her bronze hair was loosened from its usual smoothness by +the wind. He thought she looked the very spirit of spring. + +“Tell me,” she said, suddenly, “if you had it to do over again would you +come to Grimstone as you did? Or should you sell it and stick to Halifax +and your profession?” + +“I should come if it were only for the sake of being near you.” His +heart began to beat quickly as he heard his own words. He was moved by +an exquisite desire to take her into his arms, to press the feminine +softness of the silk jersey against his rough tweed coat, to smell the +perfume of that sunny bronze hair. Yet there stood the fence! + +She saw the look in his eyes. He felt that she read him. They both +laughed. Was she laughing with him or at him? Though he laughed he had a +feeling of chagrin. He felt angry with her. Angrier still when he +fancied she looked relieved as the figure of Hobbs approached on his +white horse. + +Hobbs touched his hat. He said, “I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Vale, that +those Welsh ponies of yours have broken down the fence by our wheat +fields. Your horses and cows are in there now. I’m just sending some men +up to turn them out. Sorry to interrupt you.” + + CHAPTER XII + THE WIND OUT OF WINDMILL’S SAILS + + 1. + +Things seemed determined to go wrong that spring. Phœbe affirmed that +from the moment when she had set her teeth in that hard russet apple +which had snapped off a perfectly good incisor misfortunes had come +tripping on one another’s heels. Excessive rains had swollen the stream +until it had grown to a tumbling, coffee-coloured torrent, in which a +ewe and her skipping lamb had lost their lives. Bessie, Derek’s +favourite Jersey, had given birth to twin calves, both of which had +died, and she herself had been ailing ever since. Mike had torn his leg +on a piece of barbed-wire, carelessly left dangling at a fence +corner—it was impossible to tell by whom—and had severed an artery. +Derek would never forget Mike’s hard breathing and the look in his +distended eyes as he stood beside him miserably waiting for the +veterinary, while the blood gushed from the wound as from a tap, making +a thick puddle on the floor of the stall. Mike had recovered but must go +easy for a while; another horse had to be purchased, and it turned out +that he was full of nasty tricks, in stall and field—the men vied with +each other in repeating Philip’s misdeeds. The heavy rain produced a +growth of rank weeds that fought for supremacy over the mangolds, +turnips, and garden vegetables. Old Peek and Mrs. Orde’s short-legged +husband, and four boys from Mistwell were constantly employed in +weeding, and in sorting the last of the apple crop in the apple-house. +Carelessness in storing defective apples and leaves among the good ones, +combined with the mildness of the winter, had caused a great deal of +rot. The sound apples had to be separated and washed, and the decayed +thrown to the pigs. The air about the apple-house was full of a sweet, +acrid, ciderish smell. + +Derek anxiously waited for a new man to be sent by the Immigration +Agency in York, but every farm seemed to be in need of help, and +experienced men were few. + +One morning in late May Hugh strode up to Derek, where he stood on the +porch snuffing the fresh breeze from the lake. Phœbe followed Hugh +closely, her eyes dancing with excitement behind her spectacles. + +“Guid-mornin’, sir,” said Hugh, “and I’ve got to tell ye that +Newbigging’s flitted. He was restless all day yesterday, and last nicht +he sat by the window peerin’ out and wouldna coom to bed, and when he +did, he kept me awake wi’ his tossing. Then, this morn he must have been +up with the birds, for when I woke at sunrise he was gone, and his wee +bag, and his box wi’ the gilt collar-studs, and his wee red book of +songs. He’s flitted for certain.” + +“And I called over the fence and told Bob Gunn,” said Phœbe, “and he +said it was all one could expect from one of those chaps from Dundee. +He’s getting pretty sick of Chard’s, Bob is.” + +That evening Bob himself came to Derek, short, stocky, and rosy as ever. +“I hear Newbigging’s made off,” he said. + +“Yes, what’s that to you?” asked Derek, shortly. + +“Nothing. But I’ll come back and fill his place if ye say the word, Mr. +Vale.” + +“What, you want to leave Chard after only a month?” + +“A month can seem like a lifetime, sometimes, sir. He’s a regular +slave-driver, Chaird is. The very first nicht I was there after an awfu’ +day’s work, he says after supper, ‘Come on now, Bob, and get busy +cuttin’ up potatoes for seed.’ ‘Cut up potatoes!’ I said. ‘Why, we never +work in the evenings at Mr. Vale’s.’ ‘Weel,’ says he, ‘we work all the +time here, and anyone who won’t do it, can get out.’” + +“It served you right for leaving me.” + +“Will ye hae me back, sir? Now that Newbigging’s gone, me and the other +lads’d get along fine.” + +“What about Mrs. Chard’s pies?” + +“Pies! I’m fair sick o’ the very sicht o’ pie. She gies them to us even +for breakfast.” + +“Well, you’ve made your bed, Gunn, and you must lie on it——” + +“It’s straw and awfu’ lumpy,” interrupted Gunn. + +“I’ll not have Mr. Chard saying that I took you away from him,” went on +Derek. “What do you think you are, Gunn, a shuttlecock, to be bandied +back and forth across the fence?” + +“I’m no shuttlecock,” said Gunn, his eyes snapping. “I’m a free British +citizen, and I can’t be forced to stop anywhere. I’ll gang where I +please.” + +“You can go to the devil as far as I’m concerned,” said Derek, packing +tobacco into his pipe with the handle of his pocket-knife. “You played +me a dirty trick, and I’m through with you.” + +Gunn turned away, his rosy face puckered with chagrin. “Weel, good-bye, +and I’m no afeerd to say that you’ll wish you had me back before the +summer’s through.” He hung about a moment, irresolutely, and then walked +slowly back to Chard’s. + + 2. + +Derek, impatient at the delay of the immigration officials in sending +him help, had taken the train to York to impress them, if possible, with +his extreme need. He could not believe that other farms were crying for +succour so urgently as Grimstone. Yet the officials, though polite, were +singularly callous to his need, and offered as a sop only one poor +creature, Snailem by name, suspiciously smooth of hand, who now sat in +the other end of the coach gazing out of window with dull eyes that, +Derek thought, would blink before the problem of distinguishing a reaper +from a mower. Still, he was a “hand,” and Derek determined to get the +utmost out of him till more help came, which was promised shortly. + +He, too, gazed through the window at the fields steaming in a hot sunset +after a day of rain. He saw woods flash by, rounded in all the rank +effulgence of their springing maturity; hillsides dotted by plump ewes +with sucking lambs butting against their udders; black, rich fields +where wet-booted men still seeded the hungry soil. He saw a deep cut +through a cedar wood, where a narrow stream ran far below, its course +marked by white lilies and lady’s slipper. A heron rose heavily above +it, his long legs stiff, his neck stretched, his wings beating against +the flaring sunset. + +Derek felt very content. Life in all its intensity surged about him, and +he was part of all this divine, strange vivacity of living—the steaming +fields—the flying heron—the flying train—even Snailem, +surreptitiously slipping a wad of tobacco into his untidy mouth. + +Across the way a young woman comforted her little boy, who was crying +because he had bumped his nose on the window sill. She gave him and his +sister each a sponge cake, and kissed the little bumped nose, and +laughed. The two children ate the cakes hungrily, but the boy dug the +caraway seeds out of his and laid them on the plush seat beside him. His +mother, seeing him deposit the last one there, gave him a little slap +and brushed the seeds hurriedly to the floor. The boy puckered his face +to cry again, but seeing Derek laughing at him, he laughed too, and, in +a moment, sidled across the aisle and stood at his side. + +“You don’t like caraway seeds, eh?” said Derek. + +“I frow ’em away.” + +“That’s a mistake. They’ll give you muscle—make you strong.” + +“What’s the use of being strong?” said the little fellow, his mouth down +at the corners; “there’s always somebody else stronger.” + +“Cyril,” called his mother, “come here, this moment. Don’t be so +forward.” + +“Shan’t go,” said Cyril. “I’ll stop here till we get to Mistwell.” + +“He does need a man to straighten him,” confided the mother, leaning +across. “His father’s been out two years now. We’re just coming to +him. . . . It’s an awful journey crossing the ocean and taking such a +long rileway journey with young children.” + +“I’ll see that you get off all right,” said Derek. “Is your husband at +Mr. Jerrold’s?” + +“No. He’s with a Mr. Vile, at a farm called Grimstone, quite near +Mistwell. He’s not expecting us——” Her face flushed, and grew hard. + +Derek was staggered. Rapidly the faces of his four men flitted across +his mental vision—rosy, beady-eyed Gunn, altogether too young—brown, +honest Hugh—if it were he, Good God! what a time they would have with +Phœbe!—Windmill, who was courting Miss Carss, and who was a notch above +this worried, dowdy, little woman surely—Newbigging, ah, Newbigging, +who had so lately “flitted,” having got wind perhaps of his wife’s +intentions. It must be Newbigging. + +He had leaned back, staring out at the fields without seeing them. Now +he asked the little boy, who had squeezed into the seat beside him, +“What is your other name—besides Cyril?” + +“Windmill. . . . And daddy’s name’s Windmill, and mother’s name’s +Windmill, and Ruby’s name’s——” + +The train stopped with a jolt, its grinding of wheels drowning the +child’s voice. Derek was thankful; he felt that he could stand no more +reiterations of that name. + + 3. + +He had helped the woman into the bus. He had sent Snailem in it, too, +and had paid the fares of all four. Then he had set out on foot himself, +determining to telephone to Windmill and prepare him for the coming +visitation. Although he pitied the dowdy little wife, some loyalty of +sex made him pity, still more, the erring husband. Poor Windmill! who +had fainted in the field the day before because of the heat, and who was +probably now washing and dressing, after a hard day in the fields, in +preparation for his evening walk with Miss Carss, all unconscious of the +weary Nemesis that was rolling towards him in the bus. + +Derek called up Grimstone from the village store. Phœbe’s voice came +thickly over the wire as though she were eating something. Windmill? Oh, +he was out. The usual, she s’posed. He’d hurried right off after tea. +She had a terrible sore throat and would Mr. Vale fetch her a few +peppermint bull’s-eyes from the shop? + +Derek hung up the receiver and bought the bull’s-eyes from the +shop-keeper’s wife, who grunted as each one dropped from the jar, as +though it hurt her. Disconsolately he left the shop and walked slowly +towards Grimstone. His one idea now was to loiter till the worst should +be over when he arrived. He could picture that little woman making a +pretty scene. He put a bull’s-eye in his mouth and sucked it +meditatively, feeling rather as he used to at eight, when he had a mind +to be late for school. + +As he was passing the graveyard he heard a rattle of wheels behind him, +and, turning, saw the bus lumbering up. Good Lord! He had thought it had +reached Grimstone long ago. Now he remembered to have seen Jackman in +it, a farmer who lived a mile east of Mistwell. He had been driven home +first! The bus-driver drew up his horses. “Can I give you a lift, sir?” +he called. + +Derek swallowed his third bull’s-eye and climbed into the bus. He was in +for the scene after all! + +Cyril, Ruby, and Mrs. Windmill smiled as though he were an old friend. +Snailem tried to smile, but he was manipulating a fresh wad of tobacco +and it took all his skill. + +“The bus-driver tells me that you are Mr. Vile,” said Mrs. Windmill. +“I’m so glad, for I’m sure you’ll tell my husband that I did right in +coming to him. It’s no way for husband and wife to live, and—I’ve heard +rumours. So I just sold my bit of furniture and came strite across. His +father gave me money for the passage, so you can see what his family +feel about it.” + +“I shouldn’t place much dependence in rumours, if I were you,” said +Derek. “A man sometimes makes a friend when he’s far from home, but he +means nothing wrong—he’s just lonely.” + +“Mr. Vile, did my husband tell you he is a married man?” + +“No,” acknowledged Derek, “he didn’t.” + +“Oh! the villain!” + +“Be careful. That man Snailem will hear you.” + +“It mikes me wild. Look at his two lovely kiddies—and him not to own to +them.” + +“He does not tell me his affairs.” + +“And I sent him their picture at Christmas. I’ll wiger he never showed +it to that minx he’s walking out with!” + +“This is my place,” said Derek, thankfully, as the bus stopped. He swung +the children to the ground, and helped Mrs. Windmill with her bundles; +Snailem let himself down heavily, and cast a dismal look over the farm. +There was no sign of life about. The air was moist, heavy, and filled +with the honeyed smell of the locust flowers. The lake lay still as +molten lead, following the hot exuberance of sunset. + +The bus rattled away. Derek sent Snailem to the kitchen to report to +Mrs. Machin. Then he turned to Mrs. Windmill. “Don’t you think it would +be best,” he said, “for you to wait here a bit? I’ll find your husband +and send him to you.” She assented, and he went through the house to the +kitchen. + +He found Snailem and Mrs. Machin there, she regarding him as he stood +before her, with the ironical grin of an old spider who had just caught +a stupid fly in her web . . . not the sort of fly she fancied, but one +which nevertheless had to be demolished. + +“Where is Windmill?” demanded Derek. + +“He ain’t here,” replied Mrs. Machin, “that’s all I know about him. He +went out half an hour ago, slicked up like a city feller.” + +“I must send Hugh to find him. His wife is here. I don’t want her to see +him perhaps with Miss Carss. I’d better fetch her in.” + +“His wife?” Mrs. Machin’s grin broadened. “Well, he kep’ it mighty +quiet. Here’s a pretty kettle of fish. Fool!” + +Phœbe dashed in from the outer kitchen followed by Hugh. + +“Hugh,” began Derek, “go over to Mr. Jerrold’s——” + +“Ow!” cried Phœbe, “there’s a norful scene on the bluffs! Windmill and +Miss Carss, and a woman in high-strikes. Come along out!” + +They hurried to the flagged yard. On the bluffs they could see Windmill +outlined against the sky, and beside him the tall figure of Miss Carss, +her long veil fluttering in a freshly sprung breeze. Climbing towards +them up the side of the bluff was the wife, her hat fallen back, her +arms waving, her voice raised in screams. Her two children were running +far behind her down the road. + +“I had a fambly once,” remarked Snailem, “but they’re all dead. Wife and +triplets.” + +“Ow, the villain,” cried Phœbe, “to desert his poor wife like that! He +ought to be horsewhipped.” + +“Hold your tongue,” ordered Mrs. Machin, “you’ll likely be deserted +yourself some day.” + +They saw Windmill stride quickly to his wife and take her roughly by the +arm. His touch only made her more violent, and Miss Carss, after +watching them struggle for a moment, turned abruptly away and began to +run along the bluffs towards home. Windmill’s wife, seeing her rival +retreat, ceased her screams, and sank exhausted to the grass. The two +children reached their mother’s side and threw themselves upon her, +sobbing. Windmill’s bowler hat was on one side. He stood looking down at +the dishevelled heap of humanity before him, the wife of his bosom, and +the two beings he had begotten, who had brought this shame, this +chagrin, this retribution across the sea to him. + +“It was for all the world like a play,” heaved Phœbe from the depths of +her. + +“All the world’s a stage,” observed Snailem, moving closer to her. + +“All the world ’ud be a work-house, if we was all as simple as some +folks,” snapped Mrs. Machin. + + 4. + +Windmill and his wife sat for an hour or more on the cliff, talking +earnestly. It was almost dark when he came at last to the house, leading +one of his children by each hand. His wife, he explained, was not in a +condition to meet strangers, but she would like a pot of tea. He would +carry it to her. He displayed his pink-cheeked children proudly, and +while Phœbe stuffed them with strawberries and cream, he told Vale, +shamefacedly, that he must leave that very night. They could catch the +late train from York, and they would return almost directly to the Old +Country. His father was a boot manufacturer and he could go into the +business at any time. He regretted leaving Canada, for he loved the +life, and—he had meant no harm by his friendship with Miss Carss—it +was purely platonic. + +Vale had Hugh harness the gelding and drive the family to the train. +When Windmill had lifted his wife and whining infants into the surrey, +and the huddle of drooping figures had disappeared into the dusk, Derek +went to his room to read a letter from Edmund that had awaited him on +his return from town. + +He felt rueful over the loss of Windmill, and he opened the letter +slowly. Edmund seemed to be in good spirits. Towards the end of the +letter he wrote: “I think you can safely expect me to visit you before +the summer is over. I am keen to see you, and besides, I have a mind to +try my luck next door. It seems audacious, I know, but I have reason to +hope. Anyway, it would not be the first time that a beautiful heiress +has thrown herself away on a penniless young officer. God knows, I do +not want her money, but I do want her desperately. I know you wish me +luck.” + +After reading the letter Derek felt more rueful than ever. Indeed, he +felt perilously near to being sick at heart. + + + PART II + + + + + CHAPTER I + AN EAR-RING UPON THE EAR OF THE GUILTY + + 1. + +The Sharroe family had promised to pick fruit at Grimstone that summer. +They were expected any day; and it was high time they came, for under +every strawberry leaf red berries winked ripely, growing redder hour by +hour. The weather had become hot and dry; a strong wind blew the sandy +dust in clouds from the driveway all day till sundown, when it fell, +leaving the air heavy and oppressive. + +Vale was in his bedroom, washing, and brushing his hair before going to +Durras to spend the evening. He heard the sound of voices, and cries of +children on the road, and went to the window, hoping that it might be +the Sharroes. That wayward family was indeed turning in at the gate. No +imposing figure of Solomon Sharroe led them now, but his squatty wife +carrying an immense bundle; and there was Fawnie, and Jammery; and +Esther and Maggie with their husbands; and Charley and Bobby; and Beulah +and Alma (each bearing a baby in her arms) and, last of all, the idiot +boy, riding on the back of a brother scarce larger than himself. + +Poor, ignorant, innocent children! He had intended having a new cottage +built for them this season, but they must once more make shift with the +old shack. And little Fawnie. . . . He wondered whether she would want a +hen to set this year. He remembered her little, round, coffee-coloured +neck, and her even teeth, like so many pearls. And those small, supple, +berry-stained hands. “You are a little baggage, Fawnie,” he had said to +her, in his moment of chagrin. “You mean I act like I was white,” she +had answered. + +He went slowly from his room to the passage and took his straw hat from +the rack. He whistled for a half-grown Irish terrier pup that Mr. +Jerrold had given him, but the puppy did not come. He went to the +kitchen to look for him, fearing that Phœbe was feeding him a second +supper. + +As he expected, the puppy was there, his sides drawn together, his legs +apart, as he wolfed the greasy contents of a bowl. “Phœbe! Phœbe!” +expostulated Derek. “How often have I told you not to let that little +brute gorge himself!” + +“I can’t help it,” said Phœbe, “the creature gives me no peace till I +do.” + +There was a chuckling sound at the door and Derek saw the round faces of +Beulah and Alma pressed against the screen. + +“Phœbe,” said Beulah, grinning, “kin I have a point of milk?” + +“Oh,” cried Phœbe, impatiently, “you and your points of milk! The moment +you arrive, I’m running to the milk jug, or the paraffin jar, or the +butter crock. Where’s your money?” Beulah showed a few blackened +coppers, and Phœbe went to the cellar, still scolding. + +Beulah cautiously opened the door and put her rough black head inside. +“Say,” she whispered, “my Maw wants to see you—up at the shack—I was +to say, come now.” + +“What does she want me for? Tell her to come here if she wants to see +me.” + +“She don’ want the old woman and Phœbe to hear. She says there’ll be a +lot of trouble if you don’ come.” + +“Very well,” said Derek, “but if she thinks I will pay any more for the +picking she’s mistaken.” + +Phœbe brought the milk and Derek set out through the orchard with the +children. It was dusk, and a lantern had been lighted in the old part of +the shack. A red shaft of light through the open door pierced the +dimness of the orchard like the gleam of a baleful eye. Under the trees +the air was intensely sultry. As Derek drew near, the two little girls +suddenly darted away from his side, so that he approached alone. At the +same instant several dark figures passed out of the shack and appeared +to go around to the addition. + +When Derek stood in the doorway, only the old squaw, Fawnie, Esther, and +Jammery were inside. Fawnie was standing under the lantern. In the red +glow her cheeks had the bloom of a dark, ripe peach. Her lips were +pressed together in an inscrutable smile. Esther and Jammery stood with +bent heads, but the old woman turned a look of thunderous fury on Derek. + +“Look here, Mr. Vale,” she said, in a thick voice, “I want you to take +that woman o’ yours away out o’ here. I won’t stand her around me any +longer.” + +Derek stared at her in astonishment. “What woman?” he said, sharply. +“What do you mean?” + +“That woman there,” she replied, jerking her head towards Fawnie. “That +woman that’s got a baby born of yours last April. You get her out o’ +here or I’ll kill her.” + +Derek turned to Esther—she had always seemed a sensible girl. “Is your +mother crazy?” he asked. + +Esther answered composedly, “No, she ain’t crazy, she’s just mad. +Fawnie’s got a little boy belongin’ to you, and Maw says she won’t have +any white babies livin’ with her.” + +Derek looked at her directly, ignoring the old squaw. “Well, she has +Alma. She’s half white. She’s yours, isn’t she?” + +“Yes, but I was married to her paw, all right. He got killed one +winter—loggin’.” + +“Alma!” shouted the mother. “Let me at that girl! I’ll kill her yet, +with her white face like dough! She looks down on her old grandmaw. She +thinks I’m like the dirt under her feet. She’d like to wipe her feet on +me. She’d like to spit on me. I’ll take an axe and chop her head off +yet. Jus’ let me at that girl. . . . Fawnie, you show Mr. Vale the +papoose that you got of his.” + +Fawnie, still with her inscrutable smile, turned to one of the bunks and +picked up a rolled shawl. She opened it and showed something that slept +curled up like a mouse. Derek saw that the down on its head gleamed like +silver in the lantern light. + +Fawnie smiled at it adoringly. “My little baby,” she said. “My own +little baby.” She seemed singularly undisturbed by the storm about her. +It appeared that they might do with her what they wished, if only she be +allowed to keep her plaything. With a violent gesture the mother +snatched it from her and thrust it into Derek’s arms. “Here,” she +shouted, “take your brat—and take Fawnie, too—or I’ll kill ’em!” Derek +would have dropped the child, but Jammery took it from him lightly, and, +with an imploring look at the old squaw, said: “Please don’t make so +much noise. Let me go out with Mr. Vale, and talk things over quietly. +You come too, Fawnie.” + +“You take them out and don’t bring them back,” said Mrs. Sharroe. + +Thankful to escape from the insufferable odours of the shack, Derek drew +a deep breath of the night air. Fawnie, Jammery, the child in his arms, +and he, moved some distance into the orchard. The puppy, with short, +sharp cries, started off in pursuit of something in the dark. + +“Honestly,” said Jammery, under his breath, “I think you’ll have to take +her away till the old woman cools down. She’s pretty dangerous. It isn’t +just what she says—she does things. You’d hardly believe the way she +can act, Mr. Vale. Honestly, she ought to be locked up when she gets +these spells. Would you mind showing Mr. Vale your shoulders, Fawnie? If +I light a match, I think he can get an idea . . . just loosen your +dress.” + +He struck a light, and Derek, as one in a dream, peered at the girl’s +shoulder off which she had drawn her loose cotton blouse. “Ah, they +scarcely show in this light at all,” murmured Jammery, “but move your +fingers over them. Feel.” He took Derek’s hand in his and laid it on her +back. Derek, moving his fingers, felt one hot welt after another on the +tender flesh. “By God!” he exclaimed, “I’ll make that old woman suffer +for this. I’ll have her arrested.” + +“No, no,” said Jammery, “don’t do that. Think of the way she’d talk. +She’d tell how you ruined the girl. Everything will be all right if you +just keep Fawnie and the baby out of her sight for a few days.” + +“Very well,” said Derek, “I’ll take them down to the house now. There’s +plenty of room. But you tell the old squaw that I won’t stand anything +more from her. She’s got to behave or to gaol she goes. And you may be +certain I’ll never have her here another year.” + +“No, of course not. But Fawnie’s a good girl. She’ll never make you +sorry you protected her. It’s an awful thing for a young girl to get +walloped like that, so soon after childbirth.” + +“Stop talking about it,” said Derek. It hurt him even to think of such +barbarity. “Come along, Fawnie. Poor little child.” + + 2. + +When they emerged from the orchard, Derek tried to see Fawnie’s face but +he could not. Yet he had the impression that she was still smiling in +the darkness. He could make out the curve of her arms about the baby. He +still felt like one in a dream. All this seemed most unreal, and, +suddenly, he remembered that July night, a year ago, and the same dark +girl whose face he could not see. And here were they two once more—and +a third—the silver-haired being in the shawl—born, one might say, of +that flash of lightning that had shown them the coign in the cliff. + +A steamer was sweeping past; she showed a row of illuminated windows, +and a brighter light at the bow. A bell clanged as she passed. . . . Now +they were beneath the heavy aching scent of the locust flowers. + +“Fawnie,” said Derek, “we’ll go in at the front door, so the men won’t +see you.” + +“The front door,” she repeated, in a tone of awe. “Right in at the front +door.” + +A hanging lamp burned in the hall. He hesitated a moment and then took +her arm and guided her up the stairs. He had decided that he would give +her the bedroom that had been got ready for Edmund at Christmas. There +she could keep herself and her baby in seclusion for a few days, till +the old squaw should quiet down. He would give Fawnie a little +allowance, which would put her in quite a different position in her +mother’s household. + +He lighted two candles that stood on the dressing-table. Their +reflection flashed out in the looking-glass: his strong figure in white, +his fair face flushed, little knots of perplexity between his brows; +she, dusky, receptive, immobile, holding her baby to her breast. + +He felt the allure of her presence in that remembered quiver of the +nerves, but, pushing the sensation from him, he said: + +“Now, I’m going to send Mrs. Machin to you. She’ll fix you up for the +night.” + +“No, I won’t have her,” with a stubborn shake of the head. “I’m scared +of her, Derek. Just leave me here and I’ll lay on the bed as nice as +anything. I won’t have that ole woman scoldin’ me. I’ve had enough +scoldin’.” + +“Very well. But I’ll get her to give me some sheets and you can make +your own bed.” + +“Sheets! My goodness”—her lips curved into a smile—“I would like +sheets—and a white piller-case.” + + 3. + +“Well,” said Mrs. Machin, when he had told her as much of the story as +he thought was good for her to know, “so you expect me to wait on an +Indian girl and her bastard brat, eh? Give ’em my best sheets, eh? And +towels with rick-rack on the ends? What do you take me for, Mr. Vale? A +simpleton?” Mrs. Machin was making the porridge for breakfast, and now +she stirred it with all her might, and whacked the wooden porridge +stick, that was nearly as old as she, on the side of the porridge pot. +“What do you take me for, Mr. Vale?” she repeated. “A simpleton to let a +dirty Indian into one of my bedrooms? How should I get rid of her +again——” + +“I’ll see to that.” + +“You’ve seen to about enough,” she retorted grimly. “You haven’t told me +who that child belongs to, but I know what everybody’ll say. They’ll say +it’s yours. Now the Vales have always been respectable. Grimstone is the +grandest old place in the countryside, and would you go and disgrace us +all?” + +“My God,” said Derek, “would you send that poor child back to her crazy +mother to be beaten again, perhaps killed?” + +“Why did she wait till she was coming here to beat her? Why did she +bring her back here at all? Just because she thought you was easy prey. +Leave me to deal with them Indians, Mr. Vale. I understand ’em, through +and through, from their dirty black hair to their sneaky, flat feet. You +leave ’em to me.” + +“Mrs. Machin,” said Derek, firmly, “I am going to protect that young +girl. Get me some sheets for her bed.” + +“I won’t do nothing of the sort,” she repeated, attacking the porridge +with renewed spite. “If she sleeps here, she sleeps on the mattress or +the floor. It don’t matter to me.” + +“Very well. I’ll get the sheets myself.” He left her angrily, and strode +through the house and up the stairway. He pulled open a heavy drawer in +an old chest of drawers that stood at the top of the stairs. He knew +that the bed linen was kept there. He had barely extracted a pair of +sheets and was searching for pillow-cases when Mrs. Machin came panting +up the stairs behind him. She carried a lamp in her hand which she set +down heavily on the chest. + +“Here,” she said, thickly, “if it’s got to be done, I’ll do it. I won’t +have you messin’ about in my linen.” She took the sheets from him +roughly, and, after examining them with a groan, gave him two of coarser +material, and a patched pillow-case. + +With a curt “Thanks,” Derek left her and went to Fawnie’s door. He +tapped. + +The door opened a little way. He saw that Fawnie had laid the baby on +the bed, and had opened the small drawers on either side of the +looking-glass, doubtless in the hope of discovering hidden finery. + +“Here are sheets,” he said. “There is a quilt on the bed. Now make it up +quickly, like a good girl, and be off to sleep. You’re safe.” + +“And make the most of this night in a proper bed,” interposed Mrs. +Machin, “for it’s likely the last you’ll ever have.” + +The two women faced each other for a moment, as might a cynical old cat +and an enquiring, yet self-possessed, little animal of the forest. + +Derek hurriedly went downstairs, fearful of a scene. But there was none. +He heard the door softly close, then Mrs. Machin’s slowly retreating +footsteps. He did not go to Durras, as he had intended, but, descending +the steps to the shore, walked up and down the hard sand, for a long +time, smoking. + +He saw the light extinguished in the room upstairs. Even yet the whole +thing seemed a preposterous dream. That child. . . . Well, he had no +doubt about it. Still, it was not the child, but Fawnie, who occupied +his thoughts. He saw her in the shack, in the glow of the lantern, her +lips folded together in that inscrutable, slightly derisive smile, as +though the rest had been puppets gesticulating about her. Then her +composure before Mrs. Machin. It was really fine; though, Heaven only +knew how her heart may have been tapping on her side. What was there +about her? Some odd barbaric charm. Even old Solomon had seen it, known +that she was not like the others. “Her man will have to pick for the two +of them,” he had said. She was a being for love alone—yet love was not +the word—it was ridiculous—simply she must be cared for. She was +Oriental, like some strange, sweet fruit that allured, even though one +knew it were poison. + +What would Grace Jerrold think of his bringing Fawnie into his house, +protecting her? She would understand; she would sympathize. But the +child—she must never know of that; he grew hot all over at the very +thought of her knowing it. Anyway, the night was insufferable, no wonder +he was hot. Not the faintest ripple disturbed the sombre ebony of the +lake. He longed for a storm to clear the air. Awful weather on the +strawberries. Thank God, he would have plenty of pickers to-morrow. +Fresh crates were needed. He must order them. . . . + +It was late when he went into the house. The oil lamp was still burning +on the dresser at the head of the stairs. Mrs. Machin evidently had +forgotten it. He began to ascend slowly to put it out, but had only +mounted a few steps when he perceived that she herself was sitting in a +straight-backed chair by the dresser knitting at a grey stocking. + +“Whatever are you doing up so late?” he asked, dreading the answer. + +“Well,” she said, her needles clicking with precision, “now that yon +girl has got into one of our bedrooms I’m going to see to it that she +stays there.” + +“You don’t mean to say you are going to sit there all night?” + +“It looks like it, don’t it?” she snapped. + +There was nothing more to be said, so Derek went to his room. + + CHAPTER II + HUBBUB AT GRIMSTONE + + 1. + +It seemed to Derek that he spent the next day in avoiding people. He +bolted his breakfast, his appetite spoiled by the ashen presence of Mrs. +Machin, who waited on him herself. She had even fried kidneys for him, +which she knew he disliked. He hurried over his orders to Hugh McKay, +irritated, and yet depressed by the expression of deep melancholy on the +fellow’s honest face. He would have welcomed a talk with Mr. Jerrold, +but he heard that he was laid up by an attack of lumbago, and he would +not venture to go down to Durras for fear of meeting Grace. It occurred +to him that he was being made vastly uncomfortable for doing a humane +and just act. Many a man would have bundled the whole crew off his farm. + +The Indians avoided him, too. All day they squatted in the blazing sun +among the strawberries, never lifting their eyes when he passed. Added +to the enervating heat, a tension of suppressed excitement hung over +Grimstone like a cloud charged with stormy portent. Under that hard blue +sky the Indians, the hired help, and Derek moved like people in a secret +game, watching in furtive fashion for someone to make the next move. + +In the afternoon Derek went to the basket factory. He found the drive +over the sandy roads incredibly hot and stifling. The man at the factory +told him that the thermometer registered 100 degrees in the shade. He +let the gelding take his time home, so that the shadows were lengthening +on the lawn when he turned in his own gates. He had met the fruit-waggon +laden with crates of strawberries on its way to the station. On a +circular seat under one of the walnut trees he saw a woman sitting. It +was Fawnie. She must have got her things from the shack, for she wore a +dress of coarse white embroidery, a red sash, and a hat nodding with red +poppies. It was amazing how she gave the effect of ease, and grace, even +elegance, sitting erect on that white seat. And the extraordinary cheek +of her, thought Derek. Mrs. Machin would be in a taking, as Phœbe said; +he dreaded meeting her. The situation was getting preposterous. . . . +Mrs. Machin sitting up at night . . . Fawnie disporting herself on the +front lawn . . . the infant, the Lord only knew what he was doing. +To-morrow, when it was not so hot he must send Fawnie away somewhere. He +imagined how, under that white dress, her shoulders were still covered +with welts. . . . That night Mrs. Machin again took up her position +beside the lamp on the dresser. Too exhausted to knit, she sat with +clasped hands staring fixedly at her grotesque shadow on the wall. + +“You know, you are going to make yourself ill,” whispered Derek, +vehemently, from the bottom of the stairs. + +“There are worse things than illness—or death,” she retorted. + +And, once more, there being nothing to say, Derek went to bed. + + 2. + +The heat still held. When he came out of his room the next morning at +seven, it seemed like a ferocious noonday. Lake and sky seemed merged +into some dazzling new element that bewildered and exhausted. + +He sat down at the breakfast table and rested his head on his hand. Then +he heard the kitchen door open, and raised his eyes to see whether it +were Mrs. Machin or Phœbe who was to wait on him. + +It was Mrs. Machin but, instead of the black dress and large white +apron, which he expected, she wore a silk cape with a shiny jet trimming +and a bonnet that tied under her chin. His first thought was, “She will +suffocate in those things”; then, as he realized what she was up to, he +said, sternly: “Mrs. Machin, if you have it in your mind to leave me, +you had better think twice before you do such a foolish thing. I am +going to arrange things very differently to-day.” + +“You can arrange things anyway you like,” she said, violently. “It don’t +matter to me. I’m shut of the whole affair. My month was up day before +yesterday, and I’ll make you a present of the last two days and nights +of misery. You’ve disgraced Grimstone. Your uncle made the mistake of +his life when he left the fortune to a headstrong, good-for-naught like +you’ve turned out to be.” + +“That’s pretty hard talk, Mrs. Machin.” He felt, not so much anger at +her words as dismay and sadness at the thought of losing this faithful +old servant. + +“It’s a case for hard talk, and hard thoughts, too. Here I’ve worked for +the Vales for over fifty years, till my hands are all knuckles, and what +is my reward? I’ve got to get out for shame at the carryings-on here, +and with a squaw girl at that.” + +“Very well, Mrs. Machin. If you won’t listen to my explanation you can +go. But I expect to see you back here inside of a week, and whenever you +come I’ll be willing to forget the hard things you’ve said to me, if +you’ll promise——” + +“I won’t promise nothing, and I won’t come back.” With a defiant stare +from her oyster-coloured eyes, she marched out of the room. + +Phœbe tiptoed in, as to a chamber of death, and brought him his +porridge. But, after a few mouthfuls, he pushed the plate away, and got +up. He went out to the flagged yard and stood staring at the bent +figures of the pickers in the strawberry beds. The shrieks of pigs that +were having their snouts ringed came from the direction of Chard’s farm. +How beastly uncomfortable to have a ring put through one’s nose on a +stewing hot day like this! He had seen Chard do it once; the pig +standing upright before him, its front feet on his chest, its shrieks +full in his face, as he stood with his inexorable, pale grin, driving +the iron skilfully home. + +The sun blazed on his bare head, the flags burned his feet. Mrs. Machin +came out of the house and turned down the drive. + +“I wouldn’t take a man off to drive me into Mistwell,” she called back, +“so I’m walkin’. I’ve told Snailem to fetch my trunk when he takes the +fruit in.” + +Before Derek had time to reply, a window was thrown open upstairs, and +Fawnie’s voice cried, derisively: + +“Get along out, ole woman! We don’ want you. Hurry up, now.” + +Mrs. Machin, her face contorted with rage, stared up, speechless, at the +window a moment, and then rushed through the gate, the picture of black +and impotent fury. + +A delighted chuckle came from above. Derek strode around under the +window and looked up. She was sitting on the sill, half dressed, her +arms and shoulders brown as a nut in the sand, her small, red mouth open +in laughter, her bronze-coloured eyes dancing with triumph. + +“Fawnie, Fawnie, you’re a little devil. You ought to be whipped.” But he +laughed in spite of himself. + +“Whippin’ don’ do me no good. But it does me good to see that ole woman +runnin’ down the road, like an ole black sheep. . . . Baby an’ me, we’re +sittin’ in the sun. See.” She picked up the child from somewhere and +holding him under her arm, suspended him out of the window. He was stark +naked. His massive, infantile legs dangled feebly, and he stared, +blinking, at Derek, with an air of benign jollity. + +“Don’t let him fall,” said Vale, anxiously. + +“I jus’ wanted you to see how big he is. Ain’t it fonny he’s our little +baby?” + +“Very funny.” He stared at the child with grim curiosity. It was indeed +larger and lustier than he had thought from the glimpse two days ago. He +felt neither remorse nor shame in looking at it; rather pride in its +lustiness. Yet he felt ashamed because he felt no shame. + + 3. + +With the departure of Mrs. Machin a change took place in the atmosphere +of Grimstone. Instead of the feeling of impending storm, a feeling of +reckless holiday was born. Phœbe piled up her breakfast dishes without +washing them and lounged to the fields with Hughie. Snailem tramped +about the kitchen in boots caked with manure, and stewed himself a pot +of strong tea in the middle of the morning. Even Jock, the collie, +seemed to realize that the strong hand of discipline had relaxed its +grip, for Derek found him sleeping comfortably curled up on the sofa in +the parlour. + +The heat had not penetrated there as it had into the rest of the house. +There was even a damp sort of chill that made one shiver after the hot +glare out of doors. Having pushed Jock off the sofa, Derek lay down +himself. His head ached, and he rammed it into an uncomfortable beaded +cushion, because the green and white beads in the design of a laurel +wreath looked cool. The light that came between the green curtains was +restful. Jock was making a very soothing sound licking his paws. Derek +began to get drowsy. . . . + +He had had a sort of cat nap when he was roused by Phœbe. She was +bending over him, whispering, her face close to his. The pupils of her +eyes seemed to jig with excitement behind her thick spectacles. “Wake +up,” she whispered, hoarsely, “Chard and the minister from Mistwell’s +outside waitin’ to see ye.” + +“To see me? What for?” + +Phœbe regarded him sorrowfully. “Can’t ye guess?” She pointed +dramatically to the room above. + +Derek reddened and sat up with dishevelled hair. “If that’s the case, +I’ll make short work of them. Show them in, Phœbe.” + +Phœbe, heavy with importance, stamped out. He heard her trip on the step +that led to the dining-room, and he pictured how she would plunge across +the floor. A moment more and his neighbour and the minister stood before +him. + +“You are energetic, making calls on a morning like this,” said Derek, +cheerfully. “Won’t you sit down?” + +The two men stared about the room, obviously taken aback at being +received in such state. Then Chard, with his pale grin, said, “Allow me +to introduce my friend and pastor, Mr. Barker, Mr. Vale.” + +Derek recognized Mr. Barker as the minister who had played the autoharp +at the funeral of Solomon Sharroe. With his oily skin and opaque dark +eyes, he looked rather like an unpleasant foreigner. He took Derek’s +hand in his and held it in a fervent grasp. + +“Mr. Vale,” he said, “I wish I might have met you first in the little +church where we worship. But, better late than never. I hope I am not +too late to turn you from the evil you have fallen into.” + +Derek extricated his hand. “I don’t think you quite realize,” he said, +trying to keep his temper, “what you are taking upon yourself. You come +into the house of a stranger and make an accusation against him without +any other grounds for your suspicion than the stupid gossip of ignorant +people.” + +“You can scarcely call Brother Chard stupid and ignorant,” reproved Mr. +Barker, “and he suspects the worst.” + +“What the devil do you suspect?” asked Derek, turning on Chard. + +“Well, Mr. Vale,” said Chard, uncovering once more his neat rows of +artificial teeth, “I’ve a pretty good idea who’s the parent of that +black baby with the white hair upstairs.” + +“It’s not black,” said Derek, testily. “It’s bronze. And it doesn’t +concern you if it’s all the colours of the rainbow. Now I’m trying to +keep my temper, but I strongly advise you men to stick to your autoharp +and plough, and leave me to manage my affairs in my own way.” + +“I have my wife and family to think of,” said Chard. “This is putting +the whole neighbourhood under a cloud. I have to try to keep my +children’s minds pure. They are hearing words they haven’t any right to +hear.” + +“It’s terrible for their pure little minds to be sullied,” murmured Mr. +Barker. + +“What sort of words?” asked Derek. + +“Well, Mr. Vale,” replied Chard, a yellowish flush creeping over his +face, “concubine for one. My second youngest boy was saying that you +have a concubine in here.” + +“Surely that touches you, Mr. Vale,” said the minister. + +“It makes me sick,” said Derek. “In fact you both make me sick. You had +better go.” + +“You are a headstrong young man,” said Mr. Barker, “and you are going to +wreck your life. Better bring the woman right down here and I’ll marry +you and make it legal. Remember, too, that no sin is so dark but it can +be washed white by the Blood.” + +A lusty cry came from the baby in the room above. + +Chard’s grin became painfully wide. Mr. Barker took a dingy white +handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. Derek went to the +door and opened it. “Phœbe,” he said, “show these gentlemen out.” + +As Chard passed Derek, he said: + +“If you think you’ve heard the last of this, you’re mistaken. If you +think you can live a licentious life here, and not be interfered with, +you’re mistaken. All Mistwell is aroused. . . .” + +As soon as she had got rid of the two men Phœbe came back to the +parlour, shutting the heavy door carefully behind her, before she spoke. + +“Don’t you worry, master, for Hughie and me’ll stand by ye in spite of +all these old curmudgeons with all their talk about columbines. I was +brung up in a norphan asylum, but I know the world, and I know a +gentleman’s got to have a little margin. That’s what I said to Hughie +last night—‘a gentleman’s got to have a margin, if it’s ever so.’ So +they don’t frighten me with their columbines.” + + 4. + +Derek pitched hay in the field with Hugh all afternoon, and the hard +exercise in the heat brought calm to his mind; he smiled at the +recollection of the call from Chard and the Reverend Barker. It was good +to work among the warm, sun-dried hay; he liked the smell of the baked +earth, of the glistening, round flanks of the horses, of Hugh’s healthy, +sweating young body. He liked, too, to drive the heavy, lurching load +into the barn where it was dim after the glare outside, and fowls ran +cackling out of the way of the horses’ hoofs. + +When they had brought in the last load Derek went to the house, Jock at +his heels. He saw Phœbe and Fawnie sitting by the kitchen table drinking +tea. The sun touched with mellow light the white, scrubbed wood of the +table, the loaf of good bread, the brown, shiny teapot, and the red pot +of jam. The two girls were leaning over their cups, laughing and +whispering together. + +Vale had a plunge in the lake, and, after his tea, sat with a book in +the porch, till dark. He felt that he was neglecting his farm accounts, +which must be getting in a bad state, but he was too sleepy and warm to +undertake them to-night. He heard Phœbe and the men go to their rooms, +one by one; he heard Fawnie murmuring some little lullaby to her baby. +He thought he would not go to bed till the night air had found its way +into the house and cooled it. + +About ten o’clock he dropped into a doze in his chair. His book slipped +from his knees and his head sank forward. . . . He thought a storm must +have arisen, for he was awakened by a moaning, roaring sound. He sat up +drowsily at first, and then straightened himself with a start, as +something heavy fell almost at his feet on the steps. The roaring rose +again like a wave, and was shattered into howls and yells about the +gate. He got up and peered into the blackness. He could see a dark +huddle of figures by the second’s flash of an electric torch. Then a +second stone rattled on the roof of the porch and struck sharply on the +flagstones below. Derek ran down the steps and half-way along the walk. +“Who is there?” he called, sharply. “What are you doing?” His questions +were greeted with a prolonged hoot. Someone began to beat on a tin pan. + +Then a voice bawled, “Where’s your fancy girl?” and another, “Bring out +your squaw!” + +Derek walked firmly to the gate. He tried to speak, but his voice was +drowned in yells and catcalls. The same voice kept bawling: + +“Where’s your fancy girl? Let’s see your squaw baby.” + +The man who held the electric torch turned it suddenly on Derek. There +was a howl of delighted laughter. As it subsided, a cockney voice said, +“Wot a tableau ’e mikes!” More derisive laughter followed, then, out of +the blackness, a clod of earth spun, and struck Derek on the head. + +An instant later the house door banged and Hugh McKay came running down +the walk. + +“What’s the trouble, sir?” he panted. + +“Those blackguards,” answered Derek, in a voice heavy with passion, “are +giving me a sort of charivari.” + +“I’m no surprised. Bob Gunn told me the oldest Chard boy said they were +gaein’ to mak’ things hot for ye.” + +“Go to bed, Scotty! Go to bed!” yelled the rowdies. “Take your boss with +you, too.” An obscene remark followed, then a shower of sticks and +stones. + +“Shall we rush them, sir?” asked Hugh, wiping a trickle of blood from +his cheek. + +“Yes. Keep close together, and let them have it.” + +Derek swung open the gate. He and Hugh, without waiting for the rabble +to recover from their surprise, flung themselves upon them in all the +exuberance of their strong young manhood. + +For a few moments the serenaders surged about them and showed some +fight, but it was soon over. The dark mass of figures coiled and +uncoiled in the road, then streamed like a snake towards Mistwell. Derek +had snatched one of their own sticks, and savagely belaboured the +shoulders of the stragglers. Hugh encountered the cockney, who stumbled +away, sobbing, “Ow, ’e’s broke my naose, the brute!” + +Derek could distinguish two figures running towards Chard’s gate. Hugh +was already in pursuit of them. Derek jumped the ditch, and, bounding +along beside the palings, captured the hindermost just as he threw one +leg over the fence. It was Bob Gunn. + +“Well, you miserable little sweep,” said Derek, grasping him by the +collar, “so this is the way you make me sorry I wouldn’t take you back.” + +“I was just lookin’ on,” muttered Bob. + +“You’ll find that it’s not safe to look on at me,” said Derek, and, +administering a kick that sent him sprawling, he let him go. + +Hugh caught up to him as he reached his gate. + +“Did you get your man, Hugh? Who was he?” + +“Chard’s eldest son, sir.” + +“What did you do with him?” + +“I made him greet.” + +This summer, as had happened last summer, because of the lack of help, +the grass on the south side of the house had grown tall and rank, while +the lawn at the front and the tennis-court at the north had been rather +well cared for. Now the grass was cut, and raked into a great +sweet-smelling mound close to the house. On it Derek had thrown himself +when Hugh went back to bed, and lay, tingling with the excitement of the +sally. He wished the Mistwell ruffians had not been so easily routed. He +should have liked to prolong the ecstasy of those barbarous moments. He +recalled the feel of his knuckles against someone’s jaw in the dark, and +the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling feet and finally the thudding +on the hard road of the retreat. + +The sky hung low, powdered with stars, and the rim of the waning moon +rose above the lake. And at his back the solid walls of old Grimstone. +He liked to think the walls of Grimstone were at his back. . . . His +back to the wall with all those curs of Mistwell yapping before him. + +He thought of his brother and laughed. How disgusted Edmund would be +with him! But he believed he was of coarser fibre than Edmund. He could +not imagine his taking up with an Indian girl. He might have admired +her, felt her charm—for a moment—but nothing more. He would not have +been enchanted by her strangeness, as of some creature of the wildwood, +he would not have been allured by those sliding velvet eyes. + +The front door softly opened and in the shaft of light he saw Fawnie +step out into the porch. She had on a yellow dress, a faded yellow he +had seen by daylight, but now it looked as though it had been spun from +the moon. Her hair was about her shoulders and she was barefooted. She +peered about, plainly in search of him, but he kept still. As well try +to hide from a soft-footed animal with the instincts of the forest. In a +moment she was padding across the grass to him. + +She leaned over him, looking enquiringly into his face. + +“Did you get hurt, Derek?” + +“No. I hurt some of those brutes, though.” + +She clapped her hands delightedly. “I’m glad, Derek. I wish you would +have took an axe and chopped their heads off. Can I sit down aside you?” + +“Yes. Sit down. It’s cool out here. Were you frightened, Fawnie?” + +“Yes, I was. My little heart she was like a fox hidin’ in her hole from +the dogs.” She had dropped to the mound of grass beside him and, with +her arms under her head, stared up at the glimmering sky. “I’m always +scared when I’m not with you, Derek.” + +“Why, Fawnie, you told me once that you were not afraid of anything, or +anyone.” + +“Ah, that was ’fore I get my baby. All those fellas from Mistwell, they +would ha’ torn me to pieces, surely.” + +“Nonsense. They only came to make an infernal row.” + +“Well, Derek, I don’ like those informal rows. They sound like hell +marchin’ down the road. You won’t turn baby an’ me out, will you?” + +“Don’t worry, Fawnie, you are going to be taken care of.” He stared down +at her face, in its frame of rich, dark hair, her slanting eyes holding +a gleam of moonlight in their depths, her slender bare ankles crossed on +the odorous grass. It was soothing to lie beside her there in the +troubled shadow of old Grimstone, and watch the moon like a pale petal +wafted across the sky. + +“I was in swimmin’, too.” Her voice had changed, and had a little husky +note. “I was in swimmin’, that place where the sand’s all wavy. It made +me cool as cool. Feel.” She laid one supple, cool, little hand on his +throat. “Do you like the way that feels, Derek?” + + CHAPTER III + “FOR SUCH PERSONS——” + + 1. + +There was no sign of a break in the weather. The sun that had dropped +behind the orchard in a hot turbulence of colour last night, rose from +the lake, as from a brazen pool, like a warrior refreshed. The fruit was +drying; the sand was like hot metal under the feet; even the fowls +clustered together in the shade with parted beaks. + +Derek saw with satisfaction that the pickers were hard at work. As he +waited for his breakfast, he calculated on the back of an envelope what +the proceeds of yesterday’s shipment would be. He thought he was not +doing badly. Snailem had told him that Chard had not shipped as much. He +was determined that Mrs. Machin should hear good accounts of the fruit. +She had the idea, he knew, that things would go smash without her. He +had refused hot food, and Phœbe brought him a bowl of strawberries and +thick cream. Cream flowed freely those days at Grimstone; Vale wondered +sometimes where the next churning of butter was to come from. Phœbe +creaked in and out waiting on him. She wore red knitted slippers and +white cotton stockings that wrinkled about her thick ankles. Her cheeks +vied with the strawberries and cream in freshness and colour. + +As Derek divided the strawberries with his spoon, disclosing the sweet +pink hearts of them, which rapidly were smothered in cream, he heard +Fawnie’s voice, singing to her child. “It must be hot upstairs,” he +thought, “under the roof,” and he had a desire to see Fawnie eating +strawberries at the table beside him. He went, napkin in hand, to the +foot of the stairs. + +“Fawnie,” he called, “won’t you come down and have some strawberries +with me? I’ve twice too many.” + +“Yes. I’ll come this minute. I’m hungry. But this fonny little child he +don’ want to go to sleep. His eyes is as bright as bright.” + +“Lay him on the bed.” + +“Yes, I will. Now you go to sleep, Abner, like a good little boy.” + +“What was it you called him?” Vale asked, as she came down the stairs. + +“Abner. Don’ you think that is a nice name?” + +“No. I think it is a milksop name. Call him something +picturesque—colourful.” + +“Derek, then?” + +“Lord, no. I’ll think up a name while we eat our strawberries.” + +Fawnie was in love with the idea of sitting at table with Derek. She +clapped her hands, and ran around the table twice, like a little brown +bird fluttering about a bough, before she settled in her chair. Then she +said, with hands flat on the tablecloth on either side of her plate: + +“I must not spill crumbs, nor slop tea on this nice white cloth, or +you’ll kill me, won’t you, Derek?” + +“I surely will. Now have some buttered toast, Fawnie, or perhaps you +like scones.” + +“I’ll have toast. We never have toast. Just Maw’s bread that she bakes +in the fryin’-pan.” + +She helped herself to toast. Phœbe had buttered it so thickly that the +butter oozed through to the other side. Fawnie set her teeth in it, +laughing over it with narrowed eyes at Derek. + +“What are you going to call our baby?” she demanded with her mouth full. + +“I have it. Buckskin. That’s a jolly name. It means something. Suits a +little Indian boy. Makes you think of Nipigon, Timagami, wild things, +and the smell of gunpowder and wood smoke. Abner makes you think of hair +oil, creaky boots, and Sunday-school leaflets, eh?” + +Fawnie stared at him with the expression of an intelligent child. “I +understand,” she said. “But I think he’ll be an awful bad little boy if +we call him Buckskin. . . . Buckskin Vale, h’m. . . .” She stopped +eating and stared straight before her, as though savouring the name. + +Phœbe, coming in with a jug of hot water to replenish the pot, started +in amazement at seeing Fawnie seated at the table with Vale. Catching +her toe on the doorsill she stumbled into the room, slopping the water +as she came. A drop fell on Jock’s long feathered tail that projected +from under the table and he fled howling out of doors. Derek looked up +crossly at her, and Fawnie said: + +“Say, you’re awful stupid this morning, Phœbe. Haven’t you ever seen a +lady and gentleman eatin’ hot toast before?” + +“A gentleman must have a margin, if it’s ever so, as I said to Hughie,” +declared Phœbe, addressing Vale, “but the margin’s getting wider and +wider.” + +“’Tis not so wide as a church door nor so deep as a well but ’twill +suffice,” boomed Snailem from the kitchen. “Which is from Shakespeare as +always hits the mark.” + +A pleasant voice came from outside. The owner of it was sympathizing +deeply with Jock, who wriggled on his belly towards someone who +approached. Vale leaned back in his chair to look through the open door. +He saw Mr. Ramsey pushing his bicycle over the flagstones. He stared, +stupefied, at the advancing figure which, in grey Norfolk suit and white +straw sailor hat, stood for Church, and order, and the accepted +sacraments. + +Phœbe stared, too, in gaping consternation. As Mr. Ramsey, having stood +his wheel against the rail of the verandah, filled the doorway with his +well-knit figure, she went towards him, hot-water kettle in hand. + +“Oh, sir,” she cried, “I hope as you haven’t come here to talk about +columbines and such! Because Mr. Vale reely don’t deserve it. If ever +there was a well-meaning young man it’s him, and, as I said to Hughie, a +gentleman must have a margin, if it’s ever so.” She would have +proceeded, even more recklessly, but a dribble of scalding water from +the kettle she held fell on her woollen slipper and brought her up with +an exclamation of pain. + +“Phœbe,” said Derek, desperately, “please go to the kitchen and shut the +door after you.” + +Phœbe, feeling that she was in disgrace, hurried from the room, and, +tripping once more over the doorsill, was precipitated into the kitchen. +Snailem caught her, and carefully closed the door upon them. + +Mr. Ramsey turned with a cheerful smile to Derek. “Quite a character, +that girl,” he said. “Most amusing. I was positive she was going to +baptize me with that boiling water. . . . How nice and cool you are +here. It’s frightful out of doors.” + +“Won’t you sit down?” said Derek, regaining his outward composure, “and +have some breakfast? You’re out early.” He looked at Fawnie anxiously, +and she, meeting his eyes, divined that he would be rid of her. With an +odd dignity, she stood up in her narrow blue dress, and said in her low +voice, “I guess I take my tea and scone upstairs and finish it there, +eh?” + +“Thanks, Fawnie,” said Derek; and Mr. Ramsey with an amused little bow +opened the door into the hallway and smiled at her as she passed +through. + +“Won’t you have some breakfast?” repeated Derek, feeling that, by +eating, the evil moment might be delayed. + +“Thank you, no. I had breakfast at Hickson’s. I went there early to give +the Communion to old Mr. Hickson, who is dangerously ill. And afterwards +I had my breakfast.” Derek saw then that he carried a small black bag. + +Mr. Ramsey stared at the remains of the breakfast in silence for a +moment, then he turned his deep-set grey eyes on Derek’s face with a +look of intense scrutiny. “So that is the girl,” he said with a new +harsh note in his voice. + +“What do you mean by calling her ‘the girl,’ as though I had done +something tremendous and irrevocable?” demanded Derek resentfully. + +“Well, haven’t you?” returned Mr. Ramsey, on a deep note. “It is rather +tremendous, isn’t it, to bring a young girl into your house under such +circumstances? Rather irrevocable to bring a son into the world?” + +Derek strode up and down the room, and at last paused before the china +greyhound on the chimney-piece, and looked into its immobile face. “Such +things have been done before,” he said. + +“Not often. Can you recall a case among your acquaintances? And never +without consequences.” + +“Look here,” interrupted Derek. “Did you come here as a friend, or not?” + +“Absolutely as a friend.” Mr. Ramsey came and stood beside him. “A +friend above all things. Not to rebuke nor to give advice, but to help, +if possible.” + +“Well, sir,” said Derek, looking at him steadily, “put yourself in my +place.” + +Mr. Ramsey flushed a little. “Yes,” he said dryly. + +“What could I do? There was that poor young thing beaten into welts by +an old hag—was threatened even worse things. I brought her here simply +to save her skin. The child had to come too. Then my housekeeper got +wild, talked about my criminal actions to the world in general and left +me. Next thing Chard and the minister from Mistwell came and insulted +me—ordered me to put the girl out—or marry her. Would you have been +baited by them? Then that affair last night—a bunch of rowdies—would +any decent fellow submit to their bullying?” + +“It is true that your position has been frightfully difficult. You must +not think, my dear fellow, that I am insensible to that. What I have +come for this morning is to help you, if possible, to a better +understanding with yourself, and with those who hold your friendship as +something very dear.” + +“Do you mean the Jerrolds?” + +“Yes, and myself, of course.” + +“Have you spoken of this to them?” + +“Mr. Jerrold and I have talked it over. He is laid up with lumbago, you +know. I should have shunned the subject with Miss Jerrold, but she +brought it up herself as I was leaving yesterday.” + +Derek picked up the china greyhound and turned it in his hand, waiting +for the Vicar to go on. + +“She was very much upset,” said Mr. Ramsey, in a low voice. + +“Yes. I suppose she would be. I suppose she’ll never want to speak to me +again, eh?” His hand shook a little as he carefully set the dog on the +oval mark its base had made in the dust film on the mantelpiece. + +“I shouldn’t like to think that. I do think that she has every hope that +you will make what restitution you can.” + +Vale stared at him uncomprehending, and the Vicar went on: “She said to +me that she was positive you would do the right thing by the girl.” + +“Provide for her?” + +“In the only way possible.” + +“Come now, Mr. Ramsey,” said Vale with heat. “You don’t expect me to +believe that Grace Jerrold thinks I should marry Fawnie.” + +“I think she hopes intensely that you will.” + +Derek struck the mantelpiece with his closed hand. “It’s the most +preposterous thing I ever heard of. Because I made a fool of myself—a +beast if you like—once, she expects me to pay for it for the rest of my +life. All men are fools—beasts sometimes. Perhaps not actually, but in +thought. No one knows about them. Everyone knows of this, and I am +willing to face the consequences. But that does not mean I am willing to +tie myself to an ignorant Indian girl.” + +“I suppose she was thinking about your son. I confess that is what +troubles me, too.” + +“Good God! I will provide for him! But marry her. . . . Oh, I know how +you look at it. . . . I was strictly brought up. . . . I know the +phrase—the woman you wronged—I take the blame—but marry her!” The +blood rushed to his head at the mere thought of such a marriage; at the +thought, too, of Grace Jerrold discussing his wrongdoing with the Vicar. +What a horrible mess he had got into! How was he to get out? He did not +know what way to turn. Mrs. Machin, Chard, the minister, the Mistwell +folk, the Jerrolds, Mr. Ramsey, they were all banded together to bait +him. He felt bewildered. His eyes looked strange as he faced the Vicar. + +“Don’t get excited, my dear fellow. Remember I am here to help you. I +want you to realize the elemental truths of the affair. Even if you give +the girl money and send her away with the child, what will become of +him? Try to picture his life—the life of your own flesh and blood. He +is no common Indian. He has the blood of your mother—your father—your +uncle who gave you this place. If you supplied his mother with money, do +you suppose her family would ever let her be? She would be their prey. +Your son would be knocked about by some low half-breed, probably. Think +of him as a ragged, dirty, ignorant youth coming to pick berries some +day at Grimstone, the home of his fathers. As for the girl—Fawnie, is +it?—she is pretty, intelligent, a direct descendant of Tecumseh, I +believe, and she cannot be repulsive to you or you would not have been +eating your breakfast so happily with her as I came in.” Mr. Ramsey’s +clean-shaven lips parted in a slightly derisive smile. + +Derek flushed deeply. More than ever, he felt cut, bewildered. Now he +could not bear the Vicar’s keen eyes. He went to the door and looked out +on the blinding surface of the lake. A wave of heat like the breath of a +furnace beat in upon him. He glanced at the thermometer hanging in the +shade on the verandah. The mercury touched 102 degrees. No wonder he +felt bewildered. He put his hand to his head. Strange pains were +tormenting the back of his neck. He could not think. And yet thoughts +were gnawing at his brain like rats gnawing to get free of a trap. There +seemed to be no air to breathe. A black schooner was passing, trailing a +streamer of sooty black smoke. . . . He was roused by the sound of a +shuffling step on the flags. It was old Mrs. Sharroe. She gave him an +imperturbably hostile stare as she passed. He thought of gentle Fawnie +at her mercy. Of his son, poor little beggar, at her mercy. He +remembered the feel of those welts on Fawnie’s shoulder and turned sick +with repugnance. He wheeled back into the room and could scarcely make +out Mr. Ramsey’s figure, still standing by the fireplace, for the +strange jigging in his eyes. He was afraid that Mr. Ramsey would begin +talking again. Anything seemed better than more talk. Words beat so on a +fellow’s brain. Like the heat, only worse. . . . “We’ll have done with +all this talk, then,” he thought, and he said heavily: + +“All right. I’ll marry her—since everybody thinks I should.” + +He could never rightly remember that drive to Mistwell to buy the +licence. He knew that a motor had passed them once and covered them with +dust, and he remembered the glare of a red and yellow sign by the +roadside advertising fur coats and wraps. The man who sold him the +licence had seemed but half awake. He had yawned in open boredom as he +asked questions and filled in blanks. Only Mr. Ramsey seemed cool, +alert, masterful. + +He talked cheerfully and kindly to Derek on the way homeward, and before +parting advised him almost in the tone of a doctor to take care not to +expose himself to the heat, but to keep quiet and cool until he should +return in the afternoon to perform the ceremony. + + 2. + +He looked at the table after the Vicar had gone and wondered what meal +it was that he had been eating a while ago. He took up the teapot and +poured himself a little tea. It was tepid and bitter, not what he +wanted. From the cupboard under the stairs he got a bottle of Scotch +whisky and half filled a tumbler, adding cold water from the pump +outside. He drank it slowly and his brain felt clearer, but he wanted to +be alone to think—if possible. + +He went to the parlour and stretched himself on the sofa, his burning +head pressed against the unfriendly beaded cushion. But, instead of +thinking, he became drowsy and slept. In his dreams the air was full of +yells and hoots, and the beating of tin pans. + +He was awakened by the pain in the back of his neck. He had been +dreaming something about the Indians. Oh, yes, they had been going to +hang him from a tree in the orchard. Jammery had just placed the rope +about his neck. Mr. Ramsey had been there in his surplice, reading the +burial service, and a mob of Mistwell fellows were making a frightful +row. He felt dazed. Then, suddenly, he remembered everything. + +No one would expect him to keep such a promise. He had hardly known what +he was saying. He made up his mind that he would go straight to Mr. +Jerrold and talk it over with him. And, if he met Grace, he would speak +frankly to her, as he had spoken to Mr. Ramsey. He pictured himself +putting the matter before her plainly, almost brutally, yet withal +throwing himself upon her mercy, making her feel that she above all +others could save him from the disaster. + +He got his hat and went out by the front door. The road was deserted +except for a speckled hen who was taking a dust-bath with tempestuous +energy, just outside the gate. She ceased for a moment as he passed and +gazed up at him with a hard yellow eye. She lay on her side, every +feather on end, and one scaly leg stiffly extended in the dust. Fearing +some passing motor-car might kill her, Derek pushed her with his foot +and sent her, dishevelled and angry, through the gateway. + +As he passed over the bridge he noticed that the stream had gone almost +dry. Out of the shiny ooze of the pool grotesque spotted lilies seemed +to stare up at him with yellow eyes like the hen’s. The sloping field +beyond the stream was a shimmering sea of oats, their bluish stalks +bending and whispering under a faint hot breeze. + +He hesitated, listening to that drowsy, sibilant music, and did not +notice the approach of a vehicle until it was almost upon him. Looking +up, as the driver turned his horses aside, he looked straight into the +face of Grace Jerrold. + +She was alone save for the groom who sat on the seat before her. She was +in a thin white dress and held a green silk parasol above her bright +uncovered head. + +Derek started forward, shamefaced, yet eager. He thought, instantly, he +would climb in beside her and pour out the whole miserable business into +her ears. The driver drew up his horses, and looked over his shoulder, +expecting an order to stop. But, instead, she gave him a little nod to +go on, and, after one sorrowful look into the expectant eyes raised to +hers, turned her face away, and stared across the lake. + +The carriage passed. Now the glistening green parasol hid her from view. +She had dropped it on her shoulder, either to hide herself from the +contamination of his gaze, or from faintness perhaps. It did not matter. +She had cut him. He scarcely seemed able to take that in as he stood in +the dust of the wheels. + +All he wanted now was to get home, to escape from the glare of the road +into the dim shade of the parlour. There he would sit until Mr. Ramsey’s +return. He had said he would be back about three. He would sit there +quietly till Mr. Ramsey came, and then he would tell him of his +unchangeable decision not to marry the girl. + +He began quickly to retrace his steps Two little girls in clumsy +pinafores met him and whispered together behind their hands. Then they +began to laugh hysterically, and ran past him clutching each other. When +he reached his own gate, the hen was exactly where he had first found +her, taking a second dust-bath. + +In the house all was quiet. He shut himself in the parlour with the +bottle of Scotch, and, when Phœbe called him to dinner, he said he had a +headache and did not want to be disturbed. Upstairs Fawnie sang the same +song over and over to the baby. + + 3. + +“But, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Ramsey, anxiously, “you look very +flushed. I hope you have not been exerting in the heat.” + +“Sitting here all day.” + +“Then I am afraid you’re not quite well. But it’s enough to make anyone +ill. I’m sure I have sweated five pounds off, pedalling those seven +miles from Brancepeth three times to-day.” But he still looked quite +fresh. And he spoke with cheerful matter-of-factness. + +“Is Miss Fawnie ready?” he asked. + +“Who the devil? Oh, yes—Miss Fawnie. I’ve not told her yet,” Derek +replied, stupidly. + +“Not told her? Oh, my dear fellow! Do you want me to? Shall I?” His tone +was that of one who indulges a petulant child. + +“No. The fact is——” What was the fact? For the life of him he could +not tell. The one fact he seemed able to grasp was that Grace had turned +her face from him that morning in the road. All else seemed a stupid +bungle from which he was too tired to extricate himself. + +“Do you want me to tell her?” repeated Mr. Ramsey. + +“No. I’ll go. I don’t care. Tell her if you like.” + +“Very well. I’ll leave you the ring. You remember you asked me to buy +it? A very nice one, I think. I’ll make the service as short as I can, +since you are not well. Upstairs, is she? I hear her voice. She sings +very sweetly.” + +Derek heard him decisively mount the stairs, then came the sound of a +knock, followed by his vibrant, pleasant speech with Fawnie. Shortly he +descended and put his head in at the parlour door. “It’s all right,” he +said. “She will be down directly. Wanted to change her blouse. May I go +in your room, Derek, old fellow,”—it was his first use of the Christian +name—“to slip my surplice on? Thanks, very much. I’ll be with you +directly. Nice little ring, isn’t it? Narrow, yet heavy.” + +Derek dropped the ring stolidly into the pocket of his jacket. His eyes +were on Jock, who had just come in from out of doors. He was panting +jerkily, and Derek thought—“I must have him clipped. But by someone who +knows. I don’t want his fine coat all jagged up.” + +The Vicar had called Phœbe and Hugh McKay as witnesses, and they now +came in, standing shyly at the far end of the room. They seemed overcome +by the turn things had taken. Phœbe had exchanged her woollen slippers +for shiny buttoned boots, which pinched her cruelly as she stood, +balancing from one foot to the other. + +Derek got slowly to his feet as Mr. Ramsey, like some impressive vessel +in full sail, entered in his surplice. Fawnie, frightened, yet elated, +followed him. She had once seen a wedding in the English Church at +Brancepeth, and was determined to be as orthodox in her attire as that +other bride married by Mr. Ramsey. Desperately eager to wear a veil, her +eyes had fallen on the fine white net curtains Mrs. Machin had recently +hung at the window. Quick as thought she had mounted a chair and +unfastened the brass pins of one curtain. No fair bride, arranging the +folds of the Brussels lace veil her grandmother had worn beneath a +chaplet of pearls, could have been thrilled by a pride more delicious +than that felt by Fawnie as she glimpsed the dark glow of her eyes and +the pouting red of her lips behind the starched white net. + +She looked so pretty as she came into the parlour, that Derek was roused +for a moment from his lethargy and smiled at her. Mr. Ramsey looked at +the veil dubiously, then his brow cleared, and, with a tolerant smile, +he motioned them to their place before him. Jock sniffed the billowing +surplice, but obeyed Hugh’s deep-voiced injunction, “Sit ye doon, Jock.” + +Mr. Ramsey opened his prayer-book and began the service in a hurried, +muffled voice, soothing to the ear. Derek John took Fawnie Pearl by the +right hand, and promised, rather unintelligibly, to have and to hold her +from that day forward, for better for worse. Fawnie Pearl took Derek +John by his right hand, and promised in her husky little voice (not +understanding a word of it) to have and to hold him, to love, cherish, +and obey him, from that day forward, till death did them part. Then +Derek, without flurry or confusion, produced the ring and put it on the +taper third finger of the too supple brown hand, and they were man and +wife. Jock stretched himself and yawned. Hugh drew a deep sigh, and Mr. +Ramsey wished them great joy. + +But Buckskin, upstairs, broke into angry cries, as though protesting +against the union of those two fond strangers who had given him being. + + 4. + +Derek and Fawnie were sitting side by side on the sofa in the parlour. +They were alone. Late sunlight was slanting between the chinks in the +shutters. A solemn hush hung over the house. The atmosphere created by +Mr. Ramsey’s cassock and surplice still brooded there. + +“My goodness,” said Fawnie, thinking aloud. “He looked terr’ble nice in +them wraps, almost like God. And he had a big ring with a shiny black +stone—and I couldn’t tell a word he said. I never saw anyone as much +like God. But I don’ like his big ring half as well as my nice ring.” +She turned her graceful little hand before his face. He noticed that she +wore a gold bangle bracelet. + +“You have a bracelet, too,” he observed. “Where did you get that, +Fawnie?” + +She quickly hid her wrist in the folds of her dress and broke into a +chuckling laugh. “I’ll tell you some day. Not now. I’ll tell you +sometime when I want to make you laugh. But not now. Now I jus’ want to +sit still and get used to things. I’m pretty near scared o’ this big +room, and the pianner, and all the pictures starin’ at me. Who’s that +fonny woman with the lace cap and mittens?” + +“My great-grandmother.” + +“Is it put on with paint?” + +“Yes. An oil painting.” + +“Oh. Where was it made?” + +“In Devon.” + +“Is that near Halifax?” + +“No. It’s in England.” + +“I know where England is. It’s up at a place where the king lives.” + +“Yes.” + +“I don’ like the way she stares at us, do you?” + +“Not exactly.” + +“What do you s’pose she’s thinkin’?” + +“Nothing very pleasant.” + +“No, nothing very pleasant. She’s mad, I think, and jealous of me +sittin’ here in my yaller dress with a gold ring, and a gold bracelet, +and a white veil, with a nice young man beside me. She wishes she could +hop right out of that picture and tear us apart, eh?” + +“Shouldn’t be surprised.” + +“But you can’t do it, ole lady, so jus’ be good or I’ll turn your face +to the wall. . . . Put your head on my shoulder, Derek, you look awful +sleepy.” + + CHAPTER IV + DULCE DOMUM + + 1. + +Phœbe was sweeping the flagged yard next morning when a trap driven by +one of Mr. Jerrold’s men turned up the drive and stopped with a +flourish. But it was with no flourish that Mr. Jerrold himself +descended, rather with the wincing and suppressed groans of one stiff +with lumbago. Leaning on a stick, he came towards her, his dark brow +puckered. + +“Is Mr. Vale in?” he asked. + +“He is indeed, sir,” answered Phœbe, leaning on her broom and speaking +breathlessly, “and I suppose you’ve heard of the goings-on here. He’s +never stirred out of the parlour since yesterday morning, and he must be +drunk as a lord now with all the whisky he’s carried in there. And as +for that Fawnie—and it goes against the grain for me to ‘Mrs. Vale’ +her—she’s getting so arrogant there’s no knowing what she’ll do. This +morning she carries down a bundle of soiled clothes and tells me to wash +’em. ‘Here, Phœbe, you wash these clothes and see you wash ’em clean,’ +says she. Oh, I like her cheek, I do. ‘Me wash for a Nindian!’ says I. +‘Am I Mrs. Vale or ain’t I?’ says she. ‘You do what I say or you can get +out.’ That’s the way she talked to me, sir, and if you was to have got +out of that trap and hit me over the head with a bludgeon, I shouldn’t +have been knocked more of a heap. A gentleman must have a margin, as I +say to Hughie, but when it comes to a Nindian wife . . .” + +“And did you wash the clothes?” + +“I did, sir, and there they hang on the line enough to scare the crows +with their rags an’ tags.” + +“It’s too bad,” said Mr. Jerrold, commiseratingly, “but do the best you +can for Mr. Vale’s sake.” + +“Shall I tell him you’re here, sir?” + +“No, I’ll go straight in.” + +He limped to the door of the parlour and opened it, after tapping on the +panel. + +The shutters were closed and the room lay in a stuffy haze of tobacco +smoke. He felt sure that Vale had put a decanter out of sight at the +sound of his rap. Certainly he smelled strongly of whisky and looked as +though he had slept in his clothes. + +“Phew,” said Mr. Jerrold, “may I open a window? There’s a breeze rising +outside that’s not half bad. We’re in for a devil of a storm. As a +matter of fact, I doubt whether the rain will be in time to save the +crops. There. Isn’t that nice?” He had thrown open the shutters, and a +breeze, fresh and uneasy, swept into the room. He sat down on the +piano-stool and faced Vale, trying to smile unconcernedly. + +“Well,” said Vale, “what do you think of my latest?” + +“I’m staggered. We’re all staggered. All I can say is that if I had +known in time, Ramsey should have married you only over my dead body. +You could not have known what you were doing.” + +“I did know, though. It’s all right. I’m not kicking. I’m just trying to +get used to the idea of having a squaw for a wife.” + +“But why, in God’s name, did you bring her into your house in the first +place?” + +“Have you heard nothing?” + +“They say the old woman had beaten her.” + +“So she did. Horribly.” + +“That’s nothing. A put-up job. You’re too easy. Then after you brought +her here there was that charivari.” + +“Yes. Then Chard and the minister came.” + +“You didn’t mind them, surely?” + +“No, but I did mind Ramsey. I don’t mean that I was afraid of him, +but—well, I was tired, and couldn’t think for the heat, and there was +the kid. And everyone saying I should make it right.” + +“Did Ramsey say I even hinted such a thing?” + +“No, but——” + +“Oh, he said Gay did, eh?” + +“He said she hoped I’d do the right thing.” + +“Meaning she hoped you’d put your head in a noose. Why didn’t you come +to see us and find out what we thought for yourself?” + +“I was going to. I started out but——” + +“Well?” + +“Oh, Lord, I don’t want to talk about it.” + +“Why didn’t you come, Vale?” + +“I met your daughter on the road. She was driving—and she——” + +“Didn’t speak?” + +“No. Turned her head away. So I came home.” + +“Oh, you young fool! What if the girl didn’t speak? She was upset. She +told me about it. After she had driven down the road a bit she made the +man turn back. She thought she would overtake you, but you had +disappeared. And, after all, man, what if she didn’t speak? You would +scarcely expect her to—after what happened. But I am different. Why in +God’s name didn’t you come to me?” + +Derek shook himself impatiently. “I don’t know,” he said. Then he looked +into Mr. Jerrold’s face pleadingly. “Don’t talk about it any more. I’m +stupid as an owl to-day. My brain won’t work. . . . I’ve done it, and +there’s nothing more to be said. I’m going to stand by it. Will you have +a drink?” + +“No, it’s too hot. I’ll never forgive Ramsey for this. I’ll make him +sorry, too. I was going to buy a new carpet for the church, and I’m +dashed if I will, now.” He stared angrily out of the window. He added in +a moment, “Just look at those clouds, Vale, over the lake. Menacing, +aren’t they? I must be getting home.” + +“Better stay till it’s over.” + +“No, I’ll have to go. Grace is very nervous about storms, and this is +going to be a bad one.” He got up and leant on his stick. “But remember, +I’m your friend, always. And if I can do anything—look here! Why can’t +you pay her off and get rid of her?” + +“I’m not going to do anything,” shouted Derek, suddenly, “but sit here +and soak. It’s all I’m good for. Talk, talk, talk—I’m utterly sick of +talk.” He glared at his friend with rather pathetic hostility. + +A heavy sound of thunder rolled above the lake. + +“I suppose you are,” concurred Mr. Jerrold. “Well, good-bye. And, I say, +that note is just about due. I can meet it all right.” + +“I’d forgotten it.” + +“Well, I hadn’t.” + +“How are things going?” + +“Pretty rotten, just now. But they’ll be looking up soon. They’re bound +to. I have grand young stock coming on. I want you to see them. Will you +come over?” + +“Of course I shall. And look here, if I’ve acted like a grouchy brute +to-day, don’t imagine that I’m not appreciating your coming over here +like this—when you’re suffering.” + +“Good God, I’d have come on my hands and knees to have prevented this!” + +“Oh, it may not turn out so badly. The thing is just to get shaken down +to the new conditions. And—tell Miss Grace, will you? not to worry over +that little encounter of ours. I understand. It was the only thing she +could do.” + +A flash of lightning quivered over the darkened fields, flooding them +with sombre gold. A violent crash of thunder at the same moment +terrified Mr. Jerrold’s horse into a rampant position, so that against +the deep purple of the lake it looked like some impressive beast of +heraldry. + +Mr. Jerrold snatched his hat, and, growling with pain, hurried out. + + 2. + +After the long drought, after the inertia of weeks of tropic heat, the +storm rushed up from the lake as a deliverer to loose the chafing, +burning bonds. Land and sky, in a torrent of rain, seemed to clasp each +other like long separated lovers. Now there was such blackness that a +face across the room could not be seen; now a vivid pinkish light +disclosed the very cracks in the old paintings. The tops of the great +trees were agitated into wild disorder, yet their rough trunks expressed +invincible resistance. Nevertheless, before long, with a shivering jar, +one of them fell across the driveway. + +The rain beat it down, as it lay prostrate, its foliage drooping on the +sand, its branches, where only this morning Derek had watched a family +of young squirrels wantonly frisking, now crumpled against the ground. +Why had it been selected for disaster? Had it invited the turbulent +embrace of the wind? He was sorry to see it fallen, and, from pitying +it, he came to pitying himself. It seemed to him that in some mysterious +way he had been made the plaything of a cruel and capricious fate. . . . + +A sudden scream from the dining-room made him start. “What’s the matter +now?” he asked irritably as he hurried out. Fawnie was rocking her body +in fear, her arms clasping her head. Phœbe sat nursing the baby. One of +Fawnie’s little brothers, the one who was accustomed to carry the idiot +boy, stood in a dark corner, the whites of his eyes prominent with fear. +“What’s the matter?” repeated Derek. “Was it the tree? That’s all right. +There are plenty more.” He went to Fawnie and took her arms from her +head. She threw herself against his shoulder, sobbing, “Oh, I am so +scared! I am so scared! Another of them will fall and smash the roof. +Oo—I wish I was in the shack! It’s this high ceiling—if it was to fall +on us, from so far, it’d kill us sure.” + +“Nonsense,” said Derek. “It’s a very low ceiling. See, I can almost +touch it with my hand.” Still Fawnie cried. + +“She’s worse than the baby,” said Phœbe. “He’s a lamb, ain’t ye, my pet? +A lamb, if ever there was one. Look at his eyes dancin’, Mr. Vale. Blue, +ain’t they? Look at his little hands. Hello, fat fingers!”—she mumbled +his chubby fists and dandled him. + +“What is Lisgar doing here?” asked Derek of Fawnie. He did not want her +family hanging about the house. + +“He was gettin’ a point of milk when the storm came on. I brought him in +here out of the kitchen ’cause that ole Snailem, and Hugh, and some +Mistwell fellers was teasin’ him. I’ll put him out in the storm, if you +like, Derek.” + +“No, no. It’s all right. Get him a piece of cake, Phœbe, and he’ll +forget to be afraid.” + +Phœbe, the baby tucked under her arm, went to the kitchen. She brought +back a tray covered with tea-cups, a pot of tea, and a plate heaped with +seed-cake. A sound of scraping chairs came from the kitchen as the men +drew up to the table for a like refreshment. Lisgar’s bright eyes grew +round and he drew near the tray, yet, when Derek had put a piece of cake +in his hand, he was still too frightened to eat, and stood, motionless +as a bronze statue, his gaze intensely fixed on the streaming window, as +he watched for the next terrifying flash. Rain thundered on the roof, +and spattered in the fireplace. Phœbe returned to the kitchen to eat +with the men. She took the baby with her, talking unintelligibly to him. + +Fawnie had established herself beside the teapot. She was calm now, even +playful, because the storm was easing, and she felt protected by Derek’s +presence. The cake and tea tasted very good to Derek, for he had eaten +nothing since his breakfast the morning before. His spirits rose, and +when Fawnie clapped her hands as a glimmer of sunlight gained the room, +he smiled at her as a child and said: + +“Going to be a good girl?” + +“You bet,” she replied, nodding her head emphatically. “And Phœbe’s got +to mind the baby and call me Mrs. Vale every time she speaks to me, and +not laugh at my clothes. Kin I buy some new clothes right away, Derek?” + +“Yes, but you must not be sharp with Phœbe or she’ll leave, and God +knows what we should do then.” + +“I’d get another servant, an Indian girl, and I’d slap her face if she +was saucy, and pull her hair, and make her scrub the floor five times a +day, hey, Lisgar, wouldn’t I?” + +“Sure,” said Lisgar, “you’d likely kill her.” + +“In the meantime,” Derek made his tone severe, “you’re not to order +Phœbe about too freely. She won’t stand it, and I want to keep her.” + +Rising, he shook himself impatiently, strode to the door and threw it +open. A moist, cool breeze swept into the room. Large, bright drops +still fell from the eaves and splashed on the flagstones below, but the +clouds, massed into dark towers and sinister battlements, were receding +southward. Overhead the sky was a drenched and tender blue. + +“Oh, see the rainbow!” cried Fawnie, “like a fonny bridge across the +lake.” + +“A good omen, Fawnie.” + +“World without end. Omen,” she repeated, remembering the marriage +service. + +“I thought you said you didn’t understand a word the clergyman said,” +laughed Derek. + +“Don’ you believe everything I say. I say what comes into my head. Let’s +go out.” + +It was delicious out of doors. The dripping grass was sweet and cool to +tread on; delicate clouds of pink and gold floated like banners of peace +above the tree-tops. They went to the fallen tree and examined it. +Lisgar began to walk the length of its splendid tapering trunk. A brood +of half-grown chickens had taken shelter beneath its leaves. They ran +out now, shaking themselves and stretching their long legs joyously. +Yet, last of all came one who moved stiffly, half dead from wet and +chill. He had never feathered as he should; in fact, he had no feathers +except on his head and wings, and a little ridiculous down on his red, +sunburnt body. Now he staggered forth, grotesque, yet pitiable. Derek +picked him up. “He’s positively indecent,” he said. “I suppose I ought +to wring his neck. He’ll never be any good.” + +“Give him to Lisgar. The ole woman’ll put him in the pot.” + +That settled it. Derek carried him to the kitchen and made Phœbe wrap +him in warm flannel, and give him a little milk. Soon he looked out +brightly enough from his wrapper and opened his beak for more milk. + +“Snailem found three poults behind the apple-house, flattened right out +by the rain, dead as door-nails,” said Phœbe. + +“Better dead,” muttered Snailem, shifting his tobacco, “better dead than +livin’ to be et.” + + 3. + +Derek had felt that he must get away from the house with its strange +associations—the atmosphere of his marriage clung like stale incense to +the rooms. After a few turns on the driveway, he had followed the path +into the orchard. + +It was dark as a crow’s wing there, a good place to wander unseen. The +lantern hanging before the shack only served to intensify the richness +of the night, as a jewel the raven hair of a woman. + +He lighted his pipe, and paced up and down under the wet trees, enjoying +the coolness of the night and the movement of his body after the long +hours in the parlour. He could hear voices near the lantern, and, as he +approached the shack, he saw figures of several men about the table +under the lantern. Then he heard the rattle of dice and a low laugh from +Jammery. The other men never laughed audibly. Concealed by the trees, he +drew nearer and saw their faces clearly as they bent over the table. +Isaac and Enoch, the sons-in-law; Charley, the grown-up son; and +handsome Jammery, his even features and slender moustache in contrast +with the rough-hewn, bony faces of Isaac and Enoch, and the round, +boyish face of Charley. Inside the shack he could see a group of women +and boys. The old woman was plucking a fowl which was tied to the +ceiling by its feet. + +Jammery was winning, for he drew a little pile of coins to him, and +looked in at the door with another laugh. Perhaps he had promised one of +the girls a present if he won, for one quickly darted out and put her +arms about his neck and kissed him. Derek’s pipe had gone out and he +refilled it, cautiously striking a match and shielding it under his +coat. But he had in mind the senses of the white man, not the brown. In +an instant the face of every Indian was turned towards him; Jammery got +up and came over. + +“It’s you, is it, Mr. Vale?” he said. “I saw the light on your face, and +recognized you. It’s nice in the orchard, isn’t it, since the rain?” + +“Yes. I was just taking a stroll.” + +“I hope you won’t mind us having a little game. Just a few dollars pass +between us of an evening.” + +“I don’t mind. I’ll come over and watch you for a bit.” + +Jammery’s eyebrows went up, but he answered politely: “Yes, do. We’d be +pleased to have you, and I can offer you a glass of whisky that’s not +too bad if you would not be above drinking with Indians.” + +Derek gave a reckless laugh. “Above drinking with Indians! Why should I +be? You’re my brothers-in-law now, aren’t you? All one family!” + +“Yes, I suppose that’s so.” + +Derek caught him by the arm. “Come along, then, brother-in-law, let’s +have a drink together. I’ve been drinking for two days, but that doesn’t +matter.” + +“I guess you’re the sort that can stand a lot,” said Jammery, +admiringly. “Half a dozen drinks would make those fellows wild, and even +I couldn’t stand what you can.” + +“I’m as sober as a judge,” said Derek, truculently. + +“Anyone can see that. I’m glad I have something respectable to offer +you.” + +The men at the table showed no surprise at Derek’s advent, but the old +squaw, after a sharp look into Jammery’s face, slammed the door of the +shack. Enoch, a quiet, slow Indian, rose and offered his place on the +bench to Derek. + +“Thanks,” said Derek, taking it. “Go on with your game. I’ll watch.” + +Jammery produced a bottle from under the table, and going to the +cupboard in the lean-to, returned with a tumbler which Derek recognized +as one from his own house. “It’s the only glass we have,” explained +Jammery, “we like it just as well out of tin mugs.” + +Derek took the glass that Jammery handed him and sipped it critically. +The flavour was so like his own that the thought crossed his mind that +probably Fawnie had had something to do with the presence of this good +Scotch in the shack. Nevertheless, he took his drink philosophically. He +liked to watch the Indians as they played, their deep-set eyes +glittering like jewels in their immobile, swarthy faces, the movements +of their hands as they shook the dice. Jammery continued to win. +Presently young Charley began to pay his debts in packets of red +picker’s tickets with the name of Derek’s uncle printed on them. At last +they were gone, and the boy rose sulkily from the table, saying a few +words in Indian to Jammery. + +“Very well,” replied Jammery, in English, “go to bed. Perhaps Mr. Vale +would like to take your place.” + +“I shouldn’t mind,” said Derek. As a matter of fact, he had been wanting +to take a hand for some time. . . . + +So Grimstone folded him closer in its woods, and orchards, and streams, +and in the lives of the aboriginal people who had once so barbarously +dwelt there. + +The women went to their bunks; and a slight silver moon rose above the +orchard. An owl cried repeatedly in a mournful, downward trill. The men +at the table noticed none of these things. Derek had had a considerable +amount of money in his pockets and he was losing it slowly but surely to +Jammery and Isaac. He did not mind, for Jammery kept his glass full and +it was the excitement of the play he craved. He played wildly, his +cheeks flushed by drink, and his fair face contrasting strangely with +the bronze countenances about him. + +Snailem had cleaned out the apple-house that day, and thrown a few +bushels of withered apples from last year’s crop into a corner of the +orchard for the pigs. They had been up finishing these by moonlight, and +now, attracted by the light of the lantern, they came running and +stamping through the trees to the very feet of the gamblers. They +crowded closely around them, snuffling and snorting, their coarse pink +snouts wet with apple juice turned up towards the men’s faces. A big +Yorkshire sow peered quizzically up at Derek, chewing something with +relish, in short, quick smacks. He stared at her in surprise. + +“Damned if I ever saw such intelligent fache, as fache on thish sow,” he +said. “Look at her, Jammery.” + +Enoch and Isaac began to drive the pigs away with kicks, and blows with +a stick. + +“I liked thish—I’ll come again,” said Derek, as he got up to go. + +“I’ll walk through the orchard with you,” Jammery said, gently taking +his arm. + +“No; don’t wannany help. Leggo my arm.” + +He shook himself free and marched steadily down the orchard path, the +pigs darting here and there, out of his way. He was in good spirits, and +broke into a song that he and two Halifax friends had often sung as a +trio: + + “A little farm well tilled, + A little barn well filled, + A little wife well willed— + Give me, give me.” + +His good baritone voice, rich with emotion, echoed against the grey +walls of Grimstone. . . . He was looking up at Fawnie’s window, when, in +a tone deepened by melancholy, he sang the last verse: + + “I like the farm well tilled, + And I like the house well filled, + But no wife at all— + Give me, give me.” + +The locust flowers fell about him; the lake lapped musically upon the +shingle; a cockerel crowed feebly in the barn. Derek laid his head +against the grey wall and wept. + + CHAPTER V + EDMUND + + 1. + +Mr. Jerrold and Hobbs were leaning against a gate watching a stableman +breaking in a colt in the paddock before them. Mr. Jerrold watched with +an almost tender smile the awkward yet delicate movements of the +beautiful young creature, so wistfully bewildered, so unconscious of its +great strength. The hard, light eyes of Hobbs seemed only to appraise +its fine points as that of something to be bought, sold, or put to tests +of endurance or speed. + +“Don’t overdo it,” called Mr. Jerrold. “That’s enough for to-day.” + +Hobbs showed disapproval. “You stop the training,” he said, “just as +she’s getting into the swing of it.” + +“I understand breaking in colts, I think. I don’t want her worried.” + +“Oh, well, it’s for you to say.” + +“Yes, it’s for me to say—yet.” + +They stood in silence as the stableman led away the colt, then Hobbs +said, cheerfully: + +“Things are going from bad to worse at Grimstone, they say.” + +Mr. Jerrold turned to him anxiously. “In what way, Hobbs? I have +scarcely seen anything of Vale since his marriage—seven or eight weeks +ago, isn’t it? He seems to want to be let alone.” + +“The trouble with him,” said Hobbs, “is that he was too damned +cock-a-hoop in the first place. He was so proud of owning the place, and +so sure he could manage his farm, and his stock, and his Indians. He’d +take no advice from anyone.” + +“I didn’t notice that. What is the trouble now?” + +“Well, Chard tells me that he has been going up to the shack almost +every night gambling with his Indian brothers-in-law and Jammery, and +getting so full he could hardly navigate his way home. The house has +been overrun by the Indian kids, and the servant girl couldn’t keep +anything to eat in her cupboards. The fruit gets picked sometimes, and +sometimes it don’t.” + +“I’m sorry to hear this. Why didn’t you tell me before?” + +“Well, I knew Mr. Vale was a friend, and I thought maybe you wouldn’t +want to hear anything against him. Then, I’d seen you and him talking +together several times, so I supposed you’d get a notion of what was +going on.” + +“I knew things were rather bad, but I had no idea they were in that +state.” + +“That isn’t all. A couple of days ago he flew into a rage at the way +they were imposing on him—I don’t blame them—I think it served him +right—and he simply drove them all off the place. Followed ’em to the +gate and locked it after them. Chard was passing and says he looked +wild, and white as a sheet. Now the thimbleberries are dropping off the +canes, and there’s nobody to pick them.” + +Grace Jerrold then rode up on her favourite horse, whose rounded sides +shone with the brightness of a polished nut. She looked paler and more +slender than formerly. Hobbs gazed at her keenly, trying to fathom the +origin of her pallor which, he thought, was produced by one of three +causes: either the extreme heat of the early summer; the anxiety arising +from her father’s serious financial position; or disappointment at +Vale’s marriage. He was inclined to credit the last reason, although she +gave him a look of cold suspicion as she drew in her rein that he felt +showed bitter resentment of his growing authority and liberty of action +on the farm. + +“Good-morning, Miss Jerrold,” he said, touching his hat, “and how is +Darby this morning?” + +“Very skittish,” she replied. “I think he is getting more oats than is +good for him.” + +“Ah! but you like him spirited, don’t you? Think of the way he took you +over that gate yesterday.” + +“That was his duty. It is not his duty to shy when passing the same gate +this morning as though he had never seen it before.” + +Hobbs laughed and moved away, leaving the father and daughter together. + + 2. + +He lifted her from her horse and they walked along the grassy lane +together, he holding the rein loosely while Darby bent to crop the short +new grass that had appeared since the recent rain. + +He said: “Do you know, Grace, Hobbs tells me that things are in a very +bad state at Grimstone. Had you heard anything?” + +“Yes.” Her tone was reserved. + +“From whom?” + +“A housemaid. She would gossip as she was doing my room and—I couldn’t +help listening.” + +“Why didn’t you tell me?” + +“Oh, I couldn’t bear to talk about it. You couldn’t do anything, and you +had worries enough of your own.” + +“Are we going to let Derek ruin himself and not put out a hand?” + +“I have written to his brother.” + +“Written to his brother! He’ll not thank you for that.” + +“I don’t desire his thanks.” + +“Had his brother heard of the marriage?” + +“Not a word. Derek had written to him only once, a strange sort of +letter, he said. He couldn’t understand it. He’s terribly upset. He has +got leave and is coming to see. He should arrive to-day.” + +“Grace! And you were keeping all this from your father?” + +“You keep things from me.” + +“What sort of things?” + +“Things about Hobbs—and debts—and mistakes—and failures—only lately, +too.” + +“My darling.” He put his arm about her waist. “Only because I hate to +see you worried.” + +She smiled up at him brightly. “Don’t let’s worry. Everything will come +right. . . . With us, I mean.” + +They walked in silence for a space. The mellow light of the morning made +known the imminence of autumn. Goldenrod rose, taller than the fences, +its sprays imprisoning passing thistledown. The hips of the brier shone, +plump and ruddy. Perhaps something of the gentle melancholy of the +morning overtook those two people, usually so talkative when together, +or perhaps each felt less certain of the other’s state of mind than ever +before. + +When they came to the boundary between Durras and Grimstone they saw, +crossing a field, the figures of two men. They were Derek and Edmund +Vale. + +“Shall we go on, or wait and speak to them?” asked Grace. + +“We’ll wait, don’t you think so? They have seen us.” + +The two men hesitated, spoke together excitedly a moment, then Derek +turned back and Edmund came on alone. + +“I’m glad to see you back,” said Mr. Jerrold when the greetings were +over. “I suppose your brother is glad to have you.” + +“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the young man. “He was awfully surprised. +I’ve had jollier home-comings.” He looked searchingly at Grace, but she +avoided his eyes, and, pulling at a hip of the brier near her, had her +finger pierced by a thorn. + +“Silly girl,” said her father, taking out a large, tobacco-smelling +handkerchief and enfolding in it the bleeding finger. + +“Miss Grace believes in grasping the thorn,” said Edmund. “As for me, I +dread everything unpleasant. Hips and haws may flourish unhurt for all +of me, as long as they’ve thorns to protect ’em.” + +“Have you met your brother’s wife?” asked Mr. Jerrold. + +“Just for a moment. My God, isn’t this an awful marriage? I was stunned +when I heard of it. Just think, he never mentioned it when he wrote! But +I knew there was something wrong—I thought of something quite +different.” He looked hard at Grace, and she met his eyes with a +troubled smile. + +“Come over, Captain Vale,” said Mr. Jerrold, “and talk to my daughter. +Tell her some enlivening doings of Halifax. She needs cheering up. I’ll +take Darby home.” He felt that Edmund wanted to see Grace alone. + + 3. + +“Why do you need cheering?” His tone was almost accusing, though with an +assumed lightness. + +“Life cannot be always smooth for anyone, can it?” + +“It should be for you.” + +“I expect my share of trouble like others but, really—it is over others +that I worry.” + +“You make me very envious.” + +“Why?” + +“Well, I don’t believe you’d worry much if I were to marry an Indian.” + +She flushed red. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I am worrying about my father. +You see, he put everything he had into this place and now he’s obliged +to sell it just to meet his obligations. I am afraid there won’t be much +left.” + +Edmund coloured also. “I had no idea of such a thing. I thought of your +father as absolutely secure—here permanently. He gives one that +feeling.” + +“I know. I really believe that if he were walking in the gutter carrying +a sandwich-board, he would wear that look of well-being, and people +would say—‘What a dashing fellow!’” + +“But I am awfully sorry. Can nothing be done?” + +“Oh, no. It’s all over. We are to have a sale on the twelfth of +September. Shall you be here till then?” + +“Yes. I have a decent leave this time. But, I say, does this mean that +you must move away from here?” + +“Thank heaven, no. We are going to keep a cottage—that one right on the +shore—it has been used by Carss, one of the gardeners. It has a pretty +garden, a few fruit trees, and the tiniest stable. Then, of course, we +shall keep our dogs. Our good old cook is going with us, and we are to +have one cow. Perhaps I shall have to milk. Can’t you see me as a +strapping milkmaid?” She spoke quickly, and with an air of suppressed +excitement. + +Edmund’s mobile face was full of sympathy. “Strange,” he murmured. +“Derek did not say a word about this to me.” + +“Oh, I suppose not. He has his own affairs to contemplate.” There was +bitterness in her voice. + +“Well, I must say they are in a sorry mess. How a fastidious chap like +he is can ever hit it off with that girl——” + +Grace sharply pressed the finger that had been torn by the brier. “It +hurts,” she explained. + +“Too bad. Take the handkerchief off and let me see it. Maybe a bit of +thorn is sticking in it.” + +“I believe it is. But I shan’t undo it now. When I go home”—she nursed +it in her other hand. “Didn’t he speak of me at all?” + +“He said he met you once—on the road.” + +She flashed a look of challenge at him. “Now do you blame me?” + +“Not a bit. All I wonder is that you speak to me. You might be excused +for washing your hands of the whole family.” + +“As though I could do such a thing! I’m not even angry at him now. I +should like to be friends if it were possible.” + +Edmund thought a moment, then he said: “I can’t seem to get near Derek. +He doesn’t want to talk of his affairs at all. He just says he’s done it +and he wants to be let alone.” + +Her eyes filled with tears. “I am afraid you have come among very +unhappy people for your holiday, Captain Vale.” + +“Don’t pity me for that,” he said, with a tremor in his voice. “Wherever +you are, there is happiness for me.” + + CHAPTER VI + SWEET APPLES ON A RUSTIC SEAT + + 1. + +The next morning Fawnie came to breakfast wearing a flowered organdie +dress that she had bought at Brancepeth a fortnight before. It had +become soiled, and much crushed in the lap from holding the baby. The +fasteners that held the neck had come off, and she had secured it with a +large safety pin. These were the defects that caught Edmund’s eye; he +scarcely noticed the beautiful red and brown of her cheeks, or the +exquisitely clear markings of her eyelids and lashes. + +But Derek did not seem to mind, nor did he show annoyance when she +dipped the spoon with which she had been eating thimbleberries into the +sugar-basin and gave it to the child to suck. Fawnie was inclined to +show her authority over Phœbe. In a soft, liquid voice she ordered one +thing after another from the kitchen, and, when Phœbe angrily set a +plate of toast on the table, at the very end of the meal, she said +softly: + +“Don’t you make so much noise, Phœbe. You act like you never had no +training.” And turning to Edmund, she added, “I been trainin’ that girl +steady for two months.” + +Edmund raised his eyebrows. “She seems a good sort,” he said, “and good +servants are hard to get.” + +“No, they’re not,” Fawnie replied, getting more sugar for the baby. “I +know where I kin get a good girl any day, and not saucy neither. But I +won’t have an Indian. They’re too lazy. Wasn’t I glad when Derek sent +all them Indians flyin’ off our place! He was so mad I thought he was +goin’ to get his gun an’ shoot them. I wish he had.” + +“What about your fruit?” asked Edmund, turning to Derek. “How shall you +get it picked?” + +“I’m just going to let the thimbleberries go,” said Derek, passively. +“The apples and pears can be sold to a dealer outright, who will bring +his own men to pick them.” + +“What a pity to lose your berries, though. They look a tremendous crop, +too.” + +“They are. The ground is black with them, and the canes bending beneath +the weight, but it can’t be helped.” + +“We’d sooner waste them than keep those Sharroes an’ Jammery about,” put +in Fawnie. + +Edmund got up from the table with relief. The baby was beginning to +hiccough and drool. Fawnie carried him outdoors and laid him on a pillow +on the grass. Jock, the collie, came at once and lay down beside him. +Edmund stared for a moment at the child’s downy fair hair, then with a +sigh he turned on his heel and went into the parlour. He sat down before +the piano and began to play the waltz from “The Merry Widow” with +languid, appealing stress. + +Fawnie followed him, and stood against his back, gazing with fascination +at the movements of his hands, her body gently swaying with the rhythm. +“Oh, I like that piece,” she breathed. “Is it a hymn? It don’ sound jus’ +like a hymn, and yet it’s too slow for a jig. Say, Ted” (she had, at +once, acquired the familiar nickname), “when you play like that it makes +me feel like as if my blood was dancin’ in my body.” + +He looked up at her curiously. “Your blood dancing, eh, Fawnie? Fast and +wild? or slow and sweet?” + +“Slow, an’ heavy, an’ sweet, like the music. Tum-te, tum-tum; tum-te, +tum-tum, like that. Ain’t it comical?” + +“Very. Altogether I think you’re a comical girl, Fawnie. I begin to +understand.” + +“Understan’ what? I know. Why Derek loves me.” Her arms stole about his +neck and her head drooped toward his. He felt the supple fingers +interlaced beneath his chin. It seemed that he could not free +himself—for a moment at least—but must softly thump out the languid +waltz, his eyes half shut, his head against her breast. Then, before he +made the attempt, her cheek was pressed to his, and her lips had touched +him, somewhere near the mouth. + +He turned his head in her arms and looked towards the door. Derek had +come in. + +“Oh, Lord,” cried Edmund, freeing himself. “This is only a joke, Derek.” + +Derek caught Fawnie by the arm and jerked her savagely away from his +brother. “Never do that again,” he said. + +She hunched her shoulders like a child, half laughing, half crying. + +“She didn’t mean anything,” said Edmund, his face scarlet. “She was just +thanking me for the music.” + +“I’ll thank you for any music you make,” replied Derek, also flushed. +“Come along, let us go out.” + +They passed Fawnie without looking at her, and went out of doors. + +The air was still; the sunlight dim and ruddy with the haze of distant +forest fires. Tiny yellow leaves fluttered from the locust trees and lay +like little gold coins upon the grass. The baby blinked up at the two +men, narrowing his eyes, and stretching his lips in a smile. + +“Why, he’s laughing,” said Edmund. “I didn’t know they laughed at that +age. What’s the joke?” + +“He sees me. He thinks I’m funny for some reason. When he flaps his +hands that way he wants to be taken up.” Derek picked him up and looked +over his downy head at Edmund with a mixture of fatherly pride and +sheepishness. “Just look at those legs.” + +The brothers bent over the fat, kicking limbs of the youngster, trying +to forget the encounter of a few minutes ago, yet both feeling some +constraint. + +Fawnie’s brown fingers appeared between the slats of the shutters on the +window next them. “Please hand me in my baby,” she said in a very small +voice. “I got to nurse him.” + +“Open the shutter, then,” replied Derek. “I can’t put him between the +slats.” + +“I am afraid to open the shutters.” + +“Why?” + +“Because you will hit me.” + +“Nonsense. If you want the baby, open them.” + +Cautiously she unlatched a shutter, pushed it a little way open, and put +her hands through the opening. Derek laid the baby in them. She drew the +child quickly to her and closed the shutters, but they had a glimpse of +her smile and her sliding velvet eyes. + +“She’s just a child,” said Derek to Edmund. + +“I think she’s awfully sly,” said Edmund in a tone of profound concern. + + 2. + +They walked through the cherry orchard where black-currant bushes set +among the trees brushed against them as they passed, yielding their +peculiar teasing scent. They crossed a field of stubble, where the +turkey-hens were grazing and the gobbler circling about them with his +wattles flaming as though it were spring, and entered the apple orchard. + +“It appears to be a splendid crop,” remarked Edmund, looking up at the +red and green and yellow fruit hanging so abundantly among the leaves. + +“It is,” replied Derek, “and I shall need the money to make up for the +loss of my thimbleberries.” + +“It’s a lovely place,” Edmund said, dropping to the grass in a sunny +place. “What a view! From here those white sheep on the bluff against +the blue of the lake—and that glimpse of the herd down by the +creek—I’m just going to light my pipe and enjoy the whole thing. You +can scarcely imagine a more perfect spot for one’s first smoke in the +morning—a serene view, pure air, the sound of those turkey-hens +gurgling to each other, now and then an apple falling. . . . Do you +know, Derek, at this moment, I feel almost reconciled to this astounding +marriage of yours.” + +“Don’t let the reconciliation be too complete,” returned Derek, smiling +down at him with meaning. + +Edmund closed his eyes and emitted a cloud of smoke that hung like a +grey-blue scarf on the quiet air. An apple fell from the tree above him. +Derek picked it up and saw that it was one of the sweet apples that +Grace Jerrold had said she liked best, the day of Solomon Sharroe’s +funeral. He walked around the tree selecting the finest, which he +dropped into his cap. + +“Why don’t you sit down and smoke?” asked his brother. “What are you +doing?” + +“I must go back to where Hugh is ploughing. I want to speak to him. I +shan’t be long.” + +He had made up his mind to take the apples to a rustic seat that had +been built on the fringe of the Durras woods for Grace. He knew she +spent a part of every fine day there, and no one would touch the apples +if they were on her seat. His walk became eager with the pleasure of +doing something for her. He wondered what he should do if she were +already there and they met face to face. + +But she was not there. He arranged the apples in a compact group on the +seat, and, after looking at them meditatively a moment, went to +interview Hugh. + +When he returned to the orchard Edmund was half asleep, but he roused +himself and asked, “Everything all right?” + +“Oh, yes!” said Derek, sitting down beside him. “Hugh is getting on +well. He is a good man. The only good man I have now. Snailem is a fool. +Old Peek and the boys from Mistwell are makeshifts. Next spring I must +try to get plenty of competent help. It means success, and the lack of +it failure.” + +Edmund turned to him suddenly. “Have you heard that Mr. Jerrold is in +difficulties? That he is having a sale on the twelfth?” + +“He has a sale of surplus stock twice a year.” + +“This is a sale of _everything_—stock, implements, house, furniture, +the whole farm. Had you heard nothing?” + +Derek looked at him aghast. “I hadn’t heard a word about it. Who told +you?” + +“Grace, yesterday. She’s fearfully cut up, naturally. But plucky, you +know.” + +Derek sat in silence a moment, then he asked, “Are they going to move?” + +“No; they are keeping a gardener’s cottage, and they will have a cow, +and a horse, and their dogs, of course. But what a change!” + +“I have been swallowed up by my own little tempest lately, and so I’ve +known nothing of the storm and stress my neighbours are passing through. +I am very sorry. I like him tremendously—and she”—he turned suddenly +to Edmund—“How is it between you two?” he asked. “May I know?” + +“Oh, nothing is settled. But it must be soon. While I’m very sorry about +this disaster of theirs, it has given me courage to rush matters a bit.” + +Derek nodded. His mind was wandering, as it had a habit of doing lately. +He was thinking of those sweet apples on the rustic seat, and wondering +whether she had found them yet, whether she could care for a little +thing like that in troubled days like these. She seemed far away from +him, yet always on the fringe of his thoughts. She was like a loved +person of whom one dreams, yet whose face one cannot clearly see. + + 3. + +Edmund, strolling through the woods of Durras, hoping to meet Grace, +came across the rustic seat, and sat down. He wondered how those seven +smooth, yellow apples came there. They looked as though they were +waiting for someone. He decided to wait with them. + +Birds, free from family cares, sang all about him, making a happy, +careless jargon of song that was delightful. A black squirrel, with an +enormous brush, clung head downward on a tree near by and rated him +fluently for his intrusion. He picked up one of the apples and began to +eat it. + +He was in a mood of happy confidence, and when he saw Grace approaching, +he felt that good fortune was with him that day indeed. He tossed the +remainder of the apple under the seat and sprang forward to meet her. + +“I am a lucky fellow,” he said. “I’ve been wanting so much to meet you +this morning, and here you are, and here are birds to greet you, and a +secluded seat, and apples—golden apples—by the Rood!” + +He was excited, and he did not try to conceal his excitement. That was +not his way. Rather he encouraged himself in his emotions as though he +were a spectator who said, “Go it, old fellow!” He kept her hand and led +her to the seat. + +“Oh,” she exclaimed. “How nice of you to bring me those sweet apples! No +other tree produces quite the same flavour.” + +“I did not know that that particular tree had any special virtue,” said +Edmund, wondering where the devil the apples had come from, “but I’m +glad they are your favourites. Won’t you have one now?” + +“Thank you. It is rather soon after breakfast. I shall put them +carefully in my work-bag and carry them home, and devour them all +greedily in my own room.” + +She opened a flowered chintz bag and dropped the apples one by one into +it. The movements of her gentle, yet firm, hands thrilled the young man +even more than the sweetness of her lowered face. + +“I wish,” he said, “that I could give you a pleasure more lasting.” + +She raised her eyes to his face. “Oh, it is a lasting pleasure to have +you so thoughtful for me—so kind—in every way.” + +“But I don’t want to be thoughtful,” he broke out. “I don’t want to be +kind. I want to love you—to make you love me. I can’t offer myself as +an ideal husband. I’m self-willed—I’m thoughtless—but I love you. I +haven’t looked at another woman since I met you last Christmas.” + +“Please wait”—she interrupted—“let me speak.” + +“No. Not till you’ve heard me out. Oh, don’t refuse me, Grace. I may not +have it in me to make you placidly happy, but who wants to be placid! I +think we could have a joyous, exciting life together. Old Halifax isn’t +bad. And you’d have the sea to make up for this lake you love.” + +She clutched the flowered bag and returned his brilliant dark gaze with +a look of almost motherly solicitude. + +“Poor boy—to care for me like that. Because I can’t——” + +“Now don’t say you can’t! Think it over.” He had caught her hand and +held it. + +“No. Thinking would not change me. I don’t care for you in that way.” + +“You love someone else!” + +“I don’t think I want to marry anyone. I expect I love my father too +much.” + +“But that’s not fair. He has had a woman’s best love already. I”—his +voice broke—“have no one to love me.” + +“Oh, but you will,” she comforted, “for you are really very lovable.” + +“Then why don’t you love me?” + +“I do. But not in that way.” + +“Do you love Derek?” + +She rose, and looked down at him angrily. “You know you have no right to +ask that.” + +“You do love him, then!” + +“I love you both—as friends.” + +“If I thought”—his eyes flamed accusingly into hers—“if I thought you +loved Derek, I’d throw myself into the lake.” + +“Ah, now you make me glad I do not love you—too well.” + +“Why?” + +“Because you are acting in such a pettish, childish way.” + +“Pettish—childish——” he repeated, with a short, infuriated laugh. “Go +on! I can bear it.” + +“You must see for yourself that we’re not suited to each other. Why, we +are quarrelling already.” + +“Only because you are so cruel.” + +“And you are so unreasonable. . . .” + +Sgaith had followed her, and now began furiously to dig a hole between +them, as they stood facing each other. Impartially she threw earth over +the feet of both, as she circled, with her wicked forepaws as a pivot. + +“Sgaith thinks we’re very silly,” said Grace. “She’s digging a hole to +crawl into for very shame.” + +“She’s digging a grave for my hopes,” said Edmund. + +And so they parted, Grace with her little bag of apples, Edmund with a +heavy heart, and Sgaith with earth on her nose. + + 4. + +Edmund found Derek. + +“Well, that’s over,” he said. “I asked her and—she won’t have me.” + +Derek was combing the wild, thick mane of a Welsh pony. He parted it +carefully before he replied, “I’m awfully sorry for you, old man.” + +“I’m sorry for myself.” He sat down on a stool just outside the stall. +The pony, peering round at him through her fringe of hair, lifted her +small hind foot tentatively. + +“That’s right,” said Edmund, shifting his stool a little. “Kick me when +I’m down.” + +“Oh, she’s just playful,” said Derek. + +“Yes, the female of the species is a playful lot.” He spoke with grim +jocularity. “Everything is play to her. They’re all alike. Even the +little brute Sgaith. She dug a hole and threw dirt on me just after I’d +been rejected.” + +Derek burst into sudden laughter; then he asked seriously: “Do you think +it’s final?” + +“I think she meant it. But I’m going to get after her again before I +leave.” + +There was silence for a time except for the swish of the curry-comb and +Derek’s soft whistle. Then he asked, as though for something to say, +“Where were you?” + +“On that rustic seat.” + +“Oh . . . stand still, girl. . . . Were there . . .” + +“Were there what?” + +“Any apples—on the seat?” + +“Yes, yellow sweet ones. Did you put them there?” Suspicion leaped into +his eyes. + +“Yes, I knew she liked that kind.” + +“She thought I had brought them.” + +“That’s all right.” + +Silence once more. Then Edmund: + +“You don’t suppose it’s Ramsey, do you, Derek?” + +Derek turned and faced him, comb in hand. + +“Ramsey! What put him in your head?” + +“Oh, I don’t know. . . . The way he hustled you into that marriage, +now. . . . I’ve thought of that. . . . Just as though he wanted to make +sure you were out of the way.” + +“I wouldn’t believe that of Ramsey. He’s absolutely straight. No, Grace +doesn’t love anyone but her father. . . . Whoa, pet. Now, you’re as +sleek as a chestnut.” + + CHAPTER VII + SALE AT DURRAS—DARBY + + 1. + +“I want to go to Brancepeth,” announced Fawnie, “to buy some clothes. I +ain’t got a decent thing to wear, and baby, he’s just burstin’ out of +his little white dress, and his pink one is all iron rust, and his feet +are bare, and he’s got to have a baby-carriage. I can’t go around +carryin’ him on my back like I was a common squaw. I want to get him a +wicker carriage with a silk parasol, and a lace cover with a pink bow, +and pink kid slippers, and an embroidered dress. . . . How much money +are you goin’ to give me, Derek?” + +“You evidently take me for a millionaire,” said Derek. “Do you realize +that I haven’t got a cent from my thimbleberries; that I’ve just paid +the help their wages, and the vet. his bill; that my taxes are due, and +I’ve just lost a good milch cow?” + +Fawnie laughed gaily. “Oh, you are stingy! You know you have heaps of +money in the bank. Get me some of that. If you won’t I will go and work +for Mrs. Chard and earn some. And I’ll tell Mr. Chard you beat me.” + +They were sitting on the shore watching the red harvest moon rise from +the blackness of the lake. Fawnie held the baby on her lap. She had +wrapped a shawl about him so that his downy head, still soft and +unhardened in bone or cartilage, projected. Derek, stretched on the +sand, lazily watched the pair. Edmund, sitting on the breakwater at a +little distance, smoked and dangled his legs in silence. His leave was +almost up. He had to return to Halifax with no hope of winning Grace, +but, on this warm September night, sweet with the smells of land and +lake, he was pensive rather than sad. + +Fawnie began to press the muscles of Derek’s arm with her fingers. “You +could beat me very hard,” she said. “But you won’t, will you, darling?” +(A new word she had recently acquired, along with “Jolly good,” and the +phrase—“as a matter of fac’.”) “You won’t beat me, darling. You’ll jus’ +give me a lot of money, and let Snailem drive me to Brancepeth, eh?” + +Derek capitulated. “To-morrow is Mr. Jerrold’s sale. The men would like +a holiday, and I expect Snailem would sooner drive to Brancepeth than go +to the sale. Would twenty dollars do, Fawnie?” + +She turned her eyes on him reproachfully. “My goodness, no. The +baby-carriage alone will cost fifteen dollars. And, you know, Derek, I +never had no proper clothes when I married you. I got to buy them now. +I’m the finest lady about here, now Grace Jerrold’s got to move into a +little old cottage. And she ain’t married anyhow. Yes—I’m the finest +lady between Brancepeth and Mistwell.” She gazed at the golden moon, in +blissful meditation. Then—“It will take fifty dollars.” + +“Very well,” assented Derek. “You shall have it. But be careful what you +buy. You shan’t get any more money till winter, mind. And I shouldn’t +buy Buckskin pink kid shoes if I were you. I’d buy him nice little brown +shoes and two or three pairs of socks to match. They’ll suit him +better.” + +“I’ll buy him whatever looks the best. I need some scented soap, too, +and a pair of pink silk shirred garters with buckles at the side.” + +Edmund groaned from his perch on the breakwater. “I see the finish of +that fifty dollars, Derek. You had better go with her.” + +“No,” replied Derek, shortly. He had not appeared abroad with Fawnie +yet, and he was in no hurry to do so. On the few occasions when he had +gone to either of the villages alone he had found himself an embarrassed +object of interest. In the “Duke of York” he had seen a man nudge his +neighbour and heard him whisper: “There’s Mr. Vale, from down Mistwell +way—him that married an Indian girl lately. They’ve got a tidy boy +already, ’tis said, dark as a Arab, but his hair—man, they say it’s as +light as gold.” + +No . . . he would give Fawnie the fifty dollars and let her enjoy +herself in her own way. + + 2. + +She had carried the child to bed. Derek had helped her up the steep +steps in the rock, and, when she had been swallowed by the darkness +above, he wheeled and went down the shingle to the breakwater. + +“There’s something I want you to do for me, Ted,” he said, huskily. + +“Fire away.” + +“You know that chestnut of Grace’s?” + +“Darby? Oh, yes.” + +“He’s up for sale to-morrow. I want you to go and buy him for me. I +can’t bear to think of her being without him.” + +“Aren’t they keeping a horse at all?” + +“Just the big grey that Mr. Jerrold rides. You see, he can be driven in +the trap as well. Darby has never been harnessed.” + +“How high will you go?” + +“High enough to get him. But I don’t believe it will be very steep. I +think they’ve chosen a rotten time for the sale. But it was Hobbs’s +doing.” + +“Why rotten?” + +“Well, you know the election is coming the twenty-first. All the fruit +growers are afraid Laurier will be returned. They know Reciprocity would +ruin them. They’ll want to hang on to what money they have. They’ll +simply be afraid to buy.” + +“Why does Mr. Jerrold choose such a time for his sale?” + +“I don’t know. Suppose Hobbs urges him. He is the largest creditor. Mr. +Jerrold is between the devil and the deep sea. If he waits till after +the election, conditions may be worse than ever. Imagine what it will +mean to us if American fruit is allowed to be sent here duty-free—and +their season about three weeks in advance of ours.” + +“It would be a damned shame,” agreed Edmund. + +Derek sat down beside him, and after a pause Edmund said: “I’ve asked +her twice since that first time, but she’s stuck to her guns. Won’t have +me. I’ll get used to it, I suppose, but it’s hard.” + +“I repeat that she doesn’t love anyone but her father.” + +“No—I believe she loves you. The more I think over things she’s +said—and ways she’s looked—I can’t explain—but I’m sure it’s you.” + +The lake murmured darkly to the leaning sky; fiery ripples curled below +their feet; Derek gazed at that golden orb beloved by captives, and felt +the galling of his chains. + + 3. + +Derek spent a restless morning. He could not bear to see the hurrying +buggies and motor-cars going to the sale. They seemed to him like birds +of prey skimming eagerly to the scene of a calamity. He could scarcely +believe that the Jerrolds had left the big red house. Hugh had told him +that they had moved to the cottage the afternoon before. Phœbe had seen +Mr. Jerrold striding across the fields carrying a silver candelabrum in +his arms. And Grace had been seen, with her one servant, hanging +curtains at the windows of the cottage. “Mark my words!” Phœbe had +cried. “We shall have Hobbs as our next neighbour in the great house. It +makes me all of a boilin’ stew to think of. The world’s gone crazy, and +no mistake. Hobbs weren’t satisfied with being a gentleman agent—that’s +what he calls himself if you’ll believe me—but he aims to be a +gentleman as ever was. The very idear! With that burr to his tongue! +They say he’s raised his eyes to Miss Jerrold. I’d be glad to hear as +one of his own prize cocks had pecked ’em out. If there’s one thing I +hate, it’s folk gettin’ out of their proper station. It puts me all in a +boilin’ stew, it does.” + +She followed Derek up and down, and in and out, talking with heat. She +made him a thimbleberry rolypoly for dinner. He wished he might have +been allowed to forget the thimbleberries. He pictured himself as eating +his way through the whole patch. She made him a custard to pour over the +pudding. In short, she treated him as a prisoner who had been granted a +few hours of freedom. + +At four o’clock he heard a clatter of hoofs on the bridge, and, looking +out of the stable window—he was always tinkering at the harness—he saw +Edmund and Hugh crossing it in the trap, the latter leading by a halter +Grace’s horse, Darby, who showed his disapproval of the proceeding by +petulant jumpings and cavortings from side to side. + +Derek went out to meet them. “I’m glad you were able to get him,” he +said, laying a soothing hand on the chestnut’s quivering side. “Did he +come high?” + +“High eneuch,” answered Hugh, smiling. “Captain Vale and Mr. Hobbs had +it out between them. And I’m glad Hobbs didna get him.” + +Edmund jumped sulkily to the ground and turned towards the house. + +“Put Darby in the loose-box, Hugh,” directed Derek, “and try to make him +easy in his mind, if you can.” Then he followed his brother. “Are you +hungry?” he asked. + +“I could take something substantial for tea. They gave us sandwiches and +beer, at one o’clock. Yes, I’m rather hungry.” + +Derek ordered tea and they sat down in the dining-room. Edmund picked up +a month-old copy of _Punch_ and began gloomily to read. + +“What’s the matter?” demanded Derek. “You seem peeved.” + +“Do you know where Fawnie is?” + +“Snailem took her to Brancepeth to buy clothes. You knew that. What’s +she been up to? She should have been back long ago.” + +Edmund began to walk angrily up and down the room. “I’ll tell you, then. +She ought to be thrashed. About an hour ago she and Snailem appeared at +the sale. She holding the kid on her lap. Snailem looking half full, and +a pram tied on the back of the buggy. You can imagine the outfit. . . . +I was thunder-struck. The crowd seemed to know who she was instantly. A +lot of them thought I was you, and turned and grinned at me.” He stopped +before Derek and looked down at him accusingly. + +“Well,” said Derek, calmly. “Go on. What did she do?” + +“Oh, she was as bold as brass. She alighted from her equipage. Snailem +gave her his hand. Then he got the pram for her, and she set the kid in +it. It was wicker, painted green, and there was a cover with a big pink +bow. She’d got herself a hat with cherries on it and long green +streamers. The auctioneer had to pound his hammer on the table to make +the men look at him. They all wanted to stare at her. . . .” He picked +up _Punch_ again and began to read as Phœbe entered with the tray. + +“What next?” asked Derek, when the door had closed behind her. + +“Snailem tied his nag to the fence and joined some loafers on a back +bench. Fawnie paraded up and down under that row of maples. Their leaves +are all turning red, and the whole effect was—garish. She’d toss her +head so the green streamers would flutter—the kid had a toy +balloon—and every now and again she’d trot round to the front of the +pram and arrange the pink bow, or take a sweet out of a paper bag at his +feet.” + +“Where is she now? Why didn’t you bring her home?” + +“Bring her home! I see myself. I got out as soon as I had paid for the +horse. The last I saw of her she was on her way to the house, where some +furniture was to be sold. She was with a crowd of well-to-do men and +their wives from Brancepeth. What do you suppose made her do it?” + +“Pure cussedness. Nothing else under the sun.” + +Phœbe brought some boiled eggs and they ate in silence for a while, each +contemplating Fawnie’s wickedness from his own angle. Then Derek asked: + +“How did things go?” + +Edmund groaned. “About as badly as possible. The implements were the +worst. Implements that had cost two hundred dollars, as good as new, +went for thirty or forty. Separators, incubators—just given away. The +stock wasn’t so bad. But bad enough. I paid one hundred and eighty for +Darby. Hobbs wanted him. He’s a beast, that fellow. He has bought the +place and enough stock and implements to run it in a modest way. But +he’ll branch out. He’ll do better for himself than he ever did for +Jerrold. . . . He came over and spoke to me. Told me some of his plans. +He was almost drunk with exhilaration but declared he was not +‘cock-a-hoop’ about it. Then he jerked his head towards Fawnie and said, +‘Your sister-in-law is coming on like anything, isn’t she, Captain +Vale?’” Then Edmund swore with a fluency that showed that his years in +the army had not been altogether wasted. + + 4. + +They were sitting smoking in the porch. There had been a stream of +vehicles, but the road was now resuming its accustomed quiet. + +“I can’t imagine what is keeping her,” muttered Derek. “I’m beginning to +get anxious.” + +“God knows,” replied Edmund. “Probably hobnobbing with Hobbs. Each one +assuring the other that they are not ‘cock-a-hoop.’” + +Derek shifted in his willow chair, making it creak beneath him. He +stared anxiously up the road. “There she comes, now,” he exclaimed. + +She was approaching along the edge of the bluffs, her figure, in its +yellow dress and streamered hat, silhouetted against the burnished blue +of the sky. She was wheeling the perambulator before her, and, as she +descended and ascended the rolling side of the cliff, it was surprising +that the child was not thrown from its seat. But they came steadily on, +watched in silence by the brothers. + +She descended the last steep, crossed the bridge, and began to climb the +rise to the gate. Phœbe, seeing her from the kitchen window, where she +was washing dishes, rushed out along the drive to meet the baby, her +arms still wet with dishwater, her woollen slippers padding on the sand. + +“Here comes the prince!” she cried. “See him in his fine new chaise! Oh, +the poppetty poppet! Would he come to his Phœbe, then!” + +“For goodness’ sake, take him, Phœbe,” said Fawnie. “I’m tired out. I’ve +had such a busy day. Everybody wantin’ to shake hands with me an’ see +the baby. Well, Derek, did you think I was los’?” + +She had crossed the lawn, and stood before them with an air of mingled +fear and audacity, like a naughty child. Derek, his chin grasped in his +hand, stared down at her. + +“How did you dare,” he said, “to go to that sale and flaunt yourself +before everyone in those ridiculous clothes? How do you suppose Ted felt +when he saw you? What kept you so late?” + +“He made me pretty mad,” retorted Fawnie, “not lettin’ on he knew me. +Folks said to me afterwards, ‘You and your husban’ didn’t seem to see +each other, did you, Mrs. Vale?’ And I says: ‘That feller ain’t my +husban’. My husban’s a handsome man with curly light hair like baby’s. +That’s jus’ his poor brother who’s out of a job, an’ we’re keepin’ him +for a while.’” She showed her pearl-like little teeth in a malicious +grin. + +“Oh, you little devil,” said Derek, and burst out laughing. But Edmund +kept a sulky silence. Fawnie came up the steps and perched herself on +the railing. + +“Now I tell you what I been doin’,” she said, arranging the streamers of +her hat over one shoulder. “First, Snailem an’ me went to Brancepeth. +Snailem’s an old fool. I had to go an’ bring him out of the ‘Duke of +York’ myself, or he’d have got full. I went to the very best store an’ I +bought a lovely white dress for myself—an’ a hat—an’ shoes—an’ +ear-rings an’ new clothes for baby—all sensible like you said. An’ I +had ten dollars left. Then, when we was drivin’ home, we passed the +sale, an’ Snailem says, ‘What’s the hurry? Let’s go in!’ So we went in; +an’ after the pigs, an’ cows, an’ reapers, an’ mowers was sold, the +auctioneer he moved on up to the big house. Then”—she clasped her hands +and nodded brightly—“then, I remembered my ten dollars. Oh, I was glad! +I went with all the people, an’ then I met Mr. Hobbs. I told him I +wanted to buy something nice for my own room. He was awful kind. He +stayed right beside me and helped me to bid. Said he wanted to be +neighbourly.” She cast a triumphant look at Edmund, who sat with folded +arms, and face averted, the picture of disapproval. + +“Good old Hobbs,” said Derek, grinning. “And what did you buy?” + +“Here comes Snailem with them now—a great big lookin’-glass, an’ a +little, little gold chair, see!” + +Snailem was turning in at the gate, balancing with difficulty a tall +pier-glass that stood on the seat behind him. The little gilt chair was +tied on behind. He gave a sheepish glance towards the group on the +porch. + +“I paid seven for the lookin’-glass an’ three for the chair. I mus’ see +that he gets them safe upstairs.” She stopped in the doorway. “I forgot +to tell you, Derek, that Mr. Hobbs, he’s bought the house an’ some of +the furniture. He’s goin’ to live in that big place all by hisself, an’ +great big Mr. Jerrold in a cottage, little as little. How fonny!” She +flew out to give orders to Snailem and Hugh. + +Derek broke into noisy laughter. + +“What’s amusing?” asked Ted, savagely. + +“Everything. It seems to me that life is just one howling joke after +another.” + + 5. + +The sun had barely risen out of the lake when Derek led Darby through +the stable-yard. The air was sharp with a suspicion of frost, and sweet +to the nostrils as a new-blown flower. An oriole in the orchard, freed +from summer cares, poured forth the swinging sweetness of his song. The +matted foliage of the old strawberry beds was filmed by innumerable +glistening cobwebs, and, here and there, the redness of late +strawberries caught the eye. + +Darby had had a bad night. Nothing that Hugh could do for him had been +enough to make him forget the strangeness of his new surroundings. He +had refused his supper; he had refused his drink of fresh spring water. +Perhaps some odour of the Welsh ponies had clung to the pail, for he had +picked it up disgustedly in his teeth and hurled it to the floor. When +Hugh had made him a thick bed of clean straw, he had kicked it out into +the passage and slept on the bare boards. Consequently Derek had had to +give him a thorough grooming this morning. + +Now he picked his way petulantly among the fallen walnuts on the drive, +puzzled and irritated by this stranger on his back who pressed a firm +leg on either of his sides. He leapt sideways through the gate, he +tripped sideways down the slope; sideways, with stampings of his +polished hoofs, he crossed the bridge. With quivering nostrils he +sniffed a field of clover, aftermath of one of the grain crops, then, +suddenly, he smelled and saw his own stable-yard. In spite of Derek he +would have plunged through the gateway, but the figure of Hobbs barred +his way. + +“You’re out early,” said Hobbs. “I suppose you were impatient to try +your new horse. Well, you are welcome to him, for he’s an ugly devil if +ever there was one.” + +“You’re early yourself,” replied Derek over his shoulder. + +“It’s a fact,” said Hobbs. “I never went to bed last night. Just +excited. Not that I was——” + +“Good-bye!” shouted Derek, for Darby was galloping furiously up the +road. + +The blinds of the cottage were drawn. It was half hidden behind +hydrangeas and climbing roses. Derek dismounted, unlatched the gate, and +led Darby cautiously towards the little stable. + +Scarcely had he opened the door of the stable when a loud whinny came +from Mr. Jerrold’s grey, inside. Darby answered joyously, and ran into +the empty stall beside his friend, reaching around the partition to nose +the familiar face. Derek tied, and unsaddled him, and, with his saddle +over his arm, stood watching them with a good deal of complacence. He +did not hear the light step on the drive, and it was only her cry of +astonishment that made him turn and face Grace Jerrold, whom he had been +trying to avoid. + +“You!” she cried. “And Darby! What does this mean? I heard the whinnying +and stamping in the stable and I was afraid something was wrong—so I +came.” She went quickly to Darby’s head and laid her own head against +it. The only sound for a moment was the soft blowing of her horse +against her neck, and the crunching of a swede from the grey’s stall. + +Without being told, she divined what he had done. She had been told that +Darby had gone to Grimstone and had been glad, though fear that he had +been bought for Fawnie to ride had crossed her mind. Now she did not +dare to look at Vale, but with her eyes hidden against that satiny head +she whispered: + +“You must not do it. I cannot let you do it.” + +He answered gently: “It is the first thing I have done that has given me +any pleasure in months.” + +“Well, only if you will let me pay you back some time.” + +“If you wish, you may.” + +Then she raised her face and looked at him. + +“Oh, to think that when we last met I did not speak to you!” + +“Don’t talk of that.” + +“I came back and tried to find you. I was crying. I had to keep my +parasol before my face so the man would not see. I’m—afraid—I’m going +to cry now.” + +“Don’t cry. Laugh! Be as happy as you can. See how happy Darby is. He’s +slobbering all over your shoulder.” + +“I know,” she said, half laughing, half crying, “he’s a naughty fellow.” +Then she held out her hand to him, and said, “Thank you,” in a small, +choked voice. + +He took it, and they looked intently at each other, their eyes filled +with longing, their lips compressed, their bodies tense. Then he dropped +her hand and turned away. At the door he stopped, and said, without +looking at her: “You refused Edmund.” + +“Yes.” + +“Because you loved me?” + +“Yes.” + +“Good-bye, Grace—darling.” + +“Good-bye, Derek—darling.” + +He returned home, still carrying the saddle over his arm. He walked +slowly, his eyes travelling across the September blue of the lake to the +far horizon where a faery city reared its towers and battlements of rosy +clouds above Niagara’s spray. + + CHAPTER VIII + THINGS THAT HE LEARNED + + 1. + +Edmund had gone back to Halifax. + +On the whole Derek was not sorry, for he had felt Edmund’s presence as a +restraint, if not an actual rebuke. Fawnie’s table manners had offended +Edmund, also her untidy finery, and her habit of popping morsels of food +into the baby’s mouth at meal-time which, often as not, he put out again +to hang on the frill of his bib. When Edmund had met Derek coming out of +Fawnie’s room he had turned his face away with a frown; more than once +he had commented on Derek’s carelessness in dress, and his need of a +respectable haircut. Now he was gone, and Derek felt that this rather +ignoble affair of his marriage might jolt on unhindered to whatever end +might be. + +As a matter of fact, he was far from unhappy. Since his meeting with +Grace he enjoyed a new serenity of spirit. Sitting alone on the beach at +night with his pipe, he contemplated the lovely fact that she loved +him—had refused Edmund because of him—perhaps Ramsey. + +He would recall the moment when he had stood in the stable watching the +meeting of the two horses, the warmed saddle across his arm. He would +see her on the threshold sweet as the early sunshine. He would feel +again that tremor of joy that had shaken him when they had confessed +their love. He had not met her since, but Mr. Jerrold had been over +several times, and had told of their happy rides along the shore road. +They rode west as a rule, because it pained Grace to pass Durras, and +there was always a struggle with Darby to get him by the gateway which +he still regarded as his own. + +Mr. Jerrold had recaptured his old cheerfulness. Things were not so bad +as they might be. He and Gay were tremendously comfortable in the +cottage. Their view was really finer than it had been at the big house. +Gay could hardly tear herself away from her bedroom window at night—sat +there watching the moonlight on the lake instead of going to her bed. +She loved the cottage. She even liked the little stable. Would be out +there first thing in the morning. He believed she was fonder of Darby +than ever, since she had come so near to losing him. + +Mr. Jerrold was colouring a meerschaum pipe, and, at different times, he +lovingly displayed to Derek the satisfactory fashion in which it was +adding tint upon tint. He also had given his annual party to the +Mistwell band. Derek and Fawnie had watched the flare of their torches +pass Grimstone as they sat in the basket chairs in the porch. And Mr. +Jerrold had not failed to give the bandsmen their customary present of +money. + +“I must dig that twenty-five dollars up,” he had said to his daughter. +“I’ve never disappointed those poor beggars yet, and I shan’t begin now. +I’ll do without something myself.” + +Derek was taking a renewed interest in the work of the farm, and he had +a stout ally in Hugh McKay. No fall ploughing thereabout was done more +thoroughly nor finished earlier. As the October nights grew cold, Derek +would sit with him by the kitchen stove and talk fertilizers and manures +by the hour. The little flock of sheep was excellent. One of the +yearling rams had taken a first prize at the Brancepeth Fair. The +handsome son of Gretta van Lowe had taken a second. The apples and pears +had turned out well. There had been very little scabby or stung fruit; +the dealer who bought them had paid cash on the spot. Snailem drudged +steadily along with his hoe, in company with old Peek and two boys from +Mistwell. Derek himself spent long days among the raspberry and +blackberry canes trimming and cultivating. Even Fawnie had come to take +an interest in the poultry. She ran, laughing with joy, to Derek one day +to tell him that, when wandering among the dense and neglected +thimbleberry canes, she had come upon one of the bronze turkey-hens with +ten active poults, graceful and plump as partridges, which were being +reared undisturbed on the sweet dark berries. Derek had left his +cultivating, and together they had crept like children among the prickly +canes, to peer at the elusive little fellows, who one moment would be +swinging gaily on a spray, their great eyes shining, and the next be +hidden, crouching among the leaves, while the mother, her proud head +poised, watched the intruders with vehement disdain. + +The white turkey had not been seen for many weeks. It was feared that +she had either been stolen or killed. But one mild, foggy morning Derek +and Fawnie almost stepped on her as she sat on a nest she had hollowed +out for herself in the shelter of a pile of brushwood behind the +orchard. “By George!” said Derek, “She’s at it yet! That bird has been +sitting ever since last spring, and had no luck at all. She’s simply +wearing herself out to no purpose. What shall I do with her?” + +“Be rough with her,” advised Fawnie. “Grab her by the neck. Pull some of +her tail feathers out. Give her a good kick an’ bust up her nest.” + +Derek took the bird by the neck and lifted her off the nest. “Why, she’s +nothing but skin and feathers,” he said. “Poor thing! and look at that +nest.” + +The untidy nest lay before them, broken shells mingled with the clutch +of shiny, stained eggs. Fawnie took up one egg after another and shook +it. “Slop,” she said, curtly. + +“This has got to stop,” Derek said. “Throw those pieces of broken bricks +on the eggs and then an armful of brushwood, then I’ll put her down.” + +The white hen looked down from Derek’s arms at the demolition of her +hopes. She made no protest, but the pale pink of her wattles took a +deeper hue. She blinked. When all was destroyed Derek set her down. He +did not pull out her tail feathers nor kick her, but he gave her a +shake, and a push with his foot, and said: “Now, be off with you! and +try to think of something besides sitting. There are other things in the +world, believe me.” + +She stood poised for a moment on tiptoe, flapping her pale unused wings, +then, with a harsh, croaking cry, she began to run from them into the +fog. An eerie figure, she disappeared into its ready embrace with that +one cry of frustrated instincts. The flock of sheep, suddenly emerging +from nowhere, it seemed, parted their ranks hurriedly to let her past. +It was her last supreme gesture. Derek never saw her again. + + 2. + +Derek’s house was not kept as it had been in Mrs. Machin’s time. Fawnie +had an unbelievable talent for disorder, and, as the baby spent most of +his day in the kitchen, Phœbe allowed her dishes to pile up until the +table and dresser were hidden beneath them. To Derek she seemed always +to be sitting nursing him while he thumped on the table with a spoon or +slobbered over an apple which he gnawed with his four ridiculous +milk-teeth. Often noisy quarrels occurred between mistress and maid. + +“Oh, for any sake let me get one thing done before you’re after me about +another!” Phœbe would shout, and she would knock her mop against the +legs of the furniture, and slop dirty water in all directions. + +“Phœbe!” Fawnie would cry, “I’ll have Mr. Vale throw you into the street +if you ain’t respecful.” + +“The street, indeed! I’d shouldn’t have far to seek for a better +situation than this. I’ve a cousin in Australier that would pay my +passage out to-morrow if I crooked my finger. I’m more than a bit tired +of Canader as it is. If it weren’t for baby. . . .” + +Sometimes they were amicable and made huge pots of jam which almost +always boiled over or burned. The baby was given sticky spoons to lick. + +One noonday Phœbe bounded in radiant. Vale had come in to dinner, but it +was not ready. + +“I’ve been talkin’ over the fence to Bob Gunn,” she announced +breathlessly. “He’s leaving Chard’s to-day. Him and Mr. Chard had a row. +The gulls has et all his fish and he’s blamed Bob for it. I heard them +mewling and whimpering at daybreak this morning. There’s been a terrible +to-do. Ho! ho! I’d ha’ given a month’s wage to see Mr. Chard’s face.” +She danced a few roystering steps in her red woollen slippers. + +“Whatever is she talking about?” Derek turned to Hugh. + +Hugh was smiling broadly. “It happened like this, sir. Mr. Chard had +bought a catch of some wee fish that’s no much guid from the Mistwell +fishermen. They ca’ them moon-eyes, I think. He’d got a waggon-load to +use as fertilizer on his strawberry beds. Bob put the horses away and +left the waggon standin’ by the beds, ready to begin spreading this +morn. When daylight came a gull spied the lot and flew off to tell his +friends. The whole flock came. I haird them makin’ a great noise mysel’ +when my head was still under the blanket. Every gull grabbed a fish and +then anither. Ye can picture how they’d circle and swoop. When Chaird +came hurrying from his bed there wasna so much as a scale in the +waggon.” + +“And there was the gulls overhead laughin’ to split their sides,” cried +Phœbe. + +“And all the wee fish in their maws,” added Hugh. + +Derek smiled, not without malice. “I should like to have seen that,” he +said. “So Gunn is to leave?” + +“Ay. He’d like to come back here, I believe.” + +“After the kicking I gave him? He’s a hardy socialist.” + +“I dinna think your kicks made him sae sore as Chaird’s continuous +pricks and jibes.” + +“Well, I won’t take him back.” + +“We won’t,” put in Fawnie, “have any help here that’s saucy or lazy. Get +about your work, Phœbe. I don’t pay you for hangin’ over the back fence, +gossipin’. Get the meat out of the oven before it’s black, and stew the +tea.” + +Matters between Fawnie and Phœbe were bound to come to a head. They did +so with calamitous force and abruptness. + +Derek never discovered what the quarrel was about. The breaking of the +spout off a teapot was mentioned, also the alienating of Buckskin’s +affections. He had kicked and screamed when his mother had picked him +up, and had held supplicating arms out to Phœbe. Derek heard the torrent +of words as he neared the house. The maid was in the kitchen, the +mistress in the dining-room, and they hurled abuse through the +intervening pantry, with a ferocity only ended by Phœbe’s going into +hysterics and Fawnie’s snatching up the bread-knife. + +Derek took the knife from her, and, turning it about, gave her knuckles +a smart rap with the handle. He then hustled her into the hallway and +locked the door upon her. He realized then that she had tried to bite +him, and he had a sudden desire to follow her and give her the whipping +she deserved. Instead, he listened to what was going on in the kitchen. +He could hear gurgling moans, then a splash of water, splutterings, and +Phœbe’s voice—“She’ll kill me. Oh, take me away! Take me away!” + +Then Snailem’s voice came—“Another spell like that and I wouldn’t give +a brass fardin’ fur her.” + +“Are ye better, my dear?” from Hugh. + +“Ay. But keep her offen me.” + +Derek listened, pale and disturbed. He would lock Fawnie up, sooner than +let Hugh and Phœbe go. After a bit Hugh rapped at the door, and at +Derek’s bidding, entered. + +“We’re off, sir,” he said. “We’ll bide here in this house no longer.” + +“Hugh,” said Derek, quietly, “you don’t know what you’re saying. Phœbe +has got you excited. She’ll be herself again shortly.” + +“No,” replied Hugh, doggedly. “We’re quittin’. I saw an advairtissment +in the paper yesterday for man and wife on a farm in the Saskatchewan. +We’ll get married and go straight out there. If it’s no that job it’ll +be anither. I’ve had the West in mind for some time. This is no place +for Phœbe. Mrs. Vale is always after her.” + +“Think it over, Hugh. You’ll feel different to-morrow.” + +“I’ll no!” shouted Hugh. “We want our wage, and we’re quittin’!” + +“Well, quit, and be damned to you,” said Derek, shortly. “You can catch +the afternoon train to York. Go on that.” + +Hugh stalked from the room. He and Phœbe began to gather together their +belongings in the kitchen. Tin trunks were shifted about upstairs. +Snailem washed, and dressed, and brought Mike harnessed to the +fruit-waggon to the side door. He and Hugh carried down the boxes, Phœbe +following, her head bent, and an hysterical smile on her face. She +looked so different in her checked ulster and green velvet hat that she +seemed a stranger. Hugh’s well-knit figure was clad in a decent blue +serge suit, and he wore a cloth cap, well pulled down. He smoked +continuously, as though to brace himself, not even relinquishing his +“fag” when Derek handed him his cheque. + +“I’m sorry to part with you this way, Hugh,” said Derek. + +“Ay,” muttered Hugh, and turned away. + +He got into the waggon and sat on one of the boxes, while Phœbe settled +herself with Snailem on the seat. + + 3. + +The cows left the shore meadow where they had been pastured, and slowly +descended the bank of the stream, which now trickled thinly over its +chalky bed, forming little transparent pools, and nourishing shiny +clumps of coarse watercress. It was past the hour for milking, and the +cows lowed protestingly as they splashed across the stream. Phœbe had +always been most prompt about the milking. Now Vale let down the bars +and opened the door of the byre. He could not understand Snailem’s +lateness. He made up his mind that if Snailem came home the worse for +liquor he would be very sharp with him. Probably threaten to dismiss +him. + +He had adjusted the chains, and watered the cows, when he heard a horse +tramping into the stable. A moment later a man entered the byre, a +pitchfork in his hand. It was old Peek. + +“Where is Snailem?” asked Derek, suspiciously. + +Peek came close to him, and said with a wavering grin: “He’s gone. Gone +for good, with them others. He said he couldn’t stand the thought of +Grimstone without Phœbe, and he didn’t fancy a winter in the country +anyways. I happened to be at the station when he was getting his ticket +and he asked me to please drive Mike home, and to tell you he’ll return +the eight dollars he got off you, as soon as he gets a job.” + +“The robber!” said Derek, bitterly. “He got me to advance the money so +he could buy himself a pair of boots in Mistwell. I ought by rights to +get the police after him. . . . But I’m glad he’s gone. He was a poor +tool. I believe I’m well rid of him.” + +“And the things he used to say about you and your missus at the barber’s +shop was scandalous. I used to say to him, ‘Snailem, it’s a dirty bird +that fouls its own nest.’ God’s my witness, Mr. Vale, I said that to him +time and again, and he’d say——” + +“I don’t want to hear what he said. Can you do this milking for me while +I bed down the stock?” + +Then and there he employed Peek and his half-grown grandson to work +steadily by the week, and sleep at home. + +Now he felt honestly glad to be rid of Snailem. The thought of his +untidy face with its eternal ooze of tobacco juice was repugnant. Peek +was a decent old chap, his grandson willing and strong. The fall work +was in excellent shape. He should get on very well with outside help +till spring, and, by George, he would make Fawnie do her part! + +While Peek milked he strode to the house to look for her. He had +unlocked the door into the hall long ago. + +“Fawnie!” he called loudly from the dining-room. “Come here!” + +He heard her descending the stairs, and in a moment her face, bright and +calm as an unruffled bird’s, appeared in the doorway. + +“Look here,” he said, “you’ve got to come and feed the poultry, and put +the turkeys out of the poultry-house. You’ve driven all the servants +from the farm, so you must turn in and help yourself.” + +“How jolly!” she said. “I come this instant moment. I’ll kill those +turkeys surely.” + +“Don’t feed the hens too much,” he admonished, as they walked back to +the barn. “The last time you fed them, they were all but crop-bound with +corn.” + +“I will make them drunk on silage,” she said, gaily, “and I will teach +them to sing a song of joy because Phœbe is gone. Oh, she is a bad one, +that Phœbe. I peeped in her box as it stood on the back porch, and, what +do you s’pose? She had taken two of the blue and gold cups and +saucers—one apiece for them.” + +“I hope you took them out.” + +“I did, Derek. And I put in their place a sticky tin pie-plate that she +wouldn’t scrape clean yesterday.” + +“Fawnie,” said Derek, taking her hand. “I say it in all solemnity, you +are more than a match for anyone I know.” + +The stock had been fed and bedded for the night; the poultry safely +housed; the milk separated and set away to cool; old Peek was gone; and +Derek stood leaning against a pillar of the porch, while his wife +prepared the tea. He gazed at the quiet lake, at the pale star of the +lighthouse just winking out against the sombre red of the sky. He saw +little gnarled trees on the bluff twisted into fantastic postures—the +sport of Grimstone. And here was he who had come to Grimstone with a +grand gesture of possession—its sport, too—bent to its will—his +Indian wife cooking in the kitchen—his Indian son kicking on the +bed. . . . His son was beginning to cry, as well as kick. “Coming, +Buckskin!” he shouted, and went to him. + + 4. + +Fawnie was surprisingly competent in the affairs of the house. The +living-rooms looked no untidier than when under Phœbe’s care. Buckskin’s +face was often clean. She cooked for Derek simple, yet quite eatable +meals, and together they made a steamed pudding from a recipe in the +Brancepeth _Era_, that turned out so well that they made themselves sick +eating it. Mrs. Orde came from Mistwell twice a week to wash and scrub. + +As the winter drew in and there was less to do, Derek left the work to +the Peeks and lay in bed in the mornings till he felt like rising. +Fawnie had learned to cook his bacon without burning it, and he would +sit comfortably at his breakfast, the morning paper which Peek had +brought propped up before him. But he read it with little interest. He +was degenerating into a healthy animal with no horizon beyond the +borders of its pasture. Now that Reciprocity had been defeated, he gave +no further thought to the affairs of the country nor was interested to +know what the new government was doing. He heard, unmoved, stories of +Chard’s success and of Hobbs’s aggressive administering of the Durras +estate. He had dismissed half of the labourers and was getting an equal +amount of work from the remaining half, so Peek said, and so Hobbs +himself confirmed when he came to call one wild November night, and sat +by the open fire with them while the waves thundered on the shore and +the gale drove the flames down the chimney. + +Derek sat in the middle in the full firelight, the flames brightening to +clear ruddiness his full fair face; Hobbs, on the right, his features +sharpened by the darting shadows, his muddy legginged legs stretched on +the hearth, his light eyes feasting on the beauty of Fawnie’s face, as +she sat opposite. Her eyes, glowing beneath the folds of dark hair, +carefully encircled about her brow, were bent on the two blond men with +a look of pensive, yet triumphant, experience. Hobbs’s attitude towards +her was deferential. He seemed to have forgotten the time when he had +haled her before Mr. Jerrold for trapping one of his hares. Derek liked +him for this, and when he went to the door with him, invited him to come +again. + +Moved by the friendliness of the moment, Hobbs told Derek that he had +just become engaged to Miss Pearsall. + +Derek was astonished beyond measure at the news. But he kept a sober +face, and congratulated Hobbs earnestly. Yet when he awakened in the +night and thought of the union of that posturing, affected girl, and +that hard-bitten, fierce man, he shook the bed with cynical laughter. + +Late in November came the first snowfall, a deep, yet exquisitely, +fragile snowfall, that made a new enchanted world. The bare orchards +were weighed with glittering fruit, the windows of the house peered +forth like astonished eyes beneath lowering white brows. Peek’s deep +footprints from the barn were little blue caverns. Yet the sun was warm, +and the sky a turquoise blue. The snow certainly could not last. + +“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Fawnie,” said Derek. “We’ll get out the +little red sleigh; and I’ll wrap you and Buckskin in the buffalo robe, +and we’ll drive to Brancepeth. I need some new shirts and a pair of +boots. Do you know, I haven’t bought myself a blessed thing since I left +Halifax!” + +“Darling,” replied Fawnie. “I’m surprised at you. As long as you have +things for your own back you never notice that baby and I are naked. As +a matter of fac’, I’m nakeder than I was when I bought those last +clothes, for they are wore out and my old ones, too. Winter is here and +baby and I are naked. I s’pose I mus’ go out to work like Mrs. Orde and +make money to buy clothes.” + +“You do look shabby, and the kid, too,” he returned, ignoring her +threat. “Well, wrap yourselves up warmly, and we’ll buy clothes for +everybody.” + +The gelding was wild to go. He sent little clots of snow on to the +buffalo robe, and even against their faces. The air was like wine, the +lake lay tranquil and bright below, its smooth surface only disturbed by +the wet, black heads of a flock of wild ducks swimming sharply near the +shore. Durras flew past; then the Jerrolds’ cottage. Derek gave one +swift look at the little stable. Even the weather-vane on its gable was +draped in white. Buckskin crowed and kicked with joy at the merry jingle +of the sleighbells. + +Brancepeth was a newborn village, white and pure, and only half awake. +People in the street stopped to stare at the dashing red sleigh, and at +dark little Mrs. Vale showing her white teeth in an assured smile. + +Derek let her go into the milliner’s shop alone. He sat outside holding +the restive horse, and looking down with amusement at the round-faced +infant beside him who stared from under his woollen cap with +greenish-blue eyes so like his own. Plainly he was fascinated by the +aspect of the butcher’s shop, next door to the milliner’s. For a +beautiful roe hung there by her heels, her disembowelled body stiff and +taut, her pink tongue between her teeth, touching the pavement. And, as +though that were not enough, there hung at the other side of his door a +burly black bear, his great paws with their curving claws pressed +together as if in prayer. + +“Deer!” said Derek, pointing with his whip. “Bear! Gun shot them.” + +Buckskin twitched from head to foot with excitement. He made +inarticulate sounds of joy. + +Fawnie came to the door of the millinery shop with a blue hat on her +head. Did darling like it? Darling thought it was horrible and said so. +It made her sallow. Then she came wearing a red one with black wings. +Not so bad; but it was a little brown one he chose with a fur band; just +like a little French hat, the milliner followed Fawnie to the door to +say. It certainly became her, and she wore it when she left, carrying +her old one in a paper bag. + +At the dry goods store she bought a brown coat with a fur collar, a +plaid skirt, two blouses (she did not trouble much about underwear), and +a pair of brown boots. There were things bought for Buckskin that only a +woman knew how to buy, but Derek strode in himself, with the child on +his arm, and bought him a little rabbit-skin coat and a cap with +earlugs. + +Their presence created an agreeable excitement in the shops, for +everyone knew their story, and customers and clerks alike craned their +necks to catch a glimpse of that handsome young Mr. Vale and his Indian +wife. + +In the chemist’s window a pyramid of pink soap caught Fawnie’s eye. She +must have some, and a new sponge for the baby. Derek waited outside +while she made her purchases. . . . + +They were opposite the “Duke of York” as the town bell struck the hour +of noon. Of his own accord the horse turned in towards the stables. +Fawnie said she was starving, and Derek realized that he himself was +very hungry. He looked her over critically. In her dark ulster and +little fur-trimmed toque she looked well dressed, and incredibly lovely. +Her cheeks were flushed with health and pleasure, her eyes had the +brilliance of some furry forest animal’s peering from under a bush. Her +mouth and chin made him smile, they were so disdainful. + +“How should you like,” he asked, “to go in and have some dinner?” + +“It would be jolly.” But she showed no surprise. + +“What about the kid?” + +“You get me a room, darling, and I’ll nurse him and lay him on the bed +while we eat our dinner.” + +They left the horse with an ostler, and went into the low hall of the +tavern. Fawnie, carrying Buckskin, mounted the stair, a servant with a +dangling key following her, and Derek turned into the bar. It was well +filled—a large, comfortable bar, clean, smelling of ale and freshly +burning hemlock. A porter was on his knees before the stove. As Vale +drank his ale he watched the languid movements of the fellow. The +porter, seeming to feel his gaze, looked up, and Derek saw it was Bob +Gunn. + +Bob’s beady black eyes twinkled, whether with a friendly or malicious +light Derek could not tell. + +“Well, how do you like your new job?” + +“Fine. The pay’s fair, the food’s guid, and the commaircial men are free +eneuch wi’ their tips. It’s better than fairm life anyway.” + +“But the hours are even longer.” + +“Ay, but there’s something doing. Something to see. I’d liefer hear a +stoker off one of the lake vessels curse than listen tae Chaird’s +whingin’ and whinin’. I’d liefer clean up the floor of the bar than dig +in the freezing airth all day makin’ drains, or hoe out weeds that are +up again before your back’s turned. Then you hear interestin’ talk here, +politeeks, religion, science, and the status of women in the wairld. +There’s nae sich thing as a dull hour.” He was sitting on his heels, a +stick of hemlock in his hand. He now looked up in Derek’s face with his +twinkling eyes. “By the way, we had a relation of yours in here lately.” + +“A relation of mine?” repeated Derek, mystified. + +“Ay, Jammery. He was wanting a drink, but, of course, we had tae order +him out as he is on the Indian List. He objected, and contended that he +was white. He looks pretty white, and speaks well, but he’s connected +with them, so the bartender wouldn’t take any risks. They’ll be refusing +you a drink next thing, I’m thinking, Mr. Vale.” His twinkle was +altogether malicious now. + +Suppressing a desire to kick him more thoroughly than he had done +before, Vale paid for his ale and went out to find Fawnie. She was +standing, a motionless little figure, just outside the dining-room door. + +The waitress, a plump young girl with an excellently white neck, led +them to a table, and leaned over Derek to take the order. Fawnie +solemnly unfolded her bluish-white damp table-napkin, folded in the +shape of a bishop’s mitre. Derek ordered soup, roast pork, and +apple-sauce. “Remember,” he whispered, when the girl had gone, “to keep +that knife away from your mouth, and just break small bits off your +bread.” + +Fawnie nodded obediently. She behaved like a good child. They had but +well begun when a robust voice greeted Derek, and looking up, he beheld +Mr. Ramsey. + +“Well met,” he said, cheerily. “This is an unexpected treat. May I sit +down and have my dinner with you? You know I take most of my meals here, +and I find it very pleasant.” + +He shook hands with them and sat down. “Yes, Katy, some roast pork. And +a bit of the nice juicy rind. And don’t be sparing with the apple-sauce. +I find I cannot flourish without plenty of apple-sauce.” + +While the Vicar ate with gusto he talked buoyantly of things in general. +He was glad they had won the election. The fruit market was safe, thank +goodness. . . . His pullets were beginning to lay. But he had lost a +fine cockerel last week from limber-neck. Strange disease. Head flopping +all over the place. . . . Did Derek see much of the Jerrolds? Mr. +Jerrold had certainly been hard hit by the sale. But he was plucky. They +had happy times in the cottage every Sunday afternoon. He always took +tea with them on Sunday. . . . And Hobbs! One could scarcely imagine +Miss Pearsall caring for him. She was so extremely refined. But Love +laughed at Manners. Really, he was an unmannerly little rascal +himself. . . . Hobbs had been to church twice lately. After all, Miss +Pearsall would make a charming mistress for Durras. + +Derek saw that Mr. Ramsey was giving sharp glances at Fawnie’s face. He +turned and looked at her himself, and almost dropped his fork in horror +at what he saw. Evidently when she had been at the chemist’s she had +bought some atrocious face powder and in the seclusion of the bedroom +had wantonly smeared her cheeks with it. It must have been intended for +a strawberry blonde, for it was a light pink with a strong hint of mauve +that stood out on her dusky face with terrible effrontery. + +Derek, flushing red himself, whispered to her fiercely: “Go upstairs and +rub that powder off your face. Get it every bit off, and fetch the baby. +We’re going.” + +“But I haven’t finished my pudding.” + +“Do as I tell you.” + +Fawnie rose, and with bent head glided from the room. The Vicar moved +near to Vale. “Poor child,” he said, “they have given her the wrong +tint. . . . Now there is a powder,” lowering his voice confidently, +“I’ve read about it in the advertisements—for really dark skin. It’s +called Rachel, I believe. If she got that, I believe it would answer +nicely.” + +“Rachel,” repeated Vale, comforted by the Vicar’s sympathetic attitude. + +“Yes, Rachel. Probably pronounced in the French way—Rachelle. . . . I +think your wife is charming to look at; and full of intelligence, one +can see. I’m sure you have never regretted that I advised you in this +matter.” + +“Everything’s all right,” replied Vale, uncomfortable again. + +They waited at the bottom of the stairs for Fawnie, who came down +carrying the baby. + +The powder had been washed off, and she was radiant with pride in the +child in his snowy new rabbit-skin coat and cap. The Vicar stared at him +in astonished admiration. And, indeed, he had the composed air of a +princeling. His golden-brown skin, his long greenish eyes, the bright +curl on his forehead were charming. + +“You must bring him to me and have him christened,” said Mr. Ramsey. + +“All right,” said Derek. “His name is Buckskin.” + + CHAPTER IX + JAMMERY + + 1. + +The more Derek watched Fawnie, the more he thought of her as the +completest human being he had ever known. Her days were a circle of +unthinking happiness, from the moment when she put her baby to her +breast in the morning, to the time when she warmed her bare feet before +the open fire, before she went to bed. She could not write; she could +not read. Derek, after a few attempts at lessons, when her docility and +utter lack of receptiveness almost put him asleep, gave it up. Why +disturb that happy serenity? Her ignorance was astonishing. The king +lived “up at a place called England”—some village, doubtless, about the +Georgian Bay. She had heard that rich people had no chance of going to +heaven, but “us poor folk can pass right through.” Then, remembering +that she herself was now rich, she said she didn’t mind. The poor might +have it all to themselves. + +She warned Derek that American hordes were liable at any time to advance +on them from Niagara. It was well to be on the watch. This did not worry +her in the least, but merely added to the zest of her days. As a matter +of fact, she did not worry about anything. She just lived. That alone +kept her happy and busy. + +She would spend hours sitting in her little gilt chair before the +pier-glass, arranging, with meticulous care, the convolutions of +burnished hair that enfolded her placid brow. She was always cheerful, +she was usually good-tempered, yet Derek had glimpses of primitive +cruelty within. He had seen her knock a rabbit on the head with a stick +and smile at its whimpering. She had told him, showing all her little +teeth, how ermines were trapped by the licking of frosty steel—held to +the trap by their tongues. Wasn’t that fonny? Yet she would sit on the +floor by Jock, the collie, and stroke him till he was hypnotized. + +Derek loved to watch her. He became more and more contented. And yet—he +was never ten minutes alone without beginning to dream about Grace +Jerrold. He would picture what his life might have been had he married +her. He could not forget her. He thought it strange that he should be +living in comparative content with one woman, while his mind dwelt with +another. + + 2. + +One foggy morning in mid-December Derek was confronted in the lane by +the figure of a man who stepped suddenly from the shelter of a little +clump of cedars. It was Jammery. + +“Good-morning, Mr. Vale,” he said, in his soft voice. “I guess you’re +surprised to see me, eh?” + +“Yes, I am. The last I heard of you was from Bob Gunn at the ‘Duke of +York.’” + +Jammery’s brow darkened. “Yes, they refused me a drink for being an +Indian, which was hardly fair, for, as I’ve told you, I can’t even speak +their language. I may have a dash of the bow and arrow in me, but it’s +far enough away. It was Bob who testified I was an Indian, curse him.” +Though he had frowned, his voice was gentle as ever. + +Derek walked on down the lane. The sod was wet and spongy, for the snow +had melted, and the creek, swollen by snow and rain, rushed in +coffee-coloured torrents between its steep red banks. Jammery kept +abreast of Derek and raised his voice above the roar of the water. + +“How’s Fawnie, Mr. Vale?” + +“Very well.” + +“And the baby?” + +“He’s well, too.” + +“I suppose you’re quite settled down together?” + +“Quite.” + +“I hope Fawnie has got rid of her Indian ways.” + +They had reached the gate leading into the paddock, and with his hand on +it Vale turned sharply to Jammery in a sudden temper. + +“Now,” he said, “be off. I’ve had enough of you.” + +“Don’t get annoyed, Mr. Vale. I didn’t mean anything harmful. You’re so +passionate, I’m afraid to say what I came to say. It’s a proposal I came +a long way to make.” + +“I don’t care to hear it.” + +“But you may thank me for it afterwards.” + +“Well, go ahead,” said Derek, his curiosity aroused. + +“You won’t lay hands on me if it angers you?” + +“I won’t promise that. You’d better go while you’re safe.” + +“No. I’ll say what I came for, but you must remember I mean no harm—to +her or to you.” + +Derek regarded him steadily but made no reply. + +“It’s about Fawnie,” Jammery went on nervously. “I’ve heard it said that +marrying her has ruined your life, that none of your neighbours have +anything to do with you, that you can’t keep any help, and that the farm +is going to rack and ruin.” + +“Well, what would you do about it if—it were the case?” + +“I’d propose”—he drew nearer, while modulations of greed, boldness, and +watchfulness flitted like shadows across his thin, strangely handsome +face—“to relieve you of Fawnie—to take her away—and keep her safely +where she’d never trouble you—you could get a divorce—and be free—as +though nothing had happened.” + +“Oh,” said Derek, sarcastically. “And am I to pay you well for this? +Where do you come in?” + +“I don’t ask a cent,” he cried with vehemence. “You think Indians care +for nothing but money! Don’t you think we can love? It would be all I’d +ask—just having Fawnie! She’s no wife for you. You’re no husband for +her. She’s like an animal trapped in your fine house yonder.” His eyes +burned with scorn; he pressed his supple hand against his heart as +though its throbbing hurt him. + +“Why,” asked Derek, “if you were so fond of her, did you scheme to get +her married to me?” + +“It was because I was so fond of her. I wanted to see her a lady. And +I’d nothing to do with her having your child, did I? That started things +going. . . . The old woman thought they could all sponge on you. The +girl was crazy to marry you. I didn’t know then what it would be like to +live away from her.” + +“Had you never thought of marrying her yourself?” + +“Not me. I knew too well what the old woman was. She’d have never let me +out of her clutches. Mr. Vale, she’s the worst old devil that ever +lived, and Beulah is going to be just like her. Now Esther and Fawnie +are like the old man. There was something noble about him, a regular old +chief he was.” Silence fell between the two men, broken only by the +volleying of the stream as it rushed under the bridge and into the lake. +The fog closed upon them more heavily; a hoarse whistle from some +ploughing steamer vibrated across the lake. Jammery drummed nervously on +the gate with his fingers. + +“You wouldn’t believe,” he said, “how I’ve loved that girl. I didn’t +seem to realize it when she was always in my sight. But since she’s +gone—why, I’ve lost flesh; I’ve gone to skin and bone.” It was true +that the fellow was starved-looking. “She’s one of those women, I guess, +that a man can’t never forget. There’s some like that. Sweet to love and +yet—they make you what they want to—they eat into your heart like the +consumption into your lungs. They’re like a disease, and nothing but +having them’ll cure you. . . . I always think Fawnie’s like a +lily. . . . You’d say a dark lily. . . . Maybe . . . one of those +gold-coloured ones with the heavy scent. . . .” + +Derek was amused, yet irritated; and the air was chill. Again the hoarse +voice of the steamer sounded. He shivered, passed through the gate, and +closed it after him. Then he hesitated and turned back to Jammery. + +“Look here,” he said. “What about that beating? Was that a put-up game?” + +“Just to excite you,” replied Jammery, with the shadow of a smile. “The +bleating of the kid excites the tiger. The old woman bribed Fawnie to +take it. It was done the night before. The girl laid down on a bunk and +never made a sound. I had to get out. I couldn’t bear to hear the +blows.” + +“You and the mother are a pretty pair of scoundrels,” said Derek, +“that’s all I can say. And I advise you to get out of here while the +going’s good.” He extended his arm towards the road. + +Jammery drew back from the advancing hand as though he feared a blow, +then after one searching look into Derek’s face he turned away along the +bank of the creek. When he reached the path that bordered it and led to +the road, he shouted back something that Derek could not hear because of +the roar of the water, and raised his hand toward heaven. A moment later +he had disappeared into the fog. + + 3. + +That night as they sat before a glowing fire Derek saw Fawnie in a new +light. He saw her as one of the conspirators who had schemed to entrap +him. He felt no resentment, only wonder that he could have been so +deceived, and, as the dancing firelight sharpened and distorted her +features and made the bands of hair about her brow gleam like the silken +folds of snakes, he felt a sort of terror of her. What had she done to +his life? What would she do? + +As she raised her hand in a slow gesture to smooth her hair, the +bracelet on her rounded arm caught the light. He said: “Once you +promised me that some time you would tell me how you came by that +bracelet. Tell me now.” + +The velvet eyes slid slyly under the fringe of inky lashes that threw a +pointed shadow on her cheek. “I said I would tell you some time when I +want to make you laugh. I don’ want to make you laugh to-night. I want +to make you lov’ me.” Gently she turned to the bracelet on her arm. + +“Very well,” replied Derek. “If you will not tell me, I shall tell you.” + +“Yes?” The pencilled eyebrows were raised until they met the drooping +band of hair. + +“Your mother gave it to you to ease the pain of a beating—that was to +excite me.” + +She winced a little at the remembrance of the beating, but she said with +serenity: + +“That was fonny, wasn’t it?” She took a cigarette from a little tabouret +that stood between them, and leaned towards him for a light. Their eyes +met but an inch or two apart, and he sought to fathom the depths of +those dark-fringed pools flecked with dancing light. + +Emitting the fragile blue smoke through her nostrils, she said slowly: +“And now I tell you, darling, how you come to find that out. Jammery, he +told you.” + +“Has he been here?” A pulse began to beat sharply in Derek’s throat. He +wished he had thrown the scoundrel into the road. + +“Yes, Derek. And, as a matter of fac’, I gave him some cold meat and a +cup of tea. Poor Jammery! He looks very bad. His heart is certainly +broke.” + +Derek leaned forward, his face dark with anger, and grasped her knee. +“By the Lord Harry, girl,” he said, roughly, “if ever you let that +fellow into the house again, I’ll thrash you myself, and I’ll give you +no bracelet to help you bear the pain.” + +Fawnie took his hand from her knee and raised it to her forehead. “You +have given me a ring already,” she whispered. “And, as a matter of fac’, +if you beat me I will lov’ you more than ever. Isn’t that fonny?” + + 4. + +The following week Hobbs had as a guest the most prominent Holstein +breeder in the Province. He invited Derek to spend an evening with them; +and they had cigars in a little office he had fitted up for himself in a +corner of the house where Derek had never been. It was hard to believe +that this echoing, half-empty house was the one where he had spent such +happy hours with the Jerrolds. + +Yet he enjoyed the evening, since it broke the monotony of things. The +Holstein breeder talked well, and Hobbs was less assertive in his +presence. Derek was invited to return the next afternoon to inspect the +cattle with the great man. He spent an interesting afternoon, and set +out for home feeling elated over some excellent hints he had got. The +breeder was to come over the next day to look over his stock. He was +interested in what he had heard of the young prize-winning bull. + +Lake and land were sunk in damp oblivion. A chill air rose from the +muddy road to mingle with the steady drenching mist. A homespun longing +to get back to Fawnie and the boy urged Derek cheerfully through the +wet. He was surprised to see no light in the house. Fawnie disliked the +twilight, and usually lighted the lamps when the first shadow fell. + +When he reached the gate he heard the child crying, not the lusty cry of +temper, nor the peevish cry of sleepiness, but an outraged, rhythmic +wail that subsided now and then into an exhausted gurgle. Derek, with a +sudden fear at his heart—Fawnie might be ill or hurt—hurried to the +door. Inside it was dark, and the child on hearing the door open held +his breath, so Derek did not at once discover where he lay. + +He went to the kitchen, struck a match and took a lamp from the lamp +shelf. With it lighted he returned to the dining-room. The child lay on +the settle near the fireplace, but the fire was low and the room cold. + +The baby began to crow and kick with joy at seeing him, but Derek paid +no attention to him, and with the lamp held high he went down the step +into the front of the house. He stood irresolutely in the hallway a +moment, and then called, “Fawnie!” loudly. There was no sound in answer +except the laboured ticking of the old clock, whose blank white face +stared at him from the end of the hall. He called again, now angrily: +“Fawnie! Fawnie!” + +No answer. + +He went through the drawing-room, his bedroom. At the foot of the stairs +he called again. . . . The child was giving short, despairing yells. He +returned to the dining-room, set the lamp on the table, and picked up +the baby and kissed it. With a gesture of affection, that it had only +lately acquired, it clasped its little arms about his neck and pressed +close to him. Its wet face snuggled against his cheek. + +“Poor little fellow,” he said, kissing it again and again. “Was he left +all alone?” + +On the mantel, leaning against the china greyhound, a half-sheet of +note-paper caught his eye. He took it to the light, and with the child +on his arm bent forward to read: + + “Mister Vale. + + “Dear Sir, + + “Just a line to say that Fawnie has decided as you are no + husband for her she has decided to get out of here which is like + a trap and her a poor thing trapped. You thot you were through + with me didn’t you but you weren’t. She says to give baby milk + warmed out of the bottle and some sugar and biscuits, etc. Any + old thing you like I don’t care please do not try to find us for + if you do by god I’ll run a nife into Fawnie before you can get + her. + + “Yours, etc., + “Jammery.” + +The baby clutched at the paper laughing, then he reached for the flame +of the lamp. Derek moved away from the table and, seating himself on the +settle, he re-read the note. + +One thing came clearly out of the sprawling jumble of words: Fawnie had +run away with Jammery. + +She had left her baby. The unnatural little devil! He was alone with the +baby. What in God’s name should he do? Why hadn’t he wrung Jammery’s +neck that day by the creek? He had felt like it. Why had he allowed +himself to be hoodwinked into such a marriage? Talk about traps . . . he +was the trapped one. . . . If he only had his hands on Jammery! He +struck the arm of the settle with his clenched fist. + +Fawnie gone. + +He could not imagine the house without her. Here he was alone—alone. +Except for an eight-months-old baby. It hungry, too. It was yelling +again and cramming its fist in its mouth. Had she had it in her mind to +leave him when she had bought that feeding-bottle a fortnight ago and +begun to teach the child to drink from it? God only knew what she had in +her mind—that devious, calculating, rapacious mind of hers. How he +hated her! + +He thought of her little satiny brown neck—he would like to squeeze it +till her eyes would start—those melting, shining, animal eyes. + +The child made its mouth enormous and stiffened its body. He gave it a +sharp shake. Damned little half-breed! He had a mind to throw it into +the road after its mother. He grinned at the thought and shook it again. +It ceased crying and looked up in his face with heartbroken +astonishment, its mouth down at the corners, its round fists, wet with +slobber, raised appealingly. Its eyelids were puffed with crying. + +Derek’s heart was touched. He got up with a sigh. “I wonder where that +bottle is,” he said aloud. + +He found it on the kitchen table and beside it a jug of milk. He lifted +a lid of the range and examined the fire. It was not a bad fire; he dug +the coals with a poker and opened the draughts. The child, sitting on +his arm, looked on hopefully. + +It sat perfectly still when he put it on the table, while he heated some +milk in a saucepan, sweetened it, tasted it, and filled the bottle; but +it twitched with excitement when he took it up again and held the rubber +nipple to its mouth. Its bare feet, he noticed, were icy cold. + +He drew a chair before the oven and sat down with the baby on his knee, +holding the little feet to the warmth. Jock, with a loud, troubled yawn, +came and sat close beside. + +As the baby felt the warmth of the oven, the comfort of Derek’s +supporting arm, and the yielding nipple in his mouth, he heaved a sigh +of weary contentment and rolled his eyes up towards his father’s face +and kept them there, as though he wished never to lose sight of him +again. + +“You—and me, Buckskin—and old Jock—the three of us, eh?” murmured +Derek. “And a night as black as pitch. I wish them luck, that pair. +Curse him for a whining scoundrel. . . . And the girl, to go off and +leave you like this, and me.” He caught himself up, for an ache like a +gripping hand caught him by the throat and his nose stung. Good God! he +wasn’t going to cry. Well—it would make a man cry to see a baby left +like this. + +He put his lips against the fair downy head and kept them there. + + CHAPTER X + PEGLEG + + 1. + +Derek could not sleep. He went to bed, but at two o’clock he rose and +drew on some clothes. Restlessly he walked about the house, turning over +different plans in his head. If it were not for the child he would have +closed the house and returned to Halifax. Yet he had no yearnings for +his old life there. Grimstone and he seemed to belong to one another. +And the child—a new rush of tenderness for it swept through him. When +all was said and done, it was his child and he loved it with all the +protective strength of his nature. + +He had no intention of following Fawnie and Jammery. He would not touch +her again, if she came on her knees. He believed Jammery loved her—more +than he ever could—and she was very sweet to love. As Jammery had said, +one couldn’t ever forget her. It was impossible to think that she would +sit before the fire in the evening no more—with the ruddy glow on her +face, on her supple folded hands, on her bracelet touching it to fire. +That damned bracelet—the hypocrisy of her! “If you beat me I will lov’ +you more than ever.” He longed to kill her, and tramped up and down the +hollow echoing house, saying so, to the walls, to the streaming windows, +to the black hearth. + +At six o’clock he made himself some breakfast and fed the child, who, +exhausted by the excitement of the day before, went immediately to sleep +again. Lighting his pipe, he sat down before the kitchen stove and dozed +till he was awakened by Peek bringing in the milk. + +It was a mild morning of delicate blue sky and little white clouds like +puffs of smoke. Sparrows pecked and twittered on the flags outside the +kitchen door as though it were spring. Derek carried Buckskin out for an +airing and strolled up and down in the sunshine. Both were bareheaded +and Buckskin held a large sweet apple from which he with difficulty took +small bites with his square little teeth. Derek had washed his face and +hands and brushed his hair so that he was fresh as the morning. He +cooed, he laughed, he pressed wet kisses on Derek’s cheek, and kicked +his heels on Derek’s side as though to lose his mother was a matter of +light concern. After one questioning look at Derek he had taken his +breakfast from the bottle without more ado, as one who said, “Bottle, is +it? Well, here goes!” A remarkable baby. + +Derek held him close. He would not have parted with him for worlds. + +He was so taken up with the child that he did not see a group of people +coming down the road until they had turned in at the gate. Then he +perceived that they were Indians. The group was composed of a man, his +wife, three little girls, a grown-up son. The man, terribly emaciated, +leaned heavily on the squaw’s shoulder. The young man carried several +large bundles and an old-fashioned carpet bag. He set them down with a +grunt of weariness as he reached Derek’s side, but he turned to his +mother as though it had been arranged that she was to speak first. + +She was a wholesome, good-looking woman of about five and forty. Her +clothes were clean and neat, and her three little girls, who resembled +pretty Italian children, looked decently cared for. After taking her +breath, for she had been much burdened, she said in a soft, husky voice: +“I been told that you ain’t got much help here. We thought maybe you +could do with us. My son and me we’re both good milkers, and he’s good +with horses and all kinds of farm work.” + +“But I have no place to lodge you in,” said Derek. “The shack isn’t fit +for winter.” + +“Oh, we’ll make it all right,” replied the squaw easily. “We just come +from an awful poor one now. Our floor was never dry. I can do your +housework, too. My goodness, that’s a nice baby you got.” She stared +curiously at the child. Evidently she knew all about his marriage. + +The man broke in, “I can’t go no further, I tell you. I must get in some +place and lie down or I’ll die.” + +He looked fit to die, Derek thought. He said: + +“Well, you may come and look over the shack. If you think you can live +in it, I’ll give you work.” With Buckskin on his shoulder he led the way +through the orchard. + +A little windmill made by Bobby Sharroe turned with a whining noise on +the roof of the shack. The outer walls were ornamented with skins of +squirrels and chipmunks he had nailed there to dry, and, in the row at +leaving, had forgotten. The stove in the lean-to was red with rust. + +“Bill and me will carry that stove inside,” said the woman. “We’ll be +fine and warm. Kin we have fresh straw fer the bunks? And maybe you have +an old quilt you not usin’?” + +“Come to the house and I’ll give up a couple,” said Vale. “Have you +food?” + +“We got bread and ham. If we jus’ had some tea and a point of milk and a +little drippin’ or butter we’d git on fine.” + +She was such an amiable, wholesome soul Derek liked her at once. And he +liked the little girls who fluttered about the baby, clapping their +hands at him, and laughing as merrily as though they had never known +hunger and cold and buffeting from post to pillar. They were the +prettiest Indian children he had ever seen, with even features and +magnificent black eyes. They were Annie, Lizzie, and Susy, aged nine, +seven, and five. + +The man had gone into the added room and thrown himself on the bare bed +there with a groan. Derek looked in at him and then asked his son what +was the trouble with him. He mentioned a disease common enough, but of +which Derek knew little. “Is it serious?” he asked. + +“Oh, I guess not,” replied the youth. “He’s just got to keep still and +he’ll git all right.” + +Derek looked pityingly at the hunched figure on the bed. “Let me know if +he needs anything. And cover him up or he’ll freeze.” + +He was getting cold himself standing about and Buckskin was sneezing in +his ear. He returned to the house, taking the son with him to get +provisions for the family. The youth said his name was Bill Rain. He was +a hollow-cheeked, hollow-chested fellow, who always gave the impression +that he had just reached the top of a steep hill. But he said he was +strong and seemed eager to work. + +Derek felt an immense relief at having acquired the Rain family. He +would pay off Peek that night, and Peek could stop at the Ordes’ cottage +on his way back to Mistwell and tell Mrs. Orde that she would not be +needed at Grimstone for some time. He hoped that by ridding himself of +Mistwell people he might be able to conceal the fact that Fawnie had +deserted him. For the present, at least, that was his great need. The +Jerrolds, Hobbs, the Vicar, it must be hidden from them all. He had been +the subject of gossip, conjecture, pity, scorn, long enough. No. It must +not be known. He might conceal it for a month—or more. Further than +that he did not look. He would not even tell Edmund. + +Before Hobbs and the Holstein breeder, whose name was Maher, left that +afternoon Derek took them into the house for something to drink. When +the whisky and soda had been set on the table Hobbs asked after the +health of Mrs. Vale. Mrs. Vale was not very well, Derek said. She was +lying down. Hobbs was disappointed. He had been anxious to have Maher +meet her. As the bottle became almost empty he grew more and more +solicitous for her health, and he begged Derek to fetch the boy down, if +only for a moment, that Maher might see for himself the sort of heir she +had produced for Grimstone. So Buckskin came on Derek’s shoulder, very +bright-eyed and wondering, and was set on Mr. Maher’s knee, and was +hefted, and had his muscles felt, and his massive legs admired, and his +eight teeth admired, and his curly yellow head rumpled, and Maher said +he was the sweetest thing that had ever been foaled. “If you’ll believe +me,” he said, “my missus has given me six daughters, all of them +high-shouldered and short-necked—like me. Nary a son. Women are kittle +cattle. Nary a son.” + +“Give me boys every time,” said Hobbs. “If a boy misbehaves you give him +a good leatherin’, if he does it again you give him a harder one—but a +girl—keep your six, Maher, I don’t want ’em.” + +“They’re all right,” declared Maher, bridling. “They’re nice girls—good +and all that—but why had they got to go and have high shoulders and +thick necks like me?” + +Derek scarcely heard their talk. An overwhelming weight of loneliness +had fallen on him. Fawnie was gone. No more would she sit beside him +watching the fire, with that mysterious, sombrous look that had +sometimes almost frightened him; no more would her hair fall like a +silken mantle over his shoulder, around his neck; and her arms hold him +close against her—“as a matter of fac’, darling, you are no better than +Buckskin”—Oh, the sweetness of those arms! Their fragility—and their +strength—those pouting lips. And she loved Jammery—he could not hear +what those fellows were saying. How he dreaded the night! + + 2. + +But the night passed quickly. Tired out from lack of sleep, his head had +barely touched the pillow when he was off. A dreamless sleep held him +till daylight, when he was awakened by Buckskin, whom he had taken to +bed with him to keep him warm. Buckskin cooed, he crowed, he chuckled, +he lifted Derek’s eyelid and looked quizzically down into his eye. “Good +Lord,” groaned Derek, “can’t you let your poor dad sleep in peace?” +Buckskin could not and would not, so Derek got up and made the +breakfast. + +They sat side by side at table (Buckskin had a high chair) unwashed and +uncombed, eating large plates of porridge covered with cream. Buckskin’s +bib was a sight. Derek wondered what Edmund would have said. + +“The first thing for you to do,” he told Lottie Rain when she came to do +the work, “is to give this baby a bath. He’s got soap and sponge and +everything of his own. Don’t let him get a chill. Keep him by the stove. +And look here”—he turned in the doorway—“my wife is away, but I don’t +want the folk about here to gossip, so if anyone asks you anything, just +say she’s not very well, and she stops in most of the time. Understand?” + +Lottie’s face melted into a comprehending smile. “Yes, I understan’ all +that. I know how to keep quiet. I know your wife ever since she was a +little girl. It was her sent me back to look after you and the baby. She +couldn’t bear to think you wasn’t gittin’ looked after properly. . . .” + +So Lottie took them in hand. She was a motherly decent soul. She +scrubbed the kitchen till the boards shone; she blackened the stove, and +swept the hearth; she kept Buckskin cleaner than his mother had done. +His bath in the kitchen was a melodious riot of chuckles, squeals, +splashings, and the rippling laughter of the three little girls. The +laughter of little Indian girls is the prettiest laughter in the world. + +Derek grew to love Buckskin more every day. He became the centre of his +life. He feared sometimes that Fawnie might return and steal him away, +and he would not have him often out of his sight. He took long rides at +this time and he would have Lottie bundle the boy in his rabbit-skin +coat and cap, and place him before him on the horse. Off they would +gallop, making the snow fly, making the bridge ring with the dash of +hoofs. Buckskin would gravely clutch a bit of the rein in his tiny +mittened hands, and his cheeks would glow, and his eyes sparkle and +glint with all the changeful brightness of the lake. He learned to shout +“Ho!” for “Whoa.” + +One day they met the Jerrolds. There was no escape, and Derek must face +Grace with that offspring of his wildness and his weakness between them. +Grace leaned forward in her saddle to look into the little rosy face. +“Oh, he is a darling!” she breathed. “A darling.” Her arms moved toward +him without her volition, as though she must take him to her breast and +hold him. + +Surprise and delight made Derek’s heart pound. Grace liked his +child—that child. Gratitude misted his vision of her. He drew his horse +nearer that she might touch the boy. She lifted him to the saddle before +her and kissed him. Nothing small about Grace—nothing grudging—nothing +cruel. Their eyes met over the boy’s head—they could not look +away—yes—they were kissing each other through him—holding each other +close. + + 3. + +On Christmas Eve came a knock at the door where there were now but few +knocks to disturb the lonely master of the house Mr. Jerrold in a fur +greatcoat stood there, his accustomed cigar in his fingers. He and Gay +and Miss Pearsall, who was stopping with them over the holiday, were on +their way to Mistwell, where he had a Christmas tree every year for the +village children. They looked forward to it all the year, and, by Jove, +he wasn’t going to have the poor little beggars disappointed, even +though he had been smitten rather roughly. Would Vale care to come? And +Mrs. Vale? He spoke with genial unconcern, as though it were quite the +custom for Mrs. Vale to join in their little activities. It was such a +fine starlit night they were walking. + +Derek had been feeling abominably homesick for Halifax and Edmund. He +said eagerly that he would be glad to go, but Fawnie couldn’t very well +leave the baby. This time he blamed it on the baby. He wasn’t quite up +to the mark. Stomach-ache or something. Kids were always getting +something wrong. He grew hot with nervousness, but nothing would have +induced him to tell the truth. + +The girls had walked on ahead. Their slight figures outlined against the +sparkling snow hurried on, as though avoiding the men. “Let them go,” +said Mr. Jerrold. “I want a good talk with you.” + +They overtook them at the door of the little weather-beaten town hall +already packed with the children and their parents. A curtain was drawn +before the tree, and Derek was led behind this by the girls to help +light candles and add some final touches while Mr. Jerrold disappeared +into a cupboard to dress for the part of Santa Claus. + +This unexpected nearness to Grace excited Derek. The expression of her +face as she raised it when she lighted a candle was to him piercingly +beautiful. Their hands touched. He drew his quickly away. He could not +bear it. . . . Miss Pearsall hovered about the tree, ecstatic over +dolls, work-boxes, horns, and jack-knives. “I feel a little, little +child again,” she breathed. And again she said, “My name is Joy. I am +but two days old.” Derek thought—“My God, this woman and Hobbs!” + +Never was a handsomer, more jovial Santa Claus than Mr. Jerrold. Such a +scarlet belted tunic, such a woolly white beard, such mirthful, +sparkling, teasing eyes. He joked everyone as he handed down the +presents, for he knew them all, and the little hall rocked and heaved +with laughter; and the smell of the tree, and the smell of guttering +candles, and the smell of hot children were delightfully mingled with +the smell of fish that subtly pervaded all gatherings in Mistwell. + +After the tree there were sandwiches, cakes, and coffee for everybody. + +It was eleven o’clock when Mr. Jerrold with a grunt of relief pulled off +his beard and wig and mopped his dripping head. “I wouldn’t give up this +treat for anything,” he said. + +“I have not forgotten those three little girls at your place,” said +Grace to Vale. “And here are two little china mugs and a work-box for +them—and a bag of sweets and an orange apiece, too.” + +“Oh, that will be jolly for them! I’m such a duffer I had never given +Christmas a thought.” + +Miss Pearsall flew to get coloured paper and ribbon to tie up the +parcel. “Darling Gay,” she said, “always so thoughtful.” + +Unseen by the others, Derek picked up a discarded doll from the floor +and dropped it into the pocket of his overcoat. The doll had only one +leg. + +It was refreshing to get out into the sharp, bright air, to hear the +crunch of the crisp snow beneath their feet, to watch the silvery moon +sailing above and its bright train shimmering on the lake. It was a +world of silver light and meticulous black shadows. + +They walked four abreast. + +“Happy, happy people!” exclaimed Miss Pearsall. “Going about doing +good!” + +“Nonsense. We get as much fun out of it as the kids,” said Mr. Jerrold. + +“Oh, Mr. Vale!” cried Miss Pearsall. “Do you know the Gitanjali?” + +“No,” replied Vale. “Where do they live?” + +“They are not people but poems. By Tagore. I am singing them now. They +are wonderful.” + +“You sing them beautifully,” said Grace. + +“There is no one like Tagore. No one like the Hindoo writers. I am in +closer touch with the Infinite since I have steeped myself in the East +than ever before. ‘I am a slave of this spirit of the quest.’” + +Mr. Jerrold was saying, “By Jove, I’ve gone and lost my pipe.” + +Vale was thinking, “My God! This woman and Hobbs—hard-bitten Hobbs.” + +Miss Pearsall went on: “I have no faith in doctors. Absolutely none. No +doctor could ever cure one of my headaches. Only God can cure my +headaches.” Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. + +Mr. Jerrold was saying: “They sent me some pretty poor stuff from the +wholesale. One of those dolls, for instance, I had to throw away. The +plaster was all broken off its foot and the wooden support stuck out for +all the world like a ridiculous wooden leg.” + +At the gate of Grimstone Vale held Grace’s hand a moment. “If only I +might have walked beside you—had a few words alone with you.” + +She withdrew hers quickly. “Oh, do you think I’m made of iron?” she +said. + + 4. + +Derek gave Lottie Rain the presents for her little girls. He bolted the +kitchen door after her and returned to the dining-room. He raised the +flame of the lamp and sat down by the table. Then, with a whimsical +smile, he drew the doll from his pocket. He held her close to the lamp +and examined her matted yellow hair and glassy blue eyes. “You look +terribly cold in that pink shimmy,” he said, “and you certainly have a +game leg. But I’m sure Buckskin will love you. Poor little Buckskin. His +first Christmas. No mother. . . . We must find a name for you. H’m. +Pegleg? That’s the ticket. You shall be Pegleg from now on. . . .” + +Buckskin made a scarcely perceptible mound under the yellow eiderdown in +the huge four-poster. The bedroom was bitterly cold, for there was no +way of heating it. Derek made short work of undressing, but he spent +some time in choosing the best possible spot to lay Pegleg on, so that +the sight of her might greet the child when he awoke. Then, when he had +braced her there between the two pillows, he stood a full minute +admiring the effect. + + 5. + +Buckskin loved Pegleg at first sight. He wakened Derek in the cold +December dawn crowing over her. He sat up in bed with his curls on end +hugging and kissing her. He pulled her hair and bit her in a fury of +love. He held her while he was being dressed (not a long ceremony, for +he wore but three garments), he clutched her while he had his bottle, he +screamed if Derek touched her. And Derek would touch her just for the +pleasure of hearing him yell. + +After breakfast Derek carried him to the barn to weigh him. Annie, +Lizzie, and Susy danced about the weighing scales singing: + +“Buckskin weighs twenty pounds! Buckskin and Pegleg weigh twenty +pounds!” + +“It’s Christmas Day, Mister Vale,” cried Lizzie, the prettiest of the +three. “My brother Bill is goin’ to take us to church.” + +“Where, then? To Mistwell?” + +“No. To Stead. The niggers have got a church there. You know the nigger +church?” + +Derek had heard of it. Mrs. Machin had told him how, during the American +Civil War, several southern families had taken refuge in the beautiful +little village of Stead, a few miles east of Mistwell. When the war was +over they had returned to their own country, but, as the servants they +had with them were now free, they left them behind in Stead, first +providing them with cottages and situations. These slaves had been the +nucleus of a respectable little coloured colony in Stead. They kept to +themselves, were prosperous, prolific, and had their own pastor, whose +collar and cuffs, it is safe to say, were whiter and shinier than those +of any other minister in the village. + +“To the nigger church,” repeated Derek, looking at Lizzie, musingly. +“Now, look here, if your mother and father are Indians, and you, +yourself, go to the nigger church, I’d like to know what you are.” + +Lizzie’s great eyes flashed up at him as she cried stoutly, “Me? I’m +British!” + +“Lizzie, you rebuke me,” said Derek. “You’re an intrepid little soul. +May I shake hands?” And he took the little brown hand and held it in his +own. “Good for you, Lizzie.” + +He led her to the stable, where Bill and Lottie were filling the mangers +with hay. “Mister Vale, is it true,” asked Annie, “that God was born in +a stable?” + +“Why, yes,” said Derek. “It’s true.” + +“Was a manger really His cradle, just like these here ones?” + +“Yes. Only it was Jesus, you know, the little one. Not God. At least, +not exactly.” + +“Well, Mister Vale, you lay Buckskin down in the manger and let’s see +just what a baby in a manger looks like, eh?” + +“Ain’t they awful?” said Bill. + +Derek laid Buckskin in the Welsh pony’s manger and held the pony’s head +to one side. “There you are,” he said. They filled the stable with their +laughter, and the morning sunlight fell on the sweet-smelling hay, and +on Buckskin’s blond head and golden-brown face. + +Annie said: “We’ll be the three Wise Men. We’ll bring him gifts. I’ll +bring him this big Northern Spy apple. What’ll you bring, Susy?” + +“This new egg I jus’ find,” answered Susy. + +“An’ you, Lizzie? What’ll you give this little Jesus?” + +“There’s thistles in this hay,” said Lizzie of the great dark eves. +“I’ll make him a crown o’ thorns.” Bill and Lottie, their pitchforks in +their hands, stood gazing fascinated. Lottie said: “Last winter we was +at a place where them little girls went to Sunday-school all winter. +They learned an awful lot of religion. I expect it’ll do them the rest +of their lives.” + +Derek had given the Rains a turkey for dinner and he had one to himself. +Buckskin sat beside him in his high chair, alternately gnawing a +drumstick and beating his tray with it. After dinner Derek had a happy +thought. He went to one of the trunks he had not unpacked since he had +come from Halifax and unearthed his most cherished boyhood possession, a +glass-covered box of carefully mounted butterflies. These he presented +to Buckskin, who gazed, round-eyed, clutching Pegleg to his breast. + + CHAPTER XI + LOVE AMONG THE HUMMOCKS + + 1. + +Hobbs got his knee put out in the New Year while playing hockey with a +team composed of his own workmen against the Mistwell players. He was +confined to his room for five weeks, and Derek spent an hour or two +every day with him, smoking, talking endlessly about cattle-breeding and +poultry-raising, and playing chess, for which it turned out Hobbs had a +passion. + +Of his other passion—that concerning Miss Pearsall—he talked little +and haltingly, but Derek gathered that he was acquiring her as a +suitable mistress for Durras, one who would give a tone to the place +that he never could. Derek found this rather pathetic, and he pitied +Hobbs. He should not have liked to be tied up to Miss Pearsall himself +and he wished Hobbs would not do it, but the man was determined that +Durras should not lack tone. “The one drawback is,” he confided, “that I +shall have to go to church on Sundays, and that’s my special day for +loafing about the stables. In the stables I’m happy and cheerful, but +put me in church and I’m a lost man.” + +Derek still kept up the fiction of Fawnie’s illness. Well, she wasn’t +exactly sick, he said, but she had a delicate chest, couldn’t stand the +cold. Hobbs was sympathetic. “Your wife is what I call a raving beauty,” +he said. “As far as women go, just _as_ women, well—if a fellow has the +nerve—there’s a woman for you.” + +The worst was when Mr. Jerrold brought some jelly to the door that Grace +had made for Fawnie—jelly that enclosed a cluster of California grapes. +Derek was miserable. Full of shame, he strode up and down the room, +eyeing the jelly as it quivered on the dark blue plate. “This will never +do, Buckskin,” he groaned. “This will have to stop. I’ve simply got to +tell. There’s no getting out of it. Buckskin—d’you hear? I’ve got to +tell that you and I are just batching it.” + +He and Buckskin ate the jelly. + + 2. + +One morning Bill Rain asked Derek to go up to the shack. His father was +anxious to see him. Derek found the sick man lying on the floor behind +the stove. A quilt was wrapped about him and his stockinged feet +projected into the middle of the room. + +He had grown terribly emaciated, a bright fever-spot burned on either +cheek, his hollow eyes sparkled with pain and hatred. + +“My old woman and my son don’t mind if I die here,” he said. “I been +tellin’ them for weeks to fetch you up to see me. I got to get to the +hospital at Yeoland for an operation or I die here. You see that, Mr. +Vale. You pay my way and I work for you when I am well—yes—my fingers +to the bone—yes—till I fall in my tracks. I’m a strong man, I tell +you, no poor rat like that Bill—but this pain’s killin’ me. Oh, send me +to the hospital, Mr. Vale, and I work for you till your farm’s the +finest in the country. Oh, this awful pain!” + +“Don’t worry any more,” soothed Vale. “I’ll send Bill with you to-day. +You’ll be all right.” Outside he said to Bill sternly: “Why didn’t you +let me know your father was in this state? I thought he was getting +better.” + +“Well, maw and me kept thinkin’ he would git better, but he’s worse. +He’s like a crazy man sometimes. He keeps his stick beside him and gives +us some awful cracks, and yells at the little girls enough to ruin their +wits.” + +“You must take him to the hospital to-day. He should have gone long +ago.” + +It was arranged that Derek and Lottie should attend to the stock and do +the milking for the three days that were required for Bill’s journey to +Yeoland where the hospital was, and where, near by, the Rains had some +relations. + +Derek was glad when the fruit-waggon, on the bottom of which Bill had +made a bed of straw for his father, passed into the road. He felt that +some blame was attached to himself for not having enquired more closely +into Rain’s condition. + +Bill returned on the third day and told how his father had suffered on +the journey and was now lying in the hospital awaiting an operation. But +he was cheerful, he said, and full of gratitude to his benefactor. + +His benefactor! Vale groaned. He who had let him lie and rot all winter. + + 3. + +In a fortnight (it was now late in February) a letter came from Yeoland +to the Rains. Lottie and Bill brought it to Vale to read to them. The +lamp had just been lighted, and, as he bent forward in the circle of +lamplight to read, he was struck by the pathos of the two waiting +figures by the door—Bill clutching his cap, Lottie her shawl, +attentive, anxious, dark, humble. + +Rain was dead all right. The cold, dry letter of the matron said so. +They must come at once if they wanted the body. (That poor, lank, +huddled body in the cart! it came between Vale and the letter.) He read +it aloud, trying somehow to soften it. + +Lottie and Bill stared at the floor. “Dear, oh dear,” Lottie said, +softly. Bill said: “Well, paw’s dead. I thought he’d be gittin’ well by +now.” They were silent then, thinking deeply. + +“I’m very sorry,” said Derek. “What shall you do?” + +“I’d like to go over to Yeoland and look after him,” replied Lottie. +“She said he was dead, did she?” . . . + +The next morning she set out with the three little girls. They were all +in black. + +“My maw she made them little dresses out of two black skirts a lady gave +her,” explained Bill, proudly. “She sat up all night to do it. I wish +paw could see them.” He sighed deeply and went about his work. + + 4. + +That day a gale blew from the east. They were in for heavy weather, Bill +said. Gulls, in ever-increasing numbers, drifted above the foam-splashed +waves that hammered on the bluffs like rowdies at a door. Spray dashed +against the windows of Grimstone; foam clogged the mouth of the creek +like lather. + +Happy, wayward, fantastic creatures, the gulls! Exultant, crying, eager, +voracious! Buckskin beat his fists on the window and laughed at them. +How they swept and rose and fell, this one shooting upward like a flame, +that one just kissing the rim of a wave with his breast! Wonderful +gulls! Heartless, cruel, merry gulls! + +All day there was no sun. Heavy purple clouds were draped like curtains +above the green, uneasy lake. In the afternoon sleet began to fall. To +fall? No. To drive, to hiss, to spit, to cut like a whip! Derek thought +his cheeks would bleed before he reached the barn. Coming back, he +crooked his arm across his face and ran, his feet crunching in the +granulated depth of it. The storm grew worse and worse. + +When night came, he was too restless to read. He walked up and down +through the empty rooms, feeling singularly alone in the world. +Buckskin, lucky Buckskin, slept. Derek looked at the familiar pictures, +at the thin, aloof, china greyhound on the mantel. It was against the +greyhound that Jammery’s note had been propped. How long ago that +seemed! How alone he was! + +At last he went to bed. But he could not sleep. The house rocked. The +four-poster swayed under him. He had never known such a storm. And, as +he lay listening, the confused uproar resolved into definite, terrible +episodes. + +It seemed that he could hear the clash of two armies, who met with ring +of steel and roar of lusty throats, fighting up and down the road. And, +mingled with the wild uproar, came the keening of women crouched above +their dead. . . . And, ere their wailing ceased, the clamour of a brazen +band burst forth. Oh, the deafening discords of the horns! The thunder +of the drums! And, in the far distance the women still wailing. But what +had come to the clashing armies? There was no more shouting nor +hurrahing. Only the stamp and pad of thousands of flying feet. They were +madly running. Running! Oh, the footsteps! Crunching, padding in the +snow. Footsteps everywhere. The women had ceased their keening to +listen. The footsteps were coming in at the gate. Hammering on the +flagstones. Kicking at the door. They would have the door down yet. +Terrifying, deafening uproar. + +Now the footsteps were gone. The keening women gone. The bandsmen that +had fallen into panic gone. Only a deep-toned humming of some far-off +organ remained, singing through the hissing sleet, filling the night +with melody. + +To this accompaniment it seemed that the Spirit of the lake rose out of +the foam, strode up the cliff, and then before the homely stone house +did battle with the Spirit of Grimstone for possession of the land. +Derek pictured the Spirit of the lake—long-armed, with streaming hair +and blazing eyes; the Spirit of Grimstone—massive, brown, earthy. They +laughed and shouted on the cliffs, half in rage, half in ferocious play. +Derek laughed to hear them fighting for the land while he lay snug in +bed. And Buckskin, in his sleep, laughed too. + + 5. + +Derek did not realize that he had slept, and yet, there was the ruddy +sunrise staining the wall and he had never seen the dawn. Where was the +wind now? Utter silence and piercing cold. When he raised his head the +breath from his nostrils made a little cloud above the quilt. The window +was completely covered by downy frost flushed pink by the sun. Sharp +cracking sounds came from the old house. He jumped out of bed. His +boots, which he had taken off wet the night before, were frozen to the +floor. He jerked them up and pulled them on. Lord, how cold they were! +Hurriedly he got into his clothes, put the boy into his three little +garments (what a blue bit of a nose!) and carried him to the kitchen. +Here the coal fire still burned and one did not feel quite so frozen. He +fastened Buckskin into his high chair and made the porridge. While it +cooked he went outside, to see what sort of world the storm had left +behind. + +It was as though a curtain had risen to show him some strange stage +scene set in the polar region. No wonder his brain had been filled with +wild fancies last night. The storm had done its damnedest, and left +behind this white, silent, sinister passivity—all its passion frozen +into a glittering picture for remembrance. + +The lake was a seething cauldron. From its rocking waves rose endless +spirals and columns of vapour, twisting, writhing together, struck into +a thousand radiant tints by the shafts of the sun. The red sun itself +mounted with speed into the melting glories of the sky, like a fiery +ball hurled upward from below by giants at play. + +The lashing and freezing of the spray had formed for a quarter of a mile +from the shore hundreds of hummocks from five to twenty feet high, of +matchless purity, blue-white in the shadow. + +Derek was exhilarated, excited, by the splendour of the scene. After he +had given Bill a hand with the work, he set out to explore this new +polar region at his door. He went down the road and crossed the bridge, +where icicles jutted out horizontally from the framework like frozen +fingers pointing to Grimstone. He wandered among the hummocks out to the +water’s edge, winding his way in and out, staring down into ragged +caverns where the black water pressed and sucked. + +“I might be the only soul on earth,” he thought; and then he saw that he +was not alone, for a figure had suddenly risen on one of the highest +peaks and stood there like a statue gazing outward over the lake. + +It was Grace Jerrold. + +A flood of emotion shook him. To meet her alone like this! As though it +were at the world’s end. He and she. He slid and scrambled down his +hummock and started towards her. She heard him coming and turned her +head, but she remained on the peak of the hummock looking down at him +unsmilingly. + +“Shall I come up?” he asked, when he had reached the bottom of the +slope. + +She shook her head but did not speak. + +“Not come up? Grace. Have I done something new?” + +“Oh, no. But——” She paused as though she could not go on. + +“But what?” + +“It is not good for us—for me—I mean, to be here together. I feel too +much. Why should I pretend otherwise?” + +“I say, Grace, don’t pretend with me. Be yourself—your darling self! We +love each other. Well, can’t we face that love together—even cherish +it, a little, on a morning like this?” + +Her fair face flushed, her eyes became a deeper blue as she answered, +“Face it, perhaps, but not cherish it.” + +He moved a step closer and then said, with a tragic flourish of his hand +towards Grimstone: “Do you see that house, Grace? A lonely-looking +house, eh! Well, I live alone there—except for the baby. Fawnie left me +over two months ago.” + +She uttered a low cry and held out her hands. “Oh! Derek. I’m coming +down, catch me!” She slipped and ran down the sloping side of the +hummock, and when his arms had caught her and supported her she said +again: “Poor, poor Derek! But why did she leave you?” + +“She ran away with Jammery.” + +“With Jammery? An Indian! How horrible!” + +“Not to her.” + +“But—after you.” + +“Apparently I didn’t satisfy her.” He still held her arm, and they began +slowly to follow an icy path among the hummocks. + +“Are you cold, dearest?” he asked. She shook her head, and said, “I’m +all bundled in fur, don’t you see?” + +He saw indeed the etherealized beauty of her face in the brilliant +light. He became aware that she wore a grey squirrel coat and a little +grey squirrel toque with a knot of red berries on the brim. + +“You are so utterly adorable,” he said, “that I never know what you +wear. I am only conscious of your nearness and dearness. Now don’t be +angry, please.” He could not help it. He slipped his hand into her muff +beside hers, and his fingers closed about her slender wrist. + +“I’m not angry,” she said, pretending not to notice his hand in the +muff. “That is what makes you such a dangerous sort of man. A woman +cannot be angry with you for more than a few moments. I think it’s those +boyish appealing eyes, and something about your mouth. But it’s really +terrible. One feels angry and then, in a flash the tables are turned and +one is sorry, feels oneself cruel, and condones. Really, I think that is +a dangerous sort of man, don’t you?” + +“Not a bit. Just a poor blundering idiot, floundering from one morass +into another. Never meaning any real harm—upon my soul, Gay, no real +harm, even at my worst. But I’ve actually no strength of character, I +think—I’ve time to think these days—I know Edmund thinks so, too. He’s +as much as said so.” + +“Edmund!” Her tone said, How dare Edmund judge Derek! “What does Edmund +know of trouble?” + +“Nothing at all. He doesn’t want to know anything, so he keeps out of +it.” + +They had walked along a level plateau of ice and from it mounted a +hummock that overhung the water. Down the glassy curve of it they +watched the crashing of the malachite waves, now impotent to destroy +what they had so recently created. + +“You know,” Derek went on, “the only decent thing about me is that I’m +faithful. I mean—oh, Lord, I never can express myself—I mean that when +any person—or thing—belongs to me once—once I possess it and care for +it—it’s always mine. Nothing can change that. For instance, there’s a +bit of you that’s mine—that you gave me that morning in the +stable—nothing can take that from me. I’ll cherish it always. And look +here,”—his face reddened—“there’s Fawnie, too. Only so different. I +wish I could explain. But I was thinking once about a flower—a sort of +lily thing that comes up in the stream in August, by the bridge there. +Its roots are in the mud, its stalk and leaves in the dark water, but +its flower opens in the pure air, and turns to the sun and breeze. Well, +that’s like my love for you. It’s the flower of me. The bloom. All +that’s best in me rushes up to it, and still my roots are in the soil +and my stalk and leaves in the dark. What a comparison!” He laughed with +a tremor in his voice. + +“I understand, and it makes me very happy,” said Grace, and her eyes met +his with a look of ardent resignation. + +Reckless, passionate words came rushing to his lips. He thought: “For +heaven’s sake, exert some self-control now . . . show that strength of +character you’re always howling about. Don’t kiss her!” And, even as he +was thinking, he put his arms about her, and held her to his breast. So +they kissed hopelessly, longingly, and yet with joy under the +compassionate splendour of the sky. + +Afterward they stood quietly, two lonely figures, her head resting on +his shoulder, his lips against the bright, winglike sweep of her hair, +and she said, half laughing, half crying, “Oh, you poor darling, you +need me so!” + +“If only I could have you for my very own,” he cried. “If only I could!” + + CHAPTER XII + BUCKSKIN STRIKES HIS TENT + + 1. + +It may have been standing about on the ice so long that gave Derek a +cold (he wandered there an hour or more after Grace had left him), but, +whatever it was, the cold appeared, manifesting itself in flashes of +heat and chills, and, worst of all, a toothache. He did not sleep much +all night because of the toothache, and when morning came his one +thought was to be rid of the tooth. + +He did not like leaving Buckskin for so long, but he had a way of +barricading him with chairs on the couch in the dining-room that had +answered very well when he had gone to visit Hobbs. After breakfast he +imprisoned him thus, gave him Pegleg to play with, a bottle of milk and +two biscuits for refreshment, and left Jock on the foot of the couch for +company. + +The ride to Brancepeth made him feel better, the invigorating air, the +light rise and fall in the stirrups, the feel of the well-groomed horse +beneath him. + +By the time he was sitting in the waiting-room of the dentist’s office +the tooth was not aching at all; nevertheless he was determined to have +it out. + +There was a patient in the chair, so he was obliged to wait. He felt +nervous about Buckskin. He stared through the dingy window at the shops +across the way. There was the milliner’s where Fawnie had come out on +the step to show him the new hat. Fawnie. She should be at home now +minding Buckskin—the baggage! + +He picked up one of the women’s magazines that littered the table and +began to read. It was an article on Better Babies. As he read his fair +boyish forehead was puckered into worried knots. He had never dreamed +that babies needed so much attention. Why, Great Scott, if he did +everything for Buckskin that was advised, nay, commanded, here, he +should have time for nothing else! What the devil was this about orange +juice at ten every morning? Buckskin ate pulp and all at any old hour. +What was this about coddled eggs and grated carrots? And a thermometer +in the bath? The book made him sick. Buckskin wasn’t that kind of baby. +He was a healthy little animal that needed no pampering. Hold on—Weight +at ten months—Dangers of overweight—Buckskin was five pounds +overweight! Well, well. He had known he was a whopper. How that tooth +was howling now! + +The dentist came to the door, smiling, and beckoned him with his head. +He was a twinkling young man who looked as though doing things to teeth +was the most cheery profession on earth. + +“Open, please,” he said, and twinkled into Derek’s mouth. “Now which +tooth?” + +“Widdom toot,” said Derek, as well as he could, through the dentist’s +fingers. + +“Wisdom tooth, yes. A cavity that should have been attended to some time +ago. But we can soon fix that. It needs treating.” + +“Pull it out,” said Derek. “I’ve no time for treatments.” + +“Very well,” agreed the dentist, still twinkling. “Gas or freezing?” + +“Oh—freeze it. . . .” + +It was out. What a beastly grating noise the forceps made! The dentist +was all twinkles as he held it up, gory-rooted, for Derek to see. + +Derek felt immensely relieved to be back in the street without it. He +went to the “Duke of York” and had a little whisky neat. + +His cold was worse, a cough was developing, yet he would not set out for +home till he had bought the boy a new pair of shoes. Shiny +patent-leather strap slippers he got with little buckles. He pictured +Buckskin’s kicks and crows of delight when they were put on him. + +He was really getting anxious about Buckskin. Suppose he fell off the +couch someway and got to the fire! Or Jock might get rough with him. +Jock wouldn’t actually _hurt_ him, but he might get a bit rough. He +covered the last two miles at a gallop. + +He gave his horse to Bill at the barn and hurried to the house. +“Buckskin!” he called, as he unlocked the kitchen door and stamped the +snow off his feet. “Hello, Buck!” + +Jock came to him through the pantry crawling on his belly. + +What was wrong? For God’s sake what was wrong? Buckskin! Buck! + +He was lying, wedged, between the row of chairs and the couch. He was +writhing—twisting. The whites of his eyes showed through the +half-closed lids, his lips were blue. + +Derek snatched him up and shook him. Buckskin! Waken up! Thank God, +there came a flicker of those white eyelids! + +Oh, for a woman! Any woman! Lottie Rain. . . . Miles away. . . . Mrs. +Chard. He laid the child on the pillow and ran wildly through the house. +He crashed through the dry currant and gooseberry bushes. Bang! bang! at +Chard’s back door! Mrs. Chard opened, her arms white with flour, flour +on her nose, fright in her eyes. + +“Whatever is the matter?” she asked. + +“My boy—my little chap—dying!” + +She began to wipe the flour off her arms. “What is the matter? What does +he act like?” + +Oh, the incredible coolness and slowness of the woman! “Oh, Mrs. Chard, +he’s stiff and blue—he’s perhaps dead by now. He looked awful.” + +Mrs. Chard turned to her stove. She lifted the lid off the tea-kettle +and looked in. “Full,” she said, “and boiling. It sounds like +convulsions. Just you bring this along, Mr. Vale. Children, be good +while I’m gone.” She shut the door and followed Derek heavily through +the yard. + +He showed her where the child was lying, but he could not bear to go +into the room with her because of what he might see. He felt more afraid +than he had ever felt in his life before, a new, sick, helpless sort of +fear. Buckskin was so little, so young. + +After a moment she came to the door. “Fill his bath,” she said. “Make +the water as hot as you can bear your hand in. I’ll strip him. He’ll be +all right, I think.” + +Glad to do something, Derek got the little green tin bath, filled it, +and tested the water with a shaking hand. Mrs. Chard came out carrying +the baby. Derek turned away. He could not look. + +Ages of misery passed. Mrs. Chard was speaking: “Now, what a good little +boy! My, my, what a good little boy! Look around, Mr. Vale.” + +He turned. Buckskin lay in the bath, his body, steaming, scarlet, +supported by her hand, his face bewildered but—thank God!—natural. He +looked at Mrs. Chard, he looked at Derek, then he smiled, pushing +forward his lower teeth and wrinkling his nose in a funny way he had. + +Derek went to him. “Is he all right?” he asked. “Shall I get a doctor?” + +“I wouldn’t now. You might ask the doctor to advise you about him, but +just now he’s all right. One of mine had two convulsions, but he got +over them and he’s the healthiest of all now. This is an awful fine +child.” + +She had taken him from the bath, laid him on her broad lap, and, with a +practised hand, was drying him. Derek looked down at her with almost +overwhelming gratitude. At the moment he really loved her for what she +had done. Her sad heavy face, her large bosom, her thick round shoulders +were admirable, because they were the essence of brooding motherhood. + +When she rose to go he saw that she was with child and his heart smote +him for having been so excitable with her, and for having almost dragged +her from her house to his. + +“How can I ever repay you?” he asked, when she had Buckskin comfortably +tucked up on the couch with Pegleg clasped to his breast. + +“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I s’pose his mother was badly +frightened, eh?” + +“His mother! Oh—she’s away,” Derek stammered, his face scarlet. “She’s +gone to Brancepeth for the day, shopping. I was here alone with him.” + +“No wonder you were scared,” said Mrs. Chard, kindly. + + 2. + +Buckskin slept well that night and awakened Derek as usual by clasping +his head in his fat little arms and kissing him rapturously. To get his +jumping, naked little body into his clothes was a task that took all +Derek’s newly acquired skill. At breakfast he beat the table with his +porridge spoon, and broke into trills of laughter over nothing. + +“It’s all very well,” said Derek to him, seriously. “I like to see you +in high spirits, old man, but have a thought for your poor dad. +Yesterday you changed him from a hardy young man into a doddering old +imbecile by your eccentricities. Don’t do it again.” + +“Gug-gug! Did-dy, dad-dy!” replied his son, winking at him between his +curling pink fingers, and getting porridge on his hair. + +Derek thought: “I believe I’ll buy some of those women’s magazines. A +fellow might get some pointers from them after all.” + +He had determined that he would see Mrs. Machin that day, tell her that +he and the boy were alone, and beg her to come back and keep house for +them. Surely no woman with a heart in her body could refuse him when he +told her of yesterday’s fright. + +He had Bill bring the red sleigh to the door. When Buckskin heard the +bells jingling and saw Derek fetching his rabbit-skin coat and cap with +the earlugs, he could hardly contain himself for joy. He kicked his +heels and shouted. He showed all his pearl-like teeth, and Jock, to add +to the gaiety, leaped to the couch, put his nose to the window-pane and +gave forth a volley of short, mad barks. + +Mrs. Machin came out of her sister’s cottage near the lighthouse and +stood with folded arms, on the doorstep, listening to Derek’s recital. +She did not look at Derek while he talked, but stared out over the scene +familiar since her birth. The pier was thronged with gulls, resting +quietly with folded wings in the February sunlight. Sometimes one rose +and sailed aloft, his cries mingling with the constant whining of the +reels. A smell of fish and wood fires ascended from the fishing huts on +the shore. + +“Well,” said Mrs. Machin, when he had finished, “it’s just about what I +had expected. That rat Jammery, eh? I could have told you so. D’ye mind +the time I sat up two whole nights to keep her in the room where you’d +put her? But she was one of the kind that wouldn’t stay put no matter +what you’d do.” + +“Mrs. Machin, are you coming back to me?” + +She looked at him ruminatively now out of her pale oyster-coloured eyes. +“Well, I won’t say I will and I won’t say I won’t. It partly depends on +my sister. She’s been on her deathbed now for six weeks and seems in no +hurry to be off, but when she does go you may see me at Grimstone any +day.” + +“I had hoped you might come right away, but, of course, under the +circumstances——” + +“Well, you’ll know I’m comin’ when you see me. And you take good care of +that baby. He’s a beauty and no mistake. The image of you, only a little +darker in the skin. And I wouldn’t worry too much about them fits. Fits +is fits, and if they’re in you they’re bound to come out, the same as +boils. He may never have another. I’m more concerned about that cough of +yours. It’s an awful cough. However did you get it?” + +“I was up and down with a toothache night before last. The room was +cold. Then yesterday I had it out. Took a chill, somehow, and I couldn’t +sleep last night.” + +“Well, well, you have had a time,” sympathized Mrs. Machin. “Now, look +here, Mr. Vale, I’ve got something that’ll fix that cold of yours up in +no time. It cured me of bronchitis and asamay when no doctor living +could. It’s a mixture that I make up myself and the secret of it was +told to me over fifty years ago. You just wait and I’ll fetch you a +bottle of it.” + +When she had gone into the house Buckskin rolled his eyes up at Derek +with the drollest laughter in them as though to say—“Rum old party, +eh?” + +“Rather,” agreed Derek, “but you’ll do well to keep on the right side of +her.” + +When Mrs. Machin had brought the bottle she made him take out the cork +and swallow a mouthful of the mixture on the spot. “It’s awfully queer,” +he said, tasting. “What is it made from?” + +Mrs. Machin gave a delighted smile. “I’ll tell you,” she said. “Though +there’s very few I would tell. But I can’t live for ever, and some time +you might want the mixture when I’m dead and gone.” In a lowered voice +she added with a triumphant grin, “It’s a wasps’ nest.” + +“A wasps’ nest,” he repeated, blankly. “What do you mean by a wasps’ +nest?” + +“Just what I say, a boiled wasps’ nest.” + +He was somewhat aghast. “Mrs. Machin, was that dose actually made out of +a wasps’ nest?” + +“It was. You get the nest when the wasps are settled down for the +winter. You boil it three hours with plenty of sugar and a little rum, +and then strain and bottle it. There’s nothing in the nature of a cough +it won’t cure.” + +“Most remarkable,” said Vale, “I’d never heard of such a thing.” + +“Well, I s’pose there’s a few things you haven’t heard of.” Her tone was +tart. “You never heard anything _agin_ wasps’ nests, have you?” + +“No-o. Were there many wasps in the nest when you boiled it?” + +“I don’t know. I wasn’t directed to look in the nest and I didn’t look +in. I always follow directions carefully. If more people would follow +directions there’d be fewer mistakes made. Better take another sip +before you go.” + +He meekly took another. + +“Bah-bah,” said Buckskin, reaching up towards the bottle. + +“Bless his heart,” said Mrs. Machin, her pale lips relaxing into a +smile, “he wants some. And a little taste would do him good, too. Whose +pretty boy are you, eh? Whose pretty boy are you?” She shook her head at +him and laughed. + + 3. + +Derek was now afraid to leave Buckskin alone. His cold was so bad that +he kept to the house almost continually, but when he did go to the barn +or the stables he would carry the child on his arm. In fact, the child +was seldom out of his thoughts. He would light a candle in the night and +hold it near the little sleeping face, to assure himself that those +terrible contortions had not again disfigured it. Word came from Yeoland +that Lottie’s children were ill of the measles, so he could not look for +her for several weeks. + +To make matters worse, he had trouble with his sheep and cattle, which +had fallen sick from eating mouldy silage. If he had been about as +usual, he would have prevented its being fed to them. But Bill Rain +thought that whatever animals could be made to eat was good for them. +His own taste in food was peculiar. He begged from Derek all the +left-over bacon rinds. These he frizzled in a pan till they were crisp +and hard. He carried them in his pocket and produced them at all hours +to crunch between his black, broken teeth. “Say, Mr. Vale,” he would +affirm, “I’ve got the strongest teeth in the country, exceptin’ just my +uncle, John Blackbird. He can lift a chair in his.” And he would take +another mouthful of rind. + +So he thought nothing of feeding mouldy silage to the stock. The silage +had been ensiled in a dry, rather ripe condition, and was woody and +loose, perhaps because it had not been tramped or settled solid. It +moulded badly, and two sheep died, and several cows were very sick. +Derek had the veterinary, but he was glad when Hobbs appeared one day +hopping on a crutch, and ready, as always, to give advice. + +Hobbs carried a bunch of daffodils from the Durras greenhouse for Mrs. +Vale. He looked downcast when Derek said she was still ailing. After a +pause he asked whether he had ever offended Mrs. Vale. He believed she +was avoiding him. Good Lord, no, Derek assured him, she was simply +languid, lay down a great deal. He believed the winter had been hard on +her. He placed the daffodils in a vase and they stood on the table, +golden and arrogant between the two men. + +Since he had been so much alone with Derek, Buckskin had grown very shy. +He screamed and kicked when Hobbs picked him up, and even the proffering +of Hobbs’s big gold watch would not tempt him. But when Hobbs took a +daffodil from the vase and held it towards him, he did a wonderful +thing. He left Derek’s knees, between which he had braced himself, and +ran to Hobbs. They were his first steps unaided by his father. Derek was +red with pride. Hobbs was jubilant. When Buckskin found out what he +could do, he did it again and again, toddling, head down, from Derek’s +knee to Hobbs. Mouldy silage, dead sheep, sick cows were clean forgotten +while they watched the splendid staggering of the boy. + +“Well, well,” said Hobbs. “It beats all. Most cock-a-hoop little rascal. +Eleven months, did you say?” + +“Yes,” replied Derek. “His birthday’s in April. I don’t want to seem a +fool about him, Hobbs, but he really is a rip, isn’t he?” + +To Derek it seemed that there would be no end to this strange secluded +winter that enveloped him like a fog, a fog through which the memory of +that morning on the hummocks shot like a flame. But he sought no further +meetings. What was the use? Better cling to the remembrance of those +terribly sweet moments and forget the rest, if one could. Not seek to +add to their sweetness, lest the fruit of the flower should be bitter. + +He would sit before the fire in the evenings seeing in the flames the +faces of the two women, Grace and Fawnie. It was amazing how distinct +they were—the delicate aquiline of Grace’s profile, the disdainful yet +tender arch of her mouth—the glow of health beneath Fawnie’s dusky +skin, the rich convolutions of her hair, her deep, mirthful eyes. + +He would stare and stare till he could bear it no longer, then he would +snatch up Buckskin from the floor, and pace the room with him, singing +loudly some college song that he had never thought to sing again. +Sometimes he would recite bits of things he had learned as a youth. Not +so long ago, and yet what had happened since then! Buckskin would listen +as though he understood every word. His favourite was the song from +Hippolytus. When Derek would declaim in his rich, full voice: + + “O take me to the mountain O, + Past the great pines and through the wood, + Up where the lean hounds softly go, + A-whine for wild thing’s blood, + And madly flies the dappled roe. + O God, to shout and speed them there + An arrow by my chestnut hair + Drawn tight, and one keen glistening spear— + Ah, if I could!” + +Buckskin could not restrain his rapture. He would shout at the top of +his lungs and thump Derek on the chest. + +“It’s all very well to be enthusiastic,” Derek would admonish, “but you +ought to restrain yourself to the end of the piece. You nearly drowned +me out.” + + 4. + +One moist evening, the first of April, when the heavy air was fragrant +with the essence of spring, Vale saw the figure of a man standing with +bent head, just inside the gate, beneath the tallest walnut tree. He +stood so motionless and so long that Vale’s curiosity was aroused and he +strolled out to him. It was Newbigging. Even in that dim light he could +see that the Scot looked thin and weather-beaten and that his clothes +were ragged. + +“Newbigging,” he exclaimed. “Is it you?” + +“Ay, sir, it is. What’s left o’ me. I’ve had a haird time since I left +here last spring. I got what I wanted and that was the sea. I’ve had +enough o’ that to last me the rest of my life. I’ve been to China and +back, two trips, and now I was juist standin’ here trying to mak’ up ma +mind to go in and ask ye if ye’ll no take me back.” He looked up into +Derek’s eyes, shamefaced, yet unrepentant. + +Derek was eager to take him back, yet he showed some proper reluctance. +“If I do, Newbigging, you’ll probably take it into that wild head of +yours to flit just when I need you most.” + +“Never,” declared Newbigging, emphatically. “I juist want to bide here +on the fairm. Yon lake is sea enough for me.” + +“Come along,” said Derek, and took him into the house. Briefly he +explained the situation. He was keeping bachelor’s hall; Mrs. Vale was +away on a visit. He said this last, looking steadily into the eyes of +Newbigging, who nodded solemnly. Derek believed he understood. + +But it was good to have a friendly soul in the house once more! +Newbigging settled down without ado. Lass of all work, he named himself. +And he set about getting the tea, and washing up the stacks of dirty +dishes in the kitchen. He had no tin box to carry upstairs, all his +clothes were on his back; but he took the little pasteboard box that +held his gilt studs, and the little red book of Scottish songs from his +breast pocket, and laid them in the dresser drawer where they had been +wont to lie. He carried a hot dish of ham and eggs in to Derek and ate +his own meal from his knee as he dried his feet in the oven. + +Buckskin made friends with him at once and toddled back and forth +between dining-room and kitchen, carrying Pegleg to be kissed by +Newbigging and Derek alternately. + +“Ah, he’s a bonnie wee boy,” said the Scot, admiringly. “He’ll mak’ a +son to be proud of. But keep him away from the sea, Mr. Vale. It mak’s a +bad son, and a bad husband, too.” + +“I’ve been awfully worried about him,” said Vale, seriously. “He’s had a +convulsion—a terrible one.” + +“Did ye see a doctor?” + +“Yes. I asked Mrs. Machin about it first. She didn’t think it serious. +Then I saw Dr. Bosomworth. I thought perhaps I was feeding him wrong. +But the doctor said his diet was very good. Said it might be +hereditary.” + +“Never worry, sir. I had three fits in one afternoon when I was six +years old and I’ve not had the sign of one since.” + +“Were there no bad effects?” + +“Weel, whin I come out o’ the third one I says, ‘I’ll gang tae sea,’ and +that was the beginning o’t.” + +“Come along in,” said Derek, “and I’ll get a bottle of whisky from the +cupboard. I haven’t had anyone to talk and drink with in the evening for +a long time.” + +Newbigging sat down by the table with some diffidence, but his blue eyes +glistened when Derek set the bottle before him and told him to pour what +he wanted. He half filled his glass, added some soda-water, and then +raised it in the direction of the sofa where Buckskin slept. + +“The bairn,” he said. “Long life to him.” + +“Buckskin,” said Derek, and they drank. + +“I wager,” said Newbigging, after he had wiped his lips with the back of +his hand, “that ye’d never guess who I met out West in the +Saskatchewan.” + +“Not Phœbe and Hugh?” + +“The very pair. The train I was on was crawlin’ over the dismal, flat +prairie, and every time we stopped at a station, I mairvelled tae see +the pale, weary-lookin’ folk on the platform. Grey, and dour, and old +before their time, wi’ never a rosy cheek or full red lips among them. +Presently, at one of the stops, the door of the coach was flung open and +a young woman followed by a man came in. Her airms were full of +paircels, and when she boarded the train she tripped on the step and +plunged intil the coach, head down, her bundles flyin’ in all +directions. I jumped up to help her, and she gied me a shamefaced look. +I saw that it was Phœbe, rosy as ever, wi’ her neck like a bowl o’ new +milk. . . . Man, they were glad tae see me. And they asked kindly after +you, Mr. Vale.” + +“Had they a good situation?” + +“Fine. Keepin’ hoose for a wealthy rancher. They were shoppin’ for him +that day. They wanted me tae come back wi’ them, and get a job, but I +slapped ma bonnet on ma heid and said, ‘Nae prairie for me, I’m gaein’ +back tae old Grimstone.’” + +“I’m glad you came,” said Derek. “Help yourself.” + +“D’ye mind, Mr. Vale,” said the Scot, when he had drunk another glass, +“how Hughie used tae say in lambing time—‘We’ll be haein’ a new wee +lamb afore the morn’?” + +“I’ll never forget that.” + +Newbigging chuckled. “I think he’d been safe in repeatin’ that saying, +tae judge by the appearance of Phœbe.” + +“Tck,” muttered Derek. “What would the rancher say to that?” + +“Weel,” replied Newbigging, “they didna seem to be worryin’.” + +“Speaking of babies,” said Derek, “I must put that little fellow to +bed.” + +He carried the child to his bedroom and laid him snugly in the old +four-poster. He buried his face for a moment against the little neck, +inhaling the delicious sweetness of the warm, tender flesh. Then he drew +the covers close, lowered the light, and returned to Newbigging. + +He was sitting with his fair head thrown back against the high back of +the chair, his blue sailor’s eyes fixed unwinkingly on the light. + +“I’ve been thinking o’ some of my adventures in China,” he said, +solemnly. “I’d like tae tell ye aboot them, sir, if ye’ll listen.” + +Derek acquiesced and sat down again. It was plain that Newbigging had +drunk a good deal. He launched into stories of his doings in the East, +which Derek did not believe but which he found very entertaining, for +the Scot had a vigorous flow of words, and his changeful face was a +pleasure to watch. Derek had not drunk to excess since those summer +nights when he had gambled with his Indian relations at the shack. But +now in the warmth of Newbigging’s presence (he had not known how lonely +he was) he grew once more indiscreet. + +They exchanged reminiscences of boyhood. Newbigging told of fights in +Scotland—even to his first real fight when as he lay on his opponent +panting, the other urchins crowded close, yelling, “Mak’ him greet, +Jimmie, mak’ him greet!” and, man, he had made him greet! + +At last Derek told Newbigging of how, when a small boy in Nova Scotia, +he had squeezed his body between the horizontal bars of an old farmer’s +orchard gate, and had filled his blouse with ripe red apples. The farmer +had given chase. Derek had had a good start, but when he had attempted +to get through the gate, the bulk of the apples in his blouse had made +him too wide, and wriggle as he would he could not escape. When Derek +told this story, Newbigging laughed. They both laughed uproariously. +After another drink Derek drew his chair closer and told the story again +with more detail. This time Newbigging looked very grave, and they +stared at each other in sorrowful silence. Still another drink. Derek +repeated the story. “Picture me, Newbigging,” he ended, his voice +shaking a little, “a poor, miserable little fella, c-caught there, +between those bars, the apples on my tummy, and f-farmer at my back!” + +Newbigging reached across the table and held out his hand. Derek took +and retained it. Then they both sang together in voices mellow with +feeling: + + “And here’s a hand, my trusty fiere, + And gie’s a hand o’ thine; + And we’ll tak’ a right guid-willie waught + For auld lang syne.” + + 5. + +Derek did not awaken until the bright spring sunshine had flooded the +room. He heard the familiar liquid calling of the hen turkeys and the +thunderous note of the gobbler. He heard the hiss and scrape of his tail +feathers as they were unfurled. + +He scarcely remembered how he had got to bed the night before, but there +were his clothes neatly hung on their stretchers. He remembered seeing +Newbigging disappear up the stair in his stockinged feet, the candle in +his hand dripping wax over the steps, and there had been singing. +Wonderful, soul-stirring singing. . . . + +It was a wonder Buckskin was not up and doing. Playing peek-a-boo under +the sheet or trying to put his toe in his mouth. He turned over to look +at him. Buckskin lay facing him. He looked, and a horrible shudder shook +him. He looked again. But surely this was not Buck! This cold, set +little mask of a face, with the look of angry surprise in the open eyes +and on the compressed mouth, as though bitterly indeed he resented this +outrageous jest that Fate had played on him. And that rigid body—those +clenched hands—Buckskin, oh, Buck! + +Derek sprang from the bed. He ran to the foot of the stairs and shouted +for Newbigging. Newbigging came headlong from his sleep. + +“For God’s sake, what is it, sir?” + +“The boy—the boy—he’s dead!” + +“Dead? How can that be? What killed him?” + +“That same thing, I suppose. Come down! Come down!” + +Newbigging came running. + +Derek stood, sick and bewildered, in the passage while Newbigging was in +the room. When he came out his step was heavy. + +“You’re richt enough, sir. The puir laddie’s gone. Gone these hours +past.” + +He took Derek by the arm and led him to the dining-room. He gave him +something to drink—something that burned his throat. + +“Just sit here quietly a bit,” said Newbigging. + +Derek sat down in the armchair before the black hearth. He did not +speak. He clasped his hands between his knees, and twisted and turned in +his chair. His face was contorted with agony. He had not known that one +could suffer so. Jock came and timidly licked his clinched hands. +Buckskin, oh, Buck! + +After a while Newbigging said: “I think I should go for the doctor, Mr. +Vale. It’s customary.” + +“I won’t stay here alone,” said Derek, with a wild look towards that +room. “You go and harness the mare, and I’ll get Bill.” + +He left the house and went through the orchard. Moisture from the bare +limbs dripped on his head. He knocked at the door of the shack, a heavy, +resounding knock. Bill appeared in the door, frightened, hollow-cheeked; +an insufferable heat and stuffiness came from within. + +“Go for the doctor,” said Derek, shortly. “The little boy is dead.” + +Back through the orchard, under the drip of the quickening trees, back +in the house. + +Once more in the chair before the hearth, twisting his hands together. +Buckskin, oh, Buck! + +The doctor came. He was a nice fellow, sympathetic. He was terribly +sorry. He was the coroner, too. He gave Derek the certificate of natural +death and a permit to bury the child at Grimstone. Derek would not have +him put in that desolate little graveyard where Solomon Sharroe lay. He +wanted him near him. + +Hobbs came. Amazingly sympathetic. Tears in his eyes. He brought a bunch +of daffodils to lay on the little coffin. You could have knocked him +down with a feather when he heard it. Would he let the Jerrolds know? +They might not hear until after—No, no, for God’s sake, no. All he +wanted was to be left alone. + +Mrs. Machin came. She had buried her sister two days before and was now +ready to take up the reins at Grimstone. She bathed the child and +prepared him for burial. A little coffin was brought from Brancepeth. + +After the lamps were lighted Mrs. Machin and Newbigging sat together in +the kitchen. The sailor’s tongue was running, doubtless about his +adventures in China. Derek now sat in state alone. He had not looked at +the newspaper that day, so he got it and spread it out on the table +before him. Mechanically he turned to the column of Horses for Sale. +That always interested him. He read, muttering the words half aloud: + + For Sale—“Silken-Maid”— + + Beautiful breedy-looking upstanding standard-bred trotting mare; + her sire “Silk-Tassel,” dam “Belle Roland”; age six years; + sound: 15.3 hands; weight eleven hundred; good free active road + mare; road all day twelve miles an hour; best feet and legs; + well-boned, level-headed, square-gaited trotter. + +Good Lord, he did not know what he had been reading. . . . What was it +all about? His eyes, raised stupidly from the paper, rested on the +collection of butterflies that now stood on the mantelpiece. How the +little chap had loved them! Derek had tried to teach him the names of +the different species, and he had made sounds that were really good +attempts, and had always leaned forward lovingly to pat the glass above +that bright blue one from the Hartz Mountains, with his soft little +palm. The little hands—the little hands! + +Derek pushed back his chair and rose from the table. He went into the +parlour. Mrs. Machin lighted candles in the tall silver candelabrum +there, to look “pretty”—not because she held with “any popish notions.” +The candles threw a seemly light over the little folded hands (he held +one of Hobbs’s daffodils) and over the little face—not startled and +resentful now, but wearing a look of sweet composure. + +Derek placed one hand on the foot of the coffin and the other on the +head. Supported thus, he bent forward till his lips touched the lips of +that darling child of his transgression. Sobs tore at his throat. +“Buckskin, oh, Buck, my little boy!” + + 6. + +Spring had come in the night. The world was full of joy. Ingratiating +odours stole up from meadow and field. Forth from the lake leaped the +hot bright sun, and strode like a giant to his work. Sweet, hostile +strains of rival birds rose upward to the sky. Everywhere, everywhere, +the striving, shooting, leaping, singing upward; but for Buckskin the +lying down in the dark earth beneath the walnut trees, the clasping of +little hands, the shutting of gay, deep eyes, the folding of bright +wings scarcely spread. + +It was only six o’clock when Derek crossed the lawn to the green plot +behind the apple-house where he had told Newbigging to dig the grave. He +had chosen this spot because he had often thought that winter what a +nice place it would be for the little chap to play on next summer. The +grass here seemed especially fine; and it was starred in May by little +blue-eyed flowers, and here the birds liked to hop about and sing. Then +the smell of apples that came through the latticed window of the +apple-house was sweet, very sweet. + +Newbigging was not quite ready yet. He was digging so energetically that +some of the loose soil flew against the sloping, moss-grown roof of the +apple-house, and from there scattered to the ground. He looked up and +wiped his brow. + +“The ground’s still haird,” he said. “But I took all the sod off nicely, +and it can be laid back without a break.” + +“I’m glad of that,” said Derek. + +He watched Newbigging till the grave was ready, then he said, “Come. I +want to get this over before anyone is about.” + +They returned to the house. + +Mrs. Machin was waiting in the parlour. In her black bonnet and cape she +was prepared to follow in decency to the grave, though she thought it +heathenish that the child should not be laid in consecrated ground. + +Nor would Derek have Mr. Ramsey sent for to read the burial service. The +conception of Buckskin had been secret; their life together that winter +had been secret; now, in death, let him strike his tent in secret and +join his forebears without benefit of clergy. + +But Derek took his uncle’s large prayer-book from the bookcase and +carried it to the graveside. Newbigging and he bore the light coffin +between them. Mrs. Machin followed. A strange funeral procession. Their +slow passage over the moist turf was watched by heavy gulls swinging +above in the warm April wind. The chime of the waves on the shore was +Buckskin’s knell. + +In a low voice, but steady, Derek read the burial service, his head bent +over the book, the wind tossing his fair hair. Newbigging stood with +folded arms and legs apart, his tanned neck rising like a column out of +his blue sailor’s jersey. Mrs. Machin’s face was set as she stared +sorrowfully into the grave. The feather on her black bonnet kept up a +nervous quivering. + +“We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry +nothing out”—read Derek (not even Pegleg, he thought, lying discarded +on the floor). “The Lord gave (He gave this kind, too!), and the Lord +hath taken away (He took this kind to Himself, also); blessed be the +name of the Lord.” + +The wind freshened; the chiming of the waves grew sweeter; the gulls +swung above their heads. Derek read on: “Man that is born of a woman +hath but a short time to live (a year, this man!), and is full of misery +(misery? Oh, those mirthful, laughing eyes of his!). He cometh up, and +is cut down, like a flower (like a flower! Derek’s voice broke); he +fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.” + +With a motion of the head, he signalled Newbigging to begin filling in +the grave. As the earth was cast upon the lid of the coffin only broken +phrases were audible—“to take unto Himself the soul of our dear brother +here departed”—“dust to dust”—“according to the mighty working, +whereby He is able to subdue all things to Himself.” The mighty working! +He could read no more, but stood motionless and silent as Newbigging +finished his work. + +Unconsciously his eyes followed the movements of a woman, whose figure +was outlined against the sky, as she slowly made her way along the +undulations of the bluffs. Slowly she descended the steep and came to +the bridge. She stood leaning over the rail a moment, looking down into +the tumbling stream below, before she proceeded. Her progression was +heavy as though she were tired or weak, but still she drew nearer and +nearer. + +Newbigging was laying the green sod in place as she turned in at the +gate. He sat up on his heels and stared at the approaching figure, then +he raised his startled eyes to Derek’s face. Mrs. Machin, after one long +bitter look, turned and walked back to the house. + +Jock crawled to the end of the chain by which he had been fastened to a +tree, and lifted his lip in deprecating welcome. Fawnie went to the two +men and stood between them, looking down at the grave. + +“What little grave is this?” she asked slowly, with a catch in her +voice. + +“It’s the wee lad’s,” replied Newbigging. “He died yesterday.” He went +on carefully replacing the sod. + +Fawnie watched in silence a space as though fascinated by the movements +of his hands. Then she said, “Couldn’t you uncover him and let me see +his face, jus’ for a minute, please, Derek?” + +“No,” answered Derek, coldly. “You deserted him when he was well. You +shall not disturb him now.” + +She drew a deep sigh. “It’s pretty hard,” she said, “never to see my +little baby’s face again.” + +“I suppose it is,” said Derek, without looking at her, “but it’s not to +be.” He went to Jock, who was whining, unloosed him, and went into the +house. + +He hesitated a moment in the dining-room, and then entered the dim, cool +parlour. He replaced the chairs that had been taken from their customary +positions to support the coffin, and then sat down on the sofa, staring +blankly at the shuttered windows. + +He thought—“What a stupid, sullen chap I am getting! Nothing surprises +me. There is Fawnie come back, and it seems perfectly natural. There is +Buck—dead—and she standing by his grave and—I’m not surprised. +Well—well—well—well.” + +He repeated the monosyllable aloud, his mouth twisted with a pained +expression. He took his pipe from his pocket, looked at it, turned it +over in his hand, and returned it to his pocket. + +Though Buckskin was in his grave, Derek’s heart would not let him be. +Painfully he went over in his mind the events of the past thirty-six +hours. And after each piercing recollection he said, “Well—well”—in +the same tone. + +He was aroused from these thoughts by a movement of one of the shutters. +A slat had been opened and Fawnie’s voice came through. He could see the +glint of her eyes in the aperture. “Say, darling, can I come in?” + +“No.” + +“Well, look here, Derek, can I tell you why I run away?” + +“It was because you loved Jammery, I suppose.” + +“No. It was because I loved you. Jammery told me if I didn’t he’d run a +knife through your back in the lane some night, and I knew he would. You +didn’t know Jammery, darling. He was wicked. He’d done it before. Killed +a man. And I didn’t want you stabbed in the dark. So I went. Every word +of this is true, Derek. As I went my tears splashed on the ground and I +was sayin’ all the while to myself—‘poor Derek—poor baby!’ And I sent +Lottie Rain, and every night I cried in my sleep, and Jammery got to +hate me and said he wished he’d never seen my face.” + +“Where is he now?” + +“He’s dead. I had to stay till he died. There was no one else to take +care of him. He was sick even when he was here. With the consumption, +you know. He got worse pretty soon. He’d think his pillow was you, +Derek, and he’d kneel up in the bed and stab it with a pretend knife, +and he couldn’t kill it, so he died.” + +Derek made no comment, and, after a space of silence, she faltered, +“Derek, may I open the shutter so’s you can see how thin and tired I +am?” + +“If you wish.” + +She fumbled with the fastening, then the shutter swung open and revealed +her as in a frame. She was indeed thin. Her cheeks had lost their +child-like roundness, her breast was flat, her eyes beneath their +pencilled brows looked very large and bright. + +“May I come in and rest a little while, Derek?” she asked plaintively. +“My poor little feet is blistered.” + +“Yes,” he said, shortly. “You may go up to your old room. Go round by +the front door.” + +“Will I close the shutter?” + +“No. Leave it open.” + +Meekly she turned away. He heard the soft brush of her feet on the +grass, the timid shuffle of them on the stair, the pad of them in the +room above his head. . . . + +Through the open window he looked across the lawn, across the strawberry +beds, across the stream, to the shore meadow where the young bull, son +of Gretta van Lowe, had been turned out for exercise. He had had his +fill of running, of snorting, of charging the wind, and now stood in +statuesque unconcern staring insolently at the gentle ewes that grazed +on the bank of the stream. + +A great love for Grimstone surged over Derek. Grimstone and he were one. +His own flesh that morning had become one with the soil. He could never +leave it now. And there upstairs was Fawnie, little, weak, something to +be cared for, protected, his own—after all. What a strange thing +possession was! You thought you were the possessor, when in truth you +were the thing possessed. + +He rose, and slowly went upstairs. + +Fawnie was lying on her bed, her loosened hair tumbled on the pillow. +Her eyes were wet, and tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. + +“Why are you crying?” asked Derek from the doorway. + +“Not for that poor little baby—not for Buckskin,” she sobbed, “but for +you, darling, because you suffer, and—as a matter of fac’, I don’ know +how to comfort you.” + +He came to her and sat down on the side of the bed. + +She clutched his hand and pressed it to her breast. + +“Oh, believe me, Derek, believe me! I’ll be as true—as true as one of +those strong trees out there—the one with the iron ring grown into its +side.” She drew their clasped hands to her lips and kissed her wedding +ring. “Every word of what I told you is true,” she said with passion. + +He did not answer, but looked down soberly into her eyes. + +From her appealing face his gaze moved to the window. On the bluff +before the house he saw the figures of Grace and her father surrounded +by their dogs. They, too, became conscious of him. With a military +gesture Mr. Jerrold raised his hand to his cap, and Grace looked and +smiled a little, and looked again as though she could not keep her +wistful eyes from the window. + +But she knew nothing of what had happened. + +Derek turned to Fawnie. He put his arms about her, and laid his face +beside hers on the pillow. + + ‾Billing and Sons, Ltd., Printers, Guildford and Esher‾ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER NOTES + +Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple +spellings occur, majority use has been employed. + +Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors +occur. + +The printer’s details on the prior page are enclosed by ‾ ‾ markings and +indicate an overline. + +A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain. + +[The end of _Possession_, by Mazo de la Roche.] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78850 *** diff --git a/78850-h/78850-h.htm b/78850-h/78850-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7d3327 --- /dev/null +++ b/78850-h/78850-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12344 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title>Possession | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/> + <meta name="cover" content="images/cover.jpg" /> + <meta name="DC.Title" content="Possession"/> + <meta name="DC.Creator" content="Mazo de la Roche"/> + <meta name="DC.Language" content="en"/> + <meta name="DC.Created" content="1923"/> + <meta name="DC.Subject" content="Romance"/> + <meta name="DC.date.issued" content="1923"/> + <meta name="Tags" content="fiction, romance, Nova Scotia, Canadiana, Canada"/> + <meta name="DC.Publisher" content="Distributed Proofreaders Canada"/> + <meta name="generator" content="fpgen 4.67b"/> + <style type="text/css"> + body { margin-left:8%;margin-right:10%; 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word-spacing:.2em; line-height:200%; + margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:0em; + page-break-before: always; } + h4 { font-size:.9em; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:1em; } + .poetry-container { font-size:1em; + margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; + margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; } + div.blockquote { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em; } + div.blockquote70percent p { text-align:justify; } + .pindent {margin-top: 0.2em; margin-bottom: .0em;} + hr.pbk { width:50%; } + body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:10%;} + </style> + </head> + + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78850 ***</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:400px;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>POSSESSION</h1></div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:6em;margin-bottom:20em;'> <!-- rend=';fs:.8em;' --> +<p class='line'> </p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/verso.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:200px;height:auto;'/> +</div> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='margin-top:-1em;font-size:.8em;'><span style='font-size:larger'>MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class='sc'>Limited</span></span></p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA • MADRAS</p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>MELBOURNE</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'><span style='font-size:larger'>THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span></p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO</p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>DALLAS • SAN FRANCISCO</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'><span style='font-size:larger'>THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class='sc'>Ltd.</span></span></p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>TORONTO</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:2.5em;'><span class='gesp'>POSSESSION</span></p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'><span style='font-size:x-small'>BY</span></p> +<p class='line' style='margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:15em;font-size:1.2em;'>MAZO DE LA ROCHE</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'>MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED</p> +<p class='line' style='margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:.5em;'>ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON</p> +<p class='line'>1923</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:6em;font-size:.8em;'>COPYRIGHT</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:20em;margin-bottom:10em;font-size:.8em;'>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN</p> + +<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> +<colgroup> +<col span='1' style='width: 2.5em;'/> +<col span='1' style='width: 22.5em;'/> +<col span='1' style='width: 2.5em;'/> +</colgroup> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col3 tdStyle0' colspan='3'><span style='font-size:x-large'>CONTENTS</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col3 tdStyle0' colspan='3'><span style='font-size:larger'>PART I</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle4' colspan='2'><span style='font-size:x-small'>CHAPTER</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><span style='font-size:x-small'>PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>I.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>THE HALIGONIAN </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-1'>3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>II.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>MAY MORNING AT GRIMSTONE </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-2'>16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>III.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-3'>25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>IV.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>SALE AT DURRAS—GRETTA VAN LOWE</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-4'>39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>V.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>DARK WATER-LILIES </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-5'>48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>VI.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>CHERRIES AT DAWN </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-6'>57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>VII.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>THE FOLLY OF SOLOMON</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-7'>69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>VIII.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>JULY NIGHT AT GRIMSTONE </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-8'>74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>IX.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>SOLOMON IN HIS GLORY</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-9'>80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>X.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>CHRISTMAS AT GRIMSTONE </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-10'>94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>XI.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>THE RILL IN THE WOOD</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-11'>115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>XII.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>THE WIND OUT OF WINDMILL’S SAILS </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1-12'>123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col3 tdStyle0' colspan='3'><span style='font-size:larger'>PART II</span></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>I.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>AN EAR-RING UPON THE EAR OF THE GUILTY </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-1'>137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>II.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>HUBBUB AT GRIMSTONE </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-2'>148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>III.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>“FOR SUCH PERSONS——”</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-3'>162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>IV.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>DULCE DOMUM </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-4'>179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>V.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>EDMUND </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-5'>193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>VI.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>SWEET APPLES ON A RUSTIC SEAT </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-6'>201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>VII.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>SALE AT DURRAS—DARBY</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-7'>213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>VIII.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>THINGS THAT HE LEARNED </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-8'>227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>IX.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>JAMMERY </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-9'>247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>X.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>PEGLEG </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-10'>259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>XI.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>LOVE AMONG THE HUMMOCKS </span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-11'>274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>XII.</td><td class='tab1c2 leader-dash tdStyle2'><span>BUCKSKIN STRIKES HIS TENT</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2-12'>285</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:25em;'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line'><span style='font-size:smaller'>TO</span></p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'>CHRISTOPHER MORLEY</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<h2>PART I</h2> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<h3 id='ch1-1'>CHAPTER I<br/> THE HALIGONIAN</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>On</span> an evening in early May, a young man was walking +sharply along the country road that passed through +the fishing-village of Mistwell, and, following the +shore of one of those inland seas, oddly called great +lakes, led to the town of Brancepeth, seven miles away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young man was just above medium height and +just under thirty, and he walked with a resolute and +eager step that spoke of some elation of spirit. As the +deep ruts of the road were half frozen he kept to the +side, where a narrow path was beaten, looking about +him with the interest of one who sees his future surroundings +for the first time. His wide-open, greenish-blue +eyes rested with pleasurable curiosity, first on the +budding orchards to his right, and then on the level +expanse of the lake, flushed pink by the reflection of +the western sky, to his left.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>His eyes were not only wide open, as though they +looked life eagerly in the face, expecting more than +most men: but they had a free, fearless, careless look, +that, combined with his closely cropped fair hair, and +small, tawny moustache, made him appear even +younger than he was. His strong limbs denoted vigour +and his full, round chin and rather wide nostrils +indicated some rashness and dominance of character.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He stopped to snuff the crisp air from the lake and +to watch a flock of gulls circling in pursuit of their +evening meal.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He now saw that he was not alone, for another +pedestrian had appeared around a bend of the road +behind him. He watched the approach of the newcomer +with the same look of pleasant curiosity that he +had given to the landscape. As he came up beside +him, he said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Can you tell me whether I am near a place named +Grimstone?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He spoke in the full, agreeable tones of a Nova +Scotian; the other replied with a slight North of Ireland +accent:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are. It’s not above half a mile from here. +I’m going past the gate myself, and, if you like, I’ll +bear you company.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They walked along together, the Nova Scotian keeping +to the narrow path, while his companion strode +doggedly over the frozen ruts. He was a slender, wiry +man, with thin, ruddy cheeks and hard, light-blue +eyes. His coat-collar was turned up against the frosty +air, and he swung a carved walking-stick, as though he +had a fierce pleasure in movement.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I take it that you’re young Mr. Vale himself,” he +said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young man nodded, smiling with a little embarrassment.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s queer they didn’t come to meet ye.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They are not expecting me till to-morrow. I found +I could get away a day earlier, and—well, I suppose I +was in a hurry to see the place.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Naturally. It’s a fine place, but not kept up as it +should be. But perhaps you’ve visited it before?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. I have never been west of Quebec till now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps you’ve never taken much interest in farming, +eh?” His tone was inquisitive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very little. I’m an architect. But I like the +country. Riding, fishing. That sort of thing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’ll find life different here. Of course, +Grimstone is a small place, just two hundred acres; it’s +not a great charge. Now, we have eight hundred acres, +and the finest herd of Holsteins in the Province. You +must come to see us, Mr. Vale, and I’ll show you about. +I manage the farm lands for Mr. Jerrold, the owner. +My name is Hobbs.” He gave the information about +himself with a certain swagger. Obviously, he was a +man to be reckoned with.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>While he discoursed with fluency of prize bulls, +butter-making contests, and fattening steers, young +Mr. Vale, half wishing he were alone again—this man +seemed to take the glamour from his adventure—peered +into the now deepening dusk for the first signs of his +new habitation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had been told at the station that a little graveyard +lay just east of Grimstone, and now the road, sweeping +sharply to the very edge of the steep shore, almost +circled a grove of ragged pines, among which he caught +the pale glimmer of gravestones. The gentle swish of +the water seemed at his very feet. A white wooden +house appeared like someone waiting at the roadside. +Hobbs was saying:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is where Chard lives. You’ll not find him +much of a neighbour. Now I’ll just tell you what he’s +like. Not long ago he hired some men from Mistwell +to help him dig drains. Very well; when the end of the +week came he paid the men, all but old Peek. And he +says to him—‘Peek, you’re so old and feeble that you +can’t do as much as the others, so you’ll come back to +work two days more before I give ye a week’s wage.’ +And the poor old devil had to. So now I’ve introduced +Chard, the Superintendent of the Sunday-school, and a +damned good farmer. But that’s what I call sharp and +hard, Mr. Vale, and yet I’m called hard sometimes by +the thirty-odd men under me. Now here’s your gate, +and good-night to you. Don’t forget to come over and +see our herd.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Touching his cap, he hurried down a sudden steep +that fell from the gates of Grimstone, ending in a little +bridge that spanned an unseen stream whose gushing +murmur proclaimed it swollen with the spring rains.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek Vale stood still. He did not want to open the +gate till Hobbs was out of sight. Then—“My gate,” +he thought, and laid his hand on the cold iron almost +caressingly. The dark bulk of a low, broad, stone +house rose before him, surrounded by the massive +trunks of trees whose lowest branches were higher than +its chimneys. The front of the house was in darkness, +but he could see a light in one of the back rooms. He +determined to go to the window where the light was and +get a glimpse of the occupants of the house, so that he +might have the advantage of having seen them unobserved.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The light was cast by an oil lamp on the kitchen +table. Derek drew near the window with caution. He +felt beneath his feet the stone of a flagged yard. A +noise of stamping and singing came from within. He +was astonished and amused by what he saw.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In the circle of ruddy light a girl was dancing a sort +of breakdown, supplying the music for her performance +with her own lusty, clear voice. She seemed +charged with rough vigour, snapping her fingers and +stamping her feet in almost frenzied rhythm. Her full +breasts bounced, her strong legs leaped against her +long, heavy skirt; the lamplight sparkled on the thick +spectacles she wore. Around her were grouped four +men and an old woman. “She must be Mrs. Machin,” +thought Derek, “the housekeeper . . . the men, farm +labourers, of course.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was fascinated by the dancing of the girl. Only +when she had dropped panting into a chair could he +give more than a glance to the men. Two were seated +at the table facing each other. They had been playing +at dominoes and they now returned to the game, their +faces still fixed in the grin with which they had watched +the dance. One was a red-cheeked youth with a black +bullet head, beady eyes, and a sly smile. His opponent +had a narrow head, a fair, reckless face, and the look of +a sailor rather than a farm labourer. Talking and +laughing with the girl, the third man showed through +his open collar a full brown throat and chest; he had an +honest, stubborn face. The fourth had been sitting in +the shadow, but he now drew a match across a stove-lid +and held it to a cigarette, the flash illuminating for a +moment his prominent, well-cut cheek-bones, bright +eyes, and curly brown hair. He rose, stretched himself, +and came towards the window. Derek hastily turned +away, and, finding himself facing the door, he gave a +sharp, yet nervous rap.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The man with the cigarette opened the door. A +collie dog at his side barked noisily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should like to see Mrs. Machin,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The old woman instantly appeared, pushing aside +the dog and man, and presenting a peremptory front +to Vale.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are the housekeeper, aren’t you?” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She looked at him shrewdly. “My goodness, don’t +tell me you are Mr. Vale! We didn’t expect you till +to-morrow. Of course, it don’t matter to me. But one +of these boys should ha’ met you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve enjoyed the walk,” said Derek. “Shall I +come in at this door?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I expect you can come in at any door you +please. It’s your house. But if I was you, I’d go +round and come in at the front. It’d be more seemly +for the master.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek laughed. “I think I shall come this way if +you don’t mind. It looks rather more cheerful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young men had got to their feet, but the girl, +evidently overcome by shyness, sat with her face +hidden in the curve of her arm, supported by the back +of her chair.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin put the dog outside and shut the door +sharply. She said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now you are in the kitchen, Mr. Vale, I may as +well name over these idle rascals to you. The two +playing dominoes are Bob Gunn and John Newbigging. +Bob used to be in the Chube Wur-rks in Glesca, +he says. He means he used to be in the Tube Works in +Glasgow.” The bullet-headed youth grinned. “John +Newbigging has been all over creation and he has an +old mother in Dundee he never writes to. Perhaps +you’ll be able to stop him and Bob quarrelling as to +which is the worst city, Glesca or Auld Reekie. I +can’t.” Both men burst into embarrassed laughs, and +Newbigging said, “It’s no fair, Mrs. Machin, to be +tryin’ to prejudice Mr. Vale against us frae the +start.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This one,” proceeded Mrs. Machin, indicating the +honest-faced fellow, who still kept near the girl, “is +Hugh McKay. He’s a Galloway shepherd, and he’ll +talk about sheep to you all day long if you’ll let him.” +McKay came forward with dignity and held out his +hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Machin’d be givin’ us all a character,” he +said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I’m prepared to do a good deal of talking +about sheep,” said Derek, shaking the proffered brown +hand, and liking McKay at once.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Phœbe, get up out of that chair and speak to Mr. +Vale.” But the girl, though she rose, uncovering her +comely, red face, would not speak. She stared, teetering +on her feet, and holding to McKay’s coat sleeve.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you Scotch, too?” asked Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, she comes from Kent. She used to work in +the hop-fields,” replied McKay. “That’s where she +learned to dance.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To hop, as it were,” said Derek. The joke brought +a roar of laughter from the men.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is Mr. Windmill,” interrupted Mrs. Machin. +He threw away his cigarette and came forward. “He’s +out here to study farming. But he just works and lives +like the rest of us. Except he wears gloves to plough.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Windmill flushed but smiled good-humouredly. +“The horses don’t seem to mind me having gloves +on.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, but Mike minded you having boots on when +you kicked him the other day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Didn’t I say she’d be givin’ us all characters?” +said McKay.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin had lighted a tall brass lamp; picking +it up, she said: “Well, you’ve had a look at us, Mr. +Vale, and if you’ll come to the dining-room now, I’ll +lay you a bit of supper.” As she preceded Derek +with the lamp, she called back, “Wood and water, +boys.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was a repellent old woman, he thought, with her +yellow face, black, oily hair, eyes the colour of an +oyster, and stiff, white apron. And she had hurried him +out of the kitchen, his own kitchen, in a very domineering +fashion. Well, since she seemed so capable, and +so used to ordering the men about, it would relieve +him of the necessity of taking the reins into his unaccustomed +hands at once.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The dining-room was a low-ceilinged room wainscoted +in white and papered in dark green. The furniture +was black oak, and two deep, built-in cupboards +filled with blue china lent a comfortable old-world air. +There were two large steel engravings on either side of +the chimney-piece: Wellington and Blücher after +Waterloo, and The Trial of William, Lord Russell. +The large fireplace had been papered over. Tapping +it with his knuckles, he thought, “I’ll have that opened +up,” but, as Mrs. Machin looked at him sharply, he +picked up a china greyhound from the mantel and +examined it. His greyhound . . . but it was ridiculous.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin set him down to cold beef, bread and +butter, bramble jam, and tea.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Home-made bread?” he asked, with his mouth +full.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, indeed. We’ve plenty to do without bread-making +and the baker three times a week from Mistwell. +Ain’t it good?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Delicious,” he replied, abashed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin had closed the door between the dining-room +and kitchen and established herself in a straight-backed +chair against the wall. She said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should know you for a Vale anywhere. I s’pose +that’s why your uncle took to you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was a great surprise. It scarcely seemed fair to +my brother.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fair! What’s unfair about it? Couldn’t he leave +his property where he liked?” She stroked her apron +with her large-knuckled hands. “Well I remember +when he went away to Halifax ten years ago to choose +which one he would make his heir. When he came +back he said to me—‘I’ve made my choice, Mrs. +Machin. His name’s Derek. The other one is no +Vale,’ says he. He was terrible proud of this place. +I s’pose you know that your great-grandfather built it +above a hundred years ago.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My uncle talked to me a great deal when he was in +Halifax. He spoke of you too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He might well speak of me. I’ve served his family +faithful for—let’s see—fifty-four years this month. And +the last two years, I’ve run the place myself, you might +say. Not bad for a woman of seventy-two, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Wonderful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And now I want to know if you’re going to keep +me on. It don’t matter a bit to me because I’ve got a +sister in Mistwell that wants me to live with her, and +I haven’t slaved all these years and saved nothing, you +may depend on it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>For all her air of independence Derek could see that +she was fiercely eager to stay. He did not want her, yet +he was afraid to be left alone in charge of the four men +and the girl. He might make himself ridiculous. He +said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In his will my uncle recommended you. Of course +I shall want you to stay on.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Not that it matters +to me, though I do look on Grimstone as my home, +having lived here ever since my father was drowned.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In the lake here?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why not? There’s plenty of room, ain’t there? +It gets all the Mistwell fishermen sooner or later. It +didn’t get pa till he’d fathered six of us, so that wasn’t +so bad. But it laid low and got two out of the six. +Fools, to be fishermen!”</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>When she was gone and the door closed behind her, +Derek stretched his legs and felt for his pipe. He lay +back in his armchair staring at the ceiling darkened by +the soot from a stove-pipe that crossed it from end to +end. “Stove-pipe’s got to go,” he muttered, between +puffs. “Just a big open fireplace—and logs.” He got +up and began restlessly to pace the room. He examined +Wellington and Blücher again, shaking hands so cordially, +the dead and dying tumbled plentifully about their +horses’ hoofs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He next observed a sampler, The Lord’s Prayer, +worked by Agnes Vale, aged nine years, in the year of +our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and Thirty-six. Seventy-five +years ago. Cousin Agnes in England must be +named for her . . . he thought of Cousin Agnes, whom +he had never seen. He thought of Edmund, his only +near relation. How Edmund would laugh if he could +see him now! He felt that Edmund would have been +better able to cope with Mrs. Machin. He wished that +she and the others would go to bed so that he might +adventure further. No doubt they were talking him +over in the kitchen. Now he heard a shuffling of feet +and the click of a bolt. He returned quickly to his +chair and crossed his legs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The door behind him opened. It was the women. +Mrs. Machin gave the impression of driving Phœbe +before her. The girl’s hand was over her mouth, as +though at any moment she might explode with laughter. +Mrs. Machin gave a curt good-night, and they disappeared +into the dark passage. Soon the three Scotchmen +went through in Indian file. They were in their +stockinged feet, and McKay carried a short end of +candle. They said “Good-nicht, sir,” in a friendly +chorus, but kept their eyes shyly averted. Derek waited +impatiently for the Englishman, Windmill. It was +quite half an hour before he followed the others. He +wore slippers and carried a small lamp. He hesitated, +smiled pleasantly, and said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There is a step down into the hallway, Mr. Vale. I +thought I should warn you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, thanks,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was alone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A clock in the hall struck ten with harsh, penetrating +tones.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The dog was snuffling at the crack under the door, +evidently disturbed by the strange presence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek went to a window and looked out. No moon; +he had never seen such utter darkness. It was as +though Grimstone had swallowed him, and a tangible +body was reared between him and the world he had +known. He turned back to the room and picked up +the lamp. Mrs. Machin had told him that she had +prepared two bedrooms for him—one downstairs—one +above. (It didn’t make no difference to her which he +took.) Detestable old woman. Why had she not +warned him of the step? Even knowing of it he almost +stumbled. The lamplight showed him a severe hall +with five closed doors, and a hatstand, on either side of +which a deer’s head peered at him with startled brown +eyes. The tall clock stood under the stairway beside +a narrow door, which, when he opened it, disclosed +only a closet hung with hats and coats, and a shelf of +old magazines and ledgers. His uncle’s clothes. He +closed the door feeling a little rebuffed for his curiosity, +and opened a door opposite. Here was the parlour: a +long, narrow room with two doors opening on the hall, +and a row of low windows, hung with straight green +curtains. There were many walnut chairs and tables, +the latter ornamented with brass-bound books, and +glass candelabra with hanging prisms. A group in +marble stood on the closed piano; a few oil-paintings +hung against the pale walls. A room full of memories; +not to be taken possession of lightly, rather repelling +intrusion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Across the hall he found a bedroom whose tall four-poster +and deep leather chair pleased him at once. The +old English sporting prints on the walls were nice, too. +He was tired but he would not go to bed till he had +seen the upstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So he ascended the uncarpeted steps, the lamp at a +precarious angle. He explored three bedrooms and a +dingy little study, and peered down a narrow passage +that led to the rooms occupied by the help.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As he undressed he wondered how they were disposed: +probably the robust girl and the dry old woman +together; Windmill alone; the three Scots sleeping +like logs. He found his bed, when he plunged into it, +amazingly soft and enveloping. He had never slept +on feathers before. As he drew the quilt to his chin he +gave an amused little chuckle. It seemed to him that +he had taken command of a storm-worn old ship and +was outward bound on an unknown sea. Well, he had +a hardy old pilot in Mrs. Machin . . . and, thinking of +her, he fell asleep.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-2'>CHAPTER II<br/> MAY MORNING AT GRIMSTONE</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a rippling, throaty noise, sweet and oft-repeated; +scarcely enough to rouse one from deep slumber. But +the vibrant, clanging note which followed, effectually +wakened him. The early sunlight was flooding the +room, and, beyond the open window, the lake stretched, +a vast shield of radiant blue and gold. He sat up in +bed, half bewildered, staring. A spreading bush of +bleeding heart grew before the low window. It was in +full bloom, its long sprays of deep, pink hearts hanging, +like jewels, against the green of the wet lawn. A +slow procession now passed: seven bronze turkey-hens, +with necks outstretched, went by in single file, +and a little space behind them, every feather bright with +a metallic sheen, his wattles, blue and scarlet, dangling +beneath his open beak, the gobbler. Close by his side, +with light steps, a snow-white turkey-hen walked +delicately.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek could have shouted, the picture was so beautiful, +so arranged, as for a stage effect. He thought of it +the while he dressed, and dashed his face with icy water +from the ewer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The table was set for him in the dining-room. The +sound of turning machinery and a loud voice singing +came from the kitchen. Mrs. Machin appeared. In the +daylight her face looked yellower, her eyes more like +oysters, and her apron more snowy than ever. She +twisted her pale lips into a smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-morning. Will ye take porridge?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Please. And bacon and eggs, Mrs. Machin.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You don’t want them all at once, do ye?” she +answered sharply.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no,” he said, feeling rebuffed. He took his +place at the table, and hoped she noticed his displeased +silence while she served him. But he could not remain +displeased; the food was good, his appetite sharp; he +smiled at her like a boy, in spite of himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s the excitement in the kitchen?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that’s Phœbe separatin’. She always hollers +when she does it. I’ll tell her to stop.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the machine was stopping with a slow, whining +rasp. Mrs. Machin went out. Silence prevailed in the +kitchen. He heard Phœbe go singing towards the +barn.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>A door opened from the dining-room on the flagged +yard. He stood there in the sunshine looking over his +new possessions. A wide, rolling field stretched before +him to the banks of the stream, and rose beyond it in +a high, level meadow, fringed with warped trees whose +stems and limbs were bent in a single direction, away +from the gently rippling lake, cowered in their old age +from the mutable master who had so cruelly lashed +them when they were but striplings.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the stately group of trees about the house, whose +massive trunks supported such a fragile foliage that it +scarcely threw a shade, seemed never to have been +fretted, but towered in upright dignity above the solid +walls. No shrubs or hedges softened the stern aspect +of the place. Grimstone fronted an unbroken view of +cliff, and lake, and sky. Yet all was not harshness, for +a cherry orchard, in full bloom, crowded to the very +kitchen doors, the moist ground beneath the trees +already white with the tender petals that fell before the +rough May wind. Behind the cherry orchard rose the +ordered ranks of the apple orchard barely in bud, +excepting a few crab-apple trees in pink flower, that +filled the air with their lovely scent. West and south +of the orchards were the plantations of small fruits, +and, beyond them, fields and pastures, and a dark pine +wood.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek could see a group of figures kneeling among +the rows of an immense strawberry bed over which the +collie was scampering, barking in scatter-brain fashion +at the circling gulls. He saw Newbigging and Gunn +and three barelegged village boys placing little plants +in a shallow trench. Mrs. Machin stood over them, +directing the “puddling” of the roots in a basin of +earth and water, and the position of them in the trench.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We’re settin’ out some fresh strawberry plants,” +she explained. “Them’s Mistwell lads helping us, and +they’d do naught but scuffle if I didn’t watch them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where are the others?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hugh McKay is ploughing, and Windmill has +gone back to look for the horses. Phœbe’s feedin’ the +calves.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What buildings are those on up the road?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Jerrold’s stables, and Hobbs’s house. You +can’t see Jerrold’s house from here. Those are his +orchards beyond the lane, and his house is hid by +them. It stands far from the road, with its back against +a big wood.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I met the overseer, Hobbs, last night.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s a sharp ’un. But I don’t see how Mr. Jerrold +could get on without him. As it is, they can’t raise +fodder enough off that great place to feed their own +creatures, but have to come buyin’ hay off us.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging looked up from where he knelt.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The men say that so long as they keep the horses +and traps in fine order, Mr. Jerrold don’t care a tinker’s +dam about anything else.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay,” said Gunn, sitting on his heels, “and Miss +Jerrold has the gairdeners off their work half the time, +plantin’ daffydils in the woods, the way they grow wild +in Scotland.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The Jerrolds are gentry,” said Mrs. Machin, “and +you can’t expect no better of them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t blame them,” said Newbigging. “I like a +place to look bonny mysel’. Don’t you call that a fine +view over the sea, Mr. Vale?” He made a broad +gesture of his hand that held a strawberry plant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They all talk about the sea,” interrupted Mrs. +Machin, “and they will have it there’s a tide. I don’t +pay no heed to views or tides. I’ve never had no time +for it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Jock!” shouted Gunn to the collie. “If ye’ll no +quit chasin’ they seagulls, I’ll sort ye.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The dog came bounding across the beds; the gulls +rose, whimpering; two steamers, passing, saluted each +other hoarsely. It was a jolly thing to be standing in +the breeze on one’s own land.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I’m off exploring,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Take a look at Chard’s place. There’s a farm in +order. He’s what I call a good man. He gets something +out of every inch of his land.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And gives no heed to bonny views,” added Newbigging, +slyly. Gunn and he chuckled and giggled, +glad of any diversion from work.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>In two hours Derek had inspected his apple, cherry, +plum, and pear trees; his thimbleberry, raspberry, and +blackberry canes; leaned over the pig-sty and held +friendly converse with a Yorkshire sow which was +suckling eleven young; and searched for eggs in the +poultry-house. He had inspected the contents of the +carriage-house; looked wisely at the remainder of last +year’s crops; crossed the stepping-stones of the stream, +and tried to make friends with the velvet-coated, dark-eyed +Jersey herd, grazing in the meadow next the +shore.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now he was loitering up the lane, boundary between +Grimstone and Durras, as the Jerrolds’ place was +named. White and red wood-lilies, like children at +play, peeped among the undergrowth along the fence; +in every sheltered corner clumps of violets grew in +moist seclusion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He wished again that Edmund could see him. +Edmund had been rather facetious about the farm. +He had counselled Derek to rent or sell it. But Derek, +though he liked his profession of architect, had often +longed for more adventurous living than the pleasant, +ordered days of Halifax could offer. He was thrilled +by the thought that he owned all this cared-for, fertile +land; these grazing creatures, who did not know him +for their master; all these flowering trees, straining +towards fruition; even the tender, helpless violets were +his to protect. The desire to protect was (though unknown +to himself) the strongest instinct of his nature.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of +shouts and halloos in some field ahead. There were +cries of: “Head them off there! Whoa! Whoa! +They’re Vale’s horses! Catch the mare! Whoa, +girl!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He began to run. Now there were open fields on +either hand. There came a thud of horses’ hoofs. Then +he saw Newbigging, Gunn, and McKay trying to catch +the galloping beasts, while Windmill stood astride of +the fence and shouted orders. Some of Mr. Jerrold’s +men came running up headed by Hobbs. He was +swearing vigorously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why in hell don’t you fellows mend your fences? +This is the second time in a week those horses have +broken into our place.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Make it a month, Hobbs,” drawled Windmill.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. A week. . . . Look at that, now! There’ll +be mischief done yet.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek now perceived that only six of the animals +were his; and that the men were endeavouring to +separate them from Mr. Jerrold’s horses, a much handsomer +lot, who were mingling wildly with the intruders, +snorting and giving vicious kicks as they flew past. +The Grimstone horses were led by two long-tailed +Welsh ponies—mother and son, Derek afterwards +learned—and it was absurd to see the heavy farm +horses capering and careering at the beck of these +vicious little fellows. The men ran till the sweat poured +down their faces, yelling, waving their arms, and +dodging kicks. At last Windmill leaped from the +fence and joined the chase. Hobbs, seeing Derek, +came to him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I hope you’ll improve your fences, Mr. Vale. Your +uncle never would. This sort of thing’s a disgrace, +happening every little while. Look at that, now. I +knew it would happen. Well, it’s not our fault.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Blood was running down the flank of one of the +Grimstone horses. He paused for a moment, trembling, +then, with a plunge that sent a spray of red drops over +the man who had approached him, he was off again. +“Fools!” muttered Hobbs, and threw down his cap. +Suddenly, springing, with surprising agility, in front +of the ringleader, he caught her dexterously by the nose +and brought her sharply to a halt. Her son, seeing his +mother captured, stopped of his own accord, and laid +his head across her shoulders. In a few minutes the +horses were separated and Vale’s were being led quietly +through the break in the fence by the crestfallen men.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek could not but admire Hobbs for accomplishing +in a flash what all these fellows had failed to do. He +came up laughing, his face red, and self-conscious.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have to show ’em, every now and then,” he said. +“But it’s nothing to be cock-a-hoop about. Any live +man could have done it. Miss Jerrold and her father +saw the whole thing. They are in the meadow beyond +on their horses.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He pointed beyond the pasture. Derek saw a man +on a tall grey horse, and a woman on a slender chestnut. +She rode side-saddle. He could see a gleam of +bright brown hair beneath her small black hat. He +said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Jerrold looks to be a big man.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s the biggest man and the handsomest man in +the county. There’s just the two of them. Always +together. Come on across and I’ll give ye an introduction.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thanks, not to-day. I’ll have to see about my +horse. He’s bleeding pretty freely.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Better telephone for the vet., and have him put a +few stitches in. And you ought to get rid of those little +Welsh devils. They’re a perfect nuisance. They were +just pets of your uncle’s. Odd old fellow.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek resented Hobbs’s interference. He determined +to keep the ponies. Leaving Hobbs abruptly, he went +to them where they stood together beneath a tree in the +lane, reaching up with soft lips for the tender foliage. +He patted the moist, shaggy sides, and they turned to +stare at him, slowly drawing in the green leaves that +projected from the corners of their mouths.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Looking up, he saw that Hobbs had crossed the +pasture and was talking to the Jerrolds. Telling them, +doubtless, that he was not cock-a-hoop over what he +had done. Perhaps telling them that their new neighbour +had refused to be introduced. . . . Well, he did +not care. He would meet the Jerrolds; but not through +Hobbs.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>As he neared the house, he overtook a man on foot, +driving a team of yellow-maned horses, harnessed to a +harrow. Two little boys ran alongside. When the +man was aware of Derek he drew up his horses and +turned to him with a wide, pale smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am your next-door neighbour,” he said, “H. P. +Chard. I daresay you’ve heard of me. I’m pleased to +welcome you to the neighbourhood. We need more +enterprising young men around here.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They shook hands. Chard’s smile deepened to a +grin. “I do hope you’ll soon feel at home here, and be +one of us. I don’t know what Church you belong to, +but we all go together to the Methodist Church at Mistwell. +You’ll get a hearty welcome there.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thanks. Are those your boys?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I’ve four boys and four girls. And they all +look alike.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek, observing the dingy tow heads of the youngsters, +and their broad, pasty faces, of which the nostrils +seemed the only noticeable feature, thought it a pity, +but he said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They look lively.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They are. And they’re all trained to help as soon +as they’re able. We’re great workers, Mr. Vale. And +I must be moving on now. It’s near dinner-time. +Good-day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek watched his figure in soiled khaki shirt and +trousers move away, with a strong feeling of distaste +for the man.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As he sat at his midday dinner he suddenly remembered +the harrow, and he stopped Phœbe as she was +about to return to the kitchen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What harrow was that Chard was taking away?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, it was ours. He always borrers it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hasn’t he one of his own?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. Mrs. Machin lets him borrer anythink he +wants. He’s such a hard worker.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Humph. What sort of pudding is this?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Spotted Dick.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Spotted Dick! Good Lord! Why Dick? and +why spotted?” He blew a spoonful. “It’s awfully +hot.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s spotted because of the raisins, and it’s Dick—just +’cause it is. It’s a clout puddin’, y’ see.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He did not see, but he attacked it vigorously.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-3'>CHAPTER III<br/> LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>By</span> Derek’s first Sunday at Grimstone he had explored +every corner of the farm; had pushed his way through +the densest undergrowth of the wood; knew when +certain cows were expected to calve, and a mare to foal; +and had even had a lesson in ploughing from Hugh +McKay, which the others ceased working to observe +with tolerant amusement.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He felt a sort of peace and repose on this warm, +bright morning which, he liked to think, was the feeling +experienced by labourers of the soil on peaceful +Sunday morns. He stood with Newbigging smoking +in silence while they both gazed across the lake. There +was a land wind, warm, and sweet with the fragrance of +blossoms and moist earth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“On days when it blows like this,” said Newbigging, +at last, “ye can always see yon wide strip of pinkish +red next the shore. It’s awful bonny, I think, for it +makes the other part green by contrast.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The cliffs are red shale,” said Derek, “and I +expect it extends for some distance. As you say, it’s—bonny.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It makes a mon restive wi’ the fairm work, sir. +Though I do like it here, and I’ll stick by ye through +the summer and the apple-pickin’.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good. Can you tell me, Newbigging, what sort of +trees these are? I don’t know them. They’re alive +with black squirrels. There are white buds on the +branches, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“These are elm-locusts with the coarse bark. See +this bit of iron projecting. It’s just a hint, sir, of a +bridle hook fastened there generations ago, they say, +for tying your horse to. But the bark’s grown over it +till it’s well nigh hidden. The others are walnut trees. +They get bushels of fine nuts off them in the autumn. +That’s why there are so many squirrels hereabouts. +I think it’d be fine to be a squirrel, Mr. Vale, always +independent, and out of reach, livin’ up next the sky, +and speirin’ for nuts.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid you’re a dissatisfied fellow, Newbigging,” +Derek said, laughing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Weel, I micht have done worse. I’d sooner be +mysel’, for instance, than Chaird yonder, goin’ off to +the Methodist Chapel wi’ his fat wife, and eight yellow-faced +bairns.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had a glimpse of a waggonette, packed with +his neighbour’s family and drawn by the yellow-maned +horses. Newbigging gave a sly smile. He said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you’ll be wantin’ me to get the dogcart +for ye? There’ll be no time to spare.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thanks; no,” said Derek. “But I suppose you +and the other Scots are going. You’re a nation of +churchgoers, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“When we’re at home, perhaps. But not one of the +three of us have been inside a church since we left the +Old Land. But I’m English Church mysel’. I used to +sing in the choir in St. Mary’s, in Dundee, when I was +a lad.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then +he said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here, Mr. Vale. If I get the cart for ye, +would ye drive to the English Church at Brancepeth? +Mr. Jerrold and his daughter go there. It’s a pretty +drive along the shore.” He looked genuinely eager.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>To Derek suddenly came a recollection of the two +figures on horseback, and of the brightness of Miss +Jerrold’s hair under her black hat . . . and he had not +yet seen Brancepeth. “Very well, Newbigging,” he +said, “I believe I shall go to church.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging soon brought around a good bay gelding +harnessed to a heavy-wheeled dogcart. The road +to Brancepeth lay close along the shore, now high, +and, it seemed, dangerously near the edge of the bluffs; +now dipping suddenly to cross some willow-shaded +stream. Orchards in a storm of bloom trooped almost +to the water’s edge. Brancepeth was sedate, respectable, +very different from the rowdy, good-humoured +poverty of Mistwell. He left his horse in the stable of +the “Duke of York,” a deep-porched little hotel near +the church.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was late, and had half a mind not to go in. He +pushed the inner green baize door a few inches open +and saw the congregation kneeling. A low murmur +came from them—“That we may hereafter live a godly, +righteous, and sober life.” . . . Like the subdued +sound of waves their voices rose and fell in solemn +prayer and muffled response. Then came a scraping +of feet, a relieved heaving of bodies, and they rose. +Derek felt his arm grasped from behind, and a stout, +determined-looking gentleman pushed him irrevocably +inside, and conducted him to a pew. He took a prayer-book +from the rack before him, and found the place. +As he mechanically sang the words of the <span class='it'>Venite</span>, he +looked about for the Jerrolds. Then he remembered +that he had no way of recognizing them except that +Hobbs had told him that Mr. Jerrold was the handsomest +man in the countryside. Decidedly, then, he +was not the man directly in front of him with the +sloping shoulders, red hair, and protruding ears. Nor +the one opposite with the officious Adam’s apple and +nasal voice. Could it have been he who led him into +the church? He thought not. . . . Then, suddenly +he saw them; considerably in advance of him, across +the aisle. That was certainly the massive figure he had +seen on horseback. He seemed to rise above the +commonplace figures about him like a dark rock out +of an expanse of shingle. Of his face, Derek could see +only the healthy olive cheek, and, as he turned a little, +a regular profile, with beautifully cut mouth and chin. +Miss Jerrold was almost hidden by her father, but, +once, when she remained on her feet a second longer +than he, Derek had a glimpse of a fair oval face framed +in the bronze-gold hair, surmounted this time by a +violet-coloured toque.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He thought of Edmund in the old garrison church at +Halifax. He would write and describe the Jerrolds to +Edmund, and make him envious.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The rector was a robust, smooth-shaven man and he +preached in a hearty way, as though he enjoyed the +sound of his own vibrant voice. He preached so long +that Derek lost the thread of what he was saying and +began to fidget. Mr. Jerrold began to fidget, too. He +crossed and recrossed his legs, and turned sidewise in +his pew to get more room for his length of limb. Derek +could now see him very plainly. He saw him remove +his watch an inch or two from his waistcoat pocket. +An expression of chagrin crossed his handsome face. +It had stopped. Surreptitiously he began to wind it. +The sound it made was scarcely audible to Derek, but +he perceived at once that the clergyman heard it. He +ceased his asseverations that the Fruit of the Spirit +is long-suffering, and fixed his eyes very sternly on +Mr. Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold’s colour rose, but he continued winding. +Absolute silence prevailed except for the one delicate, +persistent sound. When he had finished, Mr. Jerrold +returned the watch to his pocket, folded his arms on +his powerful chest, and raised his eyes with a look of +encouraging interest to the clergyman. The sermon +proceeded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last those who were not remaining for the Communion +Service rose to go. Derek felt under the pew +for his hat; then he saw a whispered conference between +the Jerrolds, and hesitated. Very few were remaining—only +about twenty—among them the Jerrolds. A +compelling impulse made Derek lay his hat down. +Then he half rose. Then he encountered the stare of +the man with the nasal voice, across the aisle, and he +dropped to his knees. There was a creaking of large +boots, and the man who had led him in moved up to +the pew behind him. There was now no hope of +escape. He buried his face on his arm and tried to +compose his mind.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lift up your he-earts.” The sonorous, muffled +tones came from a long way off, it seemed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We lift them up unto the Lo-ord,” moaned the +twenty people on a note of abject misery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Across his arm Vale saw Miss Jerrold’s head drooping +above her clasped hands; like some lovely flower +bending to receive the dew of Heaven, he thought, and +felt surprised at his own poetic fancy. There was a +movement now towards the chancel. He shut his eyes +for a time, and when he opened them it was his turn +to go forward. Mr. Jerrold and his daughter were +already in the aisle and he stepped out directly behind +them. . . . The man with the creaking boots pressed +close after, and they stood motionless for a space +between the rows of staring choir-boys, while three +women who had just received the Communion filed +past them with meekly lowered eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The sunlight through stained glass windows fell in +ruddy efflorescence on the white silk altar-cloth. Derek +knelt, and fixed his eyes on the solemn shine of the +cross. Then altar and cross were hidden by the billowing +folds of a surplice, and sacred words were murmured +above his head. . . . When he rose to his feet +his eyes fell on Mr. Jerrold. He was still kneeling; +erect and motionless as the brass eagle of the lectern.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Some impulse, and he was frequently the subject of +unexpected impulses, caused Derek to hurry from the +church and climb into his cart at the “Duke of York” +without another glance in the direction of the Jerrolds. +The gelding was wild to be home, and stretched his +long legs to good purpose along the sandy road. In +spite of this Mr. Jerrold overtook him, driving a pair +of spirited horses whose silver chains made a sprightly +clatter as they passed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As Derek turned in at his own gate he saw his neighbour’s +family entering theirs. Chard saw him also and +solemnly raised his whip to the brim of his hat. When +Derek next met him a degree of sourness had crept into +his pale smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging and Gunn took the horse, both clambering +into the cart and driving at a gallop to the stables. +Derek had alighted near the open door of the empty +apple-house, and, glancing in as he passed, he saw +Phœbe and McKay inside. He had his arms around +her, and evidently pinched her, for she screamed and +slapped him. His attentions to her usually took the +form of squeezing and pinching, and from their +vicinity there often issued her cries of delighted discomfort.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Indoors was a smell of hot roast beef. Derek, thinking +of the two in the apple-house, broke into a merry +whistle.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>In the afternoon he had descended the tottering +flight of steps that were sunk into the bank before the +house, and was stretched on the fine sand listening to +the cries of the gulls and the rhythmic wash of the +waves upon the shore. He was very drowsy, indeed +almost asleep, when he felt the contact of a moist +tongue on his cheek, and looked up into the face of a +rough-haired Irish terrier. Mr. Jerrold was cautiously +descending the steps accompanied by two other dogs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If these steps give way, and I break my leg,” he +called out, “you are responsible, Mr. Vale. Come +away, Badger, you rascal!” He crossed the sand and +Derek sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Machin told me I should find you down here. +I hope you’re not hiding from her. I’m sure I’d be +afraid of her. I am William Jerrold, a neighbour of +yours. I came to see if you will come over to my place +and have a cup of tea with us. I saw you in church +this morning. How did you like it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s very kind of you,” said Vale. “I liked the +church. Good sermon, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They both laughed. “My watch was rather unmanageable, +wasn’t it? But Ramsey has forgiven me. +He’s at the house now. You’ll like him—out of church, +anyway.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I liked him in church. But his sermon was certainly +long.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Get him talking about strawberry growing, or +poultry-raising, or the best recipe for jugged hare, and +he’s decidedly interesting.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had climbed the steps and were walking along +the road now. Derek watched Mr. Jerrold’s face with +interest as he talked. In his rough tweed coat and soft +hat he looked even more handsome than in church. +His black wavy hair, which was becoming thin at the +forehead, still curled closely around his temples. His +finely moulded mouth expressed at once engaging good +humour and an ardent, quick temper. But it was his +large, dark eyes under their black brows, eyes pathetic, +wistful, yet full of fire, that stirred the emotions of the +observer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The two men were strongly contrasted, yet a boyish +love of life and a certain pleasure in their own bodies +drew them together, and each found much in the other +to attract. They were talking like familiar friends +when they reached the door of Durras. A fire burned +in the drawing-room and its light was softly given +back by ornaments of brass and silver, and dark +polished wood.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was introduced to Miss Jerrold and Mr. +Ramsey, and a stout Aberdeen terrier was tipped from +a chair to make room for him. He was provided with a +cup of tea and a scone; the Aberdeen, which a moment +before had seemed stupefied by sleep, sat up briskly +before him waving its forepaws, and fixing him with +glowing, greedy eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That is Sgaith,” said Miss Jerrold. “She is a +great nuisance.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear old Sgaith,” said Mr. Ramsey, “come and +have a bit of scone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sgaith turned to him without enthusiasm and he +gave her a morsel, taking care that her nose should not +touch his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sgaith always favours the newest friend with her +attentions,” said Miss Jerrold, as the terrier returned +to Derek and again sat up with agitated forepaws.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She knows I like her,” said Derek in a low tone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And that Mr. Ramsey is only pretending to like +her.” She looked into his eyes with an amused and +friendly smile. He thought he had never seen a face +in which reserve and mobility were so delicately +blended.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Ramsey said: “I was delighted that you should +so soon join us in partaking of the Holy Eucharist, +Mr. Vale. I am sorry to say that your uncle was not +a regular communicant. Your promptness is all the +more agreeable.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was there, too,” said Mr. Jerrold, with a challenging +smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And equally welcome,” affirmed the clergyman.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I had to do something to make up for the ill-behaviour +of my watch.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Jerrold, I give you my permission to bring the +clock from your stable tower and wind it, if you will +become a regular communicant.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s handsome of you, and I’ll consider it,” +returned his host. “Have another scone, Ramsey. +And you, Mr. Vale. That rascal, Sgaith, has eaten +half of yours.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Did you notice our Communion vessels?” asked +Mr. Ramsey. “They are unusually beautiful. They +were presented to the church by Queen Anne.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid I didn’t. Everything was new to me, +and I am very unobservant.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must let you examine them some day. The +chasing is very beautiful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How is your poultry?” interrupted Mr. Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He has the most amazing White Wyandottes,” +said Miss Jerrold. “They always lay when our hens +are either moulting, or sitting, or just too fat. Hobbs +can never get our Leghorns or Dorkings to lay like +that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yet he is always boasting about them,” said Mr. +Ramsey. “I never meet him but he has some record +broken.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hobbs is a good man with cattle,” declared Mr. +Jerrold, “but he does not understand poultry as you +do.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They take a great deal of understanding, but they +repay you in the end. Why, bless you, I don’t know +how I should make ends meet if it weren’t for mine. +I shipped forty-eight dozen eggs this week. At thirty +cents a dozen that amounts to fourteen dollars and +forty cents. Not bad, eh? Of course, the commission +comes off that; still, it’s not bad. And I shall soon +have some plump broilers ready.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Poor little darlings,” put in Miss Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but, my dear young lady, we couldn’t have +those young cockerels all over the place. And they’ve +had a very happy life.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But so short.” She looked pensive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shall let all mine grow up to be hardy old cocks,” +said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And Mrs. Machin will make you eat them in the +end,” retorted the clergyman. He went on: “Now, +what do you suppose happened while I was at church +this morning? I had six hens sitting in an old corn +crib, and if you’ll believe me, they all hatched their +broods during the service. Thirteen apiece. When I +fed them at eight o’clock there were just a few shells +chipped. When I went to them after Matins, there +were seventy-eight little chicks, all dry, and as yellow +as daffodils. ‘Worthy old hens!’ I exclaimed, ‘you +have my deepest respect.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“When had you set them?” asked Miss Jerrold, +innocently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Three weeks ago to the very day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“On a Sunday,” shouted Mr. Jerrold. “Well done, +Grace! You cornered him. The parson sets six hens +on the Sabbath. No wonder my watch stopped!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come, this is too cruel,” expostulated Mr. Ramsey. +“What was I to do? The hens were clucking. The +eggs were warm. I said a little prayer over each, and +so made a respectable ceremony of it. The resultant +chicks look as though they had just fluttered down +from Heaven.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was plain that he was eager to spend the remainder +of the afternoon talking about his poultry, but Mr. +Jerrold proposed that they take a stroll about the farm. +He wanted to show Derek the stock, and to get Mr. +Ramsey’s opinion of a new mare.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The two older men walked ahead, Derek following +with Grace Jerrold. He felt an increasing sense of +happiness in the possession of such pleasant neighbours, +especially since they seemed inclined to make +him one of their little circle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you know, it’s quite exciting to us to have a +new neighbour,” she said, as they crossed the lawn. +“You have been one of the principal topics of our +conversation since you came.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was afraid I was in disgrace since my horses +break into your place so often. About once a week, +I think Hobbs said.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that just provides a little agreeable excitement +for the men. Please don’t mend the fences.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was very good of your father to fetch me to +tea.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I sent him.” She had, it seemed, an ingenuous +little way of beginning her sentences with +“Oh,” like a child. Then she added quickly, with a +flush—“I thought you might be lonely—so far from +home.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was—a little. There are just my brother and +myself. I feel very much separated from him here.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a lonely spot,” she said. “We have lived +here six years, since I lost my mother. I should be +very lonely if father and I were not such good companions. +We go about the place together all day, and +at night we read aloud, or play cribbage.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I admire your father tremendously. He attracts +me more than any other man I can remember.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her eyes were bright with pleasure. “He is attractive, +isn’t he? And very clever, too. But, really, I +believe I have the better business head of the two. I +mean I think I have a clearer grasp of the essentials, +and I don’t get enthusiastic over new projects till I’ve +looked into them a bit.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s that, Grace?” said Mr. Jerrold, turning +round suddenly. “What’s she saying about me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was remarking, William dear, that I have a +better brain for business than you. Mr. Vale says he +can easily believe it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were entering the stables now, and her father +replied: “Well, Mr. Vale may see for himself how +I manage these.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The new mare was inspected, a daughter of Hearts +Courageous, twice winner of the King’s Plate. But +the sixty milch cows in their immaculate stalls, the +black and white of their soft coats gleaming, their +over-developed udders pink and clean, roused in Derek +both admiration and envy. His own little Jersey herd, +of which he had been so proud, dwindled to insignificance. +Mr. Jerrold, and Hobbs who had joined them, +expatiated on the superior virtues of the Holstein. +Hobbs said he wouldn’t give a Jersey stable-room.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>It seemed natural that Derek and Grace Jerrold +should eventually separate from the others, while she +took him to see the rose garden where the tight little +olive buds were barely in sight, and the kitchen garden +already heavy with the scent of lilacs. They followed +the stream that entered Durras from Grimstone till +they reached a low-lying meadow so wet they could not +cross it. Here marsh marigolds crowded in golden +profusion, more brilliant, it seemed to Derek, than +anything he had ever seen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think Durras is beautiful,” he said. “It is like +a fine English place. I had not expected anything so—mellow.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It used to be a part of Grimstone, you know, till +about thirty years ago, when our predecessor bought it +from your grandfather. Aren’t you sorry he bought +it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” said Derek, positively, “I’m very glad. I +shouldn’t know what to do with such a big slice of land. +Besides, I want you for neighbours. It’s much jollier.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This place is a great expense.” She drew a deep +breath that was almost a sigh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They now were retracing their steps. A primrose +yellow filled the sky behind the burnished bloom of the +cherry orchards.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were silent a while, then, as they drew near the +gate, Derek said, “I’ve been wondering, Miss Jerrold, +if I were to rig up a tennis-court, whether you would +come over and play.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I should love to! But why can’t we have it +here? Our lawns are more level, I think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I want <span class='it'>some</span> attraction at Grimstone,” he said, and +she remarked, though not for the first time, that look of +happy expectancy in his greenish-blue eyes.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-4'>CHAPTER IV<br/> SALE AT DURRAS—GRETTA VAN LOWE</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Every</span> spring Mr. Jerrold held a sale of his surplus +cattle, and those interested in Holstein breeding came +long distances to be present. It was the principal +event of the year in the neighbourhood of Brancepeth +and Mistwell. Waggonettes, dogcarts, and motors +were sent to meet the morning trains, and a substantial +lunch was set out in Hobbs’s house for those who had +made long journeys. There was also a steady stream +of farmers’ vehicles up to the time of the sale, and for +two days after it there was the business of driving or +carting away the purchased stock.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The morning broke cloudy and cold. Jagged lines +of foam curled across a steel-grey lake. Farmers +driving by had their collars turned up to their ears. +Jock, the collie, raced up and down the road barking +ceaselessly. Derek decided to take Windmill with him +for company. He would have liked to give the four +men a half-holiday that they might all go, but he was +afraid of Mrs. Machin. There was no doubt about it, +he was afraid of her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There she stood on the flagstones outside the kitchen +door, the wind blowing her apron in snowy folds about +her stiff black person, her lips twisted in a smile of +contempt for the hurrying passers-by.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fools,” she said. “Tumblin’ over themselves to +pay fancy prices fur cows that’s no better than any +other cows only they’re fed up till their bags is fit to +bust. You stop crammin’ the high-priced feed down +’em and they soon stop their fancy milkin’. Them +Jerrolds make me sick. I can tell you, your uncle had +no use for him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, fur one thing he pays higher wages than +anyone hereabouts can afford, and that makes it hard +fur the farmers to get good help. Then, when he first +come here, he asked old Mr. Vale’s advice about his +small fruit, and your uncle went over and advised him +just what to do and when to do it. But after a couple +o’ seasons’ worry with pickers my fine gentleman flew +in a temper and had it all ploughed under and swore +he wouldn’t have a berry on the place. Your uncle +had no respect fur him after that. . . . Phœbe! have +ye naught to do but stand gapin’ at them ninnys goin’ +by? Get back to your churn, and be quick about it.”</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Tiers of seats were raised about the auctioneer’s +stand for the accommodation of the crowd. These +were well filled when Derek and Windmill arrived, so +they had to be content with places at the back. From +there they looked down over a lively scene. Horses and +vehicles of all sorts were tied to trees and fences on the +outskirts of the crowd; late comers were hurrying to +secure what positions they could; Hobbs was shouting +orders to stablemen who were already leading out the +heavy, slow-moving animals; the auctioneer and his +assistant were consulting over a list. Mr. Jerrold sat +on his grey horse near the stand, an expression of +mingled pride and amusement on his face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The auctioneer was loquacious, animated; he punctuated +the sales by racy anecdotes; the prices paid filled +Derek with surprise. More and more as the afternoon +wore on he longed to possess one of these peerless, soft-eyed +creatures as the foundation of a new and lucrative +herd. Windmill continually urged him to buy, saying +that he only wished <span class='it'>he</span> had the chance. The auctioneer +drew attention to the line of the back, the shape of the +udder and teats, the milk-vein of the animal before him. +The calf at her side, he affirmed, was the sweetest thing +that had ever come under his hammer. The mother +had a record of 640 pounds of butter from 17,610 +pounds of milk. He was shocked at the languid +bidding.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Truly it was getting late, and many were leaving to +catch their trains. Derek felt that it was an auspicious +time to bid. After a short struggle between himself +and an unseen, husky-voiced competitor, the pair were +knocked down to him, and the auctioneer congratulated +him on the excellence of his judgment. Mr. Jerrold +met him as he was leaving and said he had done something +he would never repent. He was delighted that +Gretta would be next door where he could watch her +progress, for she was one of his favourites.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Windmill remained to get the cow, and as Derek +walked home, he felt a new sense of elation and proprietorship +in Grimstone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin was laying tea-towels on the gooseberry +bushes in the kitchen garden, and she turned +enquiringly toward him as though to ask how the sale +had gone. For some reason he did not wish to tell her +of his purchase just then. He passed her and went on +to the stream, on whose grassy bank he could see Hugh +McKay shearing sheep. Gunn, Newbigging, and +Phœbe were looking on, now and then giving a helping +hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The sheep lay as though dead, her pale tongue +lolling, her legs stiff; only her thick white eyelashes +flickered above her yellow eyes as she felt the shears +pass over her body.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Rosebud,” said Hugh, comfortingly, “you’re +no sae bad as you think you are.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a fine fleece. Ain’t it, Mr. Vale?” said Phœbe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Wonderful. Be careful not to nip her, Hugh.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>McKay laughed. “I never cut a sheep in my life, +sir. And there’s the fleece all complete in one piece +for ye. Get up, Rosebud. Are ye wantin’ to lie all +day?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She sprang suddenly to her feet and ran bleating to +her twin lambs, who stared in stupefaction, scarce +recognizing their dingy, rotund mother in this skipping, +snow-white creature. They nosed her for a +moment and then, ferociously, began to suck.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a guffaw from Newbigging, Gunn, and +Phœbe, but McKay smiled tenderly at his handiwork.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We’ll be haein’ a new wee lamb afore the morn,” +he whispered to Vale.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Really?” Derek looked speculatively over the +little flock.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s Nonesopretty, over yon. I like the new lambs +awful well. I wish ye’d get more sheep, Mr. Vale. +This is a paltry few. I could do with five times as +many.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I bought a cow and calf at the sale,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe overheard. “A cow from Jerrold’s!” she +cried. “Mrs. Machin will be in a fine taking. She +hates them Holsteins. She says the milk’s so poor you +could see a silver coin lying in the bottom of a pail +of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I did not buy the cow to please her,” said Derek +sternly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Nothing abashed, Phœbe chattered on. McKay +caught another sheep and began shearing it. Presently +they saw Windmill driving Gretta van Lowe +through the gateway, her thick-legged milk-white calf +gambolling at her side. Windmill drove her gently +with an air of importance. As she came up to the +group by the stream they closed about her, admiring +her fine proportions and looking into her large, sad +face. Newbigging caught the calf by the head and +held him still.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s as big as a year-old Jersey heifer already,” +exclaimed Windmill proudly. “Stop your sheep-shearing +and look at him, Hugh.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve no time to spare. I’ll go down to the byre and +see them later.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here comes Mrs. Machin!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was approaching them at a slow, solemn gait. +She did not speak but, throwing a look of bitter scorn +at the cow, passed on into the barn, slamming the door +behind her. She did not look in Vale’s direction for +weeks.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The next morning Vale was about early. On the +way to the stables he met Hugh McKay coming to the +house carrying a newborn lamb.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I telled ye we’d be haein’ a wee lamb the morn,” he +said, beaming with happiness. “I thought I’d tak’ it +to the kitchen to warm it. It’s a weak one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are a woolly little fellow,” said Derek, stroking +it. “How is Gretta, Hugh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, she’ll no let down her milk nor taste her mash. +She’s homesick for the fine byre yonder. She’ll do no +guid.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek hurried to see her, full of anxiety.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gretta van Lowe stood solemnly alone in the cow-stable. +The stalls must have been built for smaller +cattle; her flanks projected far into the passage. An +untouched pail of mash stood before her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why isn’t she out with the other cows?” Derek +asked Gunn, who was cleaning the stable.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They all tuk after her and butted her,” he replied, +grinning. “There’s none of them like her. They +dinna like the colour o’ her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rubbish. Well, turn her into the yard where she’ll +get the sun. She’ll never thrive in this dark hole. +Where’s the calf?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In the meadow wi’ the ither calves. He’s fine.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Majestically Gretta left the byre and lay down in the +yard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She never re-entered. When night came she refused +so stubbornly to go in with the other cows, that it was +held wise to humour her. Each day after that she +seemed to decline in spirits and strength. The veterinary +was sent for and prescribed, but it was of no avail. +Her milk became unfit for use. It was plain that she +was going to die. Nothing would induce her to enter +the stable, and Derek began to hate the sight of the +large black and white mound in the stable-yard. He +was glad when he saw her, at last, heaved on to a stone-boat +and hauled to the woods for burial.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin became affable.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The vet. said it was ulcer of the stomach, didn’t +he?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is Mr. Jerrold goin’ to make you pay for her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just for the calf.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well, you can easily get a good price for him, +Mr. Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m not going to sell him,” said Derek, testily. +“It’s my farm, and if I want an odd bull or so for +a pet, I suppose I can have it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Because he thought everyone was against the young +bull, it became his favourite creature on the farm.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had written to his brother to send him his +canoe which he had left in Halifax. It arrived one +evening in June, and the Scotchmen, who had never +seen one before, carried it to the stream, Derek following +with Mrs. Machin and Phœbe, eager to see him +set out.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There isn’t money enough in Canada to pairsuade +me to go oarin’ in yon skittish thing,” said Newbigging, +as the canoe slid into the water. “I’ve knocked +aboot in vessels of all sorts, but I draw the line at egg-shells.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’d go in a minute,” said Phœbe, with a look at +Vale.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Machin. +“And don’t be impident.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At the same moment Hugh McKay pinched her, and +Windmill frowned and shook his head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was already paddling down the stream, enjoying +the pleasant feeling that the canoe was conscious +of him and responded eagerly to him. All but Mrs. +Machin ran before him to the little bridge where they +collected to watch him pass beneath. He was getting +very fond of them, he thought, as he looked up at their +excited, sunburned faces.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Vale! Ye can paddle your ain canoe, noo,” +called Gunn after him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Take me next time, Mr. Vale!” cried Phœbe; and +shrieked again at a second, severer pinch from Hugh. +He was alone save for a little group of fishing-boats +in the distance, and a flock of gulls that flew high +above him, angelic creatures that beat their silvery +wings against the rosy sky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He paddled close to the shore in the direction of +Durras, half hoping to be seen by the Jerrolds. When +he guessed that he was opposite their gates he laid his +dripping paddle athwart and lit a cigarette.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Scarcely had an ash formed when the figure of Grace +Jerrold appeared on the bank above him. Outlined +against the sky, and dressed in white, she seemed akin +to the shining gulls, and, like them, more of the air +than of earth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She called, “How happy you look! Is it as nice as +the North-West Arm of the Harbour?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes. But I miss the tang of salt in the air. +Won’t you come for a paddle?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How should I get down?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fly. You look as though you might. Just spread +your wings and gently float down to this blue cushion +in front of me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’d like to, but my father and I are going for a +walk. I am waiting for him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To-morrow, then?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry. To-morrow I am going away on a visit. +It will be several weeks. But when I come back——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well. The canoe shall be freshly varnished +and the tennis-court got ready.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold joined his daughter and the two stood +looking down at Vale as he paddled away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How well he paddles.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can paddle just as well,” said her father. “I +shall go out with him sometimes while you are away, +dear.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, please don’t, William! You are much too +heavy for a canoe. Promise me, or I shan’t have a +minute’s peace.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I can swim like a fish, Gay.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know. But I don’t want you two out in a canoe. +You’re both too reckless.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Vale reckless?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes. I think there’s a headlong look in his +eyes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And what sort of look is there in mine?” he asked, +bending them on her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A look of a wild eagle. Will you promise?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, darling. May I have him to dinner, then? +Or are you afraid we should overeat?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, have him to dinner. Look, he is almost out +of sight.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They turned to walk, holding each other’s hands. +The sun was gone and the clear, pale moon was gaining +colour every moment. The gulls, too, had disappeared, +and in their place a flock of cliff swallows +darted about, silent as bats.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-5'>CHAPTER V<br/> DARK WATER-LILIES</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> canoe had been varnished; the tennis-court was in +process of preparation. Mrs. Machin grumbled because +he took the men from their work to help him with his +play. One morning in the latter part of June, she +marched over to him, as he was directing the rolling of +the lawn by Gunn and Newbigging, and said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Them fellas will just have to leave off that foolery +to-day, and help get the Indians’ shack ready. They’ve +sent word that they’ll be here to-morrow, and they’ll be +mad if they find the roof not mended. They was nearly +flooded out before they left last year. Of course, if you +don’t care, Mr. Vale, what sort of accommodation you +give the poor things, it don’t matter to me.” She +folded her arms across her stomach and stared into the +lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t know they were coming,” said Vale, +meekly. “Is that the little house in the orchard?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. How did ye s’pose the fruit got picked? +The strawberries is tame, but they won’t hop off the +vines into the baskets themselves, I can tell ye. With +this hot sun there’ll be a pickin’ ready in a day or two.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well. I’ll let them off in a few minutes.” +And he persisted for a time in rolling, while Mrs. +Machin stood by, impatient and contemptuous. He +would not let her domineer over him before the men, +for he had seen them grinning on more than one +occasion, when he had been worsted by her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had scarcely noticed the small shack in the far +end of the orchard. It was so dilapidated, so weather-beaten +that he had supposed it to be but an unused out-house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now he stood dismayed at the squalor of the hovel. +It had been thrown together of odds and ends of +boards; the roof had been covered with tar-paper, now +flapping loosely; the one small window showed the +bare interior. The mud floor was still wet from spring +rains, the walls were lined with bunks half filled with +evil-smelling straw. Under a lean-to outside he saw +a cooking-stove red with rust, and, beneath the trees, +a long table with benches on either side.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is horrible,” he said. “Do you mean to say +they sleep here?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Indeed they do,” said Mrs. Machin, “and it’s +better than they get lots of places. I know of farms +where they just live in the barns and sleep in the mow.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just the same,” put in Windmill, “the Government +is putting a stop to that sort of thing. If an +inspector comes round and finds them all sleeping in +one room you’re liable to get into trouble.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How many are there?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“About fifteen. Old Solomon Sharroe, his wife, +two daughters and their husbands, some younger boys +and girls, and Jammery. He’s quite above the rest of +them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We must get another room fixed up for those +women. I won’t stand their living like animals.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Your uncle never minded,” said Mrs. Machin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, he should have been ashamed of himself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here,” said Windmill, “there’s a pile of +timber down by the barn. I believe we could run up +an extra room for the women in no time.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And I shall drive to Brancepeth,” said Vale, “and +buy a couple of bedsteads and a chest of drawers.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin’s disgust was so deep that she could +not abide to listen to their plans. Calling Phœbe, she +stalked gloomily down the orchard path, wondering +audibly how long Grimstone would endure under such +mismanagement.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The men, delighted by a change of work, threw +themselves heartily into the building of the additional +room. By evening of the next day, it was not only +built but the bedsteads, the chest of drawers, and a +small looking-glass had been arranged inside. However, +Derek held it as only a makeshift, and determined +that before the next fruit season, he would have a +proper cottage where the Indians could dispose themselves +properly. He was eager to meet them and see +their pleasure in the new comforts he had provided.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He rose early the next morning after the shack had +been completed, and, after breakfast, strolled through +the orchard to take a final look at it. He thought it +would look rather jolly when a spiral of blue smoke +curled from the rusty stove-pipe. He opened the cupboard +door and looked complacently at the gaudy new +set of dishes he had bought at Brancepeth. A sound of +children’s voices made him start. He saw what seemed +a long procession of dusky people coming up the +orchard path. Four little girls danced ahead while the +men and women approached slowly, laden with burdens +and infants. A boy of ten came last, carrying on his +back an idiot boy a couple of years younger.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The women chattered cheerfully in Indian, as they +came up, and stared in a friendly, amused way at +Derek and the addition to the shack.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I s’pose you’re Mr. Vale,” said a tall old man +coming up to Derek. “Mrs. Machin, she told us we’d +find you up hereabouts. I’m Solomon Sharroe, an’ all +these folks is my family. We’ve been pickin’ fur your +uncle a good many years. You like livin’ here?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” said Vale, “and I’m very glad to see you. +The strawberries need your attention, I think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We get something to eat now, and then me and +the other men start in. The women will want the rest +of the day fur gettin’ settled.” His dark eyes rested +indulgently on the group of women and girls, who were +already lighting a fire in the stove and unpacking +bread, bacon, and bottles of pickles from a basket.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a grave dignity about the old man that +pleased Derek. His rugged, bronze face, high, deeply +lined forehead surmounted by a thatch of thick iron-grey +hair, gave no evidence of racial degeneration. The +women, too, were attractive, plump, round-faced, with +soft, quick movements and shy, sidelong glances at +him. The young men had disappeared inside the +shack, but one of them now came out and Solomon +motioned him to approach.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is Jammery,” he announced with a wave of +his dark hand on which shone a silver ring. Jammery +held out his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How do you do, Mr. Vale?” he said in a soft +voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale took the proffered hand. It was small, very +smooth, and limp. He returned his own to his pocket +after the contact.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you a son or son-in-law?” he asked, the old +man having been called away by his wife.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Neither.” Jammery stroked his slender, black +moustache. “I’m no relation to these people. I’ve +just thrown my lot in with theirs for a while. I’m not +much of an Indian.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, I see that.” He was, indeed, only olive in +complexion. “You speak English well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery gave a shrug. “I can scarcely speak +Indian at all. But I know what they say.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose Jammery was originally Jean-Marie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He shrugged again. “No idea,” he said. “It’s +my first, last, and middle name. The only one I’ve +got.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek looked him over curiously, wondering what +wild and picturesque past had gone to the making of +this handsome, unscrupulous-looking little fellow. +“Well,” he said, “if you need anything let me know. +I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank you,” said Jammery. “Lots of the fruit-growers +don’t care how we live so long as they get +plenty of work out of us. They don’t treat us as well +as their animals.”</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>A new life and activity took possession of Grimstone. +It seemed to Vale that in whatever direction he looked +he saw one of the dark tribe of pickers. The men and +older women set stolidly to work in the strawberry +beds; the two young boys ran continually from the +barn to the shack carrying armfuls of straw or tin pails +of water; when he went to the kitchen the round faces +of two twelve-year-old girls were pressed against the +screen door. “Phœbe,” one of them was calling, +“kin we git a point of milk?” Seeing Vale she +smiled broadly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What is your name, youngster?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Beulah. This here’s my niece, my oldest sister’s +girl. Ain’t she white?” This with candid pride. +“The Government gent he wouldn’t give her no allowance +last time—she was so white.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The girl’s skin was indeed white, but she preserved +a stoical Indian calm while being discussed. Laughing-eyed +Beulah chattered on: “Will you come and +see our gorden? It’s terr’ble pretty. We’ll git the +point of milk when we come back. The gorden’s on +the shore, won’t you come? Gosh! you’ve got pretty +hair.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek suffered himself to be led by Beulah and her +solemn niece, Alma, to the shore. He had no idea +what a “gordon” was, but he liked children, especially +dark-eyed little girls. They made him feel weakly +good-humoured, almost helpless. On the sand three +younger girls were bending over a miniature garden, +made of bits of water-weeds and flowering grass and +intersected by paved walks of broken glass and coloured +stones. Derek was amazed at the nice care with which +the pattern was laid, and the dainty gestures of the +small brown hands as they placed a pebble or were +clapped together in delight. He sat down on the sand +beside them and began to build a wall around the +“gorden.” The children pressed about him and ran +to fetch little shells to ornament the top of the wall. +He caught the smallest in his hands and rolled her on +the sands. “Oh, you are a fonny man!” they shrieked. +They found a long grey quill from a gull’s wing and +stuck it in his hair, chuckling, “Now you are an +Indian, like us.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Even when darkness came they were not to be +ignored. A shaft of light struck through the orchard +from a lantern hung by the door of the shack, and a +great blaze danced up from the shore where they made +a bonfire at the water’s edge.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale, sitting with his pipe on the porch, could see +flames leaping above the crest of the bluff, and he +began to feel nervous lest the flying sparks should do +damage. Mrs. Machin had driven into Mistwell or she +would have gone down to them, he knew. By the +screams and shrill laughter he felt sure that the young +women and girls were in bathing and had made the +fire to warm and dry themselves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Half amused, more than a little annoyed, he crossed +the lawn, quietly passed through the gate and hid himself +in the clump of stunted cedars that overlooked the +shore. His nostrils were tickled by a pungent odour +that quenched the sweetness of the locust flowers. +Ruddy tongues licked about a heap of driftwood and +cast their fierce reflection on the water next the shore. +In this molten pool five little girls, three young women, +and a boy of fourteen were bathing. The boy, like a +bronze imp, chased one after another of his naked +sisters, the captured one being roughly splashed, and +then held under water despite her cries. Their smooth, +brown bodies caught the glow from the fire like copper +urns; Derek could see even the jewel-like glitter of +their eyes. He watched them smiling, forgetting his +annoyance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The boy, soon tiring of his easy prey, swam outward +into the darkness. One of the girls raised her arms to +her head to fasten the long wet hair that had fallen +about her shoulders. Derek’s heart gave a sudden +leap; a hot thrill of pleasure stirred, like a pain, in his +breast. She seemed to rise, a dark water-lily on its +stem, a flower of unearthly beauty, springing from the +water, fed by the flames, filling the night air with the +perfume of her desire. At her side the dark head of +the smallest child lay on the water between its outstretched +arms like an olive-tinted bud. It was a +moonless night and the sky hung low, dark as a bowl +of wine.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>All the bathers were motionless now, or nearly so. +Yes, they were water-lilies, resting languorously in +this secret place, their petals drawn together, holding +the sweetness of the night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He gazed at them each in turn, but found none so +lovely as she whose slender arms still curved above her +head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She left the water and came slowly to the fire; picking +up a cloth, she began languidly to dry her breast. +Her sisters followed her, and, as they crouched together, +their interlacing limbs made intricate linear designs +against the sombre glow of the subsiding fire.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they had drawn on their dresses they ascended +the steps in the bank, talking softly in Indian. Their +mood of noisy gaiety seemed to have passed; their +faces were pensive, even sad. They were so near for +a moment that he might have touched them. He longed +to put out his hand and draw that supple, sweetest one +in among the cedars, hold her in his arms, and tell her +how beautiful she was.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Their feet made a little rustling in the grass; the +gate creaked and they were gone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The boy, returning to the shore, and finding himself +deserted, began carefully to extinguish the fire. With +sand and stones he smothered it, and, running up the +steps, passed Derek, loudly whistling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Once more the perfume of the locust flowers drenched +the air; with it mingled the sharp, sweet smell of the +cedars, and the faint odour of burnt wood. The waves +commenced a sudden, crisp lapping on the shore, as +though the business of the night had just begun. All +about his feet he saw the dim, white heads of mushrooms.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must have some of those for my breakfast,” he +thought.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He re-lit his pipe and sauntered to the house.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-6'>CHAPTER VI<br/> CHERRIES AT DAWN</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>A man</span> could not help but feel proud to see the baskets +of plump, ripe strawberries spread in rows over the +barn floor. They were so fresh, so excellent, that they +could not fail to bring the highest price. Phœbe, +kneeling on the floor, packed them into crates, each +holding two dozen boxes. Mrs. Machin, sitting on a +chair, examined each carrier of six boxes, as it was +brought in, and, if it were satisfactory, paid the picker +in tickets valued at one cent each. Solomon Sharroe +and Jammery, she told Vale, were the best pickers, and +could pick four hundred boxes each in a day, in the +height of the season. The women picked well but were +not to be depended on, often leaving the patch half +picked, to take the tram-car to Brancepeth, where they +would spend all their earnings on fancy shoes and hats, +and, often, their men’s earnings too.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale had taken up a basket and was picking out +the largest berries and eating them with a boy’s mischievous +pleasure in Mrs. Machin’s disapproving +glances. He dropped one to a rangy Dorking rooster +which was picking in the straw at his feet. The bird, +snatching up the unexpected prize, gallantly called +his hens who came with long strides from the barnyard, +wings spread and beaks agape. The crimson +berry was presented with coaxing clucks to the +favourite, who gulped it whole and pecked greedily at +the juice on her lord’s yellow beak. Vale began tossing +berries to the other hens.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I will not have them fowls encouraged to come +into the barn,” exclaimed Mrs. Machin, angrily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But they like the berries,” protested Vale.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, give them the whole mornin’s pickin’, then. +I wash my hands of it.” She jumped to her feet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sit down. Sit down,” soothed Vale. “I’ll take +them somewhere else. This young Indian can help me +shoo them out.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll help you,” cried Phœbe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Machin. +“I never see such a girl. She’d sooner do anything +under the sun than her proper work. Here, Fawnie, +help Mr. Vale scare these hens away and don’t set +them floppin’ over the berries neither.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young girl set down the carrier she had brought +and began gently to urge the fowls through the door. +Derek went ahead dropping berries before them. He +saw that she was the girl he had watched the night +before, whose shining brown-black hair had fallen +about her wet shoulders. He scarcely glanced at her +but led the way around the barn towards the poultry-house, +which was partitioned by wire netting from +the byre.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think we had better put them inside,” he said, +“and shut the door or they will follow us straight back +to the berries.” He opened the half-door and entered +the poultry-house backwards. He set the remainder of +the basket of berries in the straw on the floor. Instantly +it was covered by a tangle of wings, beaks, and wattles. +He shut the door and smiled at the girl. “That was +neatly done. They’re all in, I think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The open windows looked over a stream and a flat +meadow where the sheep were grazing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The little new lambs are awful pretty,” she said in +a soft, husky voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, aren’t they?” He stared openly at her now, +trying to recapture the sensation of the night before. +But now he saw only a pretty Indian girl whose straight +little body was covered by a coarse blue dress, who had +an empty berry-basket on her stomach, and whose +pouting lips were stained by the fruit to a brighter red. +There was no mystery now, no thrill, but she was +amusing; and those fawn’s eyes of hers . . . they +called her Fawnie . . . and that round coffee-coloured +neck with the soft lock on the nape.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I like eggs,” she was drawling, while she peered +into the nests. “Here’s a big brown one—as hot as +hot——” She put it in his hand. “That ole black +hen laid it. She’s mad because I took it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He dropped the warm egg in her berry-basket. +“Keep it,” he said, “and cook it for your tea, +Fawnie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here’s five more. All white. I do like white eggs. +They’re jus’ laid too. Hot as hot. Feel.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Take them, too. But don’t mention it to Mrs. +Machin.” He flushed as he said this. He was really +afraid of her then . . . no—not afraid, but he did not +want her interference.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tell you what I’ll do! I’ll set them. You jus’ +lend me this ole black hen that’s all rumpled up cluckin’ +an’ I’ll take her up to the shack an’ set her and get +some nice little chicks, eh?” Her eyes sparkled, he +could see his face reflected in them . . . useless for +him to resist dark-eyed little girls. . . . “Take +her, then,” he said weakly. Good Lord, she was +only seventeen! If she wanted a hen to set, why +not?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They chased the hen, caught her; Fawnie pressed +her firmly against her side while they searched for more +eggs. In the horse-stable they found seven—five on a +shelf inside an old horse-collar, two in the manger of +one of the Welsh ponies, wet with his slobber.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They set out like children, Derek carrying the eggs +in his hat. They took a roundabout way to the shack +through the arching blackberry and thimbleberry canes. +Two babies rolled on a blanket on the beaten earth, by +the door, tended by an older child. The idiot boy, +perched in the crotch of an apple tree, stared blinking +at the sky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where shall we set her?” asked Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Under my bunk,” she chuckled. “It’s nice an’ +dark there.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh no. I’ll get a coop and set her in the orchard.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The ole woman’d find her there first thing. I want +her under my bunk.” She stroked the hen’s head with +a brown, supple hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well. Which is your bunk?” They went +into the dim hut, stuffy with the smell of straw and old +clothes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Beulah and Alma and me sleeps in this one,” she +said, crouching before one of the lower bunks. “You +hold the hen.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He held the warm bundle of feathers while she +dragged forth an empty box and half filled it with straw +pulled from her bed. Derek felt hypnotized by her soft, +swift movements. She talked in a little muttering way +to herself as she arranged the nest:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here’s nice yaller straw already warmed—here’s a +nasty ole thistle—get out, you ole prickly thistle, on the +floor—I hope Alma will step on you—here’s a pigeon’s +feather sure enough—that brings luck—come, lazy-bones”—reaching +up for the hen—“get on your eggs +an’ mind you hatch ’em all out or Derek will pluck +you alive, won’t you, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek lit a cigarette to drown the odours of the shack. +“Who told—you—my name?” he asked, between +puffs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I heerd Phœbe an’ Bob Gunn talkin’ about you an’ +they called you Derek. They said you was afraid of +Mrs. Machin. Are you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A little,” he admitted. “Are you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit. I ain’t afraid of nobody—except Jammery. . . . If +any of them kids touches this hen o’ +mine I’ll chop their heads off. Ain’t she nice?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The hen was settling herself on the nest with +elaborate care. Every feather on end, she drew the +eggs under the body by convulsive movements of her +encircling wings. With her beak she pressed the last +one under her full, downy breast. She looked from +side to side to make sure that none protruded, then, +with a last shudder of sensuous delight, she half closed +her eyes, parted her beak, and settled down to her +twenty-one days’ vigil and retreat.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>It was an extraordinary fine season for fruit. The +strawberries ran a luxuriant course, without burning +heat to shrivel them or storms to beat them into the +soil. Cherries were not successful everywhere, but the +cherries at Grimstone hung in large, plump clusters +that almost hid the foliage. The raspberries were the +finest in years, and a good crop of pears and apples +was promised. Not only was there an abundance of +fruit but the stock was doing well. Six of the ewes had +twins, there were seven little Jersey calves, and a likely-looking +foal. In the heavy soil at the back of the farm +there was a fine showing of oats, wheat, and plump +roots. Derek had had the fences between Grimstone +and Durras mended and intended in the autumn to +paint some of the out-buildings and build new houses +for the pigs and poultry, separate from the other stock. +He wrote enthusiastic letters to his brother, urging him +to pay him a visit while the fruit was in its prime and +the boating and bathing good.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was eating his bacon and eggs one morning, his +brain busy with agreeable plans, when he heard +excited voices in the kitchen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll go and tell him,” he heard Phœbe say.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” came sharply from +Mrs. Machin, “just let me get my hands out of this +flour and I’ll tell him myself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Newbigging spoke: “Whist, can’t ye? I’ll +go mysel’.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He came to the door, cap in hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Weel,” he announced, with a grin, “they’ve +flitted.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Flitted? Who? Where?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The Indians. They’ve all gone to Chaird’s to pick. +There’s neither hide nor hair o’ them aboot the place.” +The others crowded about him, staring in at Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He set down his teapot with a bang. Why was bad +news so often announced in the middle of a comfortable +meal? “Why did they go?” he asked. +“What do you expect me to do about it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Chaird has gie’d them a fine new cottage he had +built for his parents who died last winter, and he has +twice as many raspberry canes an’ currants an’ black-caps +coming on. His missus is goin’ to teach the girls +to sew an’ read, and she’s goin’ to doctor the bairn that +has fits.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He wouldn’t have dared do this in your uncle’s +time, the scoundrel,” said Mrs. Machin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re changing your tune about him, aren’t +you?” said Windmill, sarcastically. “But he’s only +living up to his reputation for shrewdness.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good God,” said Vale, “what shall we do? Can’t +we force them to come back? The cherries are fairly +dropping off the trees for ripeness.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>No one answered him. They had turned back to the +kitchen with angry looks towards someone who had +come in. Then Derek heard the soft voice of Jammery. +He followed the others into the kitchen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery stood in the open doorway, an amused +smile curving his sensitive lips.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” cried Mrs. Machin, “this is a nice way +to treat us after all these years, and all we’ve done for +you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s not my fault, really,” protested Jammery. +“It’s the old man. Mr. Chard got around him somehow, +and we’ve got to do what he says or he and the +old woman’d make the place too hot to hold us.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What is to become of my fruit?” demanded Vale. +“Where are the white pickers who used to pick for +Chard—the mean cur? Could we get them?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They have a prejudice agin us here because we’ve +always employed Indians,” said Mrs. Machin. “But +we’ve got to get pickers from somewheres, for to-morrow’s +the last day for the Saturday market.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was thinking,” said Jammery, “that if Mr. Vale +will pay my way I’ll go to Brancepeth and see a family +of Indians I know there. I might be able to get them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you do I’ll make it worth your while.” Already +Vale was growing hopeful for his cherries. “And you +fellows,” he added, turning to his men, “can get busy +and help pick. I shall take a hand at it myself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m cuttin’ hay,” protested Hugh McKay.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Cuttin’ hay, are you?” snapped Mrs. Machin. +“I’m glad you told me. I thought you was just +standin’ there gapin’.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Weel, I’m goin’ to cut it, if I can ever get out o’ +this kitchen,” shouted McKay, angrily, and, pushing +Jammery out of his way, he flung off to his fields.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin turned to Windmill. “You take the +light waggon and go into Mistwell and see what left-overs +you can pick up. Tell them the pickin’s fine and +there’ll be hot tea supplied at noon. Bob and Jim and +Phœbe and I can turn right in now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>That afternoon as Derek stood beside a prolific young +Montmorency, dropping its blood-red clusters into an +eleven-quart basket at his feet, Mr. Jerrold called.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I hear your Indians have decamped,” he said. +“Gone over to our friend Chard, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. We’re all doing our best to save the cherries, +but the raspberries need going over and I don’t see +how it’s to be done. Jammery went to Brancepeth +after pickers. Had no luck at all. And I wish you +could see the bunch Windmill got at Mistwell: two fat +old women, three little boys, and a young married +woman named Orde with a two-year-old child that has +to be suckled every ten minutes or so.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I know the Ordes. He fishes in the winter and +loafs all summer while she supports him by picking +berries. I tell you, Vale, small fruit is the very devil. +That’s why I ploughed mine under. I know a poor +chap from the city who got a place beyond mine, and +planted an immense lot of gooseberries. Last summer +he came to me with tears streaming down his face. He +couldn’t get a soul to pick the damned gooseberries +and he had been working at them alone till he was +worn to fiddle-strings and his hands all scratched and +bleeding. His wife was going to have a baby, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lord! What became of them?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We got a spell of heat and drought then and they +all withered up on him. He was sold out last spring.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Poor beggar. Well, Jammery’s coming over at +daybreak to-morrow to pick till noon when we ship. +He is quite a decent fellow.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shouldn’t trust him. Look here what I’ve done +for you.” Holding his walking-stick under one arm +he had picked cherries till one large, shapely hand was +brimming.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fine,” said Derek, “just drop them in the basket.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll light a cigar before I pick any more. Have +one?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, thanks. Too busy.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wish Gay were here. She’d enjoy this.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“When is she coming back?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very soon. She can’t stay away from her father +very long.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging came up, a full basket in either hand. +“Hoo many hae ye plucked, Mr. Vale?” he asked, +cheerily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is my third. How are the Mistwell folk getting +on?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not too bad. Mrs. Orde’s away the best, but she +has to back down her ladder every wee while to nurse +the bairn.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The child, unspeakably dirty, ran up to Newbigging +and began to throw handfuls of earth on him. “Aw, +Tommy,” said the Scot, “it’s a guid thing for you I’m +no your dada.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The boy galloped back to the foot of the ladder +up which he could see his mother’s draggled skirt. +“Mammy! Mammy!” he yelled, and beat on the +rungs with his fists.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Little brute,” said Mr. Jerrold. He hung his stick +on a branch, and the two men worked in agreeable +silence, broken only by the soft dropping of fruit into +the basket, and now and then, a snatch of jiggy song +from the tree where Gunn was perched. The smoke of +Mr. Jerrold’s cigar hung in fragrant blue wisps among +the cherries.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale was awakened by the same noise that had disturbed +him on his first morning at Grimstone, the +boisterous gobble of the turkey-cock. He sat up in bed +and through the open window could barely see them as +they passed, for it was not yet sunrise. The white +hen-turkey came last, uttering little liquid sounds like +dropping water.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He remembered his cherries with a pang. Oh, that +those treacherous Redskins were safely back at their +job! Well, there was Jammery this morning, at any +rate. He made up his mind to be out before any of the +household. It would be a good thing, he thought, for +them to see that he would do everything in his power +to prevent waste, and it would be pleasant among the +trees before the sun was up. He drew on a thin jersey +and a pair of old duck trousers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The bees were already humming in the tops of the +locust trees. A pale saffron streak lay between lake +and sky. A faint half-moon behind the orchard was +casting her last, timid gaze upon the world.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went to the apple-house and got some empty +baskets, then entered the regular rows of the cherry +orchard. Besides numerous ladders there were several +tall wooden stands on top of which two people could +sit at ease and strip the highest branches. Peering up, +he could see Fawnie sitting cross-legged on one of +these, her dress dimly blue as the brightening sky, her +hair hanging unbound about her shoulders.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come on up,” she said, softly, leaning towards +him, “come and sit alongside o’ me. I’ll learn you +how to pick our way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He clambered up the rungs and sat beside her, his +legs dangling. “This is ripping,” he laughed. “I +didn’t expect anything so exciting.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’ you get excited or you’ll fall.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He lit a cigarette. “Do you smoke, Fawnie? Will +you try one?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I take a puff at the ole woman’s pipe sometimes +when she’s not lookin’, but I don’ want one o’ them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’d be like flirtin’, surely.” She resumed her +cherry-picking with deft fingers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale laughed and began to pick, too. “I was surprised +to find you here, Fawnie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wanted to help you, and Jammery said I could. +We’ve been here since the first crack o’ day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good girl. I’ll do something nice for you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What?” She was choosing two pairs of the finest +cherries from her basket.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What would you like?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She hung the cherries over her ears like scarlet ear-rings +and looked at him. The ruddy shine of the fruit, +hardly fresher than her pouting lips; the dark masses +of her hair, her slender, coffee-coloured neck, her slanting, +humid eyes, awoke in Derek the same sensation he +had had when he watched her bathe. He experienced +an intense consciousness of the earth—mother of him +and of all thriving, air-sucking things—men, deer in +the forest, trees interlacing their branches in the wind +and their roots in the life-giving soil—all driven by the +same force, all feeling the same, sharp, sweet urge. . . . +He took her in his arms and kissed her quickly on the +cheeks and mouth. They clung together till the voice +of Newbigging below made them start apart.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hoo many hae ye plucked, master?” he said, with +a broad grin on his upturned face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale looked down at him sternly. “Get about your +work, Newbigging. If I have any cheek from you, +you’ll go.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was abashed, mortified at being caught in such +a position. He fancied the jests that would pass among +the men. He stared, red-faced, at his dangling boots +for a space, and then muttered, sulkily:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re a little baggage, Fawnie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She smiled at him from under her lashes. “You +mean I act like I was white,” she said.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-7'>CHAPTER VII<br/> THE FOLLY OF SOLOMON</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“They’re</span> goin’ to flit again,” said Newbigging.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The Indians?” asked Vale.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay. They’re leavin’ Chaird in the lurch this time. +That is, they’re all leavin’ but the eldest daughter +and her husband, and young Fawnie and Jammery. +Chaird’s fair wild.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose he’ll be after my few Mistwell pickers +now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’ll never get them. They’re insulted because +he turned them away for Indians.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But why are they leaving?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s the auld man—Solomon. He was fiddlin’ +away at the door of his cottage yesterday when up +marched Chaird and told him that the black-caps were +droppin’ off the bushes. ‘Let ’em drop,’ says Solomon. +‘The spirit’s on me to fiddle and I’ve got to fiddle +though every berry in the country rots.’ Chaird said +he would not have an Indian on his farm who would +not pick every day and all day. Solomon said that was +all very well for squaws, but he was a chief and a +gentleman and old Mr. Vale had always treated him as +such. This morning he and his family are all packed +up ready to go to Reuben MacNeil, who grows hops as +well as fruit, so auld Solomon says he’ll ‘make plenty +money’ there. It sairves Chaird right, and nobody’s +sorry for him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek, however, could not help feeling sorry for +Chard. He had experienced so much anxiety himself +over his cherries and raspberries and had lost such +a considerable portion of the crop through lack of +pickers, that, though Chard had been the cause of his +troubles, he felt himself better able to bear the loss than +a man with a family of young children. He had heard, +too, that Mrs. Chard worked slavishly between her +periods of child-bearing, and now there would be still +more to do.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He felt disgusted with the Indians. They were like +naughty children. Yet they were infinitely more +efficient as pickers than the women and boys of Mistwell. +He could see some of the boys now scuffling +among the black-caps, probably trampling them. He +told Newbigging to go and make order among them, +and himself went to inspect the raspberries. They +were almost over, and gentle little Mrs. Orde was +cleaning up the last of them, handicapped, as usual, +by her greedy son.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He strolled among the canes, the new growth as +high as his shoulder, the last, sun-warmed berries +smelling strangely sweet, like violets. Some milkweed +had come up among them and, here and there, a +bursting pod scattered its shimmering fluff. He found +the nest of a yellow warbler dangling, light and dried, +from a curving cane. It seemed abnormally deep and +when he pulled it apart to examine it he discovered a +tiny separate compartment in the bottom almost filled +by a large, whitish egg and a very small blue one.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here, Fawnie,” he called, for he saw her +wandering among the canes a short way off. She came +slowly, picking raspberries and poking them into her +childish mouth. “I’m gettin’ my breakfas’ off your +berry patch,” she said. “I’m mad at everybody and +I won’ eat with them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What made you mad, Fawnie?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The ole man. He wants me to go pickin’ hops and +I won’t. I got my hen and chickens to look after, and +Jammery and me’s goin’ to pick thimbleberries for +you. . . . What’s that you got?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He showed her the strange nest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She chuckled. “Oh, don’ you know what that’s for, +Derek? Gosh, them little birds are sly! I’ll tell you +now. They built their nice little nest, and the little +squaw-bird, she laid a pretty blue egg in it, then she +flew away to eat a strawberry and rest awhile before she +laid some more. When she got back her ole man was +perched on the side of the nest, scratchin’ his head and +lookin’ awful mad. ‘Come here, missus,’ he says, +‘and jus’ see what some darned cowbird’s did. Laid +her egg alongside what’s goin’ to be our little papoose.’ +She hurried up to see if he was lyin’, ’cos he often lied +to her. But this time, sure enough, he was tellin’ the +truth. She swore pretty fierce and pecked him ’cos he +hadn’t guarded her egg better. Then they both set to +work and built a new bottom to the nest, right on top +of the cowbird’s egg, and then she laid some more +eggs and hatched ’em out, but the cowbird’s egg got +cold and died—and so did her first poor little egg lyin’ +there beside it. But the ole man thought, ‘Oh, well, +I don’ care—it’s one less to feed.’ ” She smiled +roguishly and shrugged her plump shoulders. “You +like that story? Yes? Well, kiss me, then.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I like your story, but your cheeks are berry-stained +and if I kissed you everyone would know. The stains +are purple. Have you been trying the thimbleberries? +You’ll be sick, Fawnie, they’re not ripe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, they’re gettin’ ripe fast—millions of them. +Oh, I forgot, Derek, my paw wants to see you. He’s +waitin’ by the shack. Come along.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you think he’s coming back to pick for me?” +asked Derek, hopefully, as they passed the thimbleberry +canes whose purple clusters of fruit were becoming +dark and shiny.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. He’s goin’ to MacNeil’s to pick hops. But +he wants to see you first.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They found Solomon Sharroe sitting on the edge of +the long table beneath the apple trees. His wife inside +the shack was making a bundle of some bedding. +Fawnie’s hen, with her lusty, fluttering brood about +her, was scratching in the doorway. Solomon greeted +Derek with a dignified inclination of his iron-grey +head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Vale,” he said, “I am goin’ to leave Chard +to-day and take all my family except Esther and her +husband, and Jammery.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And me, paw!” cried Fawnie. “I’m goin’ to +stay.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re goin’ to stay,” repeated Solomon, with a +scornful gesture of his dark hand. “Nobody cares +what you’re goin’ to do because you’re so lazy. Even +Beulah, who is four years younger, picks faster than +you. Yet when the hot bread and the ham and the +pickles are put on the table, you are the first one to sit +down and eat all you kin.” He turned to Derek with +a sombre smile. “There is no harm in her, but she +was made for play. The man who marries her will +have to pick for the two of them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wish you would come back to me,” said Derek, +abruptly, his eyes on the vast stretch of his thimbleberry +canes, almost threatening in their imminent ripeness. +“You know I never interfere with you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are a gentleman,” said Solomon, simply, +“and I am a chief. I have given my word to Mr. +MacNeil that I will take my family to him to-day, but +next season we will come to you and stay till the last +Spy ripens, if you need us. . . . Your uncle would +have lent me five dollars, for I have done very badly at +Chard’s. I would repay it next season and it would +make me certain to come. Your uncle knew that a +chief is to be trusted.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek felt in his pocket. The five dollars was transferred +to the hand of Solomon. “The gulls are flying +low, and screaming,” he said, his eyes raised to the +tree-tops. “That means a storm.” He muttered a +sentence in Indian to the woman, who, raising the +heavy bundles, followed him meekly through the +orchard.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-8'>CHAPTER VIII<br/> JULY NIGHT AT GRIMSTONE</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Vale</span> was lounging on the steps of his porch, alone +with his pipe. The night was intensely dark and +opulently warm. The lake lay tranquil and dark as +though sleeping, touched only by the light on some +anchored schooner, and a faint glimmer of star-shine. +In the stress of summer work the unused lawn, on the +side of the house next Chard’s, had been allowed to +grow tall and rank. This evening Newbigging had +mowed it and he now lay prone upon one of the mounds +of moist, sweet-smelling grass. Vale could not see +him, but the knowledge that he was there brought a +comfortable sense of companionship. Of the four men +in the house he liked this reckless, fair-haired Scot +best. Windmill was aloof, reticent, often brooding, +though his quick smile was pleasant; Gunn was lazy, +and sometimes quarrelsome as he expounded his +socialistic opinions in the kitchen; while Hugh McKay +was always preoccupied with lambs or Phœbe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging struck a match and lighted a cigarette. +Vale had a fleeting glimpse of his head and shoulders +before he settled himself once more. A sudden chill +air rose from the lake and enveloped Grimstone like an +embrace from the tomb. It seemed to penetrate to the +very bone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lord!” exclaimed Newbigging. “D’ye feel that, +sir?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve often noticed it at night. It will pass.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It passed quickly as it had come, and a tide of +warm air rushed in to take its place. The night became +sultry. Across the lake sheet lightning began to play +about the horizon.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek heard the gate click and he listened for voices +or footfalls on the drive. The silence was profound. +Then a flash of lightning more vivid than what had +gone before discovered a small, white figure but a yard +or two away. He rose and went to it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is it you, Fawnie?” he whispered. “Anything +wrong?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She caught his hand in her fingers and drew him +away from the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come and walk with me,” she breathed. “I’m +lonesome.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He took her hand and led her across the lawn between +the tall trunks of the locust and walnut trees that rose +like pillars of some dark aisle about them. They +crossed the old strawberry bed, now weed-grown, and +marked for the plough, and came to the bank of the +stream.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He emptied his pipe and dropped it in his pocket. +His arm drew her to his side.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What are you lonely for?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You. . . . I want to go out in the canoe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In this inky darkness?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I like it. It’s awful to feel the way I do. Like as +if my blood was dancin’ in my body. If I could get +out in that canoe I’d feel nice and quiet.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All right,” said Derek. He felt suddenly restless +himself, and the thought of being in a canoe with +Fawnie on the vast darkness of the lake was soothing. +“But keep very quiet. Don’t speak above a whisper. +And keep hold of me. We’ll scramble down the bank +right here.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She clutched his sleeve, and the two descended the +steep bank overgrown with brambles and wild roses. +The stream that had gushed so freshly on the night of +his arrival at Grimstone, now trickled thinly over the +ledges of its chalky bed. Under the bridge it had +formed a dark pool and there the canoe was tied. +While Derek unlocked the chain that secured it the +slender girl crept in and knelt in the bow. He handed +her a paddle and dropped down behind her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Under the low bridge it was profoundly dark. The +moist, velvety air seemed to envelop them; to press +down upon them; even to support them, as upon a +sombrous cloud. The silence was scarcely disturbed +by the delicate ripple of the stream as it crept languidly +across the beach and entered the lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale, taking up his paddle, said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you lonesome now, Fawnie? Is this dark +enough for you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her voice answered out of the blackness—“I am not +lonesome—but I’m listening.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Listening. What do you think you hear?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Footsteps.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Footsteps!” he murmured. “Where? On the +bridge?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No . . . down the road . . . a lot o’ them. +Listen hard. Don’t you hear?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not a sound. They must be your people.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No . . . men marching.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As he strained to listen a sudden burst of music +broke forth but a few hundred yards away—the cheerful, +brazen music of a band. The arch of silence above +them was thrown into fragments like a shattered bowl. +With every heartbeat the music grew louder, more +penetrating.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know,” she said. “It’s the band from Mistwell. +They march up to Jerrold’s once every summer—in +July—that’s where they’re marchin’ now. Mr. Jerrold +he gives them lemonade and sandwiches and cake and—twenty-five +dollars—every blessed year. The horns +frighten me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The bandsmen were now ascending the slope to the +bridge. The wild music of the horns was deafening; +the beating of the great drum was just above their +heads; the bridge vibrated beneath the tramp of feet. +There must have been many hangers-on from Mistwell +following. A blaze of light from torches fell upon +the stream, and glittered on the sticky leaves of the +Balm of Gilead trees that overhung it. The darkness +was driven back, receding up the stream and under the +bridge where Derek and Fawnie were hiding. They +seemed to be under a whirlpool of strident music and +leaping light. She stretched her hand back to his and +clasped his fingers. The band descended the opposite +slope; the blaze of the torches was withdrawn as +abruptly as it had appeared, and now fell in waning +blotches on the field of ripened grain beyond the +bridge. Gradually the sound of the horns became less +strident, then was softened by distance into a plaintive +reiteration of a few notes. Fawnie uttered a deep sigh. +Once more darkness enfolded them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek dipped his paddle. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Which way?” he asked, as the canoe slipped into +the lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The only light visible was a calm, pale beam from +the Mistwell lighthouse.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Away from that light,” she whispered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek turned the canoe in the direction of the +unseen cliffs that rose before Durras. Fitful lightning, +now and then, played upon their sides and +showed him where he was. No sound broke the +stillness now but the delicate drip of water from their +paddles.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It seemed to the young man that a long time passed, +and still she did not speak. A glimmer of lightning +showed him her upright, slender body with bared arms +using her paddle with short, quick Indian strokes. +What were her thoughts? he wondered. Where was +she leading him? He felt an immense curiosity +aroused by this half-civilized girl—creature of masterful +emotions, in her element where there was darkness +and storm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where are we going?” he asked, at last, and +ceased to paddle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A pinkish light hung tremulously between sky and +lake. It made rosy for a second the face of the low +cliff above them. It made rosy the ripply sand of the +little sheltered cove hardly more than a paddle’s length +way.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know this place,” she said. “Let us rest here +for a little.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She turned the bow of the canoe toward the shore. +It grounded with a soft jar. Derek, without a word, +leaped to the sand and drew the little craft to security +after him. The two stood in silence for a moment +enveloped in the languorous darkness. . . . “Fawnie!” +he cried low.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He felt her soft mouth under his; he was overcome +by a sort of giddiness, and, at the same time, filled by +an immense compassion for her. . . .</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>They parted on the driveway, she going towards the +orchard and he crossing the wet lawn. As her hand +was withdrawn from his, it crossed his mind that during +all this time he had never once seen her face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was about to enter the house when he remembered +Newbigging, whom he had left lying on the +mound of freshly-cut grass. He went to it and discovered +the Scot heavily sleeping.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Newbigging!” he said, shaking him, “do you +want to get your death of cold?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging sat up, rubbing his eyes like a drowsy +child. Derek felt his shirt.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good Lord, man! You’re wet through. Get up!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’ll no hurt me,” said Newbigging, stretching. +“I like sleepin’ in the open.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just the same, I think you should have a drop of +something to warm you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Weel—it micht be safer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went around to the side and quietly entered +the dining-room. From the cupboard beneath the +stairs Derek got a bottle of Canadian Rye and poured +Newbigging a glass.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Your health and very good fortune, sir.” He +stood with one hand on the back of a chair while he +drank, then carefully set the empty glass on the table.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Vale,” he said, with his bright, blue eyes on +Derek’s face, “if it wasn’t for a few things—why—life +wouldn’t be worth livin’.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-9'>CHAPTER IX<br/> SOLOMON IN HIS GLORY</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>September</span> was waning; the thimbleberries had been +picked, Vale scarcely knew how. Mrs. Orde and the +other village women and boys had been faithful, and +Jammery and Fawnie picked from dawn to dark, but +there had been times when they could not keep up to +the bountiful crop, and over-ripe shipments had been +sent down at the railway station that had oozed juice in +a purple stream straight across the platform.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now mellow pears hung in proud fruition. Every +now and again one would drop with a soft thump on +the golden stubble beneath the pear trees to be instantly +pierced by the voracious beak of some attentive fowl. +Mounds of red and green and yellow apples were piled +beneath the orchard trees. The men worked all day +packing barrels for shipping. A large portion were to +be stored in the apple-house for winter use, and to sell +as the prices rose. The defective were stored in the +barn for the stock, and, last of all, the pigs would be +turned into the orchard to clean up the ground for +themselves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a happy time at Grimstone; rough jokes were +shouted from tree to tree, Old Country songs were +sung as the tops were hammered into barrels, even +Mrs. Machin relaxed and carried a brimming jug of +cider to the thirsty men, Phœbe’s blue dress gleamed +bright as a bit of sky among the branches of a Greasy +Pippin tree.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Grace Jerrold had been home for a month. The +tennis-court was in fairly good condition and, almost +every day, she came over for a game. Mr. Jerrold was +too heavy to play, but sometimes Mr. Ramsey accompanied +her, and when Vale was busy, the Vicar and +she would play together.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This morning she and Vale were opponents. It was +a calm, fair day of perfect peace. The gulls sailed idly +above the lake, bright, angelic creatures sporting for +pleasure in the lustrous ether. A large, white yacht +lay becalmed with sails collapsed; they could see the +figures of people aboard her moving about her deck. +In the distance a steamer with scarlet funnels was heading +towards Niagara.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was delightful on such a morning to run and leap +after the ball over the closely shaven lawn. The +delicate foliage of the walnut trees cast a light shade +on the court; sometimes a walnut in its smooth, green +burr, smelling like bergamot, would fall noiselessly on +the grass.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a game so +much!” cried Grace Jerrold, as they rested after a +hard-fought contest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And yet you were beaten,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Still, I almost won, and, after all, it’s the good +fight that counts.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He looked into her fair, flushed face, curiously. +“Are you that way about the big things—in life I +mean?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I think I am. Father is like that, too. He +has often played a losing game, but his spirits are +always good.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I believe if things went very wrong with me I +should turn sulky and give up trying.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Jerrold laughed, and then looked seriously into +his candid, greenish-blue eyes. “I don’t see you being +unhappy,” she said. “Your eyes seem to me to be +looking straight into a golden future.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They’re looking straight at you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I’m afraid I cannot do much towards your +happiness.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You do a great deal simply by coming over to +play tennis with me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then we had better begin another game and not +lose any time.” She picked up a walnut on her racquet +and tossed it to him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He caught it on his and then took it in his hand. +“It smells sweet and yet sharp,” he said, sniffing it. +“Is it like bergamot, or what?” He held it to her nose—a +beautiful little nose, he thought, with its slender +nostrils and delicate aquilinity—made for sweet smells, +and the expression of slightly amused scorn. “It is +like lemons, and verbena, and half a dozen elusive +odours,” she declared. He dropped it on his jacket +that lay on the grass. “I’m going to keep it,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But you have thousands of them.” She looked up +into the trees.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“None like this.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Because I sniffed it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you are so silly I shall spend my morning sniffing +walnuts all over the place. Then you’ll have to save +them all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I certainly shall. I’ll throw the apples out of the +apple-house and store all the nuts you have sniffed in +there. Then I shall spend my winter in the middle of +them like a luxurious squirrel.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She crossed the court laughing, but as she raised her +arm to serve, the smile left her face and she stared +with a puzzled look at the road. Derek’s eyes followed +hers. “There is something wrong with that old man +on the waggon,” she said. “Look. The other man +is holding him up.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, it is Solomon Sharroe,” exclaimed Vale. +“He must be sick. I shall go and investigate.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Grace Jerrold followed him, and the two were filled +with pity by the plight of the old man. He was sitting +on the narrow, uncomfortable seat of a light fruit-waggon, +his head resting weakly on the shoulder of the +sullen youth who held the reins. His hollow eyes +stared blankly before him; his dark hands were clasped +resignedly between his bony knees.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What is wrong with him?” Derek asked of the boy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I dunno. He ain’t been much good fer a week, but +he got took worse last night and Muster MacNeil +waount have him dyin’ on him, so I’ve brung him +back to Chard’s where he come from.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is his family?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Comin’ by tram.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. MacNeil has a comfortable buggy,” cried +Grace. “Why did he send him in this wretched +waggon?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The youth grinned. “He thought it was good +enough fer an Injun, I s’pose.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, the brute! I shall have my father write him +a letter. We must get a doctor at once.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where do you feel the worst, Solomon?” asked +Derek, raising his voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My spirit,” he answered, in a surprisingly strong +voice. “My spirit . . . is broke. . . . You are a +gentleman and I am a chief . . . you understand. +Now about that five dollars . . . I have done very +badly at MacNeil’s. He treated me like a dog. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Never mind about the money. I am going to send +for a doctor for you. Have you any special pain? +Would you take a little brandy?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I would. You get me a little in a bottle and +my old woman will fix me a dose when I need it. +MacNeil he give me just one mouthful before I +left.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek ran to the house and brought a flask. When +he had taken a drink Solomon put the flask carefully +in his pocket and turned his eyes, filled with a sombre +brightness, on Derek and Miss Jerrold. He said +solemnly:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are a gentleman, Mr. Vale, and you know +what becomes a chief. When I get better I will tell you +tales of the old days—not so long ago, either—when +my people owned all this”—he extended his arm in a +noble gesture over lake and land. “That was before +you drove us back as the waves wash away those dark +red cliffs. I will tell you tales my grandfather taught +me—yes, and you, too, young lady—that will make +your hair rise.” He showed his yellow teeth in a +ghastly smile. “We didn’t go picking berries then, +by God! . . . No, we didn’t go picking berries. Ho, +ho, ho!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He laughed deeply, and would have fallen from his +seat but that the boy clutched him and, at a nod from +Derek, drove on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What he says is true,” said Grace, soberly. “We +have taken their land, and civilization demoralizes +them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but we have made a better land of it, and I +think they are better employed picking berries than +scalping each other.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should like to hear some of his tales.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid he won’t live to tell them. I shall send +for a doctor right away, and have Mrs. Machin pack a +basket of groceries for his family.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Our men have killed a calf to-day. I shall send +them some veal and some eggs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Never mind the eggs,” said Derek. “They can +steal them from Chard.”</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The butter had just come after a long churning. +Beads of perspiration glistened on Phœbe’s rosy face +and little strands of hair curled damply on her forehead. +Derek had come to the kitchen for a drink of +buttermilk. She got a glass from the dresser and filled +it to the brim.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look at the bits of yellow butter floatin’ about,” +she said, “that’s what I call good buttermilk.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Splendid,” said Derek, taking a draught. “You’re +a fine butter-maker, Phœbe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If I wasn’t, Mrs. Machin’d take my head off. +She’s an old terror, she is. This ’ud be a pretty hard +place for a gal if it wasn’t for the lads.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come now, Phœbe, you have an easy time of it. +I see you playing about by the hour.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She tossed her head. “Ay, but think of the work +I’ve done before I play! I wouldn’t think you’d be so +hard on me, Mr. Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hard on you, Phœbe? No . . . I like you too +well. You’re a good girl.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She came close to him, and tilted her chin. “Will +you untie the knot in my sunbonnet? It’s fallen down +my back, and the knot’s fair chokin’ me.” He set +down his empty glass and fumbled with the knot +against her milk-white, softly throbbing throat. “Oh, +I couldn’t deny you anything, Mr. Vale,” she panted, +“not if it was ever so.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” he said, cheerfully, loosening the knot, +“give me another glass of buttermilk, then, unless +you’re saving it for Hughie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hughie!”—scornfully. “What do I care about +Hughie, when you’re by?” She turned the tap of the +churn and refilled his glass. There was a soft knocking +on the screen door. Beulah’s round face was pressed +against the netting.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Say, Phœbe,” she said, solemnly, “the ole man’s +dead.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What, Solomon?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. My paw. He died a little while ago. We’re +goin’ to have a funerl.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry,” said Derek. “The doctor told me +yesterday he might get better.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, he ain’t. He couldn’t be worse. He’s as +dead as the blackbird Mr. Chard nailed to his barn-door. +We’re goin’ to have a funerl with a minister. +Paw’s other wife’s comin’ too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good Lord! Has he got another wife?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Beulah grinned. “He had her before he had Maw, +but she was no good so he fired her. But she’s comin’ +to his funerl. . . . Miss Jerrold sent a lot of things. +Phœbe, kin I have a point of milk?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Buttermilk?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. Real milk.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where’s your money?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll pay you after the funerl, Phœbe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Give her the milk,” said Vale, curtly. He was +shocked by the child’s callousness. “Aren’t you +sorry he is dead, Beulah?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. He was a great chief. Mrs. Chard she’s +makin’ a purty thing out of flowers for his grave. +Gates of Jar, she calls it. Are you comin’ to the +funerl?” . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>All the next day there was a feeling of excitement in +the air. Phœbe spent most of the morning peering +through the picket fence that separated the yards. She +reported stirring events. Indians were arriving from +all directions. A large table was being laid for a feast +under the apple trees. She had squeezed through a +gap in the fence, and seen with her own eyes The Gates +of Jar . . . it was unaccountably lovely. She had not +seen Solomon himself, but one of the Chard boys had +told her that he was all got up in war paint and feathers. +Phœbe scarcely knew whether to believe this but, if it +were true, he must be terrible. . . . They said he +died hard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin thought it would be only the respectable +thing for herself, attended by one of the men, to +go to the funeral. Windmill accompanied her, carrying +his bowler hat in his hand, and trying to conceal +his amusement by a frown.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The funeral was at three o’clock. It was a hazy, +languid day of yellow sunshine and smoky horizon. +As the hour drew near the three Scots and Phœbe +gathered in the cherry orchard behind the kitchen +garden, from whence they could view the ceremony. +Derek did not know whether to join them or not. As +he was standing undecidedly in the porch Mr. Jerrold, +his daughter, and Mr. Ramsey came down the road. +They turned in at the gate followed by their dogs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are we too late to see the ceremony?” asked Mr. +Jerrold. “Gay has never seen an Indian funeral and +she’s determined not to miss the opportunity.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“From what I hear,” said Derek, “it is to be very +civilized. No savage rites for Chard. He has a +minister from Mistwell who is to bring an autoharp.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think that’s a splendid idea,” said Mr. Ramsey. +“I must get one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, we shouldn’t make fun of the Chards,” said +Grace Jerrold. “Mrs. Chard is a very good woman +and very sincere in her religion.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lead on, Vale,” interrupted her father. “I want +to see the show.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They found an open space near Phœbe and the men, +from which they could watch the proceedings almost +unobserved. The body of Solomon in its cheap coffin +had been carried from the cottage and placed on a pair +of trestles near the table spread for the feast. About +fifty Indians were seated in a half-circle on the ground, +except a few of the older ones for whom chairs had +been placed. Chief among these was the former wife, +an enormously fat squaw in a bright green skirt and +red shawl. Her brown hands were crossed complacently +on her stomach, and there was about her an air +of stoical triumph. Two elderly Indians in check +shirts and black trousers sat on either side of her. +Near by, wearing a clean white apron over her torn +skirt, sat Solomon’s present wife. She wiped her face +continually with a red-and-white handkerchief and +gazed with sorrowful eyes at the floral Gates Ajar that +Mrs. Chard had placed upon the coffin. Around her +were grouped her family—the little girls and idiot boy +at her feet, her daughters and their husbands holding +moon-faced babies behind her. A little aloof stood +Fawnie and her nineteen-year-old brother Charles, the +young fellow dapper in city clothes with a straw sailor, +a bow tie, and polished shoes with broad ribbon laces. +Bobby, the boy whom Derek had first seen bathing +with his sisters, had refused to join the mourners and +had mounted a large swing beneath an elm tree, and +there swung lazily to and fro, his handsome, inscrutable +face turned towards the officiating minister.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I like the boy in the swing,” whispered Grace +Jerrold to Derek. “He strikes a really barbaric note.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To me,” said Derek, “the minister is the one +barbaric thing present.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was a lank man with a damp black lock pendent +over his forehead. He wore a black frock coat, a turn-down +collar, and striped trousers. On a small table +before him lay his autoharp; he held a Bible in one +hand, while the index finger of the other stabbed +dramatically at its open pages as he spoke. Behind +him were ranged the Chard family, large-bosomed +Mrs. Chard in respectable black, grasping a tow-headed +child in either hand. With them stood Mrs. +Machin and Windmill, her hand resting on his arm, +he jauntily holding his bowler hat. Overhead the +inquisitive gulls swept with glistening wings, peering +down at the mysterious conclave.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When the minister had finished his discourse he +announced the number of a hymn. Vale then perceived +that all present had been supplied with small +red hymn-books. Solomon’s former wife was so heavy +that she had to be raised to her feet by the united +strength of the elderly men in check shirts. As she +rose a lunch that she had been holding in her lap +rolled to the ground, the red handkerchief in which it +was wrapped fell open, and the idiot boy, seeing the +food, like manna, at his very hand, snatched a cold +sausage and a piece of cheese, and scuttled to the +shelter of his mother’s skirt with them. None of the +Indians could read, but they stared at their books with +solemn attention. The minister struck a few tinkling +notes on the autoharp and raised his nasal tenor voice. +The Chards and Windmill supported him so sturdily +that the air swelled to a considerable volume. Like a +metallic thread the voice of the autoharp persisted +thinly from first to last. The spectators in the cherry +orchard could distinguish some words of the refrain:</p> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>“I’ll stand by until the morrow,</p> +<p class='line0'>I’ve come to save you, do not fe-ar;</p> +<p class='line0'>I’ll stand by until the mor-row,</p> +<p class='line0'>I’ve come to save you, do not fear.”</p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<p class='pindent'>The minister’s voice rose with a swoop of indescribable +anguish on the first “fear.” A guffaw burst from +the three Scots, silenced only by a frown from Derek. +The boy in the swing, wrought upon by the sensuousness +of the scene, bent and straightened his body +vigorously so that he swung in great semicircles under +the elm, now up among its branches, now skimming +above the ground.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When the hymn was finished the little red books +were collected by the eldest Chard boy, and returned +to the minister, who stood mopping his brow with a +white handkerchief. The Indians arranged themselves +in single file and began slowly to pass the coffin to take +their last look on the face of Solomon, upturned, with +sunken eyes and cheeks, and a smile of bitter composure. +His wife came last, and bent for a moment to +press her round wet face against his cold one. Then +a loud wail broke from her and she clutched him by +the shoulders and tried to drag him from the coffin. +Moans of sympathy came from the other squaws, +excepting Solomon’s other wife, who stared at her +successor with the ponderous contempt of a mountain +for a brawling stream.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The coffin was hidden by a surging crowd. The +minister carefully laid his autoharp in its case. Chard +was very busy giving orders; then the coffin reappeared +borne on the shoulders of six men. A wavering procession +was formed, brightened by the gay colours of +the women’s shawls and the flowery hats of the girls. +Jammery carried the Gates Ajar. They were now +bound for the little graveyard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A cry of anger burst from Phœbe: “Let loose, +now, Hughie—this minute,” she was saying.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What are you up to, Hugh?” asked Derek, reproachfully, +with a glance towards Mr. Ramsey.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s been and took my spectacles,” cried Phœbe, +“and I couldn’t see the percession at all. He’s an +unnatural lover, if ever there was one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Give them back to her,” ordered Derek, and Hugh +sheepishly handed them over.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rose-coloured spectacles, I am sure,” said Mr. +Ramsey, airily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m watching that young boy,” said Mr. Jerrold. +“He has never left his swing. What do you suppose +he is thinking?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The procession had disappeared, but the boy hung +motionless as a snake on the ropes of the swing which +barely stirred beneath him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mischief, I’ll be bound,” said the Vicar.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>They strolled through the apple orchard, examining +the quality of the fruit. Grace Jerrold paused before +a mound of Tolman Sweets. “Oh, may I have a few +of these to take home? There is nothing I like so well, +and we haven’t one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shall send a basket to you,” said Vale. He +selected one of the finest and handed it to her. As she +bit into it their eyes met; they smiled. Suddenly they +seemed to be alone in the orchard. “With that golden +apple at your lips, and the golden light on your hair, +you are exactly like Eve,” whispered Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She laughed and he could see the white bit of apple +in her mouth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This Spy is delicious,” said her father, crunching +it like a schoolboy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am hungry,” said Mr. Ramsey, “but it seems to +be tea I want.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here,” said Derek, “you must all stay and +have tea with me. I’ll go and tell Mrs. Machin.” He +felt a little nervous as he hurried towards the house. +He had not entertained guests at Grimstone before and +he was afraid Mrs. Machin’s way of doing things might +seem a little rough.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin did not take the announcement amiss. +Excitement was in the air; half the day was wasted; +one might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. +She would make little sweet muffins and butter them +well while hot. “Make plenty of tea,” said Derek. +“Mr. Ramsey can drink a potful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s got a thirst for more than tea from what I +hear,” said Mrs. Machin. “They say he can swig +down beer with the best of ’em at the ‘Duke of York.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Mrs. Machin!” cried Phœbe, shocked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You get busy and cut some bread,” ordered Mrs. +Machin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And for heaven’s sake, cut it thin!” said Vale. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Tea was a distinct success. The Vicar found the +muffins excellent. He sent a message of praise by +Phœbe to Mrs. Machin. Phœbe, pink-cheeked and +white-aproned, bore herself admirably. Grace Jerrold +admired the homely dignity of the old-fashioned room. +As she poured tea into his grandmother’s dark blue +cups, Derek thought, “How thoroughly at home she +looks . . . as if she belonged here . . . and the turn +of her wrist above the teapot. . . .” He asked for +another cup of tea just for the pleasure of seeing her +pour it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Some of those young Indian girls are lovely,” +Mr. Jerrold was saying. “Hobbs caught one of them +in my woods the other day with a rabbit she had just +killed. She’d set a trap for it. He brought her to me, +rabbit and all, for a lecture, but she was so confoundedly +pretty I couldn’t be cross to her. She said +her name was Fawnie—Fawnie Sharroe. Have you +noticed her, Vale?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” answered Derek, stirring his tea. “I’ve +noticed her.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-10'>CHAPTER X<br/> CHRISTMAS AT GRIMSTONE</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Edmund</span> wrote that he had got leave from his regiment, +the Royal Canadians, and would spend Christmas with +Derek. They had never been separated for so long +before and Derek counted the days till he should meet +him at the station with his new red sleigh and black +bear robes. But winter seemed loath to descend from +the low grey skies or to set his foot sharply oh the +quiescent earth. November was hazy and warm; +December was like Indian summer; on Christmas Eve +there had not been a fleck of snow. Derek, in disgust, +ordered Gunn to wash the muddy trap, and scrub the +bay gelding’s sides, for he had seen fit to roll on the +muddy bank of the stream.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It seemed that train time would never come. He +looked at his watch every five minutes; he went upstairs +twice to inspect Edmund’s room. He even +wound the grandfather clock in the hope that he might +hurry Time along.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last Gunn’s rosy face appeared in the door. +“Hadn’t we better be gettin’ along, sir?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes,” said Derek, “it must be time.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He and Gunn got into the cart and Phœbe ran +ahead to open the gate. Jock snapped at the gelding’s +legs, and circled the trap with exasperating yelps. +They sped quickly along the hard road, for now it +seemed that after all the waiting they were a little late. +As they passed the graveyard they saw Solomon +Sharroe’s grave surmounted by the skeleton of the +Gates Ajar, a few dead leaves clinging to the wire +frame. The pier at Mistwell was white with gulls, +basking in the sun. Before they reached the station +they heard the train whistle at a crossing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek drove the horse behind the station and gave +the reins to Gunn just as the roar of the locomotive +subsided to a hiss. He hurried along the platform +looking eagerly for his brother. Edmund alighted +from the last coach, followed by a porter with his +travelling-bag.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve got a trunk somewhere,” he said, after they +had shaken hands.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll give the check to the bus-driver and he can +bring it later. My trap is behind the station. Jove, +you look well!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“So do you. I expected you to meet me on a load +of hay, wearing a coon coat. You’re far too swell for +a farmer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek felt boyishly happy as they rolled briskly +along towards Grimstone. It was good to have +Edmund with him; he had scarcely realized how fond +he was of him; he wished Gunn were not behind so +they might be quite alone. He fired rapid questions +at him about friends in Halifax. Edmund told him +the latest jokes of his regiment, and he laughed uproariously. +As they neared Grimstone he looked +anxiously at his brother to see what effect the place +would have on him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nice old house, but rather bleak,” was the verdict.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You should see it in summer. Isn’t that a great +view?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fine. Where do the Jerrolds live?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Over there. You can’t see the house. She’s a +lovely girl, Ted, bronzy hair, and eyes almost violet. +. . . There’s my barn and stables. If it isn’t too +dark after tea we’ll go and have a look at the stock. +Have a beautiful filly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is she at home now?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“At home? Oh, yes, she’s not broken in yet.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good heavens! I meant Miss Jerrold.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek heard Gunn snigger. He looked at him +sternly as they alighted at the door. He felt that some +day he should cuff Gunn’s ears.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund Vale was a year younger than Derek, +slenderer, more supple, and not so tall. They bore a +brotherly resemblance, but their eyes were so different +that the difference was more pronounced than the resemblance. +Derek’s, wide-open, nearer green than +blue, were expectant, confident, mirthful; Edmund’s, +velvety brown with a slightly oblique slant, were +questioning rather than expectant, pleading rather +than confident, malicious rather than mirthful. His +lips were pouting, and when he smiled, as he did +readily, he showed excellent white teeth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was immensely amused by Derek’s situation at +Grimstone; he chaffed him about the number of his +“retainers” and the beauty of his “handmaidens.” +It was easy to see that he had at once slipped into the +good graces of Mrs. Machin. When she and Derek +were alone for a moment she said that she could not +see for the life of her what his uncle had had against +Edmund. For her part she thought him a fine young +man that any uncle might be proud to make his heir.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had a hearty meal, and it was pleasant indeed +to Derek to have someone to talk and laugh with, over +his food, after eating so long by himself. After the +meal it was still light enough for a casual inspection of +the stock and farm. They filled their pockets with +apples for the horses, and Edmund could hardly tear +himself away from the two Welsh ponies who, like +forward children, pushed and jostled each other and +their new friend in their desire to be fed and petted. In +fact he seemed more interested in them than in the +skittish filly, or the two “drivers,” or the broad-backed +farm horses. When Derek took him to the cow-stable +he had little enough to say about the two fine Holstein +cows that had been purchased in the autumn to mate +with the young son of Gretta van Lowe. Yet he hung +fascinated over the calf-pen to watch Phœbe feed twin +Jersey calves, late comers in the season, her arm rising, +round and white, from the warm, sickly-smelling milk, +her face flushed with exertion as she cuffed back the +other twin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hello,” said Derek, sharply, “you dropped a +cigarette stub. If you were a hired man I’d fire you.” +He put his foot on the smouldering spark.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Vale’s awful partic’ler about cigarette stubs,” +said Phœbe, drawing her hand from the clinging +mouth of the calf. “He nearly sacked Bob Gunn for +dropping one once.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” said Edmund, petulantly, “if I can’t +drop a few cigarette stubs about the place, I’d better go +home, eh, Phœbe?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come along,” said Derek, “you scarcely saw the +bull. Then there are the pigs and sheep and poultry.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The turkeys had got into the poultry-house and +were resting on the highest perch, pecking the heads +of the unhappy fowls beneath, so that most of the hens +had huddled together in a corner of the floor, while the +cocks with ruffled plumage strode up and down before +the perches, longing but not daring to attack the intruders. +Derek began to throw the turkeys out over +the half-door. With heavy beating of wings they alit +in the barnyard and, with scornful dignity, walked +unhurriedly to the rail fence where they were supposed +to perch.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why do they want to be in here?” asked Edmund, +cautiously grasping the white hen-turkey.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pure cussedness. They know the fowls hate them, +and they know we’ll throw them out if we catch them, +yet they persist.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps they’re cold.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit. Feel the depth of that plumage.” He +plunged his hand into the downy whiteness of her +breast. She drew her head back sharply, uttering a +strange hissing noise, and staring into his mouth with +her wild black eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’d like to peck out one of my teeth. Put your +hand on her neck.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’s lovely. Like a graceful, pale woman. She’s +afraid, poor thing. I’ll send her after the others.” +He dropped her lightly over the half-door, and they +watched her as she delicately walked into the dusk, +trailing her long feet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’s absolutely useless,” said Derek. “She should +have been eaten for Christmas. She sat twice last +summer and didn’t hatch a poult. But she’s so damned +decorative——” He closed the door and bolted it, and +they turned to go. Their feet scuffled the deep, clean +straw; the perches were full of gentle, puffed-out hens, +with here and there the toothed comb of a cock rising +watchfully. On the lowest perch a row of immaculately +white Wyandotte pullets pressed shoulder to plump +shoulder. The air, smelling of straw and feathers, +was full of comfortable, sleepy twitterings and cluckings, +sometimes broken by a complaining note as some +greedy perch-fellow pressed too close against another.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They passed between the dim rows of cows, gently +clanking their chains as they stooped for cut hay and +chop, and came upon Hugh McKay putting mangolds +through the pulping machine. Behind him the blackness +of the root cellar yawned like a cave, but his strong +body and swinging arms were illuminated by the red +glow of a lantern that hung from a rafter above. His +shirt was thrown open and the curly hairs on his broad +breast glistened in the light. The machine gave forth +a crunching, pulpy sound as it disgorged the cut-up +mangolds that lay in a juicy mound on the floor, white, +rosy pink, and purple. The nearest cow stretched her +neck towards it, protruding her tongue, and rolling her +liquid, dark eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As they went up the stairs Derek said to his brother: +“That fellow, Hugh, is sweet on Phœbe, the girl who +was feeding the calves.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He is a fine-looking fellow. Looks as though he +would be a good worker.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He is. He has only two interests in life—the farm, +and Phœbe. I wish you could see her dance. She +used to be a hop-picker in the Old Country.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It had grown dark outside. “It is too late to see +anything more to-night,” said Derek. “To-morrow +morning I shall take you all over the place. We are to +have dinner with the Jerrolds at two, and in the evening +I’m giving a party for the “help.” Phœbe’s been +begging for one for a month and I thought we might as +well have it while you are here.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“By George, I shall dance with Phœbe!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not too often or you will have Hugh after you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are they engaged?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I expect so, but he’s far too good for her. She’s +not to be trusted.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is the woman who is?” exclaimed Edmund, +cynically.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>For the first time since he had come to the farm +Derek had a lamp lighted in the drawing-room. +Edmund sat down at the old square piano and played +with lightness and vigour popular music, and some of +Derek’s favourites from the operas; Derek lounged on +the brocaded sofa and smoked, while the eyes of those +who had built and cherished Grimstone looked soberly +down from the walls.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In a pause of the music Derek said: “Oh, I say, +Edmund, I have a Christmas present for you. Shall +I give it to you now or shall you wait till to-morrow?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund swung around on the stool and faced him. +“I think I’ll wait. I have something for you too. +Only a trifle. Not at all what I should have liked, but +you know how it is with me. I’m always hard up.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that’s all right. How would you like a game +of cribbage? I should like to give you a good licking +before you go.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All right. The piano is out of tune but it has a +nice tone. Better get it tuned before it is too late.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“For whom?” asked Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Miss Jerrold, of course. I see her firmly established +here as mistress by my next visit.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rot. I’ve no intention of getting married. I like +the freedom of my life just as it is. I’m wedded to old +Grimstone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, get the cribbage board, and I’ll make you +sorry you spoke.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went to the dining-room to play. The doors of +the pantry between it and the kitchen were open and +their game was frequently interrupted by noisy talk +and laughter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Deuce take those hoodlums,” muttered Derek. +“I’ll shut the doors.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not for a bit. I want to hear them. One of the +Scotchmen is reading aloud—something from ‘Jack +Canuck,’ I think. He sounds aggressive.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He is—in the kitchen. That’s Gunn. There; I +peg two on you. That’s what you get for not attending +to the game.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Whatever are they doing now? Listen.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A hoarse guffaw came from the kitchen. “There +goes Newbigging! Ho! ho! ho! There goes Gunn! +Gie a blink, Phœbe, and knock Windmill off. There +he goes—ho! ho! ho!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What are they up to, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Phœbe is sticking apple-seeds to her eyelids. She +names each of them for one of the boys, and the one +that hangs on longest . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now there’s only Hughie and the two chaps in +yonder.” . . . “Aw, she put a extra dod o’ spit on +them, ye can be sure.” Mrs. Machin spoke. “Sh. +They’ll hear you.” A smothered burst of laughter +followed, and a whispered—“There go Hugh and the +master! Gosh! There’s only Captain Vale left.” +Mrs. Machin then slammed the door.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now, Ted,” said Derek, sternly, “are you going +to play or are you not?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund was going to play, and played so well that +he won two games, with Derek many points behind. +Then supper was laid on the table—good cold beef, +cheese, and baked apples, and Derek fetched two bottles +of ale from the cupboard beneath the stairs. As they +sat down, the party from the kitchen filed past on their +way to bed, Phœbe in a state of impending collapse +from stifled laughter. She had removed her spectacles +for the test of the apple-pips, and, being almost blind +without them, she clutched Hughie’s sleeve for guidance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The brothers, left to themselves, grinned at each +other across the table.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This place of yours is a regular picnic,” said +Edmund. “Tell me, are you always so hilarious? I +wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I like your old +dining-room. That china greyhound on the chimney-piece +seems a friendly soul, and even the pictures, +though at first glance they seem depressing, are really +jolly. I’ve never seen dying men look so neat and +comfortable as those chaps scattered about Wellington +and Blücher. Except perhaps the fellow bent across +the cannon. Then that ‘Trial of William, Lord +Russell’—there’s a good, solid air of comfort about it. +Yes, I like your house and your stock and, above all, +your ‘help.’ No one could feel blue with Hugh and +Phœbe about. I’m awfully glad to find you so comfortable +here, Derek.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>What a decent fellow Edmund was! Not a hint of +envy—of grudging him his good fortune! Derek made +up his mind to destroy the cheque he had written for +him and to write a more substantial one.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The ale had put an agreeable glow into their veins. +They were as light-hearted as schoolboys. Derek told +his brother of all his ambitions for Grimstone, and impressed +him with the knowledge of farming he had +gained in the past months. They went to the kitchen +where the collie lay, stretched on his mat beside the +cooking-stove. Plates of apple-parings on the table +reminded them of Phœbe’s eyelids and the apple-pips. +They laughed, and then suddenly began to scuffle. +Around the kitchen they strained and heaved, getting +more in earnest every moment. At last Derek bent +Edmund across the table and, holding his head down, +administered some hearty thumps. The collie sprang +up and began to bark.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You blasted idiot, you’ve hurt me,” groaned +Edmund. “My hair’s full of apple-parings.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Be a little soldier,” said Derek. “Here, have a +drink of cream. I’ll wager you’ve never seen cream +like this.” He lifted the lid from an earthen crock and +showed the bubbly, yellow foam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund came over, nursing his elbow. “You hurt +me,” he repeated. “I’m damned if I have another +tussle with you. What cream!” He took the cup +that Derek gave him, and dipped it. “I wonder if it +will hurt me,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, but Mrs. Machin will if she finds out; we shall +have to wash the cups.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The kitchen clock, with red roses on its dial, struck +twelve. “We had better go to bed,” said Derek. +“I’ll get a candle and light you to your room.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rot,” said Edmund. “I’m going to sleep with +you in that big four-poster.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good. It will be a regular Christmas Eve. We +should hang up our stockings. Do you remember the +time . . .” Remembrances occupied them till they +were in bed. They did not draw the blind, and the +clear, wintry moonlight flooded the room. They +stretched luxuriously side by side on the soft feather +bed, their full, firm limbs outlined under the blankets. +They lay in drowsy silence breathing the sharp, pure +air that came in from the lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last Derek said: “You remember those Indians +I had here?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There was one young girl . . . she was really +lovely . . . just half-civilized, you know . . . and her +eyes—like a fawn’s. She liked me and I liked her. +One couldn’t help it. Do you know what I mean? +She was more like a tender, timid, audacious little +animal than a woman. Only seventeen.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tell me about her,” said Edmund, turning on his +side and putting one arm across his brother.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They lay awake talking for a long time.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund shivered and laughed on Christmas morning +as he splashed the icy water from the ewer over his +face and neck. From the kitchen came the sound of +Phœbe’s voice singing “Christians, Awake,” as she +turned the separator. He had been mightily pleased +with the cheque Derek had given him impulsively, as +soon as they were out of bed, and Derek had been +equally pleased by the old English hunting print +brought from Halifax.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The day was fine, and so mild that the bare earth +and moist, brown orchard trees seemed to be stretched +in but a feline half-sleep and needed only a whisper or +a touch to awaken to activity. They spent the morning +in visiting every building on the farm. They +walked to the wood, followed all the way up the lane +by the two Welsh ponies. There the paths were slippery +with pine needles; beds of moss dotted with +scarlet wintergreen berries looked like diminutive cultivated +gardens. They sat on a fallen tree watching the +smoke from their cigars wind like a blue veil in and +out among the pines. Rabbits and squirrels were about +hopping and scampering in the sun. Presently the +four men came out to cut spruce and hemlock branches +to decorate the house for the dance. Mrs. Machin and +Phœbe were busy baking cakes and tarts, and decorating +freshly-boiled hams with frills of fringed pink +tissue paper. Into the fat they pressed many cloves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At two o’clock the brothers were met at the door of +Durras by Mr. Jerrold himself. He took them into the +drawing-room where there were already Grace Jerrold, +Mr. Ramsey, and a young lady from Brancepeth of +whom the Vicar spoke as “my tower of strength in +the Chancel Guild.” Miss Edna Pearsall was dark-haired, +pale, with square, plump jaws, permanent +dimples in her cheeks, and glistening grey eyes. The +presence of four unattached males exhilarated her +pleasantly. She had an especial air for each of them. +Towards the Vicar she was at once deferential and +mischievous; towards Mr. Jerrold child-like and yet +knowing—even naughty; towards Edmund, worldly, +richly cultivated; but towards Derek there was a deadly +seriousness in her manner that alarmed him. They +were seated beside each other at table, and Mr. Ramsey +smiled encouragingly at them. Edmund, on Grace’s +right hand, seemed entirely absorbed by her, talking +in a low voice, and only joining in the general conversation +occasionally. Mr. Jerrold and the Vicar were +boisterously happy, praising the juicy turkey and +drinking freely of the good wine. Wreaths of holly +hung against the panelled walls; dark pictures reflected +the ruddy candle-shades.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How invigorating and cheering is this excellent +port!” intoned Mr. Ramsey, as they reached the +walnuts and raisins. “There is no drink so healthful, +and so calculated to bring out the most amiable +qualities in one, as wine, taken in moderation, of +course. I deplore the taste for whisky in our country. +It comes, I suppose, from our strongly Scotch ancestry. +Now, if our working classes drank light wines, as the +French do, it would be better for them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Canadian wines are very poor,” said Mr. Jerrold. +“The summer is so short, even in the Niagara peninsula, +that there is very little natural sugar in the +grapes. Probably the soil has something to do with it, +too. Consequently we have to sweeten the wine with +manufactured sugar, which makes it very indigestible. +I think the working man is safer with his glass of +whisky.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why not beer? The Americans and English drink +beer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We are a stubborn Northern race,” said Edmund. +“Beer is too insipid for us.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think if a drink could be invented with a flavour +like whisky but without its evil effect, it would very +soon supplant it, don’t you, Mr. Vale?” said Miss +Pearsall, arranging her fingers about the stem of her +wine-glass.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale’s dislike of her was turning to hatred. He had +an overwhelming desire to shock her, even if in doing +it he disgusted Grace Jerrold. “Just to show what a +childish illusion that is,” he said in a sulky, muffled +voice, “I shall tell you a little story about a hunting +party I was once with. There were six of us deer-shooting +in the North, and we had taken a keg of +Scotch with us. The weather was so cold and rainy +that it went much faster than we had expected. We +could plainly see that the last week there would be +nothing to drink. One of the party got an empty +bottle and, unknown to the rest of us, filled it from the +keg and hid it, so that on the last day when we should +be preparing the cabin for the winter, and have a +twelve-mile walk through the forest ahead of us, he +might produce this pleasant surprise. The last week +was a sterile one, no deer—nothing to drink but prepared +coffee. The last morning broke cold and damp. +Everyone out of sorts. Then appeared our friend, +beaming, with his bottle of Scotch. Now the sad thing +was that the empty bottle he had got, though it had a +good Scotch label on it, had once been filled with coal +oil, and the idiot had never smelled it. Imagine our +feelings when we tasted it! Imagine the abuse we +heaped on his head!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You would just have to throw it out, wouldn’t +you, Mr. Vale?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. That’s the strange part of it. We kept +sniffing it and tasting it to see how bad it was till, if +you’ll believe me, we ended by drinking every drop of +it, and by that time we loved the taste of coal oil.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How horrible!” said Grace Jerrold, on a note of +disgust.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t agree with you, Grace,” cried Miss +Pearsall. “To me there was something fine about +those huntsmen. Their single-mindedness, their subduing +of the flesh——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To the spirits,” suggested Mr. Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It seems to me that such a man,” she went on, +“would be capable of tremendous self-sacrifice for one +he loved.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear Edna,” said the Vicar, “she has the temperament +of the artist. By the way, you young men must +hear her sing. She has a lovely soprano voice. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In the drawing-room after dinner she sang. Like +most singers she was easy to start and hard to stop. +Grace Jerrold played her accompaniments. She sang, +her glistening grey eyes on Derek’s face, and a professional’s +smile deepening the dimples in her cheeks. +It irritated Derek to see his brother’s supple figure +lounging against the piano. Edmund was already +more familiar with Grace, he thought, than he who +had known her so long. It was the first time he had +ever come to Durras when he had not thoroughly +enjoyed himself. He wished he had not told that +story of the hunting party. He was always doing +things he afterwards regretted. Good heavens, couldn’t +Edmund tear himself away from the piano? He +thought of their tussle the night before, and wished he +had hurt him more. If they had another . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last Miss Pearsall ceased singing and a game of +billiards was proposed. Mr. Jerrold, Mr. Ramsey, +Miss Pearsall, and Derek went upstairs to the billiard-room. +The other two said they would follow later; +they were going to try over some music. Derek +enjoyed the billiards. One could not help enjoying +a game with Mr. Jerrold. He threw himself into it +with such zest, made such daring, brilliant shots, and +was so unconscious of his fine physique and power. +Grace and Edmund appeared after a while and +remained as spectators.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was dark, and the tea-things had been taken away +when Derek remembered the party at Grimstone. +“We shall have to go,” he said. “I am giving a +dance for Phœbe and the boys to-night and I must see +how they get on.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How interesting!” exclaimed Miss Pearsall. “I +should love to see peasants dancing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There are fishermen, and farm hands, and berry-pickers, +and servant girls, but there are no peasants +that I know of,” said Derek, coldly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah. I love peasants. One always thinks of the +Happy Peasant!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why not the Hungry Peasant? Or the Half-hanged +Peasant? Or the Hideous Peasant?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Pearsall gave a little shriek. “How brutal you +are! Is your brother always so cruel, Captain Vale? +But indeed, I have no repartee. All I can do is to +dance in the sun and sing!” She danced a few graceful +steps, and trilled a bar or two.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Vicar was warming his legs before the fire. He +said: “It would not be a bad idea, really, for me to +drop in on the dancers. Many of them must be +parishioners of mine. It might encourage them if I +put in an appearance, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They don’t need encouraging in what they’re up +to this evening,” said Mr. Jerrold. “I shouldn’t go, +if I were you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“One thing that has surprised me since I came +here,” said Derek, “is that the Scots do not go to +church. I had always thought they were inveterate +churchgoers.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We all have our illusions,” laughed Mr. Jerrold. +“I used to think that the Englishman of the labouring +class was a domineering fellow, rather rough with his +women-folk. I know now that, whatever he may be +abroad, he is amazing meek at home and it is the +woman who does the bossing. They are Tartars, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Grace followed Derek to the hall when he went for +his top-coat. “I like your brother,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I liked him too—until to-day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She flushed and said plaintively: “You do take +sudden dislikes, don’t you? You don’t like Miss +Pearsall; you have turned against your own brother; +shall I be the next?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, be careful what you do,” he warned.</p> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The footsteps of the brothers rang crisply on the +smooth, hard road as they returned to Grimstone. On +their left, the frosty stubble of the shore meadows +swept in silvery undulations beneath the bright half-moon +that, like a noble ship, ploughed her way across +a billowy sky. Clouds and moon were alike reflected +on the still, burnished shield of the lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As they neared the house they heard the scrape of +fiddles, and the stamp of jigging feet. Lights streamed +from the dining-room, kitchen, and back-kitchen. +Derek quickened his steps. He strained towards the +crude jollity of the dance. Here, at least, there would +be no Miss Pearsall.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They entered quietly by the front door, hanging their +caps and coats in the hallway before they went to the +dining-room. The dancing was in full swing, but +there was a moment of hesitation and embarrassment +when the Vales entered. Derek at once introduced +Edmund to Miss Carss, the handsome daughter of the +head gardener at Durras, who was too proud to dance +with any of the Mistwell lads, or any of Vale’s men, +except Windmill. She had been brought by Hobbs, +who looked rather horsey in a check suit, red tie, and +hunting-crop tie-pin. Derek took as his partner the +plump daughter of a fisherman, Nan Hinton. She +was a good dancer in a hearty, stamping way, and a +certain roughness in his nature responded to the appeal +of her throbbing, healthy body, her coarse, curly hair +which tickled his cheek, and the clasp of her strong, +freckled hand. The rooms were hot and heavy with +the perfume of the balsam and hemlock boughs which +the Scotchmen had hung above the doorways. He saw +Mrs. Machin staring at him with disapproval in her +eyes. He held Nan the closer for that, and threw +himself with more energy into the dance. Gunn was +whirling round and round with a black-eyed, plump +girl, as rosy as himself. They looked into each other’s +eyes, grinning happily. Newbigging had kissed his +partner, and she was protesting loudly that she would +dance with him no more, the while she still jigged on +and courted another kiss. Only Hugh McKay looked +glum, standing in a corner, gnawing his knuckle, for +Phœbe hung exultantly on the shoulder of a young +fisherman whose eyes shone in his tanned face, blue +as the winter lake. Derek felt sorry for Hugh and +when the waltz was over he went to Phœbe and said +sternly:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You must go and dance with Hugh, Phœbe. He’s +getting very huffish.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Huffish, is he? Oh, the very idear! How can he +be huffish after the way I bear with him month in and +month out? Oh, he’s an unnatural lover if ever there +was one!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But she went to him and, though at first he refused +her belated compliance, he was before long dancing in +sulky submission.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After supper, which was hot and substantial, Hobbs +took Miss Carss away, lest the increasing roughness +should offend her. He told Derek he was glad to see +him mixing with his “help.” “I’m a good mixer, +myself,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As the evening wore on the room became very hot, +the music wilder, the dancers more abandoned to +pleasure. The faces of the men grew red, their collars +sagged, the eyes of the girls grew languorous, it +seemed that their hair must fall down; the rhythmic +beat of their feet on the floor, the swaying of their +healthy bodies, their clasped, hot hands held them in +a spell. Mrs. Machin had gone to bed. An epidemic +of kissing broke out. Derek and Edmund slipped +quietly into the passage, and went upstairs to the +cold little study.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you had enough?” Derek asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve never spent such a Christmas!” declared +Edmund, thumping him joyously on the shoulder. +“I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. There’s something +about those simple, country wenches that is very +attractive. I danced with every blessed one of them. +. . . How cold it is here!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Light your pipe,” said Derek, “that will help +warm you. They’ll go very soon.” He got a travelling +rug and laid it over his brother’s knees.</p> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund stayed two weeks with Derek. A part of +almost every day was spent with the Jerrolds. The +roads were good, the air pleasantly crisp; the four took +long rides together. Derek felt that he had shown +himself churlish on Christmas Day, so after that he +almost invariably dropped behind to ride with Mr. +Jerrold while Edmund and Grace cantered ahead.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>On New Year’s Day, as they rode beside the bluffs, +Grace’s horse took fright at a white cat that crossed +the road dragging the body of a rabbit, and shied +almost to the edge of the rocky steep. It was Edmund +who reached her first, who caught the bridle, and led +the rearing horse to safety. Father and daughter +seemed to look on him as a splendid fellow. And so +he was! A brother to be proud of. Why then the +sullen, burning anger when the voice of Grace floated +back next day, calling him Edmund? Was this +shameful feeling jealousy? Derek thought not. One +must be in love first. . . . He was scarcely in love +with Grace. He liked her, admired her; the thought +of her pretty hair would come to him at the most unexpected +times. Sometimes he met her eyes or her +cool, amused little smile in his dreams. Still, that was +scarcely love. He could spend whole days among his +horses and cattle and never think of her. And she so +near! He concluded that it was just a precious friendship, +and that some base strain in himself resented the +thought of Edmund’s being admitted to the same +friendship. As a kind of discipline, then, he would +stay at home sometimes and let Edmund go to Durras +alone. Or was it cowardice that kept him home? +The childish fear of seeing them together?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was not introspective. He was singularly inarticulate. +He did not try to analyze his feelings or +find words for them. He groped among them as he +tramped over his fields or exercised his arms in currying +the silken sides of the new filly who blew her sweet +breath down his neck as she turned to nose him. The +brothers did not speak of Grace until they stood on +the platform the day of Edmund’s departure. Then +Derek said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t suppose I need look forward to a long +separation, Ted. . . . Not with such an attraction +next door.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund answered seriously: “I can never hope for +anything there. I’m too damned poor.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is she—going to write to you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was that wretched stab at his heart again! +He was thankful for the shriek of the locomotive. He +wrung Edmund’s hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He did not go to the Jerrolds’ for a fortnight.</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-11'>CHAPTER XI<br/> THE RILL IN THE WOOD</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>When</span> spring came Derek had the new red sleigh stored +away under canvas. He heaved a deep sigh as he gave +the order, for there had been no snow all winter, and +the sleigh had never been out of the carriage-house. +Still, it had been a pleasant winter, days when there +was always something of interest on the farm, long +evenings spent before the fireside at Durras. His +relations with Grace Jerrold had become happy again, +though not quite so happy as before Edmund’s visit. +Still, sometimes there were little flashes of atoning +tenderness between them, when her gentle, ironic smile +would become almost maternal.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At Grimstone things went very well, though there +was occasionally some roughness of temper in the men +thrown together so constantly, with little amusement, +except what they made for themselves. Windmill +came in for a good deal of chaff because of his attentions +to Miss Carss. They were often seen walking on +the bluffs in the moonlight, his arm about her shapely +waist, and her long scarf streaming in the wind.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe lost a front tooth in February, broken off +while biting a hard russet apple. Not at all abashed +by the loss, she smiled, it seemed, more broadly than +ever, as though she were rather proud of the gap. It +was evident that she was secure in Hugh’s love and +admiration; as a matter of truth, no man could look +on the milk and roses of Phœbe’s cheeks or the subtle +curves of her smooth arms and neck without admiration.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a forward spring, and all hands were needed +for the rush of farm work. Derek, therefore, was +exasperated, even hurt, when Gunn came to him one +morning in April and announced that he had engaged +to work for Chard. He wished to leave that night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, Gunn, it is very annoying,” said Derek, +“after my keeping you in comparative idleness all +winter, to have you leave me just when you would be +of some use.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Comparative idleness!” cried Gunn. “Idleness! +What about all them drains we dug, and the care of +the stock? Do ye ca’ that idleness?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Two men could easily have done what the four of +you did. Do you suppose for a minute that I should +have kept you sitting beside the stove all winter if I +had known you would leave in the spring?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I’m goin’ anyway.” His small black eyes +were sulky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What the devil’s the matter? Is Chard paying +you more?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s no money. It’s environment. I dinna like the +environment here. For one thing, I’m sick to death +o’ Mrs. Machin’s cookin’. She maks our porridge so +stiff ye could stumble over it, and she gie’s us clout +puddin’s nearly every day. She doesn’t gie us what +you get on your table at all. Mrs. Chaird is a fine +cook. She bakes pies and cakes every morning. Their +Dick tells me he’s treated just like one o’ the family. +Another thing. Newbigging and I can’t get on togither +and never shall. And I’m awfu’ sick o’ watchin’ +Phœbe and Hughie spoon, and o’ Windmill and his +upstairt ways.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is time you went. But, you know, I have the +power to hold you for a month’s notice, Gunn.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gunn grinned. “I dinna think I’d be much guid +if I was held,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’re no prize at your best,” said Derek. +“You can go.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Shortly afterwards Gunn carried his tin box through +the gate. That afternoon, walking through his orchard, +Derek saw him at work hoeing among Chard’s gooseberry +bushes, Chard by his side. “Chard will get the +last squeak out of him, and I wish him luck,” thought +Derek.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Windmill and Newbigging were spraying the +orchard. Windmill held the hose while Newbigging +pumped the machine. A glittering green rainbow of +the evil-smelling Bordeaux mixture curved above the +freshly budded trees. Newbigging sang a sailor’s +chanty as he pumped. His mind seemed full of the +sea those spring days, and Derek feared that some +day he, too, would get restless and leave. In spite of +Mrs. Machin’s protest, he raised the wages of the +remaining men.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He climbed the low fence at the end of the orchard +and, passing the acres of pruned berry canes, entered +the lane. He intended to inspect a field of fall wheat +at the back of the farm, now submerged by recent rains.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At the edge of the wood he heard his name called, +and saw Mr. Jerrold striding towards him across the +grass meadow. His dogs were as always at his heels. +He came up and rested his arm on the fence. He +began to talk with what seemed to Vale rather forced +cheerfulness, of the prospect of early crops. Presently +he said, looking into Derek’s eyes with sudden seriousness:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wonder if you could lend me some money.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rather,” said Derek, quickly, trying not to seem +taken aback. “How much?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know you’re surprised at my asking, Vale, but +things have gone very badly with me the past year. I +have notes to meet. Expenses are devilishly high. It +takes a pile of money just to pay the men’s wages. +Of course, last year was exceptional. Everything went +against me. It will probably never happen again. As +a matter of fact, I can see the day approaching when +Durras will flourish and repay me all the money I have +put in it. In the meantime”—he gave his confident +smile—“I thank God I have a good friend who comes +to my assistance.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Jerrold,” said Derek, “I wish you would get +rid of Hobbs. I don’t think he is the best man for this +place. He talks impressively, and he understands his +work, I grant, but he spends a great deal of time on +the road driving that fast white horse, or boasting +about his achievements at the ‘Duke of York.’ Mrs. +Machin says—oh, well, you needn’t laugh, she’s a +pretty shrewd old head—she says that you could do +with far fewer men; and you told me yourself that a +carload of your apples went to waste last year, and you +lost Count Robert because Hobbs didn’t send for the +vet. in time. I hope you don’t mind my talking like +this.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A shadow flitted over Mr. Jerrold’s vigorous, sanguine +face. “No, no. I don’t mind a bit. It’s true, +too, what you say. But, look here, Vale, are you under +the impression that Hobbs is a poor man? That seems +a ridiculous question . . . the truth is . . . oh, Lord! +I’ve borrowed money from the man. An uncle died in +the Old Country two years ago. Left him rich. I +haven’t borrowed a little. I’ve borrowed a lot.” He +stood shamefaced, like a boy who has made a confession, +hitting his leg with the stick he carried.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was aghast. “Why did Hobbs stay on then—after +the fortune was left him?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know. Said he liked the job. Hopes some +day perhaps—well, he’s a fool. I’ll pay him off very +soon and fire him. I’m tired of him; though in some +ways I don’t see how I shall replace him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I am very glad you came to me,” said +Derek. “How much do you want?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was surprised at the largeness of the sum mentioned +by Mr. Jerrold, but he promised to write a +cheque for it that day.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>A little stream, nothing more than a rill, nosed its +way delicately among the ferns and brambles of the +Grimstone wood, and, after curving about a bank of +violets, slipped under the boundary fence into Durras, +hurried over a sloping meadow and was lost in the +creek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When Mr. Jerrold and he had parted Derek strolled +musingly along the bank of the rill, his mind dwelling, +now on Mr. Jerrold’s ill fortune, now, half consciously, +upon a certain melancholy unrest within himself. He +was absent-minded, erratic, changeable, and he wondered +vaguely why. He had set out to inspect the fall +wheat, and now he did not care whether it were submerged +or not. He was much more interested in the +fate of an empty bird’s-nest, doubtless torn from its +branch by some boy, robbed of its eggs, and thrown +in the little stream. It bobbed and jigged like some +ludicrous old boat; its progress was stayed by a few +spears of grass; it was free again, and caught in a tiny +eddy, whirled and danced as though it had never held +five throbbing little hearts within its woven curve.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The white turkey-hen came from under an elderberry +bush, trailing her slender feet, and craning her +neck to peer at the bird’s-nest. She gave Derek a +gloomy yet not unfriendly glance. “She feels like I +do,” thought Derek, “and Newbigging is the same. +There’s a vagabond streak in all three of us.” She +swept back into the shadow of the bush and sank +wearily and yet mysteriously to her nest. Derek followed +her and looked down. “You know,” he said, +“I’m perfectly aware of what you’re up to. And it’s +no use. You never bring anything out. I don’t believe +there’s anything to bring. That empty nest was an +omen for you. Better give up trying and just be +ornamental.” She looked out at him, her head delicately +poised, with the cold, aloof regard of a snake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A meadow lark rose from its nest in the meadow +beyond. Turning his eyes to watch its flight Derek +saw Grace Jerrold kneeling bareheaded by the rill. +Her face was half hidden, but her posture suggested +sadness. She sad, too, on this mirthful day of spring! +As he looked, she raised her hand from the moist grass +and held it to her eyes. She was quietly crying. Again +she laid her hand on the grass—a gentle white hand, +he thought, like a flower. He wanted very much to +comfort her. But how to speak—how to pass comfort +through this damnable barbed-wire fence! His eyes +fell on the bird’s-nest. He snatched it up. It should +bear the cargo of his comfort past that barbed barrier. +He took a small note-book from his pocket, tore out a +leaf, and wrote, very carefully, so that one might read +it easily through tears—“Please don’t cry.” He folded +it, laid it in the nest, now a useless derelict no longer, +and set it carefully in the middle of the rill just under +the fence. He loosed it. For a space it floated languidly +against a spray of watercress, then a masterful +current took it in hand, and hurried it quickly on its +mission. The rill broadened where Grace knelt and +Derek feared for a moment that his note would be +rushed past her unseen, but the instant the nest +appeared before her, the white hand that had been +raised to wipe another tear, darted out and swept it +ashore. She opened the note. She read. She sprang +to her feet and faced him. He could see then that her +white cheeks were dabbled with tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You looked like a Greek girl,” he said, to make +light of the situation, “kneeling to pray to the deity +of the stream.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Offering my tears,” she said, with a little smile, +coming towards him. She still held the nest as though +it were a treasure. Derek suddenly remembered his +conversation with Fawnie among the raspberry canes +about a goldfinch’s nest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Can I help?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s the trouble. I’m crying because father has +asked you to help. I begged him not to. But he has. +When I saw you two talking—and your expressions—I +knew.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You know too,” he said, gently, “that it gives +me real pleasure to help your father. And it will make +it easier for me to ask his help some day. Think how +gladly he would give it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but you don’t understand! Things are going +very badly with us. Of course, William will repay you +this loan, but—he is so optimistic, and he does not +foresee great difficulties arising—as I do. But don’t +let us talk of it any more. Tell me where you found +the nest. You know, that was rather a sweet thing you +did. I shan’t forget it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He noticed then that she was wearing a white skirt +and a close-fitting green jersey. Her bronze hair was +loosened from its usual smoothness by the wind. He +thought she looked the very spirit of spring.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tell me,” she said, suddenly, “if you had it to do +over again would you come to Grimstone as you did? +Or should you sell it and stick to Halifax and your +profession?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should come if it were only for the sake of being +near you.” His heart began to beat quickly as he +heard his own words. He was moved by an exquisite +desire to take her into his arms, to press the feminine +softness of the silk jersey against his rough tweed coat, +to smell the perfume of that sunny bronze hair. Yet +there stood the fence!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She saw the look in his eyes. He felt that she read +him. They both laughed. Was she laughing with +him or at him? Though he laughed he had a feeling +of chagrin. He felt angry with her. Angrier still +when he fancied she looked relieved as the figure of +Hobbs approached on his white horse.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hobbs touched his hat. He said, “I’m sorry to +inform you, Mr. Vale, that those Welsh ponies of +yours have broken down the fence by our wheat fields. +Your horses and cows are in there now. I’m just +sending some men up to turn them out. Sorry to +interrupt you.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch1-12'>CHAPTER XII<br/> THE WIND OUT OF WINDMILL’S SAILS</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Things</span> seemed determined to go wrong that spring. +Phœbe affirmed that from the moment when she +had set her teeth in that hard russet apple which had +snapped off a perfectly good incisor misfortunes had +come tripping on one another’s heels. Excessive +rains had swollen the stream until it had grown to a +tumbling, coffee-coloured torrent, in which a ewe and +her skipping lamb had lost their lives. Bessie, Derek’s +favourite Jersey, had given birth to twin calves, both +of which had died, and she herself had been ailing +ever since. Mike had torn his leg on a piece of barbed-wire, +carelessly left dangling at a fence corner—it was +impossible to tell by whom—and had severed an artery. +Derek would never forget Mike’s hard breathing and +the look in his distended eyes as he stood beside him +miserably waiting for the veterinary, while the blood +gushed from the wound as from a tap, making a thick +puddle on the floor of the stall. Mike had recovered +but must go easy for a while; another horse had to be +purchased, and it turned out that he was full of nasty +tricks, in stall and field—the men vied with each other +in repeating Philip’s misdeeds. The heavy rain produced +a growth of rank weeds that fought for supremacy +over the mangolds, turnips, and garden vegetables. +Old Peek and Mrs. Orde’s short-legged husband, and +four boys from Mistwell were constantly employed in +weeding, and in sorting the last of the apple crop in +the apple-house. Carelessness in storing defective +apples and leaves among the good ones, combined +with the mildness of the winter, had caused a great +deal of rot. The sound apples had to be separated +and washed, and the decayed thrown to the pigs. The +air about the apple-house was full of a sweet, acrid, +ciderish smell.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek anxiously waited for a new man to be sent +by the Immigration Agency in York, but every farm +seemed to be in need of help, and experienced men +were few.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One morning in late May Hugh strode up to Derek, +where he stood on the porch snuffing the fresh breeze +from the lake. Phœbe followed Hugh closely, her +eyes dancing with excitement behind her spectacles.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Guid-mornin’, sir,” said Hugh, “and I’ve got to +tell ye that Newbigging’s flitted. He was restless all +day yesterday, and last nicht he sat by the window +peerin’ out and wouldna coom to bed, and when he did, +he kept me awake wi’ his tossing. Then, this morn he +must have been up with the birds, for when I woke at +sunrise he was gone, and his wee bag, and his box wi’ +the gilt collar-studs, and his wee red book of songs. +He’s flitted for certain.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And I called over the fence and told Bob Gunn,” +said Phœbe, “and he said it was all one could expect +from one of those chaps from Dundee. He’s getting +pretty sick of Chard’s, Bob is.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>That evening Bob himself came to Derek, short, +stocky, and rosy as ever. “I hear Newbigging’s +made off,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, what’s that to you?” asked Derek, shortly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nothing. But I’ll come back and fill his place if +ye say the word, Mr. Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What, you want to leave Chard after only a +month?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A month can seem like a lifetime, sometimes, sir. +He’s a regular slave-driver, Chaird is. The very first +nicht I was there after an awfu’ day’s work, he says +after supper, ‘Come on now, Bob, and get busy cuttin’ +up potatoes for seed.’ ‘Cut up potatoes!’ I said. +‘Why, we never work in the evenings at Mr. Vale’s.’ +‘Weel,’ says he, ‘we work all the time here, and +anyone who won’t do it, can get out.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It served you right for leaving me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Will ye hae me back, sir? Now that Newbigging’s +gone, me and the other lads’d get along fine.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What about Mrs. Chard’s pies?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pies! I’m fair sick o’ the very sicht o’ pie. She +gies them to us even for breakfast.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’ve made your bed, Gunn, and you must +lie on it——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s straw and awfu’ lumpy,” interrupted Gunn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll not have Mr. Chard saying that I took you +away from him,” went on Derek. “What do you +think you are, Gunn, a shuttlecock, to be bandied back +and forth across the fence?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m no shuttlecock,” said Gunn, his eyes snapping. +“I’m a free British citizen, and I can’t be +forced to stop anywhere. I’ll gang where I please.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You can go to the devil as far as I’m concerned,” +said Derek, packing tobacco into his pipe with the +handle of his pocket-knife. “You played me a dirty +trick, and I’m through with you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gunn turned away, his rosy face puckered with +chagrin. “Weel, good-bye, and I’m no afeerd to say +that you’ll wish you had me back before the summer’s +through.” He hung about a moment, irresolutely, +and then walked slowly back to Chard’s.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek, impatient at the delay of the immigration +officials in sending him help, had taken the train to +York to impress them, if possible, with his extreme +need. He could not believe that other farms were +crying for succour so urgently as Grimstone. Yet +the officials, though polite, were singularly callous to +his need, and offered as a sop only one poor creature, +Snailem by name, suspiciously smooth of hand, who +now sat in the other end of the coach gazing out of +window with dull eyes that, Derek thought, would +blink before the problem of distinguishing a reaper +from a mower. Still, he was a “hand,” and Derek +determined to get the utmost out of him till more help +came, which was promised shortly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He, too, gazed through the window at the fields +steaming in a hot sunset after a day of rain. He saw +woods flash by, rounded in all the rank effulgence of +their springing maturity; hillsides dotted by plump +ewes with sucking lambs butting against their udders; +black, rich fields where wet-booted men still seeded +the hungry soil. He saw a deep cut through a cedar +wood, where a narrow stream ran far below, its course +marked by white lilies and lady’s slipper. A heron +rose heavily above it, his long legs stiff, his neck +stretched, his wings beating against the flaring sunset.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek felt very content. Life in all its intensity +surged about him, and he was part of all this divine, +strange vivacity of living—the steaming fields—the +flying heron—the flying train—even Snailem, surreptitiously +slipping a wad of tobacco into his untidy +mouth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Across the way a young woman comforted her little +boy, who was crying because he had bumped his nose +on the window sill. She gave him and his sister each +a sponge cake, and kissed the little bumped nose, and +laughed. The two children ate the cakes hungrily, +but the boy dug the caraway seeds out of his and laid +them on the plush seat beside him. His mother, seeing +him deposit the last one there, gave him a little slap +and brushed the seeds hurriedly to the floor. The boy +puckered his face to cry again, but seeing Derek laughing +at him, he laughed too, and, in a moment, sidled +across the aisle and stood at his side.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You don’t like caraway seeds, eh?” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I frow ’em away.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s a mistake. They’ll give you muscle—make +you strong.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s the use of being strong?” said the little +fellow, his mouth down at the corners; “there’s always +somebody else stronger.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Cyril,” called his mother, “come here, this +moment. Don’t be so forward.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shan’t go,” said Cyril. “I’ll stop here till we get +to Mistwell.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He does need a man to straighten him,” confided +the mother, leaning across. “His father’s been out +two years now. We’re just coming to him. . . . It’s +an awful journey crossing the ocean and taking such +a long rileway journey with young children.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll see that you get off all right,” said Derek. +“Is your husband at Mr. Jerrold’s?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. He’s with a Mr. Vile, at a farm called +Grimstone, quite near Mistwell. He’s not expecting +us——” Her face flushed, and grew hard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was staggered. Rapidly the faces of his four +men flitted across his mental vision—rosy, beady-eyed +Gunn, altogether too young—brown, honest Hugh—if +it were he, Good God! what a time they would have +with Phœbe!—Windmill, who was courting Miss +Carss, and who was a notch above this worried, dowdy, +little woman surely—Newbigging, ah, Newbigging, +who had so lately “flitted,” having got wind perhaps +of his wife’s intentions. It must be Newbigging.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had leaned back, staring out at the fields without +seeing them. Now he asked the little boy, who had +squeezed into the seat beside him, “What is your +other name—besides Cyril?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Windmill. . . . And daddy’s name’s Windmill, +and mother’s name’s Windmill, and Ruby’s +name’s——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The train stopped with a jolt, its grinding of wheels +drowning the child’s voice. Derek was thankful; he +felt that he could stand no more reiterations of that +name.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>He had helped the woman into the bus. He had sent +Snailem in it, too, and had paid the fares of all four. +Then he had set out on foot himself, determining to +telephone to Windmill and prepare him for the coming +visitation. Although he pitied the dowdy little wife, +some loyalty of sex made him pity, still more, the +erring husband. Poor Windmill! who had fainted in +the field the day before because of the heat, and who +was probably now washing and dressing, after a hard +day in the fields, in preparation for his evening walk +with Miss Carss, all unconscious of the weary Nemesis +that was rolling towards him in the bus.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek called up Grimstone from the village store. +Phœbe’s voice came thickly over the wire as though +she were eating something. Windmill? Oh, he was +out. The usual, she s’posed. He’d hurried right off +after tea. She had a terrible sore throat and would +Mr. Vale fetch her a few peppermint bull’s-eyes from +the shop?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek hung up the receiver and bought the bull’s-eyes +from the shop-keeper’s wife, who grunted as each +one dropped from the jar, as though it hurt her. Disconsolately +he left the shop and walked slowly towards +Grimstone. His one idea now was to loiter till the +worst should be over when he arrived. He could picture +that little woman making a pretty scene. He put a +bull’s-eye in his mouth and sucked it meditatively, +feeling rather as he used to at eight, when he had a +mind to be late for school.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As he was passing the graveyard he heard a rattle of +wheels behind him, and, turning, saw the bus lumbering +up. Good Lord! He had thought it had reached +Grimstone long ago. Now he remembered to have seen +Jackman in it, a farmer who lived a mile east of Mistwell. +He had been driven home first! The bus-driver +drew up his horses. “Can I give you a lift, sir?” he +called.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek swallowed his third bull’s-eye and climbed +into the bus. He was in for the scene after all!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cyril, Ruby, and Mrs. Windmill smiled as though +he were an old friend. Snailem tried to smile, but he +was manipulating a fresh wad of tobacco and it took +all his skill.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The bus-driver tells me that you are Mr. Vile,” +said Mrs. Windmill. “I’m so glad, for I’m sure you’ll +tell my husband that I did right in coming to him. It’s +no way for husband and wife to live, and—I’ve heard +rumours. So I just sold my bit of furniture and came +strite across. His father gave me money for the passage, +so you can see what his family feel about it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shouldn’t place much dependence in rumours, if +I were you,” said Derek. “A man sometimes makes +a friend when he’s far from home, but he means +nothing wrong—he’s just lonely.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Vile, did my husband tell you he is a married +man?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” acknowledged Derek, “he didn’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh! the villain!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Be careful. That man Snailem will hear you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It mikes me wild. Look at his two lovely kiddies—and +him not to own to them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He does not tell me his affairs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And I sent him their picture at Christmas. I’ll +wiger he never showed it to that minx he’s walking +out with!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is my place,” said Derek, thankfully, as the +bus stopped. He swung the children to the ground, +and helped Mrs. Windmill with her bundles; Snailem +let himself down heavily, and cast a dismal look over +the farm. There was no sign of life about. The air +was moist, heavy, and filled with the honeyed smell of +the locust flowers. The lake lay still as molten lead, +following the hot exuberance of sunset.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The bus rattled away. Derek sent Snailem to the +kitchen to report to Mrs. Machin. Then he turned to +Mrs. Windmill. “Don’t you think it would be best,” +he said, “for you to wait here a bit? I’ll find your +husband and send him to you.” She assented, and he +went through the house to the kitchen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He found Snailem and Mrs. Machin there, she regarding +him as he stood before her, with the ironical +grin of an old spider who had just caught a stupid fly +in her web . . . not the sort of fly she fancied, but one +which nevertheless had to be demolished.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is Windmill?” demanded Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He ain’t here,” replied Mrs. Machin, “that’s all +I know about him. He went out half an hour ago, +slicked up like a city feller.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must send Hugh to find him. His wife is here. +I don’t want her to see him perhaps with Miss Carss. +I’d better fetch her in.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“His wife?” Mrs. Machin’s grin broadened. +“Well, he kep’ it mighty quiet. Here’s a pretty +kettle of fish. Fool!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe dashed in from the outer kitchen followed +by Hugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hugh,” began Derek, “go over to Mr. Jerrold’s——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ow!” cried Phœbe, “there’s a norful scene on +the bluffs! Windmill and Miss Carss, and a woman +in high-strikes. Come along out!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They hurried to the flagged yard. On the bluffs +they could see Windmill outlined against the sky, and +beside him the tall figure of Miss Carss, her long veil +fluttering in a freshly sprung breeze. Climbing towards +them up the side of the bluff was the wife, her hat fallen +back, her arms waving, her voice raised in screams. +Her two children were running far behind her down +the road.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I had a fambly once,” remarked Snailem, “but +they’re all dead. Wife and triplets.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ow, the villain,” cried Phœbe, “to desert his poor +wife like that! He ought to be horsewhipped.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hold your tongue,” ordered Mrs. Machin, +“you’ll likely be deserted yourself some day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They saw Windmill stride quickly to his wife and +take her roughly by the arm. His touch only made +her more violent, and Miss Carss, after watching them +struggle for a moment, turned abruptly away and began +to run along the bluffs towards home. Windmill’s wife, +seeing her rival retreat, ceased her screams, and sank +exhausted to the grass. The two children reached their +mother’s side and threw themselves upon her, sobbing. +Windmill’s bowler hat was on one side. He stood +looking down at the dishevelled heap of humanity +before him, the wife of his bosom, and the two beings +he had begotten, who had brought this shame, this +chagrin, this retribution across the sea to him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was for all the world like a play,” heaved +Phœbe from the depths of her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All the world’s a stage,” observed Snailem, +moving closer to her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All the world ’ud be a work-house, if we was all +as simple as some folks,” snapped Mrs. Machin.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Windmill and his wife sat for an hour or more on +the cliff, talking earnestly. It was almost dark when +he came at last to the house, leading one of his children +by each hand. His wife, he explained, was not in a +condition to meet strangers, but she would like a pot +of tea. He would carry it to her. He displayed his +pink-cheeked children proudly, and while Phœbe +stuffed them with strawberries and cream, he told +Vale, shamefacedly, that he must leave that very +night. They could catch the late train from York, and +they would return almost directly to the Old Country. +His father was a boot manufacturer and he could go +into the business at any time. He regretted leaving +Canada, for he loved the life, and—he had meant no +harm by his friendship with Miss Carss—it was purely +platonic.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale had Hugh harness the gelding and drive the +family to the train. When Windmill had lifted his +wife and whining infants into the surrey, and the +huddle of drooping figures had disappeared into the +dusk, Derek went to his room to read a letter from +Edmund that had awaited him on his return from town.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He felt rueful over the loss of Windmill, and he +opened the letter slowly. Edmund seemed to be in +good spirits. Towards the end of the letter he wrote: +“I think you can safely expect me to visit you before +the summer is over. I am keen to see you, and besides, +I have a mind to try my luck next door. It seems +audacious, I know, but I have reason to hope. Anyway, +it would not be the first time that a beautiful +heiress has thrown herself away on a penniless young +officer. God knows, I do not want her money, but I +do want her desperately. I know you wish me luck.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After reading the letter Derek felt more rueful than +ever. Indeed, he felt perilously near to being sick at +heart.</p> + +<h2>PART II</h2> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<h3 id='ch2-1'>CHAPTER I<br/> AN EAR-RING UPON THE EAR OF THE GUILTY</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> Sharroe family had promised to pick fruit at +Grimstone that summer. They were expected any +day; and it was high time they came, for under every +strawberry leaf red berries winked ripely, growing +redder hour by hour. The weather had become hot +and dry; a strong wind blew the sandy dust in clouds +from the driveway all day till sundown, when it fell, +leaving the air heavy and oppressive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale was in his bedroom, washing, and brushing his +hair before going to Durras to spend the evening. He +heard the sound of voices, and cries of children on the +road, and went to the window, hoping that it might be +the Sharroes. That wayward family was indeed turning +in at the gate. No imposing figure of Solomon +Sharroe led them now, but his squatty wife carrying +an immense bundle; and there was Fawnie, and Jammery; +and Esther and Maggie with their husbands; +and Charley and Bobby; and Beulah and Alma (each +bearing a baby in her arms) and, last of all, the idiot +boy, riding on the back of a brother scarce larger than +himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Poor, ignorant, innocent children! He had intended +having a new cottage built for them this season, but +they must once more make shift with the old shack. +And little Fawnie. . . . He wondered whether she +would want a hen to set this year. He remembered her +little, round, coffee-coloured neck, and her even teeth, +like so many pearls. And those small, supple, berry-stained +hands. “You are a little baggage, Fawnie,” +he had said to her, in his moment of chagrin. “You +mean I act like I was white,” she had answered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went slowly from his room to the passage and +took his straw hat from the rack. He whistled for a +half-grown Irish terrier pup that Mr. Jerrold had given +him, but the puppy did not come. He went to the +kitchen to look for him, fearing that Phœbe was +feeding him a second supper.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As he expected, the puppy was there, his sides +drawn together, his legs apart, as he wolfed the greasy +contents of a bowl. “Phœbe! Phœbe!” expostulated +Derek. “How often have I told you not to let that +little brute gorge himself!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can’t help it,” said Phœbe, “the creature gives +me no peace till I do.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a chuckling sound at the door and Derek +saw the round faces of Beulah and Alma pressed +against the screen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Phœbe,” said Beulah, grinning, “kin I have a +point of milk?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh,” cried Phœbe, impatiently, “you and your +points of milk! The moment you arrive, I’m running +to the milk jug, or the paraffin jar, or the butter crock. +Where’s your money?” Beulah showed a few blackened +coppers, and Phœbe went to the cellar, still +scolding.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Beulah cautiously opened the door and put her +rough black head inside. “Say,” she whispered, +“my Maw wants to see you—up at the shack—I was +to say, come now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What does she want me for? Tell her to come +here if she wants to see me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She don’ want the old woman and Phœbe to hear. +She says there’ll be a lot of trouble if you don’ come.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” said Derek, “but if she thinks I will +pay any more for the picking she’s mistaken.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe brought the milk and Derek set out through +the orchard with the children. It was dusk, and a +lantern had been lighted in the old part of the shack. +A red shaft of light through the open door pierced the +dimness of the orchard like the gleam of a baleful eye. +Under the trees the air was intensely sultry. As Derek +drew near, the two little girls suddenly darted away +from his side, so that he approached alone. At the +same instant several dark figures passed out of the +shack and appeared to go around to the addition.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When Derek stood in the doorway, only the old +squaw, Fawnie, Esther, and Jammery were inside. +Fawnie was standing under the lantern. In the red +glow her cheeks had the bloom of a dark, ripe peach. +Her lips were pressed together in an inscrutable smile. +Esther and Jammery stood with bent heads, but the +old woman turned a look of thunderous fury on +Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here, Mr. Vale,” she said, in a thick voice, +“I want you to take that woman o’ yours away out o’ +here. I won’t stand her around me any longer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek stared at her in astonishment. “What +woman?” he said, sharply. “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That woman there,” she replied, jerking her head +towards Fawnie. “That woman that’s got a baby +born of yours last April. You get her out o’ here or +I’ll kill her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek turned to Esther—she had always seemed a +sensible girl. “Is your mother crazy?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Esther answered composedly, “No, she ain’t crazy, +she’s just mad. Fawnie’s got a little boy belongin’ to +you, and Maw says she won’t have any white babies +livin’ with her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek looked at her directly, ignoring the old +squaw. “Well, she has Alma. She’s half white. +She’s yours, isn’t she?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but I was married to her paw, all right. He +got killed one winter—loggin’.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Alma!” shouted the mother. “Let me at that +girl! I’ll kill her yet, with her white face like dough! +She looks down on her old grandmaw. She thinks +I’m like the dirt under her feet. She’d like to wipe +her feet on me. She’d like to spit on me. I’ll take an +axe and chop her head off yet. Jus’ let me at that +girl. . . . Fawnie, you show Mr. Vale the papoose +that you got of his.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie, still with her inscrutable smile, turned to +one of the bunks and picked up a rolled shawl. She +opened it and showed something that slept curled up +like a mouse. Derek saw that the down on its head +gleamed like silver in the lantern light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie smiled at it adoringly. “My little baby,” +she said. “My own little baby.” She seemed singularly +undisturbed by the storm about her. It appeared +that they might do with her what they wished, if only +she be allowed to keep her plaything. With a violent +gesture the mother snatched it from her and thrust it +into Derek’s arms. “Here,” she shouted, “take your +brat—and take Fawnie, too—or I’ll kill ’em!” Derek +would have dropped the child, but Jammery took it +from him lightly, and, with an imploring look at the +old squaw, said: “Please don’t make so much noise. +Let me go out with Mr. Vale, and talk things over +quietly. You come too, Fawnie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You take them out and don’t bring them back,” +said Mrs. Sharroe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Thankful to escape from the insufferable odours of +the shack, Derek drew a deep breath of the night air. +Fawnie, Jammery, the child in his arms, and he, +moved some distance into the orchard. The puppy, +with short, sharp cries, started off in pursuit of something +in the dark.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Honestly,” said Jammery, under his breath, “I +think you’ll have to take her away till the old woman +cools down. She’s pretty dangerous. It isn’t just +what she says—she does things. You’d hardly believe +the way she can act, Mr. Vale. Honestly, she ought +to be locked up when she gets these spells. Would +you mind showing Mr. Vale your shoulders, Fawnie? +If I light a match, I think he can get an idea . . . +just loosen your dress.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He struck a light, and Derek, as one in a dream, +peered at the girl’s shoulder off which she had drawn +her loose cotton blouse. “Ah, they scarcely show in +this light at all,” murmured Jammery, “but move +your fingers over them. Feel.” He took Derek’s +hand in his and laid it on her back. Derek, moving +his fingers, felt one hot welt after another on the tender +flesh. “By God!” he exclaimed, “I’ll make that old +woman suffer for this. I’ll have her arrested.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, no,” said Jammery, “don’t do that. Think +of the way she’d talk. She’d tell how you ruined the +girl. Everything will be all right if you just keep +Fawnie and the baby out of her sight for a few +days.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” said Derek, “I’ll take them down to +the house now. There’s plenty of room. But you tell +the old squaw that I won’t stand anything more from +her. She’s got to behave or to gaol she goes. And you +may be certain I’ll never have her here another year.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, of course not. But Fawnie’s a good girl. +She’ll never make you sorry you protected her. It’s +an awful thing for a young girl to get walloped like +that, so soon after childbirth.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Stop talking about it,” said Derek. It hurt him +even to think of such barbarity. “Come along, +Fawnie. Poor little child.”</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>When they emerged from the orchard, Derek tried +to see Fawnie’s face but he could not. Yet he had the +impression that she was still smiling in the darkness. +He could make out the curve of her arms about the +baby. He still felt like one in a dream. All this +seemed most unreal, and, suddenly, he remembered +that July night, a year ago, and the same dark girl +whose face he could not see. And here were they two +once more—and a third—the silver-haired being in the +shawl—born, one might say, of that flash of lightning +that had shown them the coign in the cliff.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A steamer was sweeping past; she showed a row of +illuminated windows, and a brighter light at the bow. +A bell clanged as she passed. . . . Now they were +beneath the heavy aching scent of the locust flowers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fawnie,” said Derek, “we’ll go in at the front +door, so the men won’t see you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The front door,” she repeated, in a tone of awe. +“Right in at the front door.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A hanging lamp burned in the hall. He hesitated a +moment and then took her arm and guided her up the +stairs. He had decided that he would give her the +bedroom that had been got ready for Edmund at +Christmas. There she could keep herself and her +baby in seclusion for a few days, till the old squaw +should quiet down. He would give Fawnie a little +allowance, which would put her in quite a different +position in her mother’s household.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He lighted two candles that stood on the dressing-table. +Their reflection flashed out in the looking-glass: +his strong figure in white, his fair face flushed, little +knots of perplexity between his brows; she, dusky, +receptive, immobile, holding her baby to her breast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He felt the allure of her presence in that remembered +quiver of the nerves, but, pushing the sensation from +him, he said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now, I’m going to send Mrs. Machin to you. +She’ll fix you up for the night.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, I won’t have her,” with a stubborn shake of +the head. “I’m scared of her, Derek. Just leave me +here and I’ll lay on the bed as nice as anything. I +won’t have that ole woman scoldin’ me. I’ve had +enough scoldin’.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well. But I’ll get her to give me some sheets +and you can make your own bed.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sheets! My goodness”—her lips curved into a +smile—“I would like sheets—and a white piller-case.”</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Mrs. Machin, when he had told her +as much of the story as he thought was good for her to +know, “so you expect me to wait on an Indian girl and +her bastard brat, eh? Give ’em my best sheets, eh? +And towels with rick-rack on the ends? What do you +take me for, Mr. Vale? A simpleton?” Mrs. Machin +was making the porridge for breakfast, and now she +stirred it with all her might, and whacked the wooden +porridge stick, that was nearly as old as she, on the +side of the porridge pot. “What do you take me for, +Mr. Vale?” she repeated. “A simpleton to let a dirty +Indian into one of my bedrooms? How should I get +rid of her again——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll see to that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’ve seen to about enough,” she retorted +grimly. “You haven’t told me who that child belongs +to, but I know what everybody’ll say. They’ll say it’s +yours. Now the Vales have always been respectable. +Grimstone is the grandest old place in the countryside, +and would you go and disgrace us all?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My God,” said Derek, “would you send that poor +child back to her crazy mother to be beaten again, +perhaps killed?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why did she wait till she was coming here to beat +her? Why did she bring her back here at all? Just +because she thought you was easy prey. Leave me to +deal with them Indians, Mr. Vale. I understand ’em, +through and through, from their dirty black hair to +their sneaky, flat feet. You leave ’em to me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Machin,” said Derek, firmly, “I am going +to protect that young girl. Get me some sheets for her +bed.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I won’t do nothing of the sort,” she repeated, +attacking the porridge with renewed spite. “If she +sleeps here, she sleeps on the mattress or the floor. It +don’t matter to me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well. I’ll get the sheets myself.” He left +her angrily, and strode through the house and up the +stairway. He pulled open a heavy drawer in an old +chest of drawers that stood at the top of the stairs. He +knew that the bed linen was kept there. He had barely +extracted a pair of sheets and was searching for pillow-cases +when Mrs. Machin came panting up the stairs +behind him. She carried a lamp in her hand which +she set down heavily on the chest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here,” she said, thickly, “if it’s got to be done, +I’ll do it. I won’t have you messin’ about in my +linen.” She took the sheets from him roughly, and, +after examining them with a groan, gave him two of +coarser material, and a patched pillow-case.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>With a curt “Thanks,” Derek left her and went +to Fawnie’s door. He tapped.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The door opened a little way. He saw that Fawnie +had laid the baby on the bed, and had opened the +small drawers on either side of the looking-glass, +doubtless in the hope of discovering hidden finery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here are sheets,” he said. “There is a quilt on +the bed. Now make it up quickly, like a good girl, +and be off to sleep. You’re safe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And make the most of this night in a proper +bed,” interposed Mrs. Machin, “for it’s likely the +last you’ll ever have.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The two women faced each other for a moment, as +might a cynical old cat and an enquiring, yet self-possessed, +little animal of the forest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek hurriedly went downstairs, fearful of a scene. +But there was none. He heard the door softly close, +then Mrs. Machin’s slowly retreating footsteps. He +did not go to Durras, as he had intended, but, descending +the steps to the shore, walked up and down the +hard sand, for a long time, smoking.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He saw the light extinguished in the room upstairs. +Even yet the whole thing seemed a preposterous dream. +That child. . . . Well, he had no doubt about it. +Still, it was not the child, but Fawnie, who occupied +his thoughts. He saw her in the shack, in the glow of +the lantern, her lips folded together in that inscrutable, +slightly derisive smile, as though the rest had been +puppets gesticulating about her. Then her composure +before Mrs. Machin. It was really fine; though, +Heaven only knew how her heart may have been +tapping on her side. What was there about her? +Some odd barbaric charm. Even old Solomon had +seen it, known that she was not like the others. “Her +man will have to pick for the two of them,” he had +said. She was a being for love alone—yet love was +not the word—it was ridiculous—simply she must be +cared for. She was Oriental, like some strange, sweet +fruit that allured, even though one knew it were poison.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>What would Grace Jerrold think of his bringing +Fawnie into his house, protecting her? She would +understand; she would sympathize. But the child—she +must never know of that; he grew hot all over at +the very thought of her knowing it. Anyway, the +night was insufferable, no wonder he was hot. Not +the faintest ripple disturbed the sombre ebony of the +lake. He longed for a storm to clear the air. Awful +weather on the strawberries. Thank God, he would +have plenty of pickers to-morrow. Fresh crates were +needed. He must order them. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was late when he went into the house. The oil +lamp was still burning on the dresser at the head of +the stairs. Mrs. Machin evidently had forgotten it. +He began to ascend slowly to put it out, but had only +mounted a few steps when he perceived that she herself +was sitting in a straight-backed chair by the dresser +knitting at a grey stocking.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Whatever are you doing up so late?” he asked, +dreading the answer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” she said, her needles clicking with precision, +“now that yon girl has got into one of our +bedrooms I’m going to see to it that she stays there.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You don’t mean to say you are going to sit there +all night?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It looks like it, don’t it?” she snapped.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was nothing more to be said, so Derek went +to his room.</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-2'>CHAPTER II<br/> HUBBUB AT GRIMSTONE</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> seemed to Derek that he spent the next day in +avoiding people. He bolted his breakfast, his appetite +spoiled by the ashen presence of Mrs. Machin, who +waited on him herself. She had even fried kidneys for +him, which she knew he disliked. He hurried over his +orders to Hugh McKay, irritated, and yet depressed +by the expression of deep melancholy on the fellow’s +honest face. He would have welcomed a talk with +Mr. Jerrold, but he heard that he was laid up by an +attack of lumbago, and he would not venture to go +down to Durras for fear of meeting Grace. It occurred +to him that he was being made vastly uncomfortable +for doing a humane and just act. Many a man would +have bundled the whole crew off his farm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Indians avoided him, too. All day they squatted +in the blazing sun among the strawberries, never lifting +their eyes when he passed. Added to the enervating +heat, a tension of suppressed excitement hung +over Grimstone like a cloud charged with stormy portent. +Under that hard blue sky the Indians, the hired +help, and Derek moved like people in a secret game, +watching in furtive fashion for someone to make the +next move.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In the afternoon Derek went to the basket factory. +He found the drive over the sandy roads incredibly hot +and stifling. The man at the factory told him that the +thermometer registered 100 degrees in the shade. He +let the gelding take his time home, so that the shadows +were lengthening on the lawn when he turned in his +own gates. He had met the fruit-waggon laden with +crates of strawberries on its way to the station. On a +circular seat under one of the walnut trees he saw a +woman sitting. It was Fawnie. She must have got +her things from the shack, for she wore a dress of coarse +white embroidery, a red sash, and a hat nodding with +red poppies. It was amazing how she gave the effect +of ease, and grace, even elegance, sitting erect on that +white seat. And the extraordinary cheek of her, thought +Derek. Mrs. Machin would be in a taking, as Phœbe +said; he dreaded meeting her. The situation was getting +preposterous. . . . Mrs. Machin sitting up at +night . . . Fawnie disporting herself on the front +lawn . . . the infant, the Lord only knew what he +was doing. To-morrow, when it was not so hot he +must send Fawnie away somewhere. He imagined +how, under that white dress, her shoulders were still +covered with welts. . . . That night Mrs. Machin +again took up her position beside the lamp on the +dresser. Too exhausted to knit, she sat with clasped +hands staring fixedly at her grotesque shadow on the +wall.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You know, you are going to make yourself ill,” +whispered Derek, vehemently, from the bottom of the +stairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There are worse things than illness—or death,” +she retorted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And, once more, there being nothing to say, Derek +went to bed.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The heat still held. When he came out of his room +the next morning at seven, it seemed like a ferocious +noonday. Lake and sky seemed merged into some +dazzling new element that bewildered and exhausted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He sat down at the breakfast table and rested his +head on his hand. Then he heard the kitchen door +open, and raised his eyes to see whether it were Mrs. +Machin or Phœbe who was to wait on him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was Mrs. Machin but, instead of the black dress +and large white apron, which he expected, she wore a +silk cape with a shiny jet trimming and a bonnet that +tied under her chin. His first thought was, “She will +suffocate in those things”; then, as he realized what +she was up to, he said, sternly: “Mrs. Machin, if you +have it in your mind to leave me, you had better think +twice before you do such a foolish thing. I am going +to arrange things very differently to-day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You can arrange things anyway you like,” she +said, violently. “It don’t matter to me. I’m shut of +the whole affair. My month was up day before yesterday, +and I’ll make you a present of the last two days +and nights of misery. You’ve disgraced Grimstone. +Your uncle made the mistake of his life when he left +the fortune to a headstrong, good-for-naught like +you’ve turned out to be.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s pretty hard talk, Mrs. Machin.” He felt, +not so much anger at her words as dismay and sadness +at the thought of losing this faithful old servant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a case for hard talk, and hard thoughts, too. +Here I’ve worked for the Vales for over fifty years, till +my hands are all knuckles, and what is my reward? +I’ve got to get out for shame at the carryings-on here, +and with a squaw girl at that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well, Mrs. Machin. If you won’t listen to +my explanation you can go. But I expect to see you +back here inside of a week, and whenever you come +I’ll be willing to forget the hard things you’ve said to +me, if you’ll promise——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I won’t promise nothing, and I won’t come back.” +With a defiant stare from her oyster-coloured eyes, she +marched out of the room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe tiptoed in, as to a chamber of death, and +brought him his porridge. But, after a few mouthfuls, +he pushed the plate away, and got up. He went out +to the flagged yard and stood staring at the bent +figures of the pickers in the strawberry beds. The +shrieks of pigs that were having their snouts ringed +came from the direction of Chard’s farm. How beastly +uncomfortable to have a ring put through one’s nose +on a stewing hot day like this! He had seen Chard +do it once; the pig standing upright before him, its +front feet on his chest, its shrieks full in his face, as +he stood with his inexorable, pale grin, driving the +iron skilfully home.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The sun blazed on his bare head, the flags burned +his feet. Mrs. Machin came out of the house and +turned down the drive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wouldn’t take a man off to drive me into Mistwell,” +she called back, “so I’m walkin’. I’ve told +Snailem to fetch my trunk when he takes the fruit in.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Before Derek had time to reply, a window was thrown +open upstairs, and Fawnie’s voice cried, derisively:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Get along out, ole woman! We don’ want you. +Hurry up, now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin, her face contorted with rage, stared +up, speechless, at the window a moment, and then +rushed through the gate, the picture of black and +impotent fury.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A delighted chuckle came from above. Derek strode +around under the window and looked up. She was +sitting on the sill, half dressed, her arms and shoulders +brown as a nut in the sand, her small, red mouth open +in laughter, her bronze-coloured eyes dancing with +triumph.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fawnie, Fawnie, you’re a little devil. You ought +to be whipped.” But he laughed in spite of himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Whippin’ don’ do me no good. But it does me +good to see that ole woman runnin’ down the road, +like an ole black sheep. . . . Baby an’ me, we’re sittin’ +in the sun. See.” She picked up the child from +somewhere and holding him under her arm, suspended +him out of the window. He was stark naked. His +massive, infantile legs dangled feebly, and he stared, +blinking, at Derek, with an air of benign jollity.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t let him fall,” said Vale, anxiously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I jus’ wanted you to see how big he is. Ain’t it +fonny he’s our little baby?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very funny.” He stared at the child with grim +curiosity. It was indeed larger and lustier than he +had thought from the glimpse two days ago. He felt +neither remorse nor shame in looking at it; rather +pride in its lustiness. Yet he felt ashamed because he +felt no shame.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>With the departure of Mrs. Machin a change took +place in the atmosphere of Grimstone. Instead of the +feeling of impending storm, a feeling of reckless holiday +was born. Phœbe piled up her breakfast dishes +without washing them and lounged to the fields with +Hughie. Snailem tramped about the kitchen in boots +caked with manure, and stewed himself a pot of strong +tea in the middle of the morning. Even Jock, the +collie, seemed to realize that the strong hand of discipline +had relaxed its grip, for Derek found him sleeping +comfortably curled up on the sofa in the parlour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The heat had not penetrated there as it had into the +rest of the house. There was even a damp sort of chill +that made one shiver after the hot glare out of doors. +Having pushed Jock off the sofa, Derek lay down +himself. His head ached, and he rammed it into an +uncomfortable beaded cushion, because the green and +white beads in the design of a laurel wreath looked +cool. The light that came between the green curtains +was restful. Jock was making a very soothing sound +licking his paws. Derek began to get drowsy. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had had a sort of cat nap when he was roused by +Phœbe. She was bending over him, whispering, her +face close to his. The pupils of her eyes seemed to jig +with excitement behind her thick spectacles. “Wake +up,” she whispered, hoarsely, “Chard and the minister +from Mistwell’s outside waitin’ to see ye.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To see me? What for?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe regarded him sorrowfully. “Can’t ye +guess?” She pointed dramatically to the room above.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek reddened and sat up with dishevelled hair. +“If that’s the case, I’ll make short work of them. +Show them in, Phœbe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe, heavy with importance, stamped out. He +heard her trip on the step that led to the dining-room, +and he pictured how she would plunge across the floor. +A moment more and his neighbour and the minister +stood before him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are energetic, making calls on a morning like +this,” said Derek, cheerfully. “Won’t you sit down?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The two men stared about the room, obviously taken +aback at being received in such state. Then Chard, +with his pale grin, said, “Allow me to introduce my +friend and pastor, Mr. Barker, Mr. Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek recognized Mr. Barker as the minister who +had played the autoharp at the funeral of Solomon +Sharroe. With his oily skin and opaque dark eyes, he +looked rather like an unpleasant foreigner. He took +Derek’s hand in his and held it in a fervent grasp.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Vale,” he said, “I wish I might have met you +first in the little church where we worship. But, better +late than never. I hope I am not too late to turn you +from the evil you have fallen into.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek extricated his hand. “I don’t think you quite +realize,” he said, trying to keep his temper, “what +you are taking upon yourself. You come into the +house of a stranger and make an accusation against +him without any other grounds for your suspicion than +the stupid gossip of ignorant people.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You can scarcely call Brother Chard stupid and +ignorant,” reproved Mr. Barker, “and he suspects +the worst.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What the devil do you suspect?” asked Derek, +turning on Chard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mr. Vale,” said Chard, uncovering once +more his neat rows of artificial teeth, “I’ve a pretty +good idea who’s the parent of that black baby with +the white hair upstairs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s not black,” said Derek, testily. “It’s bronze. +And it doesn’t concern you if it’s all the colours of the +rainbow. Now I’m trying to keep my temper, but I +strongly advise you men to stick to your autoharp and +plough, and leave me to manage my affairs in my own +way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have my wife and family to think of,” said +Chard. “This is putting the whole neighbourhood +under a cloud. I have to try to keep my children’s +minds pure. They are hearing words they haven’t any +right to hear.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s terrible for their pure little minds to be +sullied,” murmured Mr. Barker.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What sort of words?” asked Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mr. Vale,” replied Chard, a yellowish flush +creeping over his face, “concubine for one. My second +youngest boy was saying that you have a concubine in +here.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Surely that touches you, Mr. Vale,” said the +minister.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It makes me sick,” said Derek. “In fact you both +make me sick. You had better go.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are a headstrong young man,” said Mr. +Barker, “and you are going to wreck your life. +Better bring the woman right down here and I’ll +marry you and make it legal. Remember, too, that +no sin is so dark but it can be washed white by the +Blood.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A lusty cry came from the baby in the room above.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Chard’s grin became painfully wide. Mr. Barker +took a dingy white handkerchief from his pocket and +wiped his forehead. Derek went to the door and +opened it. “Phœbe,” he said, “show these gentlemen +out.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As Chard passed Derek, he said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you think you’ve heard the last of this, you’re +mistaken. If you think you can live a licentious life +here, and not be interfered with, you’re mistaken. +All Mistwell is aroused. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As soon as she had got rid of the two men Phœbe +came back to the parlour, shutting the heavy door carefully +behind her, before she spoke.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you worry, master, for Hughie and me’ll +stand by ye in spite of all these old curmudgeons with +all their talk about columbines. I was brung up in a +norphan asylum, but I know the world, and I know +a gentleman’s got to have a little margin. That’s what +I said to Hughie last night—‘a gentleman’s got to +have a margin, if it’s ever so.’ So they don’t frighten +me with their columbines.”</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek pitched hay in the field with Hugh all afternoon, +and the hard exercise in the heat brought calm +to his mind; he smiled at the recollection of the call +from Chard and the Reverend Barker. It was good to +work among the warm, sun-dried hay; he liked the +smell of the baked earth, of the glistening, round +flanks of the horses, of Hugh’s healthy, sweating +young body. He liked, too, to drive the heavy, lurching +load into the barn where it was dim after the glare +outside, and fowls ran cackling out of the way of the +horses’ hoofs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they had brought in the last load Derek went +to the house, Jock at his heels. He saw Phœbe and +Fawnie sitting by the kitchen table drinking tea. The +sun touched with mellow light the white, scrubbed +wood of the table, the loaf of good bread, the brown, +shiny teapot, and the red pot of jam. The two girls +were leaning over their cups, laughing and whispering +together.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale had a plunge in the lake, and, after his tea, sat +with a book in the porch, till dark. He felt that he +was neglecting his farm accounts, which must be getting +in a bad state, but he was too sleepy and warm to +undertake them to-night. He heard Phœbe and the +men go to their rooms, one by one; he heard Fawnie +murmuring some little lullaby to her baby. He thought +he would not go to bed till the night air had found its +way into the house and cooled it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>About ten o’clock he dropped into a doze in his +chair. His book slipped from his knees and his head +sank forward. . . . He thought a storm must have +arisen, for he was awakened by a moaning, roaring +sound. He sat up drowsily at first, and then straightened +himself with a start, as something heavy fell +almost at his feet on the steps. The roaring rose again +like a wave, and was shattered into howls and yells +about the gate. He got up and peered into the blackness. +He could see a dark huddle of figures by the +second’s flash of an electric torch. Then a second +stone rattled on the roof of the porch and struck sharply +on the flagstones below. Derek ran down the steps and +half-way along the walk. “Who is there?” he called, +sharply. “What are you doing?” His questions +were greeted with a prolonged hoot. Someone began +to beat on a tin pan.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then a voice bawled, “Where’s your fancy girl?” +and another, “Bring out your squaw!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek walked firmly to the gate. He tried to speak, +but his voice was drowned in yells and catcalls. The +same voice kept bawling:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where’s your fancy girl? Let’s see your squaw +baby.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The man who held the electric torch turned it suddenly +on Derek. There was a howl of delighted +laughter. As it subsided, a cockney voice said, “Wot +a tableau ’e mikes!” More derisive laughter followed, +then, out of the blackness, a clod of earth spun, and +struck Derek on the head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>An instant later the house door banged and Hugh +McKay came running down the walk.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s the trouble, sir?” he panted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Those blackguards,” answered Derek, in a voice +heavy with passion, “are giving me a sort of charivari.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m no surprised. Bob Gunn told me the oldest +Chard boy said they were gaein’ to mak’ things hot +for ye.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Go to bed, Scotty! Go to bed!” yelled the rowdies. +“Take your boss with you, too.” An obscene +remark followed, then a shower of sticks and stones.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall we rush them, sir?” asked Hugh, wiping a +trickle of blood from his cheek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. Keep close together, and let them have it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek swung open the gate. He and Hugh, without +waiting for the rabble to recover from their surprise, +flung themselves upon them in all the exuberance of +their strong young manhood.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>For a few moments the serenaders surged about +them and showed some fight, but it was soon over. +The dark mass of figures coiled and uncoiled in the +road, then streamed like a snake towards Mistwell. +Derek had snatched one of their own sticks, and +savagely belaboured the shoulders of the stragglers. +Hugh encountered the cockney, who stumbled away, +sobbing, “Ow, ’e’s broke my naose, the brute!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek could distinguish two figures running towards +Chard’s gate. Hugh was already in pursuit of them. +Derek jumped the ditch, and, bounding along beside +the palings, captured the hindermost just as he threw +one leg over the fence. It was Bob Gunn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you miserable little sweep,” said Derek, +grasping him by the collar, “so this is the way you +make me sorry I wouldn’t take you back.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was just lookin’ on,” muttered Bob.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’ll find that it’s not safe to look on at me,” +said Derek, and, administering a kick that sent him +sprawling, he let him go.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hugh caught up to him as he reached his gate.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Did you get your man, Hugh? Who was he?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Chard’s eldest son, sir.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What did you do with him?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I made him greet.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This summer, as had happened last summer, because +of the lack of help, the grass on the south side of the +house had grown tall and rank, while the lawn at the +front and the tennis-court at the north had been rather +well cared for. Now the grass was cut, and raked into +a great sweet-smelling mound close to the house. On +it Derek had thrown himself when Hugh went back +to bed, and lay, tingling with the excitement of the +sally. He wished the Mistwell ruffians had not been +so easily routed. He should have liked to prolong the +ecstasy of those barbarous moments. He recalled the +feel of his knuckles against someone’s jaw in the dark, +and the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling feet +and finally the thudding on the hard road of the +retreat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The sky hung low, powdered with stars, and the +rim of the waning moon rose above the lake. And at +his back the solid walls of old Grimstone. He liked to +think the walls of Grimstone were at his back. . . . +His back to the wall with all those curs of Mistwell +yapping before him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He thought of his brother and laughed. How disgusted +Edmund would be with him! But he believed +he was of coarser fibre than Edmund. He could not +imagine his taking up with an Indian girl. He might +have admired her, felt her charm—for a moment—but +nothing more. He would not have been enchanted by +her strangeness, as of some creature of the wildwood, +he would not have been allured by those sliding velvet +eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The front door softly opened and in the shaft of light +he saw Fawnie step out into the porch. She had on a +yellow dress, a faded yellow he had seen by daylight, +but now it looked as though it had been spun from the +moon. Her hair was about her shoulders and she was +barefooted. She peered about, plainly in search of +him, but he kept still. As well try to hide from a soft-footed +animal with the instincts of the forest. In a +moment she was padding across the grass to him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She leaned over him, looking enquiringly into his +face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Did you get hurt, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. I hurt some of those brutes, though.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She clapped her hands delightedly. “I’m glad, +Derek. I wish you would have took an axe and +chopped their heads off. Can I sit down aside +you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. Sit down. It’s cool out here. Were you +frightened, Fawnie?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I was. My little heart she was like a fox +hidin’ in her hole from the dogs.” She had dropped +to the mound of grass beside him and, with her arms +under her head, stared up at the glimmering sky. +“I’m always scared when I’m not with you, Derek.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, Fawnie, you told me once that you were not +afraid of anything, or anyone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, that was ’fore I get my baby. All those +fellas from Mistwell, they would ha’ torn me to pieces, +surely.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense. They only came to make an infernal +row.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, Derek, I don’ like those informal rows. +They sound like hell marchin’ down the road. You +won’t turn baby an’ me out, will you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t worry, Fawnie, you are going to be taken +care of.” He stared down at her face, in its frame of +rich, dark hair, her slanting eyes holding a gleam of +moonlight in their depths, her slender bare ankles +crossed on the odorous grass. It was soothing to lie +beside her there in the troubled shadow of old Grimstone, +and watch the moon like a pale petal wafted +across the sky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was in swimmin’, too.” Her voice had changed, +and had a little husky note. “I was in swimmin’, that +place where the sand’s all wavy. It made me cool as +cool. Feel.” She laid one supple, cool, little hand on +his throat. “Do you like the way that feels, Derek?”</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-3'>CHAPTER III<br/> “FOR SUCH PERSONS——”</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>There</span> was no sign of a break in the weather. The sun +that had dropped behind the orchard in a hot turbulence +of colour last night, rose from the lake, as +from a brazen pool, like a warrior refreshed. The +fruit was drying; the sand was like hot metal under +the feet; even the fowls clustered together in the shade +with parted beaks.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek saw with satisfaction that the pickers were +hard at work. As he waited for his breakfast, he calculated +on the back of an envelope what the proceeds +of yesterday’s shipment would be. He thought he was +not doing badly. Snailem had told him that Chard +had not shipped as much. He was determined that +Mrs. Machin should hear good accounts of the fruit. +She had the idea, he knew, that things would go +smash without her. He had refused hot food, and +Phœbe brought him a bowl of strawberries and thick +cream. Cream flowed freely those days at Grimstone; +Vale wondered sometimes where the next churning of +butter was to come from. Phœbe creaked in and out +waiting on him. She wore red knitted slippers and +white cotton stockings that wrinkled about her thick +ankles. Her cheeks vied with the strawberries and +cream in freshness and colour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As Derek divided the strawberries with his spoon, +disclosing the sweet pink hearts of them, which rapidly +were smothered in cream, he heard Fawnie’s voice, +singing to her child. “It must be hot upstairs,” he +thought, “under the roof,” and he had a desire to see +Fawnie eating strawberries at the table beside him. +He went, napkin in hand, to the foot of the stairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fawnie,” he called, “won’t you come down and +have some strawberries with me? I’ve twice too many.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I’ll come this minute. I’m hungry. But +this fonny little child he don’ want to go to sleep. His +eyes is as bright as bright.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lay him on the bed.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I will. Now you go to sleep, Abner, like a +good little boy.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What was it you called him?” Vale asked, as she +came down the stairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Abner. Don’ you think that is a nice name?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. I think it is a milksop name. Call him something +picturesque—colourful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Derek, then?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lord, no. I’ll think up a name while we eat our +strawberries.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie was in love with the idea of sitting at table +with Derek. She clapped her hands, and ran around +the table twice, like a little brown bird fluttering about +a bough, before she settled in her chair. Then she +said, with hands flat on the tablecloth on either side of +her plate:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must not spill crumbs, nor slop tea on this nice +white cloth, or you’ll kill me, won’t you, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I surely will. Now have some buttered toast, +Fawnie, or perhaps you like scones.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll have toast. We never have toast. Just Maw’s +bread that she bakes in the fryin’-pan.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She helped herself to toast. Phœbe had buttered it +so thickly that the butter oozed through to the other +side. Fawnie set her teeth in it, laughing over it with +narrowed eyes at Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What are you going to call our baby?” she +demanded with her mouth full.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have it. Buckskin. That’s a jolly name. It +means something. Suits a little Indian boy. Makes +you think of Nipigon, Timagami, wild things, and the +smell of gunpowder and wood smoke. Abner makes +you think of hair oil, creaky boots, and Sunday-school +leaflets, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie stared at him with the expression of an +intelligent child. “I understand,” she said. “But I +think he’ll be an awful bad little boy if we call him +Buckskin. . . . Buckskin Vale, h’m. . . .” She +stopped eating and stared straight before her, as +though savouring the name.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe, coming in with a jug of hot water to replenish +the pot, started in amazement at seeing Fawnie +seated at the table with Vale. Catching her toe on the +doorsill she stumbled into the room, slopping the water +as she came. A drop fell on Jock’s long feathered tail +that projected from under the table and he fled howling +out of doors. Derek looked up crossly at her, and +Fawnie said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Say, you’re awful stupid this morning, Phœbe. +Haven’t you ever seen a lady and gentleman eatin’ +hot toast before?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A gentleman must have a margin, if it’s ever so, +as I said to Hughie,” declared Phœbe, addressing +Vale, “but the margin’s getting wider and wider.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“ ’Tis not so wide as a church door nor so deep as +a well but ’twill suffice,” boomed Snailem from the +kitchen. “Which is from Shakespeare as always hits +the mark.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A pleasant voice came from outside. The owner of +it was sympathizing deeply with Jock, who wriggled +on his belly towards someone who approached. Vale +leaned back in his chair to look through the open door. +He saw Mr. Ramsey pushing his bicycle over the +flagstones. He stared, stupefied, at the advancing +figure which, in grey Norfolk suit and white straw +sailor hat, stood for Church, and order, and the +accepted sacraments.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe stared, too, in gaping consternation. As +Mr. Ramsey, having stood his wheel against the rail +of the verandah, filled the doorway with his well-knit +figure, she went towards him, hot-water kettle in hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, sir,” she cried, “I hope as you haven’t come +here to talk about columbines and such! Because Mr. +Vale reely don’t deserve it. If ever there was a well-meaning +young man it’s him, and, as I said to Hughie, +a gentleman must have a margin, if it’s ever so.” She +would have proceeded, even more recklessly, but a +dribble of scalding water from the kettle she held fell +on her woollen slipper and brought her up with an +exclamation of pain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Phœbe,” said Derek, desperately, “please go to +the kitchen and shut the door after you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe, feeling that she was in disgrace, hurried +from the room, and, tripping once more over the doorsill, +was precipitated into the kitchen. Snailem caught +her, and carefully closed the door upon them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Ramsey turned with a cheerful smile to Derek. +“Quite a character, that girl,” he said. “Most amusing. +I was positive she was going to baptize me with +that boiling water. . . . How nice and cool you are +here. It’s frightful out of doors.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Won’t you sit down?” said Derek, regaining +his outward composure, “and have some breakfast? +You’re out early.” He looked at Fawnie anxiously, +and she, meeting his eyes, divined that he would be +rid of her. With an odd dignity, she stood up in her +narrow blue dress, and said in her low voice, “I guess I +take my tea and scone upstairs and finish it there, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thanks, Fawnie,” said Derek; and Mr. Ramsey +with an amused little bow opened the door into the +hallway and smiled at her as she passed through.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Won’t you have some breakfast?” repeated Derek, +feeling that, by eating, the evil moment might be +delayed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, no. I had breakfast at Hickson’s. +I went there early to give the Communion to old Mr. +Hickson, who is dangerously ill. And afterwards I +had my breakfast.” Derek saw then that he carried +a small black bag.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Ramsey stared at the remains of the breakfast in +silence for a moment, then he turned his deep-set grey +eyes on Derek’s face with a look of intense scrutiny. +“So that is the girl,” he said with a new harsh note in +his voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean by calling her ‘the girl,’ as +though I had done something tremendous and irrevocable?” +demanded Derek resentfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, haven’t you?” returned Mr. Ramsey, on a +deep note. “It is rather tremendous, isn’t it, to bring +a young girl into your house under such circumstances? +Rather irrevocable to bring a son into the world?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek strode up and down the room, and at last +paused before the china greyhound on the chimney-piece, +and looked into its immobile face. “Such things +have been done before,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not often. Can you recall a case among your +acquaintances? And never without consequences.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here,” interrupted Derek. “Did you come +here as a friend, or not?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Absolutely as a friend.” Mr. Ramsey came and +stood beside him. “A friend above all things. Not +to rebuke nor to give advice, but to help, if possible.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, sir,” said Derek, looking at him steadily, +“put yourself in my place.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Ramsey flushed a little. “Yes,” he said +dryly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What could I do? There was that poor young +thing beaten into welts by an old hag—was threatened +even worse things. I brought her here simply to save +her skin. The child had to come too. Then my housekeeper +got wild, talked about my criminal actions to +the world in general and left me. Next thing Chard +and the minister from Mistwell came and insulted me—ordered +me to put the girl out—or marry her. Would +you have been baited by them? Then that affair last +night—a bunch of rowdies—would any decent fellow +submit to their bullying?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is true that your position has been frightfully +difficult. You must not think, my dear fellow, that I +am insensible to that. What I have come for this +morning is to help you, if possible, to a better understanding +with yourself, and with those who hold your +friendship as something very dear.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you mean the Jerrolds?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, and myself, of course.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you spoken of this to them?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Jerrold and I have talked it over. He is laid +up with lumbago, you know. I should have shunned +the subject with Miss Jerrold, but she brought it up +herself as I was leaving yesterday.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek picked up the china greyhound and turned it +in his hand, waiting for the Vicar to go on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She was very much upset,” said Mr. Ramsey, in +a low voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I suppose she would be. I suppose she’ll +never want to speak to me again, eh?” His hand +shook a little as he carefully set the dog on the oval +mark its base had made in the dust film on the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shouldn’t like to think that. I do think that she +has every hope that you will make what restitution you +can.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale stared at him uncomprehending, and the Vicar +went on: “She said to me that she was positive you +would do the right thing by the girl.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Provide for her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In the only way possible.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come now, Mr. Ramsey,” said Vale with heat. +“You don’t expect me to believe that Grace Jerrold +thinks I should marry Fawnie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think she hopes intensely that you will.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek struck the mantelpiece with his closed hand. +“It’s the most preposterous thing I ever heard of. +Because I made a fool of myself—a beast if you like—once, +she expects me to pay for it for the rest of my life. +All men are fools—beasts sometimes. Perhaps not +actually, but in thought. No one knows about them. +Everyone knows of this, and I am willing to face the +consequences. But that does not mean I am willing to +tie myself to an ignorant Indian girl.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose she was thinking about your son. I +confess that is what troubles me, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good God! I will provide for him! But marry +her. . . . Oh, I know how you look at it. . . . I was +strictly brought up. . . . I know the phrase—the +woman you wronged—I take the blame—but marry +her!” The blood rushed to his head at the mere +thought of such a marriage; at the thought, too, of +Grace Jerrold discussing his wrongdoing with the +Vicar. What a horrible mess he had got into! How +was he to get out? He did not know what way to +turn. Mrs. Machin, Chard, the minister, the Mistwell +folk, the Jerrolds, Mr. Ramsey, they were all banded +together to bait him. He felt bewildered. His eyes +looked strange as he faced the Vicar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t get excited, my dear fellow. Remember I +am here to help you. I want you to realize the elemental +truths of the affair. Even if you give the girl money +and send her away with the child, what will become of +him? Try to picture his life—the life of your own flesh +and blood. He is no common Indian. He has the blood +of your mother—your father—your uncle who gave you +this place. If you supplied his mother with money, do +you suppose her family would ever let her be? She +would be their prey. Your son would be knocked about +by some low half-breed, probably. Think of him as +a ragged, dirty, ignorant youth coming to pick berries +some day at Grimstone, the home of his fathers. As +for the girl—Fawnie, is it?—she is pretty, intelligent, +a direct descendant of Tecumseh, I believe, and she +cannot be repulsive to you or you would not have been +eating your breakfast so happily with her as I came +in.” Mr. Ramsey’s clean-shaven lips parted in a +slightly derisive smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek flushed deeply. More than ever, he felt cut, +bewildered. Now he could not bear the Vicar’s keen +eyes. He went to the door and looked out on the +blinding surface of the lake. A wave of heat like the +breath of a furnace beat in upon him. He glanced at +the thermometer hanging in the shade on the verandah. +The mercury touched 102 degrees. No wonder he felt +bewildered. He put his hand to his head. Strange +pains were tormenting the back of his neck. He could +not think. And yet thoughts were gnawing at his +brain like rats gnawing to get free of a trap. There +seemed to be no air to breathe. A black schooner was +passing, trailing a streamer of sooty black smoke. +. . . He was roused by the sound of a shuffling step +on the flags. It was old Mrs. Sharroe. She gave him +an imperturbably hostile stare as she passed. He +thought of gentle Fawnie at her mercy. Of his son, +poor little beggar, at her mercy. He remembered the +feel of those welts on Fawnie’s shoulder and turned +sick with repugnance. He wheeled back into the room +and could scarcely make out Mr. Ramsey’s figure, +still standing by the fireplace, for the strange jigging +in his eyes. He was afraid that Mr. Ramsey would +begin talking again. Anything seemed better than +more talk. Words beat so on a fellow’s brain. Like +the heat, only worse. . . . “We’ll have done with +all this talk, then,” he thought, and he said heavily:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All right. I’ll marry her—since everybody thinks +I should.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He could never rightly remember that drive to Mistwell +to buy the licence. He knew that a motor had +passed them once and covered them with dust, and he +remembered the glare of a red and yellow sign by the +roadside advertising fur coats and wraps. The man +who sold him the licence had seemed but half awake. +He had yawned in open boredom as he asked questions +and filled in blanks. Only Mr. Ramsey seemed cool, +alert, masterful.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He talked cheerfully and kindly to Derek on the way +homeward, and before parting advised him almost in +the tone of a doctor to take care not to expose himself +to the heat, but to keep quiet and cool until he should +return in the afternoon to perform the ceremony.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>He looked at the table after the Vicar had gone and +wondered what meal it was that he had been eating a +while ago. He took up the teapot and poured himself +a little tea. It was tepid and bitter, not what he wanted. +From the cupboard under the stairs he got a bottle of +Scotch whisky and half filled a tumbler, adding cold +water from the pump outside. He drank it slowly and +his brain felt clearer, but he wanted to be alone to +think—if possible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went to the parlour and stretched himself on the +sofa, his burning head pressed against the unfriendly +beaded cushion. But, instead of thinking, he became +drowsy and slept. In his dreams the air was full of +yells and hoots, and the beating of tin pans.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was awakened by the pain in the back of his +neck. He had been dreaming something about the +Indians. Oh, yes, they had been going to hang him +from a tree in the orchard. Jammery had just placed +the rope about his neck. Mr. Ramsey had been there +in his surplice, reading the burial service, and a mob +of Mistwell fellows were making a frightful row. He +felt dazed. Then, suddenly, he remembered everything.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>No one would expect him to keep such a promise. +He had hardly known what he was saying. He made +up his mind that he would go straight to Mr. Jerrold +and talk it over with him. And, if he met Grace, he +would speak frankly to her, as he had spoken to Mr. +Ramsey. He pictured himself putting the matter +before her plainly, almost brutally, yet withal throwing +himself upon her mercy, making her feel that she +above all others could save him from the disaster.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He got his hat and went out by the front door. The +road was deserted except for a speckled hen who was +taking a dust-bath with tempestuous energy, just outside +the gate. She ceased for a moment as he passed +and gazed up at him with a hard yellow eye. She lay +on her side, every feather on end, and one scaly leg +stiffly extended in the dust. Fearing some passing +motor-car might kill her, Derek pushed her with his +foot and sent her, dishevelled and angry, through the +gateway.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As he passed over the bridge he noticed that the +stream had gone almost dry. Out of the shiny ooze of +the pool grotesque spotted lilies seemed to stare up at +him with yellow eyes like the hen’s. The sloping field +beyond the stream was a shimmering sea of oats, their +bluish stalks bending and whispering under a faint hot +breeze.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He hesitated, listening to that drowsy, sibilant +music, and did not notice the approach of a vehicle +until it was almost upon him. Looking up, as the +driver turned his horses aside, he looked straight into +the face of Grace Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was alone save for the groom who sat on the +seat before her. She was in a thin white dress and +held a green silk parasol above her bright uncovered +head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek started forward, shamefaced, yet eager. He +thought, instantly, he would climb in beside her and +pour out the whole miserable business into her ears. +The driver drew up his horses, and looked over his +shoulder, expecting an order to stop. But, instead, +she gave him a little nod to go on, and, after one +sorrowful look into the expectant eyes raised to hers, +turned her face away, and stared across the lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The carriage passed. Now the glistening green +parasol hid her from view. She had dropped it on +her shoulder, either to hide herself from the contamination +of his gaze, or from faintness perhaps. It +did not matter. She had cut him. He scarcely seemed +able to take that in as he stood in the dust of the +wheels.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>All he wanted now was to get home, to escape from +the glare of the road into the dim shade of the parlour. +There he would sit until Mr. Ramsey’s return. He +had said he would be back about three. He would sit +there quietly till Mr. Ramsey came, and then he would +tell him of his unchangeable decision not to marry the +girl.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He began quickly to retrace his steps Two little +girls in clumsy pinafores met him and whispered +together behind their hands. Then they began to +laugh hysterically, and ran past him clutching each +other. When he reached his own gate, the hen was +exactly where he had first found her, taking a second +dust-bath.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In the house all was quiet. He shut himself in the +parlour with the bottle of Scotch, and, when Phœbe +called him to dinner, he said he had a headache and +did not want to be disturbed. Upstairs Fawnie sang +the same song over and over to the baby.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>“But, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Ramsey, anxiously, +“you look very flushed. I hope you have not been +exerting in the heat.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sitting here all day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then I am afraid you’re not quite well. But it’s +enough to make anyone ill. I’m sure I have sweated +five pounds off, pedalling those seven miles from +Brancepeth three times to-day.” But he still looked +quite fresh. And he spoke with cheerful matter-of-factness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is Miss Fawnie ready?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Who the devil? Oh, yes—Miss Fawnie. I’ve +not told her yet,” Derek replied, stupidly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not told her? Oh, my dear fellow! Do you +want me to? Shall I?” His tone was that of one +who indulges a petulant child.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. The fact is——” What was the fact? For +the life of him he could not tell. The one fact he +seemed able to grasp was that Grace had turned her +face from him that morning in the road. All else +seemed a stupid bungle from which he was too tired +to extricate himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you want me to tell her?” repeated Mr. +Ramsey.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. I’ll go. I don’t care. Tell her if you like.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well. I’ll leave you the ring. You remember +you asked me to buy it? A very nice one, I think. +I’ll make the service as short as I can, since you are +not well. Upstairs, is she? I hear her voice. She +sings very sweetly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek heard him decisively mount the stairs, then +came the sound of a knock, followed by his vibrant, +pleasant speech with Fawnie. Shortly he descended +and put his head in at the parlour door. “It’s all +right,” he said. “She will be down directly. Wanted +to change her blouse. May I go in your room, Derek, +old fellow,”—it was his first use of the Christian +name—“to slip my surplice on? Thanks, very much. +I’ll be with you directly. Nice little ring, isn’t it? +Narrow, yet heavy.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek dropped the ring stolidly into the pocket of +his jacket. His eyes were on Jock, who had just come +in from out of doors. He was panting jerkily, and +Derek thought—“I must have him clipped. But by +someone who knows. I don’t want his fine coat all +jagged up.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Vicar had called Phœbe and Hugh McKay as +witnesses, and they now came in, standing shyly at +the far end of the room. They seemed overcome by +the turn things had taken. Phœbe had exchanged +her woollen slippers for shiny buttoned boots, which +pinched her cruelly as she stood, balancing from one +foot to the other.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek got slowly to his feet as Mr. Ramsey, like +some impressive vessel in full sail, entered in his +surplice. Fawnie, frightened, yet elated, followed him. +She had once seen a wedding in the English Church +at Brancepeth, and was determined to be as orthodox +in her attire as that other bride married by Mr. +Ramsey. Desperately eager to wear a veil, her eyes +had fallen on the fine white net curtains Mrs. Machin +had recently hung at the window. Quick as thought +she had mounted a chair and unfastened the brass +pins of one curtain. No fair bride, arranging the folds +of the Brussels lace veil her grandmother had worn +beneath a chaplet of pearls, could have been thrilled +by a pride more delicious than that felt by Fawnie as +she glimpsed the dark glow of her eyes and the pouting +red of her lips behind the starched white net.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She looked so pretty as she came into the parlour, +that Derek was roused for a moment from his lethargy +and smiled at her. Mr. Ramsey looked at the veil +dubiously, then his brow cleared, and, with a tolerant +smile, he motioned them to their place before him. +Jock sniffed the billowing surplice, but obeyed Hugh’s +deep-voiced injunction, “Sit ye doon, Jock.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Ramsey opened his prayer-book and began the +service in a hurried, muffled voice, soothing to the ear. +Derek John took Fawnie Pearl by the right hand, and +promised, rather unintelligibly, to have and to hold +her from that day forward, for better for worse. +Fawnie Pearl took Derek John by his right hand, and +promised in her husky little voice (not understanding +a word of it) to have and to hold him, to love, cherish, +and obey him, from that day forward, till death did +them part. Then Derek, without flurry or confusion, +produced the ring and put it on the taper third finger +of the too supple brown hand, and they were man and +wife. Jock stretched himself and yawned. Hugh drew +a deep sigh, and Mr. Ramsey wished them great joy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But Buckskin, upstairs, broke into angry cries, as +though protesting against the union of those two fond +strangers who had given him being.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek and Fawnie were sitting side by side on the +sofa in the parlour. They were alone. Late sunlight +was slanting between the chinks in the shutters. A +solemn hush hung over the house. The atmosphere +created by Mr. Ramsey’s cassock and surplice still +brooded there.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My goodness,” said Fawnie, thinking aloud. +“He looked terr’ble nice in them wraps, almost like +God. And he had a big ring with a shiny black +stone—and I couldn’t tell a word he said. I never +saw anyone as much like God. But I don’ like his big +ring half as well as my nice ring.” She turned her +graceful little hand before his face. He noticed that +she wore a gold bangle bracelet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You have a bracelet, too,” he observed. “Where +did you get that, Fawnie?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She quickly hid her wrist in the folds of her dress +and broke into a chuckling laugh. “I’ll tell you +some day. Not now. I’ll tell you sometime when I +want to make you laugh. But not now. Now I jus’ +want to sit still and get used to things. I’m pretty +near scared o’ this big room, and the pianner, and all +the pictures starin’ at me. Who’s that fonny woman +with the lace cap and mittens?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My great-grandmother.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is it put on with paint?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. An oil painting.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh. Where was it made?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In Devon.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is that near Halifax?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. It’s in England.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know where England is. It’s up at a place +where the king lives.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’ like the way she stares at us, do you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not exactly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What do you s’pose she’s thinkin’?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nothing very pleasant.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, nothing very pleasant. She’s mad, I think, +and jealous of me sittin’ here in my yaller dress with a +gold ring, and a gold bracelet, and a white veil, with +a nice young man beside me. She wishes she could +hop right out of that picture and tear us apart, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shouldn’t be surprised.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But you can’t do it, ole lady, so jus’ be good or +I’ll turn your face to the wall. . . . Put your head +on my shoulder, Derek, you look awful sleepy.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-4'>CHAPTER IV<br/> DULCE DOMUM</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Phœbe</span> was sweeping the flagged yard next morning +when a trap driven by one of Mr. Jerrold’s men turned +up the drive and stopped with a flourish. But it was +with no flourish that Mr. Jerrold himself descended, +rather with the wincing and suppressed groans of one +stiff with lumbago. Leaning on a stick, he came +towards her, his dark brow puckered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is Mr. Vale in?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He is indeed, sir,” answered Phœbe, leaning on +her broom and speaking breathlessly, “and I suppose +you’ve heard of the goings-on here. He’s never stirred +out of the parlour since yesterday morning, and he +must be drunk as a lord now with all the whisky he’s +carried in there. And as for that Fawnie—and it goes +against the grain for me to ‘Mrs. Vale’ her—she’s +getting so arrogant there’s no knowing what she’ll do. +This morning she carries down a bundle of soiled +clothes and tells me to wash ’em. ‘Here, Phœbe, you +wash these clothes and see you wash ’em clean,’ says +she. Oh, I like her cheek, I do. ‘Me wash for a +Nindian!’ says I. ‘Am I Mrs. Vale or ain’t I?’ says +she. ‘You do what I say or you can get out.’ That’s +the way she talked to me, sir, and if you was to have +got out of that trap and hit me over the head with a +bludgeon, I shouldn’t have been knocked more of a +heap. A gentleman must have a margin, as I say to +Hughie, but when it comes to a Nindian wife . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And did you wash the clothes?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I did, sir, and there they hang on the line enough +to scare the crows with their rags an’ tags.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s too bad,” said Mr. Jerrold, commiseratingly, +“but do the best you can for Mr. Vale’s sake.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall I tell him you’re here, sir?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, I’ll go straight in.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He limped to the door of the parlour and opened it, +after tapping on the panel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The shutters were closed and the room lay in a +stuffy haze of tobacco smoke. He felt sure that Vale +had put a decanter out of sight at the sound of his rap. +Certainly he smelled strongly of whisky and looked as +though he had slept in his clothes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Phew,” said Mr. Jerrold, “may I open a window? +There’s a breeze rising outside that’s not half bad. +We’re in for a devil of a storm. As a matter of fact, +I doubt whether the rain will be in time to save the +crops. There. Isn’t that nice?” He had thrown +open the shutters, and a breeze, fresh and uneasy, +swept into the room. He sat down on the piano-stool +and faced Vale, trying to smile unconcernedly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Vale, “what do you think of my +latest?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m staggered. We’re all staggered. All I can +say is that if I had known in time, Ramsey should +have married you only over my dead body. You +could not have known what you were doing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I did know, though. It’s all right. I’m not kicking. +I’m just trying to get used to the idea of having +a squaw for a wife.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But why, in God’s name, did you bring her into +your house in the first place?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you heard nothing?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They say the old woman had beaten her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“So she did. Horribly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s nothing. A put-up job. You’re too easy. +Then after you brought her here there was that +charivari.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. Then Chard and the minister came.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You didn’t mind them, surely?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, but I did mind Ramsey. I don’t mean that I +was afraid of him, but—well, I was tired, and couldn’t +think for the heat, and there was the kid. And everyone +saying I should make it right.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Did Ramsey say I even hinted such a thing?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, but——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, he said Gay did, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He said she hoped I’d do the right thing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Meaning she hoped you’d put your head in a +noose. Why didn’t you come to see us and find out +what we thought for yourself?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was going to. I started out but——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Lord, I don’t want to talk about it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why didn’t you come, Vale?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I met your daughter on the road. She was driving—and +she——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Didn’t speak?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. Turned her head away. So I came home.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you young fool! What if the girl didn’t +speak? She was upset. She told me about it. After +she had driven down the road a bit she made the man +turn back. She thought she would overtake you, but +you had disappeared. And, after all, man, what if she +didn’t speak? You would scarcely expect her to—after +what happened. But I am different. Why in +God’s name didn’t you come to me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek shook himself impatiently. “I don’t know,” +he said. Then he looked into Mr. Jerrold’s face +pleadingly. “Don’t talk about it any more. I’m +stupid as an owl to-day. My brain won’t work. . . . +I’ve done it, and there’s nothing more to be said. I’m +going to stand by it. Will you have a drink?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, it’s too hot. I’ll never forgive Ramsey for +this. I’ll make him sorry, too. I was going to buy a +new carpet for the church, and I’m dashed if I will, +now.” He stared angrily out of the window. He +added in a moment, “Just look at those clouds, Vale, +over the lake. Menacing, aren’t they? I must be +getting home.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Better stay till it’s over.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, I’ll have to go. Grace is very nervous about +storms, and this is going to be a bad one.” He got +up and leant on his stick. “But remember, I’m your +friend, always. And if I can do anything—look here! +Why can’t you pay her off and get rid of her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m not going to do anything,” shouted Derek, +suddenly, “but sit here and soak. It’s all I’m good +for. Talk, talk, talk—I’m utterly sick of talk.” He +glared at his friend with rather pathetic hostility.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A heavy sound of thunder rolled above the lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you are,” concurred Mr. Jerrold. +“Well, good-bye. And, I say, that note is just about +due. I can meet it all right.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’d forgotten it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I hadn’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How are things going?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pretty rotten, just now. But they’ll be looking up +soon. They’re bound to. I have grand young stock +coming on. I want you to see them. Will you come +over?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course I shall. And look here, if I’ve acted +like a grouchy brute to-day, don’t imagine that I’m +not appreciating your coming over here like this—when +you’re suffering.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good God, I’d have come on my hands and knees +to have prevented this!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, it may not turn out so badly. The thing is +just to get shaken down to the new conditions. And—tell +Miss Grace, will you? not to worry over that +little encounter of ours. I understand. It was the +only thing she could do.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A flash of lightning quivered over the darkened +fields, flooding them with sombre gold. A violent +crash of thunder at the same moment terrified Mr. +Jerrold’s horse into a rampant position, so that +against the deep purple of the lake it looked like +some impressive beast of heraldry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold snatched his hat, and, growling with +pain, hurried out.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>After the long drought, after the inertia of weeks of +tropic heat, the storm rushed up from the lake as a +deliverer to loose the chafing, burning bonds. Land +and sky, in a torrent of rain, seemed to clasp each +other like long separated lovers. Now there was such +blackness that a face across the room could not be +seen; now a vivid pinkish light disclosed the very +cracks in the old paintings. The tops of the great +trees were agitated into wild disorder, yet their rough +trunks expressed invincible resistance. Nevertheless, +before long, with a shivering jar, one of them fell +across the driveway.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The rain beat it down, as it lay prostrate, its foliage +drooping on the sand, its branches, where only this +morning Derek had watched a family of young +squirrels wantonly frisking, now crumpled against +the ground. Why had it been selected for disaster? +Had it invited the turbulent embrace of the wind? He +was sorry to see it fallen, and, from pitying it, he +came to pitying himself. It seemed to him that in +some mysterious way he had been made the plaything +of a cruel and capricious fate. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A sudden scream from the dining-room made him +start. “What’s the matter now?” he asked irritably +as he hurried out. Fawnie was rocking her body in +fear, her arms clasping her head. Phœbe sat nursing +the baby. One of Fawnie’s little brothers, the one +who was accustomed to carry the idiot boy, stood in a +dark corner, the whites of his eyes prominent with +fear. “What’s the matter?” repeated Derek. “Was +it the tree? That’s all right. There are plenty more.” +He went to Fawnie and took her arms from her head. +She threw herself against his shoulder, sobbing, “Oh, +I am so scared! I am so scared! Another of them +will fall and smash the roof. Oo—I wish I was in the +shack! It’s this high ceiling—if it was to fall on us, +from so far, it’d kill us sure.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense,” said Derek. “It’s a very low ceiling. +See, I can almost touch it with my hand.” Still +Fawnie cried.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’s worse than the baby,” said Phœbe. “He’s +a lamb, ain’t ye, my pet? A lamb, if ever there was +one. Look at his eyes dancin’, Mr. Vale. Blue, ain’t +they? Look at his little hands. Hello, fat fingers!”—she +mumbled his chubby fists and dandled him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What is Lisgar doing here?” asked Derek of +Fawnie. He did not want her family hanging about +the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He was gettin’ a point of milk when the storm +came on. I brought him in here out of the kitchen +’cause that ole Snailem, and Hugh, and some Mistwell +fellers was teasin’ him. I’ll put him out in the +storm, if you like, Derek.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, no. It’s all right. Get him a piece of cake, +Phœbe, and he’ll forget to be afraid.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe, the baby tucked under her arm, went to the +kitchen. She brought back a tray covered with tea-cups, +a pot of tea, and a plate heaped with seed-cake. +A sound of scraping chairs came from the kitchen as +the men drew up to the table for a like refreshment. +Lisgar’s bright eyes grew round and he drew near the +tray, yet, when Derek had put a piece of cake in his +hand, he was still too frightened to eat, and stood, +motionless as a bronze statue, his gaze intensely fixed +on the streaming window, as he watched for the next +terrifying flash. Rain thundered on the roof, and +spattered in the fireplace. Phœbe returned to the +kitchen to eat with the men. She took the baby with +her, talking unintelligibly to him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie had established herself beside the teapot. +She was calm now, even playful, because the storm +was easing, and she felt protected by Derek’s presence. +The cake and tea tasted very good to Derek, for he +had eaten nothing since his breakfast the morning +before. His spirits rose, and when Fawnie clapped +her hands as a glimmer of sunlight gained the room, +he smiled at her as a child and said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Going to be a good girl?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You bet,” she replied, nodding her head emphatically. +“And Phœbe’s got to mind the baby and +call me Mrs. Vale every time she speaks to me, and +not laugh at my clothes. Kin I buy some new clothes +right away, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but you must not be sharp with Phœbe or +she’ll leave, and God knows what we should do +then.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’d get another servant, an Indian girl, and I’d +slap her face if she was saucy, and pull her hair, and +make her scrub the floor five times a day, hey, Lisgar, +wouldn’t I?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sure,” said Lisgar, “you’d likely kill her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“In the meantime,” Derek made his tone severe, +“you’re not to order Phœbe about too freely. She +won’t stand it, and I want to keep her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Rising, he shook himself impatiently, strode to the +door and threw it open. A moist, cool breeze swept +into the room. Large, bright drops still fell from the +eaves and splashed on the flagstones below, but the +clouds, massed into dark towers and sinister battlements, +were receding southward. Overhead the sky +was a drenched and tender blue.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, see the rainbow!” cried Fawnie, “like a +fonny bridge across the lake.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A good omen, Fawnie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“World without end. Omen,” she repeated, +remembering the marriage service.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I thought you said you didn’t understand a word +the clergyman said,” laughed Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’ you believe everything I say. I say what +comes into my head. Let’s go out.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was delicious out of doors. The dripping grass +was sweet and cool to tread on; delicate clouds of pink +and gold floated like banners of peace above the tree-tops. +They went to the fallen tree and examined it. +Lisgar began to walk the length of its splendid tapering +trunk. A brood of half-grown chickens had taken +shelter beneath its leaves. They ran out now, shaking +themselves and stretching their long legs joyously. +Yet, last of all came one who moved stiffly, half dead +from wet and chill. He had never feathered as he +should; in fact, he had no feathers except on his head +and wings, and a little ridiculous down on his red, +sunburnt body. Now he staggered forth, grotesque, +yet pitiable. Derek picked him up. “He’s positively +indecent,” he said. “I suppose I ought to wring his +neck. He’ll never be any good.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Give him to Lisgar. The ole woman’ll put him +in the pot.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>That settled it. Derek carried him to the kitchen +and made Phœbe wrap him in warm flannel, and give +him a little milk. Soon he looked out brightly enough +from his wrapper and opened his beak for more milk.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Snailem found three poults behind the apple-house, +flattened right out by the rain, dead as door-nails,” +said Phœbe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Better dead,” muttered Snailem, shifting his +tobacco, “better dead than livin’ to be et.”</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had felt that he must get away from the house +with its strange associations—the atmosphere of his +marriage clung like stale incense to the rooms. After +a few turns on the driveway, he had followed the path +into the orchard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was dark as a crow’s wing there, a good place +to wander unseen. The lantern hanging before the +shack only served to intensify the richness of the +night, as a jewel the raven hair of a woman.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He lighted his pipe, and paced up and down under +the wet trees, enjoying the coolness of the night and +the movement of his body after the long hours in the +parlour. He could hear voices near the lantern, and, +as he approached the shack, he saw figures of several +men about the table under the lantern. Then he heard +the rattle of dice and a low laugh from Jammery. The +other men never laughed audibly. Concealed by the +trees, he drew nearer and saw their faces clearly as +they bent over the table. Isaac and Enoch, the sons-in-law; +Charley, the grown-up son; and handsome +Jammery, his even features and slender moustache in +contrast with the rough-hewn, bony faces of Isaac and +Enoch, and the round, boyish face of Charley. Inside +the shack he could see a group of women and boys. +The old woman was plucking a fowl which was tied +to the ceiling by its feet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery was winning, for he drew a little pile of +coins to him, and looked in at the door with another +laugh. Perhaps he had promised one of the girls a +present if he won, for one quickly darted out and put +her arms about his neck and kissed him. Derek’s pipe +had gone out and he refilled it, cautiously striking a +match and shielding it under his coat. But he had in +mind the senses of the white man, not the brown. In +an instant the face of every Indian was turned towards +him; Jammery got up and came over.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s you, is it, Mr. Vale?” he said. “I saw the +light on your face, and recognized you. It’s nice in +the orchard, isn’t it, since the rain?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I was just taking a stroll.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I hope you won’t mind us having a little game. +Just a few dollars pass between us of an evening.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t mind. I’ll come over and watch you for +a bit.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery’s eyebrows went up, but he answered +politely: “Yes, do. We’d be pleased to have you, +and I can offer you a glass of whisky that’s not +too bad if you would not be above drinking with +Indians.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek gave a reckless laugh. “Above drinking +with Indians! Why should I be? You’re my +brothers-in-law now, aren’t you? All one family!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I suppose that’s so.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek caught him by the arm. “Come along, then, +brother-in-law, let’s have a drink together. I’ve been +drinking for two days, but that doesn’t matter.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I guess you’re the sort that can stand a lot,” said +Jammery, admiringly. “Half a dozen drinks would +make those fellows wild, and even I couldn’t stand +what you can.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m as sober as a judge,” said Derek, truculently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Anyone can see that. I’m glad I have something +respectable to offer you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The men at the table showed no surprise at Derek’s +advent, but the old squaw, after a sharp look into +Jammery’s face, slammed the door of the shack. +Enoch, a quiet, slow Indian, rose and offered his place +on the bench to Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thanks,” said Derek, taking it. “Go on with +your game. I’ll watch.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery produced a bottle from under the table, +and going to the cupboard in the lean-to, returned +with a tumbler which Derek recognized as one from +his own house. “It’s the only glass we have,” +explained Jammery, “we like it just as well out of +tin mugs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek took the glass that Jammery handed him and +sipped it critically. The flavour was so like his own +that the thought crossed his mind that probably Fawnie +had had something to do with the presence of this good +Scotch in the shack. Nevertheless, he took his drink +philosophically. He liked to watch the Indians as +they played, their deep-set eyes glittering like jewels +in their immobile, swarthy faces, the movements of +their hands as they shook the dice. Jammery continued +to win. Presently young Charley began to +pay his debts in packets of red picker’s tickets with +the name of Derek’s uncle printed on them. At last +they were gone, and the boy rose sulkily from the +table, saying a few words in Indian to Jammery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” replied Jammery, in English, “go to +bed. Perhaps Mr. Vale would like to take your place.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shouldn’t mind,” said Derek. As a matter of +fact, he had been wanting to take a hand for some +time. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Grimstone folded him closer in its woods, and +orchards, and streams, and in the lives of the aboriginal +people who had once so barbarously dwelt +there.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The women went to their bunks; and a slight silver +moon rose above the orchard. An owl cried repeatedly +in a mournful, downward trill. The men at the table +noticed none of these things. Derek had had a considerable +amount of money in his pockets and he was +losing it slowly but surely to Jammery and Isaac. He +did not mind, for Jammery kept his glass full and it +was the excitement of the play he craved. He played +wildly, his cheeks flushed by drink, and his fair face +contrasting strangely with the bronze countenances +about him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Snailem had cleaned out the apple-house that day, +and thrown a few bushels of withered apples from +last year’s crop into a corner of the orchard for the +pigs. They had been up finishing these by moonlight, +and now, attracted by the light of the lantern, +they came running and stamping through the trees to +the very feet of the gamblers. They crowded closely +around them, snuffling and snorting, their coarse pink +snouts wet with apple juice turned up towards the +men’s faces. A big Yorkshire sow peered quizzically +up at Derek, chewing something with relish, in short, +quick smacks. He stared at her in surprise.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Damned if I ever saw such intelligent fache, as +fache on thish sow,” he said. “Look at her, +Jammery.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Enoch and Isaac began to drive the pigs away with +kicks, and blows with a stick.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I liked thish—I’ll come again,” said Derek, as he +got up to go.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll walk through the orchard with you,” Jammery +said, gently taking his arm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No; don’t wannany help. Leggo my arm.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He shook himself free and marched steadily down +the orchard path, the pigs darting here and there, out +of his way. He was in good spirits, and broke into a +song that he and two Halifax friends had often sung +as a trio:</p> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>“A little farm well tilled,</p> +<p class='line0'>A little barn well filled,</p> +<p class='line0'>A little wife well willed—</p> +<p class='line0'>      Give me, give me.”</p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<p class='pindent'>His good baritone voice, rich with emotion, echoed +against the grey walls of Grimstone. . . . He was +looking up at Fawnie’s window, when, in a tone +deepened by melancholy, he sang the last verse:</p> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>“I like the farm well tilled,</p> +<p class='line0'>And I like the house well filled,</p> +<p class='line0'>But no wife at all—</p> +<p class='line0'>      Give me, give me.”</p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<p class='pindent'>The locust flowers fell about him; the lake lapped +musically upon the shingle; a cockerel crowed feebly +in the barn. Derek laid his head against the grey wall +and wept.</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-5'>CHAPTER V<br/> EDMUND</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Mr. Jerrold</span> and Hobbs were leaning against a gate +watching a stableman breaking in a colt in the paddock +before them. Mr. Jerrold watched with an almost +tender smile the awkward yet delicate movements of +the beautiful young creature, so wistfully bewildered, +so unconscious of its great strength. The hard, light +eyes of Hobbs seemed only to appraise its fine points +as that of something to be bought, sold, or put to tests +of endurance or speed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t overdo it,” called Mr. Jerrold. “That’s +enough for to-day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hobbs showed disapproval. “You stop the training,” +he said, “just as she’s getting into the swing +of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I understand breaking in colts, I think. I don’t +want her worried.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well, it’s for you to say.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, it’s for me to say—yet.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They stood in silence as the stableman led away the +colt, then Hobbs said, cheerfully:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Things are going from bad to worse at Grimstone, +they say.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold turned to him anxiously. “In what +way, Hobbs? I have scarcely seen anything of Vale +since his marriage—seven or eight weeks ago, isn’t +it? He seems to want to be let alone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The trouble with him,” said Hobbs, “is that he +was too damned cock-a-hoop in the first place. He +was so proud of owning the place, and so sure he could +manage his farm, and his stock, and his Indians. He’d +take no advice from anyone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t notice that. What is the trouble now?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, Chard tells me that he has been going up to +the shack almost every night gambling with his Indian +brothers-in-law and Jammery, and getting so full he +could hardly navigate his way home. The house has +been overrun by the Indian kids, and the servant girl +couldn’t keep anything to eat in her cupboards. The +fruit gets picked sometimes, and sometimes it don’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry to hear this. Why didn’t you tell me +before?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I knew Mr. Vale was a friend, and I thought +maybe you wouldn’t want to hear anything against +him. Then, I’d seen you and him talking together +several times, so I supposed you’d get a notion of +what was going on.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I knew things were rather bad, but I had no idea +they were in that state.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That isn’t all. A couple of days ago he flew into a +rage at the way they were imposing on him—I don’t +blame them—I think it served him right—and he +simply drove them all off the place. Followed ’em +to the gate and locked it after them. Chard was passing +and says he looked wild, and white as a sheet. +Now the thimbleberries are dropping off the canes, +and there’s nobody to pick them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Grace Jerrold then rode up on her favourite horse, +whose rounded sides shone with the brightness of a +polished nut. She looked paler and more slender than +formerly. Hobbs gazed at her keenly, trying to +fathom the origin of her pallor which, he thought, +was produced by one of three causes: either the extreme +heat of the early summer; the anxiety arising +from her father’s serious financial position; or disappointment +at Vale’s marriage. He was inclined to +credit the last reason, although she gave him a look of +cold suspicion as she drew in her rein that he felt +showed bitter resentment of his growing authority and +liberty of action on the farm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-morning, Miss Jerrold,” he said, touching +his hat, “and how is Darby this morning?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very skittish,” she replied. “I think he is getting +more oats than is good for him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah! but you like him spirited, don’t you? Think +of the way he took you over that gate yesterday.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That was his duty. It is not his duty to shy when +passing the same gate this morning as though he had +never seen it before.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hobbs laughed and moved away, leaving the father +and daughter together.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>He lifted her from her horse and they walked along +the grassy lane together, he holding the rein loosely +while Darby bent to crop the short new grass that had +appeared since the recent rain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He said: “Do you know, Grace, Hobbs tells me +that things are in a very bad state at Grimstone. Had +you heard anything?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes.” Her tone was reserved.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“From whom?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A housemaid. She would gossip as she was doing +my room and—I couldn’t help listening.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I couldn’t bear to talk about it. You couldn’t +do anything, and you had worries enough of your +own.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are we going to let Derek ruin himself and not put +out a hand?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have written to his brother.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Written to his brother! He’ll not thank you for +that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t desire his thanks.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Had his brother heard of the marriage?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not a word. Derek had written to him only once, +a strange sort of letter, he said. He couldn’t understand +it. He’s terribly upset. He has got leave and +is coming to see. He should arrive to-day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Grace! And you were keeping all this from your +father?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You keep things from me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What sort of things?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Things about Hobbs—and debts—and mistakes—and +failures—only lately, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My darling.” He put his arm about her waist. +“Only because I hate to see you worried.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She smiled up at him brightly. “Don’t let’s worry. +Everything will come right. . . . With us, I mean.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They walked in silence for a space. The mellow +light of the morning made known the imminence of +autumn. Goldenrod rose, taller than the fences, its +sprays imprisoning passing thistledown. The hips of +the brier shone, plump and ruddy. Perhaps something +of the gentle melancholy of the morning overtook +those two people, usually so talkative when together, +or perhaps each felt less certain of the other’s state of +mind than ever before.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they came to the boundary between Durras +and Grimstone they saw, crossing a field, the figures +of two men. They were Derek and Edmund Vale.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall we go on, or wait and speak to them?” +asked Grace.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We’ll wait, don’t you think so? They have seen +us.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The two men hesitated, spoke together excitedly a +moment, then Derek turned back and Edmund came +on alone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m glad to see you back,” said Mr. Jerrold when +the greetings were over. “I suppose your brother is +glad to have you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the young man. “He +was awfully surprised. I’ve had jollier home-comings.” +He looked searchingly at Grace, but she avoided his +eyes, and, pulling at a hip of the brier near her, had +her finger pierced by a thorn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Silly girl,” said her father, taking out a large, +tobacco-smelling handkerchief and enfolding in it the +bleeding finger.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Miss Grace believes in grasping the thorn,” said +Edmund. “As for me, I dread everything unpleasant. +Hips and haws may flourish unhurt for all of me, as +long as they’ve thorns to protect ’em.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you met your brother’s wife?” asked Mr. +Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just for a moment. My God, isn’t this an awful +marriage? I was stunned when I heard of it. Just +think, he never mentioned it when he wrote! But I +knew there was something wrong—I thought of something +quite different.” He looked hard at Grace, and +she met his eyes with a troubled smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come over, Captain Vale,” said Mr. Jerrold, +“and talk to my daughter. Tell her some enlivening +doings of Halifax. She needs cheering up. I’ll take +Darby home.” He felt that Edmund wanted to see +Grace alone.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why do you need cheering?” His tone was +almost accusing, though with an assumed lightness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Life cannot be always smooth for anyone, can it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It should be for you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I expect my share of trouble like others but, really—it +is over others that I worry.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You make me very envious.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I don’t believe you’d worry much if I were +to marry an Indian.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She flushed red. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I am +worrying about my father. You see, he put everything +he had into this place and now he’s obliged to sell it +just to meet his obligations. I am afraid there won’t be +much left.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund coloured also. “I had no idea of such a +thing. I thought of your father as absolutely secure—here +permanently. He gives one that feeling.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know. I really believe that if he were walking in +the gutter carrying a sandwich-board, he would wear +that look of well-being, and people would say—‘What +a dashing fellow!’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I am awfully sorry. Can nothing be done?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no. It’s all over. We are to have a sale on +the twelfth of September. Shall you be here till then?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I have a decent leave this time. But, I say, +does this mean that you must move away from here?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank heaven, no. We are going to keep a +cottage—that one right on the shore—it has been used +by Carss, one of the gardeners. It has a pretty garden, +a few fruit trees, and the tiniest stable. Then, of +course, we shall keep our dogs. Our good old cook +is going with us, and we are to have one cow. Perhaps +I shall have to milk. Can’t you see me as a strapping +milkmaid?” She spoke quickly, and with an air of +suppressed excitement.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund’s mobile face was full of sympathy. +“Strange,” he murmured. “Derek did not say a +word about this to me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I suppose not. He has his own affairs to +contemplate.” There was bitterness in her voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I must say they are in a sorry mess. How +a fastidious chap like he is can ever hit it off with that +girl——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Grace sharply pressed the finger that had been torn +by the brier. “It hurts,” she explained.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Too bad. Take the handkerchief off and let me +see it. Maybe a bit of thorn is sticking in it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I believe it is. But I shan’t undo it now. When I +go home”—she nursed it in her other hand. “Didn’t +he speak of me at all?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He said he met you once—on the road.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She flashed a look of challenge at him. “Now do +you blame me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit. All I wonder is that you speak to me. +You might be excused for washing your hands of the +whole family.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“As though I could do such a thing! I’m not even +angry at him now. I should like to be friends if it +were possible.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund thought a moment, then he said: “I can’t +seem to get near Derek. He doesn’t want to talk of his +affairs at all. He just says he’s done it and he wants +to be let alone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her eyes filled with tears. “I am afraid you have +come among very unhappy people for your holiday, +Captain Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t pity me for that,” he said, with a tremor in +his voice. “Wherever you are, there is happiness +for me.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-6'>CHAPTER VI<br/> SWEET APPLES ON A RUSTIC SEAT</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> next morning Fawnie came to breakfast wearing +a flowered organdie dress that she had bought at +Brancepeth a fortnight before. It had become soiled, +and much crushed in the lap from holding the baby. +The fasteners that held the neck had come off, and she +had secured it with a large safety pin. These were +the defects that caught Edmund’s eye; he scarcely +noticed the beautiful red and brown of her cheeks, or +the exquisitely clear markings of her eyelids and +lashes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But Derek did not seem to mind, nor did he show +annoyance when she dipped the spoon with which she +had been eating thimbleberries into the sugar-basin +and gave it to the child to suck. Fawnie was inclined +to show her authority over Phœbe. In a soft, liquid +voice she ordered one thing after another from the +kitchen, and, when Phœbe angrily set a plate of toast +on the table, at the very end of the meal, she said +softly:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you make so much noise, Phœbe. You act +like you never had no training.” And turning to +Edmund, she added, “I been trainin’ that girl steady +for two months.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund raised his eyebrows. “She seems a good +sort,” he said, “and good servants are hard to get.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, they’re not,” Fawnie replied, getting more +sugar for the baby. “I know where I kin get a good +girl any day, and not saucy neither. But I won’t have +an Indian. They’re too lazy. Wasn’t I glad when +Derek sent all them Indians flyin’ off our place! He +was so mad I thought he was goin’ to get his gun an’ +shoot them. I wish he had.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What about your fruit?” asked Edmund, turning +to Derek. “How shall you get it picked?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m just going to let the thimbleberries go,” said +Derek, passively. “The apples and pears can be sold +to a dealer outright, who will bring his own men to +pick them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What a pity to lose your berries, though. They +look a tremendous crop, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They are. The ground is black with them, and +the canes bending beneath the weight, but it can’t be +helped.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We’d sooner waste them than keep those Sharroes +an’ Jammery about,” put in Fawnie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund got up from the table with relief. The +baby was beginning to hiccough and drool. Fawnie +carried him outdoors and laid him on a pillow on the +grass. Jock, the collie, came at once and lay down +beside him. Edmund stared for a moment at the +child’s downy fair hair, then with a sigh he turned on +his heel and went into the parlour. He sat down +before the piano and began to play the waltz from +“The Merry Widow” with languid, appealing stress.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie followed him, and stood against his back, +gazing with fascination at the movements of his hands, +her body gently swaying with the rhythm. “Oh, I +like that piece,” she breathed. “Is it a hymn? It +don’ sound jus’ like a hymn, and yet it’s too slow for +a jig. Say, Ted” (she had, at once, acquired the +familiar nickname), “when you play like that it makes +me feel like as if my blood was dancin’ in my +body.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He looked up at her curiously. “Your blood dancing, +eh, Fawnie? Fast and wild? or slow and sweet?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Slow, an’ heavy, an’ sweet, like the music. Tum-te, +tum-tum; tum-te, tum-tum, like that. Ain’t it +comical?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very. Altogether I think you’re a comical girl, +Fawnie. I begin to understand.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Understan’ what? I know. Why Derek loves +me.” Her arms stole about his neck and her head +drooped toward his. He felt the supple fingers interlaced +beneath his chin. It seemed that he could not +free himself—for a moment at least—but must softly +thump out the languid waltz, his eyes half shut, his +head against her breast. Then, before he made the +attempt, her cheek was pressed to his, and her lips +had touched him, somewhere near the mouth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He turned his head in her arms and looked towards +the door. Derek had come in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Lord,” cried Edmund, freeing himself. “This +is only a joke, Derek.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek caught Fawnie by the arm and jerked her +savagely away from his brother. “Never do that +again,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She hunched her shoulders like a child, half laughing, +half crying.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She didn’t mean anything,” said Edmund, his +face scarlet. “She was just thanking me for the +music.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll thank you for any music you make,” replied +Derek, also flushed. “Come along, let us go out.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They passed Fawnie without looking at her, and +went out of doors.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The air was still; the sunlight dim and ruddy with +the haze of distant forest fires. Tiny yellow leaves +fluttered from the locust trees and lay like little gold +coins upon the grass. The baby blinked up at the +two men, narrowing his eyes, and stretching his lips +in a smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, he’s laughing,” said Edmund. “I didn’t +know they laughed at that age. What’s the joke?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He sees me. He thinks I’m funny for some +reason. When he flaps his hands that way he wants +to be taken up.” Derek picked him up and looked over +his downy head at Edmund with a mixture of fatherly +pride and sheepishness. “Just look at those legs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The brothers bent over the fat, kicking limbs of the +youngster, trying to forget the encounter of a few +minutes ago, yet both feeling some constraint.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie’s brown fingers appeared between the slats +of the shutters on the window next them. “Please +hand me in my baby,” she said in a very small voice. +“I got to nurse him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Open the shutter, then,” replied Derek. “I can’t +put him between the slats.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am afraid to open the shutters.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Because you will hit me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense. If you want the baby, open them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cautiously she unlatched a shutter, pushed it a little +way open, and put her hands through the opening. +Derek laid the baby in them. She drew the child +quickly to her and closed the shutters, but they had +a glimpse of her smile and her sliding velvet eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’s just a child,” said Derek to Edmund.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think she’s awfully sly,” said Edmund in a tone +of profound concern.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>They walked through the cherry orchard where +black-currant bushes set among the trees brushed +against them as they passed, yielding their peculiar +teasing scent. They crossed a field of stubble, where +the turkey-hens were grazing and the gobbler circling +about them with his wattles flaming as though it were +spring, and entered the apple orchard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It appears to be a splendid crop,” remarked +Edmund, looking up at the red and green and yellow +fruit hanging so abundantly among the leaves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is,” replied Derek, “and I shall need the money +to make up for the loss of my thimbleberries.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a lovely place,” Edmund said, dropping to the +grass in a sunny place. “What a view! From here +those white sheep on the bluff against the blue of the +lake—and that glimpse of the herd down by the creek—I’m +just going to light my pipe and enjoy the whole +thing. You can scarcely imagine a more perfect spot +for one’s first smoke in the morning—a serene view, +pure air, the sound of those turkey-hens gurgling to +each other, now and then an apple falling. . . . Do +you know, Derek, at this moment, I feel almost +reconciled to this astounding marriage of yours.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t let the reconciliation be too complete,” +returned Derek, smiling down at him with meaning.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund closed his eyes and emitted a cloud of +smoke that hung like a grey-blue scarf on the quiet +air. An apple fell from the tree above him. Derek +picked it up and saw that it was one of the sweet apples +that Grace Jerrold had said she liked best, the day of +Solomon Sharroe’s funeral. He walked around the +tree selecting the finest, which he dropped into his cap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why don’t you sit down and smoke?” asked his +brother. “What are you doing?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must go back to where Hugh is ploughing. I +want to speak to him. I shan’t be long.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had made up his mind to take the apples to a +rustic seat that had been built on the fringe of the +Durras woods for Grace. He knew she spent a part of +every fine day there, and no one would touch the apples +if they were on her seat. His walk became eager with +the pleasure of doing something for her. He wondered +what he should do if she were already there and +they met face to face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But she was not there. He arranged the apples in a +compact group on the seat, and, after looking at them +meditatively a moment, went to interview Hugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When he returned to the orchard Edmund was half +asleep, but he roused himself and asked, “Everything +all right?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes!” said Derek, sitting down beside him. +“Hugh is getting on well. He is a good man. The +only good man I have now. Snailem is a fool. Old +Peek and the boys from Mistwell are makeshifts. Next +spring I must try to get plenty of competent help. It +means success, and the lack of it failure.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund turned to him suddenly. “Have you +heard that Mr. Jerrold is in difficulties? That he is +having a sale on the twelfth?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He has a sale of surplus stock twice a year.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is a sale of <span class='it'>everything</span>—stock, implements, +house, furniture, the whole farm. Had you heard +nothing?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek looked at him aghast. “I hadn’t heard a +word about it. Who told you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Grace, yesterday. She’s fearfully cut up, naturally. +But plucky, you know.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek sat in silence a moment, then he asked, “Are +they going to move?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No; they are keeping a gardener’s cottage, and +they will have a cow, and a horse, and their dogs, of +course. But what a change!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have been swallowed up by my own little tempest +lately, and so I’ve known nothing of the storm and +stress my neighbours are passing through. I am very +sorry. I like him tremendously—and she”—he turned +suddenly to Edmund—“How is it between you two?” +he asked. “May I know?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, nothing is settled. But it must be soon. +While I’m very sorry about this disaster of theirs, +it has given me courage to rush matters a bit.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek nodded. His mind was wandering, as it had +a habit of doing lately. He was thinking of those +sweet apples on the rustic seat, and wondering whether +she had found them yet, whether she could care for a +little thing like that in troubled days like these. She +seemed far away from him, yet always on the fringe of +his thoughts. She was like a loved person of whom +one dreams, yet whose face one cannot clearly see.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund, strolling through the woods of Durras, +hoping to meet Grace, came across the rustic seat, and +sat down. He wondered how those seven smooth, +yellow apples came there. They looked as though +they were waiting for someone. He decided to wait +with them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Birds, free from family cares, sang all about him, +making a happy, careless jargon of song that was +delightful. A black squirrel, with an enormous brush, +clung head downward on a tree near by and rated him +fluently for his intrusion. He picked up one of the +apples and began to eat it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was in a mood of happy confidence, and when he +saw Grace approaching, he felt that good fortune was +with him that day indeed. He tossed the remainder of +the apple under the seat and sprang forward to meet +her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am a lucky fellow,” he said. “I’ve been wanting +so much to meet you this morning, and here you are, +and here are birds to greet you, and a secluded seat, +and apples—golden apples—by the Rood!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was excited, and he did not try to conceal his +excitement. That was not his way. Rather he encouraged +himself in his emotions as though he were a +spectator who said, “Go it, old fellow!” He kept her +hand and led her to the seat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh,” she exclaimed. “How nice of you to bring +me those sweet apples! No other tree produces quite +the same flavour.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I did not know that that particular tree had any +special virtue,” said Edmund, wondering where the +devil the apples had come from, “but I’m glad +they are your favourites. Won’t you have one +now?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank you. It is rather soon after breakfast. I +shall put them carefully in my work-bag and carry +them home, and devour them all greedily in my own +room.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She opened a flowered chintz bag and dropped the +apples one by one into it. The movements of her +gentle, yet firm, hands thrilled the young man even +more than the sweetness of her lowered face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wish,” he said, “that I could give you a pleasure +more lasting.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She raised her eyes to his face. “Oh, it is a lasting +pleasure to have you so thoughtful for me—so kind—in +every way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I don’t want to be thoughtful,” he broke out. +“I don’t want to be kind. I want to love you—to make +you love me. I can’t offer myself as an ideal husband. +I’m self-willed—I’m thoughtless—but I love you. I +haven’t looked at another woman since I met you last +Christmas.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Please wait”—she interrupted—“let me speak.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. Not till you’ve heard me out. Oh, don’t +refuse me, Grace. I may not have it in me to make you +placidly happy, but who wants to be placid! I think +we could have a joyous, exciting life together. Old +Halifax isn’t bad. And you’d have the sea to make +up for this lake you love.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She clutched the flowered bag and returned his +brilliant dark gaze with a look of almost motherly +solicitude.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Poor boy—to care for me like that. Because I +can’t——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now don’t say you can’t! Think it over.” He +had caught her hand and held it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. Thinking would not change me. I don’t +care for you in that way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You love someone else!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think I want to marry anyone. I expect +I love my father too much.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But that’s not fair. He has had a woman’s best +love already. I”—his voice broke—“have no one to +love me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but you will,” she comforted, “for you are +really very lovable.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then why don’t you love me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I do. But not in that way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you love Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She rose, and looked down at him angrily. “You +know you have no right to ask that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You do love him, then!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I love you both—as friends.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If I thought”—his eyes flamed accusingly into +hers—“if I thought you loved Derek, I’d throw myself +into the lake.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, now you make me glad I do not love you—too +well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Because you are acting in such a pettish, childish +way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pettish—childish——” he repeated, with a short, +infuriated laugh. “Go on! I can bear it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You must see for yourself that we’re not suited to +each other. Why, we are quarrelling already.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Only because you are so cruel.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And you are so unreasonable. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sgaith had followed her, and now began furiously +to dig a hole between them, as they stood facing each +other. Impartially she threw earth over the feet of both, +as she circled, with her wicked forepaws as a pivot.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sgaith thinks we’re very silly,” said Grace. +“She’s digging a hole to crawl into for very shame.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’s digging a grave for my hopes,” said +Edmund.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And so they parted, Grace with her little bag of +apples, Edmund with a heavy heart, and Sgaith with +earth on her nose.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund found Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, that’s over,” he said. “I asked her and—she +won’t have me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was combing the wild, thick mane of a Welsh +pony. He parted it carefully before he replied, “I’m +awfully sorry for you, old man.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry for myself.” He sat down on a stool +just outside the stall. The pony, peering round at him +through her fringe of hair, lifted her small hind foot +tentatively.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s right,” said Edmund, shifting his stool a +little. “Kick me when I’m down.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, she’s just playful,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, the female of the species is a playful lot.” +He spoke with grim jocularity. “Everything is play +to her. They’re all alike. Even the little brute Sgaith. +She dug a hole and threw dirt on me just after I’d been +rejected.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek burst into sudden laughter; then he asked +seriously: “Do you think it’s final?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think she meant it. But I’m going to get after +her again before I leave.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was silence for a time except for the swish of +the curry-comb and Derek’s soft whistle. Then he +asked, as though for something to say, “Where were +you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“On that rustic seat.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh . . . stand still, girl. . . . Were there . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Were there what?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Any apples—on the seat?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yellow sweet ones. Did you put them there?” +Suspicion leaped into his eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I knew she liked that kind.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She thought I had brought them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s all right.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Silence once more. Then Edmund:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You don’t suppose it’s Ramsey, do you, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek turned and faced him, comb in hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ramsey! What put him in your head?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I don’t know. . . . The way he hustled you +into that marriage, now. . . . I’ve thought of that. +. . . Just as though he wanted to make sure you were +out of the way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wouldn’t believe that of Ramsey. He’s absolutely +straight. No, Grace doesn’t love anyone but +her father. . . . Whoa, pet. Now, you’re as sleek as +a chestnut.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-7'>CHAPTER VII<br/> SALE AT DURRAS—DARBY</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“I want</span> to go to Brancepeth,” announced Fawnie, +“to buy some clothes. I ain’t got a decent thing to +wear, and baby, he’s just burstin’ out of his little white +dress, and his pink one is all iron rust, and his feet are +bare, and he’s got to have a baby-carriage. I can’t go +around carryin’ him on my back like I was a common +squaw. I want to get him a wicker carriage with a silk +parasol, and a lace cover with a pink bow, and pink kid +slippers, and an embroidered dress. . . . How much +money are you goin’ to give me, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You evidently take me for a millionaire,” said +Derek. “Do you realize that I haven’t got a cent from +my thimbleberries; that I’ve just paid the help their +wages, and the vet. his bill; that my taxes are due, and +I’ve just lost a good milch cow?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie laughed gaily. “Oh, you are stingy! You +know you have heaps of money in the bank. Get me +some of that. If you won’t I will go and work for Mrs. +Chard and earn some. And I’ll tell Mr. Chard you +beat me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were sitting on the shore watching the red +harvest moon rise from the blackness of the lake. +Fawnie held the baby on her lap. She had wrapped +a shawl about him so that his downy head, still soft +and unhardened in bone or cartilage, projected. Derek, +stretched on the sand, lazily watched the pair. Edmund, +sitting on the breakwater at a little distance, smoked +and dangled his legs in silence. His leave was almost +up. He had to return to Halifax with no hope of +winning Grace, but, on this warm September night, +sweet with the smells of land and lake, he was pensive +rather than sad.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie began to press the muscles of Derek’s arm +with her fingers. “You could beat me very hard,” +she said. “But you won’t, will you, darling?” (A +new word she had recently acquired, along with +“Jolly good,” and the phrase—“as a matter of +fac’.”) “You won’t beat me, darling. You’ll jus’ +give me a lot of money, and let Snailem drive me to +Brancepeth, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek capitulated. “To-morrow is Mr. Jerrold’s +sale. The men would like a holiday, and I expect +Snailem would sooner drive to Brancepeth than go to +the sale. Would twenty dollars do, Fawnie?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She turned her eyes on him reproachfully. “My +goodness, no. The baby-carriage alone will cost fifteen +dollars. And, you know, Derek, I never had no proper +clothes when I married you. I got to buy them now. +I’m the finest lady about here, now Grace Jerrold’s +got to move into a little old cottage. And she ain’t +married anyhow. Yes—I’m the finest lady between +Brancepeth and Mistwell.” She gazed at the golden +moon, in blissful meditation. Then—“It will take +fifty dollars.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” assented Derek. “You shall have it. +But be careful what you buy. You shan’t get any +more money till winter, mind. And I shouldn’t buy +Buckskin pink kid shoes if I were you. I’d buy him +nice little brown shoes and two or three pairs of socks +to match. They’ll suit him better.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll buy him whatever looks the best. I need +some scented soap, too, and a pair of pink silk shirred +garters with buckles at the side.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund groaned from his perch on the breakwater. +“I see the finish of that fifty dollars, Derek. You +had better go with her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” replied Derek, shortly. He had not appeared +abroad with Fawnie yet, and he was in no hurry to do +so. On the few occasions when he had gone to either +of the villages alone he had found himself an embarrassed +object of interest. In the “Duke of York” he +had seen a man nudge his neighbour and heard him +whisper: “There’s Mr. Vale, from down Mistwell +way—him that married an Indian girl lately. They’ve +got a tidy boy already, ’tis said, dark as a Arab, but +his hair—man, they say it’s as light as gold.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>No . . . he would give Fawnie the fifty dollars and +let her enjoy herself in her own way.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>She had carried the child to bed. Derek had helped +her up the steep steps in the rock, and, when she had +been swallowed by the darkness above, he wheeled +and went down the shingle to the breakwater.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There’s something I want you to do for me, Ted,” +he said, huskily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fire away.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You know that chestnut of Grace’s?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Darby? Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s up for sale to-morrow. I want you to go +and buy him for me. I can’t bear to think of her +being without him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Aren’t they keeping a horse at all?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just the big grey that Mr. Jerrold rides. You see, +he can be driven in the trap as well. Darby has never +been harnessed.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How high will you go?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“High enough to get him. But I don’t believe it +will be very steep. I think they’ve chosen a rotten +time for the sale. But it was Hobbs’s doing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why rotten?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you know the election is coming the twenty-first. +All the fruit growers are afraid Laurier will be +returned. They know Reciprocity would ruin them. +They’ll want to hang on to what money they have. +They’ll simply be afraid to buy.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why does Mr. Jerrold choose such a time for his +sale?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know. Suppose Hobbs urges him. He is +the largest creditor. Mr. Jerrold is between the devil +and the deep sea. If he waits till after the election, +conditions may be worse than ever. Imagine what it +will mean to us if American fruit is allowed to be sent +here duty-free—and their season about three weeks in +advance of ours.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It would be a damned shame,” agreed Edmund.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek sat down beside him, and after a pause +Edmund said: “I’ve asked her twice since that first +time, but she’s stuck to her guns. Won’t have me. +I’ll get used to it, I suppose, but it’s hard.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I repeat that she doesn’t love anyone but her +father.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No—I believe she loves you. The more I think +over things she’s said—and ways she’s looked—I can’t +explain—but I’m sure it’s you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The lake murmured darkly to the leaning sky; fiery +ripples curled below their feet; Derek gazed at that +golden orb beloved by captives, and felt the galling of +his chains.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek spent a restless morning. He could not bear +to see the hurrying buggies and motor-cars going to +the sale. They seemed to him like birds of prey skimming +eagerly to the scene of a calamity. He could +scarcely believe that the Jerrolds had left the big red +house. Hugh had told him that they had moved to +the cottage the afternoon before. Phœbe had seen +Mr. Jerrold striding across the fields carrying a silver +candelabrum in his arms. And Grace had been seen, +with her one servant, hanging curtains at the windows +of the cottage. “Mark my words!” Phœbe had cried. +“We shall have Hobbs as our next neighbour in the +great house. It makes me all of a boilin’ stew to think +of. The world’s gone crazy, and no mistake. Hobbs +weren’t satisfied with being a gentleman agent—that’s +what he calls himself if you’ll believe me—but he aims +to be a gentleman as ever was. The very idear! With +that burr to his tongue! They say he’s raised his eyes +to Miss Jerrold. I’d be glad to hear as one of his own +prize cocks had pecked ’em out. If there’s one thing +I hate, it’s folk gettin’ out of their proper station. It +puts me all in a boilin’ stew, it does.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She followed Derek up and down, and in and out, +talking with heat. She made him a thimbleberry rolypoly +for dinner. He wished he might have been +allowed to forget the thimbleberries. He pictured +himself as eating his way through the whole patch. +She made him a custard to pour over the pudding. +In short, she treated him as a prisoner who had been +granted a few hours of freedom.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At four o’clock he heard a clatter of hoofs on the +bridge, and, looking out of the stable window—he +was always tinkering at the harness—he saw Edmund +and Hugh crossing it in the trap, the latter leading +by a halter Grace’s horse, Darby, who showed his disapproval +of the proceeding by petulant jumpings and +cavortings from side to side.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek went out to meet them. “I’m glad you were +able to get him,” he said, laying a soothing hand +on the chestnut’s quivering side. “Did he come +high?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“High eneuch,” answered Hugh, smiling. “Captain +Vale and Mr. Hobbs had it out between them. +And I’m glad Hobbs didna get him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund jumped sulkily to the ground and turned +towards the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Put Darby in the loose-box, Hugh,” directed +Derek, “and try to make him easy in his mind, if +you can.” Then he followed his brother. “Are you +hungry?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I could take something substantial for tea. They +gave us sandwiches and beer, at one o’clock. Yes, +I’m rather hungry.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek ordered tea and they sat down in the dining-room. +Edmund picked up a month-old copy of <span class='it'>Punch</span> +and began gloomily to read.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter?” demanded Derek. “You +seem peeved.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you know where Fawnie is?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Snailem took her to Brancepeth to buy clothes. +You knew that. What’s she been up to? She should +have been back long ago.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund began to walk angrily up and down the +room. “I’ll tell you, then. She ought to be thrashed. +About an hour ago she and Snailem appeared at the +sale. She holding the kid on her lap. Snailem looking +half full, and a pram tied on the back of the +buggy. You can imagine the outfit. . . . I was +thunder-struck. The crowd seemed to know who +she was instantly. A lot of them thought I was you, +and turned and grinned at me.” He stopped before +Derek and looked down at him accusingly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Derek, calmly. “Go on. What did +she do?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, she was as bold as brass. She alighted from +her equipage. Snailem gave her his hand. Then he +got the pram for her, and she set the kid in it. It was +wicker, painted green, and there was a cover with a +big pink bow. She’d got herself a hat with cherries +on it and long green streamers. The auctioneer had +to pound his hammer on the table to make the men +look at him. They all wanted to stare at her. . . .” +He picked up <span class='it'>Punch</span> again and began to read as +Phœbe entered with the tray.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What next?” asked Derek, when the door had +closed behind her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Snailem tied his nag to the fence and joined some +loafers on a back bench. Fawnie paraded up and +down under that row of maples. Their leaves are all +turning red, and the whole effect was—garish. She’d +toss her head so the green streamers would flutter—the +kid had a toy balloon—and every now and again +she’d trot round to the front of the pram and arrange +the pink bow, or take a sweet out of a paper bag at his +feet.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is she now? Why didn’t you bring her +home?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Bring her home! I see myself. I got out as soon +as I had paid for the horse. The last I saw of her she +was on her way to the house, where some furniture +was to be sold. She was with a crowd of well-to-do +men and their wives from Brancepeth. What do you +suppose made her do it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pure cussedness. Nothing else under the sun.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Phœbe brought some boiled eggs and they ate in +silence for a while, each contemplating Fawnie’s +wickedness from his own angle. Then Derek +asked:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How did things go?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edmund groaned. “About as badly as possible. +The implements were the worst. Implements that had +cost two hundred dollars, as good as new, went for +thirty or forty. Separators, incubators—just given +away. The stock wasn’t so bad. But bad enough. +I paid one hundred and eighty for Darby. Hobbs +wanted him. He’s a beast, that fellow. He has +bought the place and enough stock and implements +to run it in a modest way. But he’ll branch out. +He’ll do better for himself than he ever did for +Jerrold. . . . He came over and spoke to me. Told +me some of his plans. He was almost drunk with +exhilaration but declared he was not ‘cock-a-hoop’ +about it. Then he jerked his head towards Fawnie +and said, ‘Your sister-in-law is coming on like anything, +isn’t she, Captain Vale?’ ” Then Edmund +swore with a fluency that showed that his years in the +army had not been altogether wasted.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>They were sitting smoking in the porch. There +had been a stream of vehicles, but the road was now +resuming its accustomed quiet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can’t imagine what is keeping her,” muttered +Derek. “I’m beginning to get anxious.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“God knows,” replied Edmund. “Probably hobnobbing +with Hobbs. Each one assuring the other +that they are not ‘cock-a-hoop.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek shifted in his willow chair, making it creak +beneath him. He stared anxiously up the road. +“There she comes, now,” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was approaching along the edge of the bluffs, +her figure, in its yellow dress and streamered hat, +silhouetted against the burnished blue of the sky. She +was wheeling the perambulator before her, and, as she +descended and ascended the rolling side of the cliff, it +was surprising that the child was not thrown from its +seat. But they came steadily on, watched in silence +by the brothers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She descended the last steep, crossed the bridge, +and began to climb the rise to the gate. Phœbe, +seeing her from the kitchen window, where she was +washing dishes, rushed out along the drive to meet +the baby, her arms still wet with dishwater, her +woollen slippers padding on the sand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here comes the prince!” she cried. “See him +in his fine new chaise! Oh, the poppetty poppet! +Would he come to his Phœbe, then!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“For goodness’ sake, take him, Phœbe,” said +Fawnie. “I’m tired out. I’ve had such a busy day. +Everybody wantin’ to shake hands with me an’ see the +baby. Well, Derek, did you think I was los’?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had crossed the lawn, and stood before them +with an air of mingled fear and audacity, like a +naughty child. Derek, his chin grasped in his hand, +stared down at her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How did you dare,” he said, “to go to that sale +and flaunt yourself before everyone in those ridiculous +clothes? How do you suppose Ted felt when he saw +you? What kept you so late?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He made me pretty mad,” retorted Fawnie, “not +lettin’ on he knew me. Folks said to me afterwards, +‘You and your husban’ didn’t seem to see each other, +did you, Mrs. Vale?’ And I says: ‘That feller ain’t +my husban’. My husban’s a handsome man with curly +light hair like baby’s. That’s jus’ his poor brother +who’s out of a job, an’ we’re keepin’ him for a while.’ ” +She showed her pearl-like little teeth in a malicious +grin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you little devil,” said Derek, and burst out +laughing. But Edmund kept a sulky silence. Fawnie +came up the steps and perched herself on the railing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now I tell you what I been doin’,” she said, +arranging the streamers of her hat over one shoulder. +“First, Snailem an’ me went to Brancepeth. Snailem’s +an old fool. I had to go an’ bring him out of the ‘Duke +of York’ myself, or he’d have got full. I went to the +very best store an’ I bought a lovely white dress for +myself—an’ a hat—an’ shoes—an’ ear-rings an’ new +clothes for baby—all sensible like you said. An’ I +had ten dollars left. Then, when we was drivin’ +home, we passed the sale, an’ Snailem says, ‘What’s +the hurry? Let’s go in!’ So we went in; an’ after +the pigs, an’ cows, an’ reapers, an’ mowers was sold, +the auctioneer he moved on up to the big house. +Then”—she clasped her hands and nodded brightly—“then, +I remembered my ten dollars. Oh, I was +glad! I went with all the people, an’ then I met Mr. +Hobbs. I told him I wanted to buy something nice +for my own room. He was awful kind. He stayed +right beside me and helped me to bid. Said he wanted +to be neighbourly.” She cast a triumphant look at +Edmund, who sat with folded arms, and face averted, +the picture of disapproval.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good old Hobbs,” said Derek, grinning. “And +what did you buy?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here comes Snailem with them now—a great big +lookin’-glass, an’ a little, little gold chair, see!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Snailem was turning in at the gate, balancing with +difficulty a tall pier-glass that stood on the seat behind +him. The little gilt chair was tied on behind. He +gave a sheepish glance towards the group on the +porch.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I paid seven for the lookin’-glass an’ three for the +chair. I mus’ see that he gets them safe upstairs.” +She stopped in the doorway. “I forgot to tell you, +Derek, that Mr. Hobbs, he’s bought the house an’ +some of the furniture. He’s goin’ to live in that big +place all by hisself, an’ great big Mr. Jerrold in a +cottage, little as little. How fonny!” She flew out +to give orders to Snailem and Hugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek broke into noisy laughter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s amusing?” asked Ted, savagely.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Everything. It seems to me that life is just one +howling joke after another.”</p> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The sun had barely risen out of the lake when Derek +led Darby through the stable-yard. The air was sharp +with a suspicion of frost, and sweet to the nostrils as a +new-blown flower. An oriole in the orchard, freed +from summer cares, poured forth the swinging sweetness +of his song. The matted foliage of the old strawberry +beds was filmed by innumerable glistening +cobwebs, and, here and there, the redness of late +strawberries caught the eye.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Darby had had a bad night. Nothing that Hugh +could do for him had been enough to make him forget +the strangeness of his new surroundings. He had +refused his supper; he had refused his drink of fresh +spring water. Perhaps some odour of the Welsh +ponies had clung to the pail, for he had picked it +up disgustedly in his teeth and hurled it to the floor. +When Hugh had made him a thick bed of clean straw, +he had kicked it out into the passage and slept on the +bare boards. Consequently Derek had had to give +him a thorough grooming this morning.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now he picked his way petulantly among the fallen +walnuts on the drive, puzzled and irritated by this +stranger on his back who pressed a firm leg on either +of his sides. He leapt sideways through the gate, he +tripped sideways down the slope; sideways, with +stampings of his polished hoofs, he crossed the bridge. +With quivering nostrils he sniffed a field of clover, +aftermath of one of the grain crops, then, suddenly, +he smelled and saw his own stable-yard. In spite of +Derek he would have plunged through the gateway, +but the figure of Hobbs barred his way.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re out early,” said Hobbs. “I suppose you +were impatient to try your new horse. Well, you are +welcome to him, for he’s an ugly devil if ever there +was one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re early yourself,” replied Derek over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a fact,” said Hobbs. “I never went to bed +last night. Just excited. Not that I was——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-bye!” shouted Derek, for Darby was +galloping furiously up the road.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The blinds of the cottage were drawn. It was half +hidden behind hydrangeas and climbing roses. +Derek dismounted, unlatched the gate, and led Darby +cautiously towards the little stable.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Scarcely had he opened the door of the stable when +a loud whinny came from Mr. Jerrold’s grey, inside. +Darby answered joyously, and ran into the empty stall +beside his friend, reaching around the partition to nose +the familiar face. Derek tied, and unsaddled him, +and, with his saddle over his arm, stood watching +them with a good deal of complacence. He did not +hear the light step on the drive, and it was only her +cry of astonishment that made him turn and face +Grace Jerrold, whom he had been trying to avoid.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You!” she cried. “And Darby! What does +this mean? I heard the whinnying and stamping in +the stable and I was afraid something was wrong—so +I came.” She went quickly to Darby’s head and laid +her own head against it. The only sound for a moment +was the soft blowing of her horse against her neck, +and the crunching of a swede from the grey’s stall.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Without being told, she divined what he had done. +She had been told that Darby had gone to Grimstone +and had been glad, though fear that he had been +bought for Fawnie to ride had crossed her mind. +Now she did not dare to look at Vale, but with her +eyes hidden against that satiny head she whispered:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You must not do it. I cannot let you do it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He answered gently: “It is the first thing I have +done that has given me any pleasure in months.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, only if you will let me pay you back some +time.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you wish, you may.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then she raised her face and looked at him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, to think that when we last met I did not speak +to you!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t talk of that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I came back and tried to find you. I was crying. +I had to keep my parasol before my face so the man +would not see. I’m—afraid—I’m going to cry now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t cry. Laugh! Be as happy as you can. +See how happy Darby is. He’s slobbering all over +your shoulder.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know,” she said, half laughing, half crying, +“he’s a naughty fellow.” Then she held out her +hand to him, and said, “Thank you,” in a small, +choked voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He took it, and they looked intently at each other, +their eyes filled with longing, their lips compressed, +their bodies tense. Then he dropped her hand and +turned away. At the door he stopped, and said, +without looking at her: “You refused Edmund.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Because you loved me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-bye, Grace—darling.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-bye, Derek—darling.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He returned home, still carrying the saddle over his +arm. He walked slowly, his eyes travelling across the +September blue of the lake to the far horizon where a +faery city reared its towers and battlements of rosy +clouds above Niagara’s spray.</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-8'>CHAPTER VIII<br/> THINGS THAT HE LEARNED</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Edmund</span> had gone back to Halifax.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>On the whole Derek was not sorry, for he had felt +Edmund’s presence as a restraint, if not an actual +rebuke. Fawnie’s table manners had offended Edmund, +also her untidy finery, and her habit of popping +morsels of food into the baby’s mouth at meal-time +which, often as not, he put out again to hang on the +frill of his bib. When Edmund had met Derek coming +out of Fawnie’s room he had turned his face away +with a frown; more than once he had commented on +Derek’s carelessness in dress, and his need of a respectable +haircut. Now he was gone, and Derek felt that +this rather ignoble affair of his marriage might jolt on +unhindered to whatever end might be.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As a matter of fact, he was far from unhappy. Since +his meeting with Grace he enjoyed a new serenity of +spirit. Sitting alone on the beach at night with his +pipe, he contemplated the lovely fact that she loved +him—had refused Edmund because of him—perhaps +Ramsey.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He would recall the moment when he had stood in +the stable watching the meeting of the two horses, the +warmed saddle across his arm. He would see her on +the threshold sweet as the early sunshine. He would +feel again that tremor of joy that had shaken him when +they had confessed their love. He had not met her +since, but Mr. Jerrold had been over several times, and +had told of their happy rides along the shore road. +They rode west as a rule, because it pained Grace to +pass Durras, and there was always a struggle with +Darby to get him by the gateway which he still +regarded as his own.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold had recaptured his old cheerfulness. +Things were not so bad as they might be. He and +Gay were tremendously comfortable in the cottage. +Their view was really finer than it had been at the big +house. Gay could hardly tear herself away from her +bedroom window at night—sat there watching the +moonlight on the lake instead of going to her bed. +She loved the cottage. She even liked the little stable. +Would be out there first thing in the morning. He +believed she was fonder of Darby than ever, since she +had come so near to losing him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold was colouring a meerschaum pipe, and, +at different times, he lovingly displayed to Derek the +satisfactory fashion in which it was adding tint upon +tint. He also had given his annual party to the Mistwell +band. Derek and Fawnie had watched the flare +of their torches pass Grimstone as they sat in the +basket chairs in the porch. And Mr. Jerrold had not +failed to give the bandsmen their customary present of +money.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must dig that twenty-five dollars up,” he had +said to his daughter. “I’ve never disappointed those +poor beggars yet, and I shan’t begin now. I’ll do +without something myself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was taking a renewed interest in the work of +the farm, and he had a stout ally in Hugh McKay. +No fall ploughing thereabout was done more +thoroughly nor finished earlier. As the October +nights grew cold, Derek would sit with him by the +kitchen stove and talk fertilizers and manures by the +hour. The little flock of sheep was excellent. One of +the yearling rams had taken a first prize at the Brancepeth +Fair. The handsome son of Gretta van Lowe +had taken a second. The apples and pears had turned +out well. There had been very little scabby or stung +fruit; the dealer who bought them had paid cash on +the spot. Snailem drudged steadily along with his +hoe, in company with old Peek and two boys from +Mistwell. Derek himself spent long days among the +raspberry and blackberry canes trimming and cultivating. +Even Fawnie had come to take an interest in the +poultry. She ran, laughing with joy, to Derek one +day to tell him that, when wandering among the dense +and neglected thimbleberry canes, she had come upon +one of the bronze turkey-hens with ten active poults, +graceful and plump as partridges, which were being +reared undisturbed on the sweet dark berries. Derek +had left his cultivating, and together they had crept +like children among the prickly canes, to peer at the +elusive little fellows, who one moment would be swinging +gaily on a spray, their great eyes shining, and the +next be hidden, crouching among the leaves, while the +mother, her proud head poised, watched the intruders +with vehement disdain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The white turkey had not been seen for many weeks. +It was feared that she had either been stolen or killed. +But one mild, foggy morning Derek and Fawnie almost +stepped on her as she sat on a nest she had hollowed +out for herself in the shelter of a pile of brushwood +behind the orchard. “By George!” said Derek, +“She’s at it yet! That bird has been sitting ever +since last spring, and had no luck at all. She’s simply +wearing herself out to no purpose. What shall I do +with her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Be rough with her,” advised Fawnie. “Grab her +by the neck. Pull some of her tail feathers out. Give +her a good kick an’ bust up her nest.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek took the bird by the neck and lifted her off +the nest. “Why, she’s nothing but skin and feathers,” +he said. “Poor thing! and look at that nest.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The untidy nest lay before them, broken shells +mingled with the clutch of shiny, stained eggs. +Fawnie took up one egg after another and shook it. +“Slop,” she said, curtly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This has got to stop,” Derek said. “Throw those +pieces of broken bricks on the eggs and then an armful +of brushwood, then I’ll put her down.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The white hen looked down from Derek’s arms at +the demolition of her hopes. She made no protest, but +the pale pink of her wattles took a deeper hue. She +blinked. When all was destroyed Derek set her down. +He did not pull out her tail feathers nor kick her, but +he gave her a shake, and a push with his foot, and +said: “Now, be off with you! and try to think of +something besides sitting. There are other things in +the world, believe me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She stood poised for a moment on tiptoe, flapping +her pale unused wings, then, with a harsh, croaking +cry, she began to run from them into the fog. An +eerie figure, she disappeared into its ready embrace +with that one cry of frustrated instincts. The flock of +sheep, suddenly emerging from nowhere, it seemed, +parted their ranks hurriedly to let her past. It was her +last supreme gesture. Derek never saw her again.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek’s house was not kept as it had been in Mrs. +Machin’s time. Fawnie had an unbelievable talent for +disorder, and, as the baby spent most of his day in the +kitchen, Phœbe allowed her dishes to pile up until the +table and dresser were hidden beneath them. To Derek +she seemed always to be sitting nursing him while he +thumped on the table with a spoon or slobbered over an +apple which he gnawed with his four ridiculous milk-teeth. +Often noisy quarrels occurred between mistress +and maid.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, for any sake let me get one thing done before +you’re after me about another!” Phœbe would shout, +and she would knock her mop against the legs of the +furniture, and slop dirty water in all directions.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Phœbe!” Fawnie would cry, “I’ll have Mr. Vale +throw you into the street if you ain’t respecful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The street, indeed! I’d shouldn’t have far to seek +for a better situation than this. I’ve a cousin in +Australier that would pay my passage out to-morrow +if I crooked my finger. I’m more than a bit tired of +Canader as it is. If it weren’t for baby. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sometimes they were amicable and made huge pots +of jam which almost always boiled over or burned. +The baby was given sticky spoons to lick.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One noonday Phœbe bounded in radiant. Vale had +come in to dinner, but it was not ready.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been talkin’ over the fence to Bob Gunn,” she +announced breathlessly. “He’s leaving Chard’s to-day. +Him and Mr. Chard had a row. The gulls has +et all his fish and he’s blamed Bob for it. I heard them +mewling and whimpering at daybreak this morning. +There’s been a terrible to-do. Ho! ho! I’d ha’ given +a month’s wage to see Mr. Chard’s face.” She danced +a few roystering steps in her red woollen slippers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Whatever is she talking about?” Derek turned to +Hugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hugh was smiling broadly. “It happened like this, +sir. Mr. Chard had bought a catch of some wee fish +that’s no much guid from the Mistwell fishermen. They +ca’ them moon-eyes, I think. He’d got a waggon-load +to use as fertilizer on his strawberry beds. Bob put +the horses away and left the waggon standin’ by the +beds, ready to begin spreading this morn. When daylight +came a gull spied the lot and flew off to tell his +friends. The whole flock came. I haird them makin’ +a great noise mysel’ when my head was still under the +blanket. Every gull grabbed a fish and then anither. +Ye can picture how they’d circle and swoop. When +Chaird came hurrying from his bed there wasna so +much as a scale in the waggon.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And there was the gulls overhead laughin’ to split +their sides,” cried Phœbe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And all the wee fish in their maws,” added Hugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek smiled, not without malice. “I should like +to have seen that,” he said. “So Gunn is to leave?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay. He’d like to come back here, I believe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“After the kicking I gave him? He’s a hardy +socialist.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I dinna think your kicks made him sae sore as +Chaird’s continuous pricks and jibes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I won’t take him back.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We won’t,” put in Fawnie, “have any help here +that’s saucy or lazy. Get about your work, Phœbe. I +don’t pay you for hangin’ over the back fence, gossipin’. +Get the meat out of the oven before it’s black, +and stew the tea.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Matters between Fawnie and Phœbe were bound to +come to a head. They did so with calamitous force and +abruptness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek never discovered what the quarrel was about. +The breaking of the spout off a teapot was mentioned, +also the alienating of Buckskin’s affections. He had +kicked and screamed when his mother had picked him +up, and had held supplicating arms out to Phœbe. +Derek heard the torrent of words as he neared the +house. The maid was in the kitchen, the mistress in +the dining-room, and they hurled abuse through the +intervening pantry, with a ferocity only ended by +Phœbe’s going into hysterics and Fawnie’s snatching +up the bread-knife.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek took the knife from her, and, turning it about, +gave her knuckles a smart rap with the handle. He +then hustled her into the hallway and locked the door +upon her. He realized then that she had tried to bite +him, and he had a sudden desire to follow her and give +her the whipping she deserved. Instead, he listened to +what was going on in the kitchen. He could hear +gurgling moans, then a splash of water, splutterings, +and Phœbe’s voice—“She’ll kill me. Oh, take me +away! Take me away!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Snailem’s voice came—“Another spell like +that and I wouldn’t give a brass fardin’ fur her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are ye better, my dear?” from Hugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay. But keep her offen me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek listened, pale and disturbed. He would lock +Fawnie up, sooner than let Hugh and Phœbe go. +After a bit Hugh rapped at the door, and at Derek’s +bidding, entered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We’re off, sir,” he said. “We’ll bide here in this +house no longer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hugh,” said Derek, quietly, “you don’t know +what you’re saying. Phœbe has got you excited. +She’ll be herself again shortly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” replied Hugh, doggedly. “We’re quittin’. +I saw an advairtissment in the paper yesterday for man +and wife on a farm in the Saskatchewan. We’ll get +married and go straight out there. If it’s no that job +it’ll be anither. I’ve had the West in mind for some +time. This is no place for Phœbe. Mrs. Vale is +always after her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Think it over, Hugh. You’ll feel different to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll no!” shouted Hugh. “We want our wage, +and we’re quittin’!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, quit, and be damned to you,” said Derek, +shortly. “You can catch the afternoon train to York. +Go on that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hugh stalked from the room. He and Phœbe began +to gather together their belongings in the kitchen. +Tin trunks were shifted about upstairs. Snailem +washed, and dressed, and brought Mike harnessed to +the fruit-waggon to the side door. He and Hugh +carried down the boxes, Phœbe following, her head +bent, and an hysterical smile on her face. She looked +so different in her checked ulster and green velvet hat +that she seemed a stranger. Hugh’s well-knit figure +was clad in a decent blue serge suit, and he wore a +cloth cap, well pulled down. He smoked continuously, +as though to brace himself, not even relinquishing his +“fag” when Derek handed him his cheque.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry to part with you this way, Hugh,” said +Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay,” muttered Hugh, and turned away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He got into the waggon and sat on one of the boxes, +while Phœbe settled herself with Snailem on the seat.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The cows left the shore meadow where they had been +pastured, and slowly descended the bank of the stream, +which now trickled thinly over its chalky bed, forming +little transparent pools, and nourishing shiny clumps +of coarse watercress. It was past the hour for milking, +and the cows lowed protestingly as they splashed +across the stream. Phœbe had always been most +prompt about the milking. Now Vale let down the +bars and opened the door of the byre. He could not +understand Snailem’s lateness. He made up his mind +that if Snailem came home the worse for liquor he +would be very sharp with him. Probably threaten to +dismiss him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had adjusted the chains, and watered the cows, +when he heard a horse tramping into the stable. A +moment later a man entered the byre, a pitchfork in +his hand. It was old Peek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is Snailem?” asked Derek, suspiciously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Peek came close to him, and said with a wavering +grin: “He’s gone. Gone for good, with them others. +He said he couldn’t stand the thought of Grimstone +without Phœbe, and he didn’t fancy a winter in the +country anyways. I happened to be at the station +when he was getting his ticket and he asked me to +please drive Mike home, and to tell you he’ll return the +eight dollars he got off you, as soon as he gets a job.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The robber!” said Derek, bitterly. “He got me +to advance the money so he could buy himself a pair of +boots in Mistwell. I ought by rights to get the police +after him. . . . But I’m glad he’s gone. He was a +poor tool. I believe I’m well rid of him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And the things he used to say about you and your +missus at the barber’s shop was scandalous. I used to +say to him, ‘Snailem, it’s a dirty bird that fouls its +own nest.’ God’s my witness, Mr. Vale, I said that to +him time and again, and he’d say——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t want to hear what he said. Can you do +this milking for me while I bed down the stock?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then and there he employed Peek and his half-grown +grandson to work steadily by the week, and +sleep at home.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now he felt honestly glad to be rid of Snailem. +The thought of his untidy face with its eternal ooze +of tobacco juice was repugnant. Peek was a decent +old chap, his grandson willing and strong. The fall +work was in excellent shape. He should get on very +well with outside help till spring, and, by George, he +would make Fawnie do her part!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>While Peek milked he strode to the house to look for +her. He had unlocked the door into the hall long ago.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fawnie!” he called loudly from the dining-room. +“Come here!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He heard her descending the stairs, and in a moment +her face, bright and calm as an unruffled bird’s, +appeared in the doorway.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here,” he said, “you’ve got to come and +feed the poultry, and put the turkeys out of the poultry-house. +You’ve driven all the servants from the farm, +so you must turn in and help yourself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How jolly!” she said. “I come this instant +moment. I’ll kill those turkeys surely.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t feed the hens too much,” he admonished, as +they walked back to the barn. “The last time you fed +them, they were all but crop-bound with corn.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I will make them drunk on silage,” she said, gaily, +“and I will teach them to sing a song of joy because +Phœbe is gone. Oh, she is a bad one, that Phœbe. +I peeped in her box as it stood on the back porch, and, +what do you s’pose? She had taken two of the blue +and gold cups and saucers—one apiece for them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I hope you took them out.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I did, Derek. And I put in their place a sticky +tin pie-plate that she wouldn’t scrape clean yesterday.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fawnie,” said Derek, taking her hand. “I say it +in all solemnity, you are more than a match for anyone +I know.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The stock had been fed and bedded for the night; +the poultry safely housed; the milk separated and set +away to cool; old Peek was gone; and Derek stood +leaning against a pillar of the porch, while his wife +prepared the tea. He gazed at the quiet lake, at the +pale star of the lighthouse just winking out against the +sombre red of the sky. He saw little gnarled trees on +the bluff twisted into fantastic postures—the sport of +Grimstone. And here was he who had come to Grimstone +with a grand gesture of possession—its sport, +too—bent to its will—his Indian wife cooking in the +kitchen—his Indian son kicking on the bed. . . . His +son was beginning to cry, as well as kick. “Coming, +Buckskin!” he shouted, and went to him.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie was surprisingly competent in the affairs of +the house. The living-rooms looked no untidier than +when under Phœbe’s care. Buckskin’s face was often +clean. She cooked for Derek simple, yet quite eatable +meals, and together they made a steamed pudding from +a recipe in the Brancepeth <span class='it'>Era</span>, that turned out so well +that they made themselves sick eating it. Mrs. Orde +came from Mistwell twice a week to wash and scrub.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As the winter drew in and there was less to do, Derek +left the work to the Peeks and lay in bed in the mornings +till he felt like rising. Fawnie had learned to cook +his bacon without burning it, and he would sit comfortably +at his breakfast, the morning paper which Peek +had brought propped up before him. But he read it +with little interest. He was degenerating into a healthy +animal with no horizon beyond the borders of its +pasture. Now that Reciprocity had been defeated, he +gave no further thought to the affairs of the country +nor was interested to know what the new government +was doing. He heard, unmoved, stories of Chard’s +success and of Hobbs’s aggressive administering of +the Durras estate. He had dismissed half of the +labourers and was getting an equal amount of work +from the remaining half, so Peek said, and so Hobbs +himself confirmed when he came to call one wild +November night, and sat by the open fire with them +while the waves thundered on the shore and the gale +drove the flames down the chimney.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek sat in the middle in the full firelight, the +flames brightening to clear ruddiness his full fair face; +Hobbs, on the right, his features sharpened by the +darting shadows, his muddy legginged legs stretched +on the hearth, his light eyes feasting on the beauty of +Fawnie’s face, as she sat opposite. Her eyes, glowing +beneath the folds of dark hair, carefully encircled about +her brow, were bent on the two blond men with a look +of pensive, yet triumphant, experience. Hobbs’s attitude +towards her was deferential. He seemed to have +forgotten the time when he had haled her before Mr. +Jerrold for trapping one of his hares. Derek liked him +for this, and when he went to the door with him, +invited him to come again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Moved by the friendliness of the moment, Hobbs +told Derek that he had just become engaged to Miss +Pearsall.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was astonished beyond measure at the news. +But he kept a sober face, and congratulated Hobbs +earnestly. Yet when he awakened in the night and +thought of the union of that posturing, affected girl, +and that hard-bitten, fierce man, he shook the bed with +cynical laughter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Late in November came the first snowfall, a deep, +yet exquisitely, fragile snowfall, that made a new +enchanted world. The bare orchards were weighed +with glittering fruit, the windows of the house peered +forth like astonished eyes beneath lowering white +brows. Peek’s deep footprints from the barn were +little blue caverns. Yet the sun was warm, and the +sky a turquoise blue. The snow certainly could not +last.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Fawnie,” said Derek. +“We’ll get out the little red sleigh; and I’ll wrap you +and Buckskin in the buffalo robe, and we’ll drive to +Brancepeth. I need some new shirts and a pair of +boots. Do you know, I haven’t bought myself a blessed +thing since I left Halifax!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Darling,” replied Fawnie. “I’m surprised at you. +As long as you have things for your own back you +never notice that baby and I are naked. As a matter +of fac’, I’m nakeder than I was when I bought those +last clothes, for they are wore out and my old ones, +too. Winter is here and baby and I are naked. I +s’pose I mus’ go out to work like Mrs. Orde and make +money to buy clothes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You do look shabby, and the kid, too,” he +returned, ignoring her threat. “Well, wrap yourselves +up warmly, and we’ll buy clothes for everybody.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The gelding was wild to go. He sent little clots of +snow on to the buffalo robe, and even against their +faces. The air was like wine, the lake lay tranquil and +bright below, its smooth surface only disturbed by the +wet, black heads of a flock of wild ducks swimming +sharply near the shore. Durras flew past; then the +Jerrolds’ cottage. Derek gave one swift look at the +little stable. Even the weather-vane on its gable was +draped in white. Buckskin crowed and kicked with +joy at the merry jingle of the sleighbells.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Brancepeth was a newborn village, white and pure, +and only half awake. People in the street stopped to +stare at the dashing red sleigh, and at dark little Mrs. +Vale showing her white teeth in an assured smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek let her go into the milliner’s shop alone. He +sat outside holding the restive horse, and looking down +with amusement at the round-faced infant beside him +who stared from under his woollen cap with greenish-blue +eyes so like his own. Plainly he was fascinated +by the aspect of the butcher’s shop, next door to the +milliner’s. For a beautiful roe hung there by her heels, +her disembowelled body stiff and taut, her pink tongue +between her teeth, touching the pavement. And, as +though that were not enough, there hung at the other +side of his door a burly black bear, his great paws with +their curving claws pressed together as if in prayer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Deer!” said Derek, pointing with his whip. +“Bear! Gun shot them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Buckskin twitched from head to foot with excitement. +He made inarticulate sounds of joy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie came to the door of the millinery shop with +a blue hat on her head. Did darling like it? Darling +thought it was horrible and said so. It made her +sallow. Then she came wearing a red one with black +wings. Not so bad; but it was a little brown one he +chose with a fur band; just like a little French hat, +the milliner followed Fawnie to the door to say. It +certainly became her, and she wore it when she left, +carrying her old one in a paper bag.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At the dry goods store she bought a brown coat with +a fur collar, a plaid skirt, two blouses (she did not +trouble much about underwear), and a pair of brown +boots. There were things bought for Buckskin that +only a woman knew how to buy, but Derek strode in +himself, with the child on his arm, and bought him a +little rabbit-skin coat and a cap with earlugs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Their presence created an agreeable excitement in +the shops, for everyone knew their story, and customers +and clerks alike craned their necks to catch a glimpse +of that handsome young Mr. Vale and his Indian wife.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In the chemist’s window a pyramid of pink soap +caught Fawnie’s eye. She must have some, and a +new sponge for the baby. Derek waited outside while +she made her purchases. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were opposite the “Duke of York” as the town +bell struck the hour of noon. Of his own accord the +horse turned in towards the stables. Fawnie said she +was starving, and Derek realized that he himself was +very hungry. He looked her over critically. In her +dark ulster and little fur-trimmed toque she looked +well dressed, and incredibly lovely. Her cheeks were +flushed with health and pleasure, her eyes had the +brilliance of some furry forest animal’s peering from +under a bush. Her mouth and chin made him smile, +they were so disdainful.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How should you like,” he asked, “to go in and +have some dinner?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It would be jolly.” But she showed no surprise.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What about the kid?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You get me a room, darling, and I’ll nurse him +and lay him on the bed while we eat our dinner.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They left the horse with an ostler, and went into the +low hall of the tavern. Fawnie, carrying Buckskin, +mounted the stair, a servant with a dangling key +following her, and Derek turned into the bar. It was +well filled—a large, comfortable bar, clean, smelling +of ale and freshly burning hemlock. A porter was on +his knees before the stove. As Vale drank his ale he +watched the languid movements of the fellow. The +porter, seeming to feel his gaze, looked up, and Derek +saw it was Bob Gunn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Bob’s beady black eyes twinkled, whether with a +friendly or malicious light Derek could not tell.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, how do you like your new job?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fine. The pay’s fair, the food’s guid, and the +commaircial men are free eneuch wi’ their tips. It’s +better than fairm life anyway.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But the hours are even longer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay, but there’s something doing. Something to +see. I’d liefer hear a stoker off one of the lake vessels +curse than listen tae Chaird’s whingin’ and whinin’. +I’d liefer clean up the floor of the bar than dig in the +freezing airth all day makin’ drains, or hoe out weeds +that are up again before your back’s turned. Then +you hear interestin’ talk here, politeeks, religion, +science, and the status of women in the wairld. +There’s nae sich thing as a dull hour.” He was +sitting on his heels, a stick of hemlock in his hand. +He now looked up in Derek’s face with his twinkling +eyes. “By the way, we had a relation of yours in +here lately.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A relation of mine?” repeated Derek, mystified.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay, Jammery. He was wanting a drink, but, of +course, we had tae order him out as he is on the Indian +List. He objected, and contended that he was white. +He looks pretty white, and speaks well, but he’s connected +with them, so the bartender wouldn’t take any +risks. They’ll be refusing you a drink next thing, I’m +thinking, Mr. Vale.” His twinkle was altogether +malicious now.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Suppressing a desire to kick him more thoroughly +than he had done before, Vale paid for his ale and +went out to find Fawnie. She was standing, a motionless +little figure, just outside the dining-room door.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The waitress, a plump young girl with an excellently +white neck, led them to a table, and leaned over Derek +to take the order. Fawnie solemnly unfolded her +bluish-white damp table-napkin, folded in the shape +of a bishop’s mitre. Derek ordered soup, roast pork, +and apple-sauce. “Remember,” he whispered, when +the girl had gone, “to keep that knife away from your +mouth, and just break small bits off your bread.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie nodded obediently. She behaved like a good +child. They had but well begun when a robust voice +greeted Derek, and looking up, he beheld Mr. Ramsey.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well met,” he said, cheerily. “This is an unexpected +treat. May I sit down and have my dinner +with you? You know I take most of my meals here, +and I find it very pleasant.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He shook hands with them and sat down. “Yes, +Katy, some roast pork. And a bit of the nice juicy +rind. And don’t be sparing with the apple-sauce. I +find I cannot flourish without plenty of apple-sauce.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>While the Vicar ate with gusto he talked buoyantly +of things in general. He was glad they had won the +election. The fruit market was safe, thank goodness. +. . . His pullets were beginning to lay. But +he had lost a fine cockerel last week from limber-neck. +Strange disease. Head flopping all over the +place. . . . Did Derek see much of the Jerrolds? +Mr. Jerrold had certainly been hard hit by the sale. +But he was plucky. They had happy times in the +cottage every Sunday afternoon. He always took tea +with them on Sunday. . . . And Hobbs! One could +scarcely imagine Miss Pearsall caring for him. She +was so extremely refined. But Love laughed at +Manners. Really, he was an unmannerly little rascal +himself. . . . Hobbs had been to church twice lately. +After all, Miss Pearsall would make a charming +mistress for Durras.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek saw that Mr. Ramsey was giving sharp +glances at Fawnie’s face. He turned and looked at +her himself, and almost dropped his fork in horror at +what he saw. Evidently when she had been at the +chemist’s she had bought some atrocious face powder +and in the seclusion of the bedroom had wantonly +smeared her cheeks with it. It must have been +intended for a strawberry blonde, for it was a light +pink with a strong hint of mauve that stood out on +her dusky face with terrible effrontery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek, flushing red himself, whispered to her +fiercely: “Go upstairs and rub that powder off your +face. Get it every bit off, and fetch the baby. We’re +going.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I haven’t finished my pudding.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do as I tell you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie rose, and with bent head glided from the +room. The Vicar moved near to Vale. “Poor child,” +he said, “they have given her the wrong tint. . . . +Now there is a powder,” lowering his voice confidently, +“I’ve read about it in the advertisements—for really +dark skin. It’s called Rachel, I believe. If she got +that, I believe it would answer nicely.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rachel,” repeated Vale, comforted by the Vicar’s +sympathetic attitude.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Rachel. Probably pronounced in the French +way—Rachelle. . . . I think your wife is charming +to look at; and full of intelligence, one can see. I’m +sure you have never regretted that I advised you in +this matter.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Everything’s all right,” replied Vale, uncomfortable +again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They waited at the bottom of the stairs for Fawnie, +who came down carrying the baby.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The powder had been washed off, and she was +radiant with pride in the child in his snowy new +rabbit-skin coat and cap. The Vicar stared at him +in astonished admiration. And, indeed, he had the +composed air of a princeling. His golden-brown +skin, his long greenish eyes, the bright curl on his +forehead were charming.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You must bring him to me and have him +christened,” said Mr. Ramsey.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All right,” said Derek. “His name is Buckskin.”</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-9'>CHAPTER IX<br/> JAMMERY</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> more Derek watched Fawnie, the more he thought +of her as the completest human being he had ever +known. Her days were a circle of unthinking happiness, +from the moment when she put her baby to her +breast in the morning, to the time when she warmed +her bare feet before the open fire, before she went to +bed. She could not write; she could not read. Derek, +after a few attempts at lessons, when her docility and +utter lack of receptiveness almost put him asleep, gave +it up. Why disturb that happy serenity? Her ignorance +was astonishing. The king lived “up at a place +called England”—some village, doubtless, about the +Georgian Bay. She had heard that rich people had +no chance of going to heaven, but “us poor folk can +pass right through.” Then, remembering that she +herself was now rich, she said she didn’t mind. The +poor might have it all to themselves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She warned Derek that American hordes were liable +at any time to advance on them from Niagara. It was +well to be on the watch. This did not worry her in the +least, but merely added to the zest of her days. As a +matter of fact, she did not worry about anything. She +just lived. That alone kept her happy and busy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She would spend hours sitting in her little gilt chair +before the pier-glass, arranging, with meticulous care, +the convolutions of burnished hair that enfolded her +placid brow. She was always cheerful, she was usually +good-tempered, yet Derek had glimpses of primitive +cruelty within. He had seen her knock a rabbit on the +head with a stick and smile at its whimpering. She +had told him, showing all her little teeth, how ermines +were trapped by the licking of frosty steel—held to the +trap by their tongues. Wasn’t that fonny? Yet she +would sit on the floor by Jock, the collie, and stroke +him till he was hypnotized.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek loved to watch her. He became more and +more contented. And yet—he was never ten minutes +alone without beginning to dream about Grace Jerrold. +He would picture what his life might have been had +he married her. He could not forget her. He thought +it strange that he should be living in comparative +content with one woman, while his mind dwelt with +another.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>One foggy morning in mid-December Derek was +confronted in the lane by the figure of a man who +stepped suddenly from the shelter of a little clump of +cedars. It was Jammery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-morning, Mr. Vale,” he said, in his soft +voice. “I guess you’re surprised to see me, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I am. The last I heard of you was from +Bob Gunn at the ‘Duke of York.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery’s brow darkened. “Yes, they refused me +a drink for being an Indian, which was hardly fair, +for, as I’ve told you, I can’t even speak their language. +I may have a dash of the bow and arrow in me, but it’s +far enough away. It was Bob who testified I was an +Indian, curse him.” Though he had frowned, his +voice was gentle as ever.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek walked on down the lane. The sod was wet +and spongy, for the snow had melted, and the creek, +swollen by snow and rain, rushed in coffee-coloured +torrents between its steep red banks. Jammery kept +abreast of Derek and raised his voice above the roar +of the water.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How’s Fawnie, Mr. Vale?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And the baby?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s well, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you’re quite settled down together?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Quite.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I hope Fawnie has got rid of her Indian ways.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had reached the gate leading into the paddock, +and with his hand on it Vale turned sharply to Jammery +in a sudden temper.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now,” he said, “be off. I’ve had enough of you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t get annoyed, Mr. Vale. I didn’t mean +anything harmful. You’re so passionate, I’m afraid +to say what I came to say. It’s a proposal I came a +long way to make.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t care to hear it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But you may thank me for it afterwards.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, go ahead,” said Derek, his curiosity +aroused.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You won’t lay hands on me if it angers you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I won’t promise that. You’d better go while +you’re safe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. I’ll say what I came for, but you must +remember I mean no harm—to her or to you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek regarded him steadily but made no reply.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s about Fawnie,” Jammery went on nervously. +“I’ve heard it said that marrying her has ruined your +life, that none of your neighbours have anything to +do with you, that you can’t keep any help, and that +the farm is going to rack and ruin.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, what would you do about it if—it were the +case?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’d propose”—he drew nearer, while modulations +of greed, boldness, and watchfulness flitted like +shadows across his thin, strangely handsome face—“to +relieve you of Fawnie—to take her away—and +keep her safely where she’d never trouble you—you +could get a divorce—and be free—as though nothing +had happened.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh,” said Derek, sarcastically. “And am I to +pay you well for this? Where do you come in?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t ask a cent,” he cried with vehemence. +“You think Indians care for nothing but money! +Don’t you think we can love? It would be all I’d +ask—just having Fawnie! She’s no wife for you. +You’re no husband for her. She’s like an animal +trapped in your fine house yonder.” His eyes burned +with scorn; he pressed his supple hand against his +heart as though its throbbing hurt him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why,” asked Derek, “if you were so fond of her, +did you scheme to get her married to me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was because I was so fond of her. I wanted to +see her a lady. And I’d nothing to do with her having +your child, did I? That started things going. . . . +The old woman thought they could all sponge on you. +The girl was crazy to marry you. I didn’t know then +what it would be like to live away from her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Had you never thought of marrying her yourself?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not me. I knew too well what the old woman +was. She’d have never let me out of her clutches. +Mr. Vale, she’s the worst old devil that ever lived, +and Beulah is going to be just like her. Now Esther +and Fawnie are like the old man. There was something +noble about him, a regular old chief he was.” +Silence fell between the two men, broken only by the +volleying of the stream as it rushed under the bridge +and into the lake. The fog closed upon them more +heavily; a hoarse whistle from some ploughing steamer +vibrated across the lake. Jammery drummed nervously +on the gate with his fingers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You wouldn’t believe,” he said, “how I’ve loved +that girl. I didn’t seem to realize it when she was +always in my sight. But since she’s gone—why, I’ve +lost flesh; I’ve gone to skin and bone.” It was true +that the fellow was starved-looking. “She’s one of +those women, I guess, that a man can’t never forget. +There’s some like that. Sweet to love and yet—they +make you what they want to—they eat into your heart +like the consumption into your lungs. They’re like a +disease, and nothing but having them’ll cure you. . . . +I always think Fawnie’s like a lily. . . . You’d say +a dark lily. . . . Maybe . . . one of those gold-coloured +ones with the heavy scent. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was amused, yet irritated; and the air was +chill. Again the hoarse voice of the steamer sounded. +He shivered, passed through the gate, and closed it +after him. Then he hesitated and turned back to +Jammery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here,” he said. “What about that beating? +Was that a put-up game?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just to excite you,” replied Jammery, with the +shadow of a smile. “The bleating of the kid excites +the tiger. The old woman bribed Fawnie to take it. +It was done the night before. The girl laid down on a +bunk and never made a sound. I had to get out. I +couldn’t bear to hear the blows.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You and the mother are a pretty pair of +scoundrels,” said Derek, “that’s all I can say. And +I advise you to get out of here while the going’s good.” +He extended his arm towards the road.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jammery drew back from the advancing hand as +though he feared a blow, then after one searching look +into Derek’s face he turned away along the bank of the +creek. When he reached the path that bordered it and +led to the road, he shouted back something that Derek +could not hear because of the roar of the water, and +raised his hand toward heaven. A moment later he +had disappeared into the fog.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>That night as they sat before a glowing fire Derek +saw Fawnie in a new light. He saw her as one of the +conspirators who had schemed to entrap him. He felt +no resentment, only wonder that he could have been +so deceived, and, as the dancing firelight sharpened +and distorted her features and made the bands of hair +about her brow gleam like the silken folds of snakes, +he felt a sort of terror of her. What had she done to +his life? What would she do?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As she raised her hand in a slow gesture to smooth +her hair, the bracelet on her rounded arm caught the +light. He said: “Once you promised me that some +time you would tell me how you came by that bracelet. +Tell me now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The velvet eyes slid slyly under the fringe of inky +lashes that threw a pointed shadow on her cheek. “I +said I would tell you some time when I want to make +you laugh. I don’ want to make you laugh to-night. +I want to make you lov’ me.” Gently she turned to +the bracelet on her arm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” replied Derek. “If you will not tell +me, I shall tell you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes?” The pencilled eyebrows were raised until +they met the drooping band of hair.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Your mother gave it to you to ease the pain of a +beating—that was to excite me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She winced a little at the remembrance of the +beating, but she said with serenity:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That was fonny, wasn’t it?” She took a cigarette +from a little tabouret that stood between them, and +leaned towards him for a light. Their eyes met but +an inch or two apart, and he sought to fathom the +depths of those dark-fringed pools flecked with dancing +light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Emitting the fragile blue smoke through her nostrils, +she said slowly: “And now I tell you, darling, how +you come to find that out. Jammery, he told you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Has he been here?” A pulse began to beat +sharply in Derek’s throat. He wished he had thrown +the scoundrel into the road.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Derek. And, as a matter of fac’, I gave him +some cold meat and a cup of tea. Poor Jammery! +He looks very bad. His heart is certainly broke.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek leaned forward, his face dark with anger, +and grasped her knee. “By the Lord Harry, girl,” +he said, roughly, “if ever you let that fellow into the +house again, I’ll thrash you myself, and I’ll give you +no bracelet to help you bear the pain.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie took his hand from her knee and raised it to +her forehead. “You have given me a ring already,” +she whispered. “And, as a matter of fac’, if you beat +me I will lov’ you more than ever. Isn’t that fonny?”</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>The following week Hobbs had as a guest the most +prominent Holstein breeder in the Province. He +invited Derek to spend an evening with them; and +they had cigars in a little office he had fitted up for +himself in a corner of the house where Derek had +never been. It was hard to believe that this echoing, +half-empty house was the one where he had spent +such happy hours with the Jerrolds.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Yet he enjoyed the evening, since it broke the +monotony of things. The Holstein breeder talked +well, and Hobbs was less assertive in his presence. +Derek was invited to return the next afternoon to +inspect the cattle with the great man. He spent an +interesting afternoon, and set out for home feeling +elated over some excellent hints he had got. The +breeder was to come over the next day to look over +his stock. He was interested in what he had heard +of the young prize-winning bull.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lake and land were sunk in damp oblivion. A chill +air rose from the muddy road to mingle with the steady +drenching mist. A homespun longing to get back to +Fawnie and the boy urged Derek cheerfully through +the wet. He was surprised to see no light in the +house. Fawnie disliked the twilight, and usually +lighted the lamps when the first shadow fell.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When he reached the gate he heard the child crying, +not the lusty cry of temper, nor the peevish cry of +sleepiness, but an outraged, rhythmic wail that subsided +now and then into an exhausted gurgle. Derek, +with a sudden fear at his heart—Fawnie might be ill +or hurt—hurried to the door. Inside it was dark, and +the child on hearing the door open held his breath, so +Derek did not at once discover where he lay.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went to the kitchen, struck a match and took a +lamp from the lamp shelf. With it lighted he returned +to the dining-room. The child lay on the settle near +the fireplace, but the fire was low and the room +cold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The baby began to crow and kick with joy at seeing +him, but Derek paid no attention to him, and with the +lamp held high he went down the step into the front +of the house. He stood irresolutely in the hallway a +moment, and then called, “Fawnie!” loudly. There +was no sound in answer except the laboured ticking of +the old clock, whose blank white face stared at him +from the end of the hall. He called again, now +angrily: “Fawnie! Fawnie!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>No answer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went through the drawing-room, his bedroom. +At the foot of the stairs he called again. . . . The +child was giving short, despairing yells. He returned +to the dining-room, set the lamp on the table, and +picked up the baby and kissed it. With a gesture of +affection, that it had only lately acquired, it clasped +its little arms about his neck and pressed close to him. +Its wet face snuggled against his cheek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Poor little fellow,” he said, kissing it again and +again. “Was he left all alone?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>On the mantel, leaning against the china greyhound, +a half-sheet of note-paper caught his eye. He +took it to the light, and with the child on his arm bent +forward to read:</p> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='noindent'>“<span class='sc'>Mister Vale.</span></p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:1em;'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Sir</span>,</p> + +<p class='pindent'> “Just a line to say that Fawnie has decided as +you are no husband for her she has decided to get out +of here which is like a trap and her a poor thing +trapped. You thot you were through with me didn’t +you but you weren’t. She says to give baby milk +warmed out of the bottle and some sugar and biscuits, +etc. Any old thing you like I don’t care please do not +try to find us for if you do by god I’ll run a nife into +Fawnie before you can get her.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;'>“Yours, etc.,</p> +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'>“<span class='sc'>Jammery</span>.”</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>The baby clutched at the paper laughing, then he +reached for the flame of the lamp. Derek moved away +from the table and, seating himself on the settle, he +re-read the note.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One thing came clearly out of the sprawling jumble +of words: Fawnie had run away with Jammery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had left her baby. The unnatural little devil! +He was alone with the baby. What in God’s name +should he do? Why hadn’t he wrung Jammery’s neck +that day by the creek? He had felt like it. Why had +he allowed himself to be hoodwinked into such a +marriage? Talk about traps . . . he was the trapped +one. . . . If he only had his hands on Jammery! He +struck the arm of the settle with his clenched fist.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie gone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He could not imagine the house without her. Here +he was alone—alone. Except for an eight-months-old +baby. It hungry, too. It was yelling again and +cramming its fist in its mouth. Had she had it in her +mind to leave him when she had bought that feeding-bottle +a fortnight ago and begun to teach the child to +drink from it? God only knew what she had in her +mind—that devious, calculating, rapacious mind of +hers. How he hated her!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He thought of her little satiny brown neck—he would +like to squeeze it till her eyes would start—those melting, +shining, animal eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The child made its mouth enormous and stiffened its +body. He gave it a sharp shake. Damned little half-breed! +He had a mind to throw it into the road after +its mother. He grinned at the thought and shook it +again. It ceased crying and looked up in his face +with heartbroken astonishment, its mouth down at the +corners, its round fists, wet with slobber, raised appealingly. +Its eyelids were puffed with crying.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek’s heart was touched. He got up with a sigh. +“I wonder where that bottle is,” he said aloud.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He found it on the kitchen table and beside it a jug +of milk. He lifted a lid of the range and examined the +fire. It was not a bad fire; he dug the coals with a +poker and opened the draughts. The child, sitting on +his arm, looked on hopefully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It sat perfectly still when he put it on the table, while +he heated some milk in a saucepan, sweetened it, tasted +it, and filled the bottle; but it twitched with excitement +when he took it up again and held the rubber nipple to +its mouth. Its bare feet, he noticed, were icy cold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He drew a chair before the oven and sat down with +the baby on his knee, holding the little feet to the +warmth. Jock, with a loud, troubled yawn, came and +sat close beside.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As the baby felt the warmth of the oven, the comfort +of Derek’s supporting arm, and the yielding nipple in +his mouth, he heaved a sigh of weary contentment and +rolled his eyes up towards his father’s face and kept +them there, as though he wished never to lose sight of +him again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You—and me, Buckskin—and old Jock—the three +of us, eh?” murmured Derek. “And a night as black +as pitch. I wish them luck, that pair. Curse him for +a whining scoundrel. . . . And the girl, to go off +and leave you like this, and me.” He caught himself +up, for an ache like a gripping hand caught him by the +throat and his nose stung. Good God! he wasn’t +going to cry. Well—it would make a man cry to see +a baby left like this.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He put his lips against the fair downy head and +kept them there.</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-10'>CHAPTER X<br/> PEGLEG</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Derek</span> could not sleep. He went to bed, but at two +o’clock he rose and drew on some clothes. Restlessly +he walked about the house, turning over different plans +in his head. If it were not for the child he would have +closed the house and returned to Halifax. Yet he had +no yearnings for his old life there. Grimstone and he +seemed to belong to one another. And the child—a +new rush of tenderness for it swept through him. +When all was said and done, it was his child and he +loved it with all the protective strength of his nature.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had no intention of following Fawnie and Jammery. +He would not touch her again, if she came on +her knees. He believed Jammery loved her—more than +he ever could—and she was very sweet to love. As +Jammery had said, one couldn’t ever forget her. It +was impossible to think that she would sit before the +fire in the evening no more—with the ruddy glow on +her face, on her supple folded hands, on her bracelet +touching it to fire. That damned bracelet—the +hypocrisy of her! “If you beat me I will lov’ you +more than ever.” He longed to kill her, and tramped +up and down the hollow echoing house, saying so, to +the walls, to the streaming windows, to the black hearth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At six o’clock he made himself some breakfast and +fed the child, who, exhausted by the excitement of the +day before, went immediately to sleep again. Lighting +his pipe, he sat down before the kitchen stove and +dozed till he was awakened by Peek bringing in the +milk.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a mild morning of delicate blue sky and little +white clouds like puffs of smoke. Sparrows pecked +and twittered on the flags outside the kitchen door as +though it were spring. Derek carried Buckskin out +for an airing and strolled up and down in the sunshine. +Both were bareheaded and Buckskin held a large sweet +apple from which he with difficulty took small bites +with his square little teeth. Derek had washed his face +and hands and brushed his hair so that he was fresh as +the morning. He cooed, he laughed, he pressed wet +kisses on Derek’s cheek, and kicked his heels on Derek’s +side as though to lose his mother was a matter of light +concern. After one questioning look at Derek he had +taken his breakfast from the bottle without more ado, +as one who said, “Bottle, is it? Well, here goes!” +A remarkable baby.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek held him close. He would not have parted +with him for worlds.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was so taken up with the child that he did not +see a group of people coming down the road until they +had turned in at the gate. Then he perceived that they +were Indians. The group was composed of a man, +his wife, three little girls, a grown-up son. The man, +terribly emaciated, leaned heavily on the squaw’s +shoulder. The young man carried several large bundles +and an old-fashioned carpet bag. He set them down +with a grunt of weariness as he reached Derek’s side, +but he turned to his mother as though it had been +arranged that she was to speak first.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was a wholesome, good-looking woman of about +five and forty. Her clothes were clean and neat, and +her three little girls, who resembled pretty Italian +children, looked decently cared for. After taking her +breath, for she had been much burdened, she said in +a soft, husky voice: “I been told that you ain’t got +much help here. We thought maybe you could do +with us. My son and me we’re both good milkers, and +he’s good with horses and all kinds of farm work.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I have no place to lodge you in,” said Derek. +“The shack isn’t fit for winter.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, we’ll make it all right,” replied the squaw +easily. “We just come from an awful poor one now. +Our floor was never dry. I can do your housework, +too. My goodness, that’s a nice baby you got.” She +stared curiously at the child. Evidently she knew all +about his marriage.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The man broke in, “I can’t go no further, I tell +you. I must get in some place and lie down or I’ll +die.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He looked fit to die, Derek thought. He said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you may come and look over the shack. If +you think you can live in it, I’ll give you work.” With +Buckskin on his shoulder he led the way through the +orchard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A little windmill made by Bobby Sharroe turned +with a whining noise on the roof of the shack. The +outer walls were ornamented with skins of squirrels +and chipmunks he had nailed there to dry, and, in the +row at leaving, had forgotten. The stove in the lean-to +was red with rust.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Bill and me will carry that stove inside,” said the +woman. “We’ll be fine and warm. Kin we have +fresh straw fer the bunks? And maybe you have an +old quilt you not usin’?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come to the house and I’ll give up a couple,” +said Vale. “Have you food?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We got bread and ham. If we jus’ had some tea +and a point of milk and a little drippin’ or butter we’d +git on fine.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was such an amiable, wholesome soul Derek +liked her at once. And he liked the little girls who +fluttered about the baby, clapping their hands at him, +and laughing as merrily as though they had never +known hunger and cold and buffeting from post to +pillar. They were the prettiest Indian children he +had ever seen, with even features and magnificent black +eyes. They were Annie, Lizzie, and Susy, aged nine, +seven, and five.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The man had gone into the added room and thrown +himself on the bare bed there with a groan. Derek +looked in at him and then asked his son what was the +trouble with him. He mentioned a disease common +enough, but of which Derek knew little. “Is it +serious?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I guess not,” replied the youth. “He’s just +got to keep still and he’ll git all right.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek looked pityingly at the hunched figure on the +bed. “Let me know if he needs anything. And cover +him up or he’ll freeze.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was getting cold himself standing about and +Buckskin was sneezing in his ear. He returned to the +house, taking the son with him to get provisions for +the family. The youth said his name was Bill Rain. +He was a hollow-cheeked, hollow-chested fellow, who +always gave the impression that he had just reached +the top of a steep hill. But he said he was strong and +seemed eager to work.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek felt an immense relief at having acquired the +Rain family. He would pay off Peek that night, and +Peek could stop at the Ordes’ cottage on his way back +to Mistwell and tell Mrs. Orde that she would not be +needed at Grimstone for some time. He hoped that by +ridding himself of Mistwell people he might be able to +conceal the fact that Fawnie had deserted him. For +the present, at least, that was his great need. The +Jerrolds, Hobbs, the Vicar, it must be hidden from +them all. He had been the subject of gossip, conjecture, +pity, scorn, long enough. No. It must not +be known. He might conceal it for a month—or more. +Further than that he did not look. He would not even +tell Edmund.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Before Hobbs and the Holstein breeder, whose name +was Maher, left that afternoon Derek took them into the +house for something to drink. When the whisky and +soda had been set on the table Hobbs asked after the +health of Mrs. Vale. Mrs. Vale was not very well, +Derek said. She was lying down. Hobbs was disappointed. +He had been anxious to have Maher meet +her. As the bottle became almost empty he grew more +and more solicitous for her health, and he begged +Derek to fetch the boy down, if only for a moment, +that Maher might see for himself the sort of heir she +had produced for Grimstone. So Buckskin came on +Derek’s shoulder, very bright-eyed and wondering, +and was set on Mr. Maher’s knee, and was hefted, and +had his muscles felt, and his massive legs admired, +and his eight teeth admired, and his curly yellow head +rumpled, and Maher said he was the sweetest thing +that had ever been foaled. “If you’ll believe me,” +he said, “my missus has given me six daughters, all +of them high-shouldered and short-necked—like me. +Nary a son. Women are kittle cattle. Nary a son.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Give me boys every time,” said Hobbs. “If a +boy misbehaves you give him a good leatherin’, if he +does it again you give him a harder one—but a girl—keep +your six, Maher, I don’t want ’em.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They’re all right,” declared Maher, bridling. +“They’re nice girls—good and all that—but why had +they got to go and have high shoulders and thick +necks like me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek scarcely heard their talk. An overwhelming +weight of loneliness had fallen on him. Fawnie was +gone. No more would she sit beside him watching +the fire, with that mysterious, sombrous look that had +sometimes almost frightened him; no more would her +hair fall like a silken mantle over his shoulder, around +his neck; and her arms hold him close against her—“as +a matter of fac’, darling, you are no better than +Buckskin”—Oh, the sweetness of those arms! Their +fragility—and their strength—those pouting lips. And +she loved Jammery—he could not hear what those +fellows were saying. How he dreaded the night!</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>But the night passed quickly. Tired out from lack +of sleep, his head had barely touched the pillow when +he was off. A dreamless sleep held him till daylight, +when he was awakened by Buckskin, whom he had +taken to bed with him to keep him warm. Buckskin +cooed, he crowed, he chuckled, he lifted Derek’s eyelid +and looked quizzically down into his eye. “Good +Lord,” groaned Derek, “can’t you let your poor dad +sleep in peace?” Buckskin could not and would not, +so Derek got up and made the breakfast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They sat side by side at table (Buckskin had a high +chair) unwashed and uncombed, eating large plates of +porridge covered with cream. Buckskin’s bib was a +sight. Derek wondered what Edmund would have +said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The first thing for you to do,” he told Lottie Rain +when she came to do the work, “is to give this baby +a bath. He’s got soap and sponge and everything of +his own. Don’t let him get a chill. Keep him by the +stove. And look here”—he turned in the doorway—“my +wife is away, but I don’t want the folk about here +to gossip, so if anyone asks you anything, just say +she’s not very well, and she stops in most of the time. +Understand?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lottie’s face melted into a comprehending smile. +“Yes, I understan’ all that. I know how to keep quiet. +I know your wife ever since she was a little girl. It was +her sent me back to look after you and the baby. She +couldn’t bear to think you wasn’t gittin’ looked after +properly. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Lottie took them in hand. She was a motherly +decent soul. She scrubbed the kitchen till the boards +shone; she blackened the stove, and swept the hearth; +she kept Buckskin cleaner than his mother had done. +His bath in the kitchen was a melodious riot of chuckles, +squeals, splashings, and the rippling laughter of the +three little girls. The laughter of little Indian girls is +the prettiest laughter in the world.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek grew to love Buckskin more every day. He +became the centre of his life. He feared sometimes +that Fawnie might return and steal him away, and he +would not have him often out of his sight. He took +long rides at this time and he would have Lottie bundle +the boy in his rabbit-skin coat and cap, and place him +before him on the horse. Off they would gallop, making +the snow fly, making the bridge ring with the dash of +hoofs. Buckskin would gravely clutch a bit of the +rein in his tiny mittened hands, and his cheeks would +glow, and his eyes sparkle and glint with all the +changeful brightness of the lake. He learned to shout +“Ho!” for “Whoa.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One day they met the Jerrolds. There was no escape, +and Derek must face Grace with that offspring of his +wildness and his weakness between them. Grace +leaned forward in her saddle to look into the little rosy +face. “Oh, he is a darling!” she breathed. “A +darling.” Her arms moved toward him without her +volition, as though she must take him to her breast +and hold him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Surprise and delight made Derek’s heart pound. +Grace liked his child—that child. Gratitude misted +his vision of her. He drew his horse nearer that she +might touch the boy. She lifted him to the saddle +before her and kissed him. Nothing small about +Grace—nothing grudging—nothing cruel. Their eyes +met over the boy’s head—they could not look away—yes—they +were kissing each other through him—holding +each other close.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>On Christmas Eve came a knock at the door where +there were now but few knocks to disturb the lonely +master of the house Mr. Jerrold in a fur greatcoat +stood there, his accustomed cigar in his fingers. He +and Gay and Miss Pearsall, who was stopping with +them over the holiday, were on their way to Mistwell, +where he had a Christmas tree every year for the +village children. They looked forward to it all the year, +and, by Jove, he wasn’t going to have the poor little +beggars disappointed, even though he had been +smitten rather roughly. Would Vale care to come? +And Mrs. Vale? He spoke with genial unconcern, as +though it were quite the custom for Mrs. Vale to join +in their little activities. It was such a fine starlit night +they were walking.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had been feeling abominably homesick for +Halifax and Edmund. He said eagerly that he would +be glad to go, but Fawnie couldn’t very well leave the +baby. This time he blamed it on the baby. He wasn’t +quite up to the mark. Stomach-ache or something. +Kids were always getting something wrong. He grew +hot with nervousness, but nothing would have induced +him to tell the truth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The girls had walked on ahead. Their slight figures +outlined against the sparkling snow hurried on, as +though avoiding the men. “Let them go,” said Mr. +Jerrold. “I want a good talk with you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They overtook them at the door of the little weather-beaten +town hall already packed with the children and +their parents. A curtain was drawn before the tree, +and Derek was led behind this by the girls to help +light candles and add some final touches while Mr. +Jerrold disappeared into a cupboard to dress for the +part of Santa Claus.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This unexpected nearness to Grace excited Derek. +The expression of her face as she raised it when she +lighted a candle was to him piercingly beautiful. +Their hands touched. He drew his quickly away. +He could not bear it. . . . Miss Pearsall hovered +about the tree, ecstatic over dolls, work-boxes, horns, +and jack-knives. “I feel a little, little child again,” +she breathed. And again she said, “My name is Joy. +I am but two days old.” Derek thought—“My God, +this woman and Hobbs!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Never was a handsomer, more jovial Santa Claus +than Mr. Jerrold. Such a scarlet belted tunic, such a +woolly white beard, such mirthful, sparkling, teasing +eyes. He joked everyone as he handed down the +presents, for he knew them all, and the little hall +rocked and heaved with laughter; and the smell of the +tree, and the smell of guttering candles, and the smell +of hot children were delightfully mingled with the +smell of fish that subtly pervaded all gatherings in +Mistwell.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After the tree there were sandwiches, cakes, and +coffee for everybody.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was eleven o’clock when Mr. Jerrold with a grunt +of relief pulled off his beard and wig and mopped his +dripping head. “I wouldn’t give up this treat for +anything,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have not forgotten those three little girls at your +place,” said Grace to Vale. “And here are two little +china mugs and a work-box for them—and a bag of +sweets and an orange apiece, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that will be jolly for them! I’m such a +duffer I had never given Christmas a thought.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Pearsall flew to get coloured paper and ribbon +to tie up the parcel. “Darling Gay,” she said, +“always so thoughtful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Unseen by the others, Derek picked up a discarded +doll from the floor and dropped it into the pocket of +his overcoat. The doll had only one leg.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was refreshing to get out into the sharp, bright +air, to hear the crunch of the crisp snow beneath their +feet, to watch the silvery moon sailing above and its +bright train shimmering on the lake. It was a world +of silver light and meticulous black shadows.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They walked four abreast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Happy, happy people!” exclaimed Miss Pearsall. +“Going about doing good!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense. We get as much fun out of it as the +kids,” said Mr. Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Mr. Vale!” cried Miss Pearsall. “Do you +know the Gitanjali?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” replied Vale. “Where do they live?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They are not people but poems. By Tagore. I +am singing them now. They are wonderful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You sing them beautifully,” said Grace.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There is no one like Tagore. No one like the +Hindoo writers. I am in closer touch with the Infinite +since I have steeped myself in the East than ever +before. ‘I am a slave of this spirit of the quest.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold was saying, “By Jove, I’ve gone and +lost my pipe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Vale was thinking, “My God! This woman and +Hobbs—hard-bitten Hobbs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Pearsall went on: “I have no faith in doctors. +Absolutely none. No doctor could ever cure one of +my headaches. Only God can cure my headaches.” +Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jerrold was saying: “They sent me some pretty +poor stuff from the wholesale. One of those dolls, for +instance, I had to throw away. The plaster was all +broken off its foot and the wooden support stuck out +for all the world like a ridiculous wooden leg.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At the gate of Grimstone Vale held Grace’s hand a +moment. “If only I might have walked beside you—had +a few words alone with you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She withdrew hers quickly. “Oh, do you think +I’m made of iron?” she said.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek gave Lottie Rain the presents for her little +girls. He bolted the kitchen door after her and returned +to the dining-room. He raised the flame of the lamp +and sat down by the table. Then, with a whimsical +smile, he drew the doll from his pocket. He held her +close to the lamp and examined her matted yellow hair +and glassy blue eyes. “You look terribly cold in that +pink shimmy,” he said, “and you certainly have a +game leg. But I’m sure Buckskin will love you. Poor +little Buckskin. His first Christmas. No mother. . . . +We must find a name for you. H’m. Pegleg? That’s +the ticket. You shall be Pegleg from now on. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Buckskin made a scarcely perceptible mound under +the yellow eiderdown in the huge four-poster. The +bedroom was bitterly cold, for there was no way of +heating it. Derek made short work of undressing, but +he spent some time in choosing the best possible spot +to lay Pegleg on, so that the sight of her might greet +the child when he awoke. Then, when he had braced +her there between the two pillows, he stood a full +minute admiring the effect.</p> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Buckskin loved Pegleg at first sight. He wakened +Derek in the cold December dawn crowing over her. +He sat up in bed with his curls on end hugging and +kissing her. He pulled her hair and bit her in a fury +of love. He held her while he was being dressed (not +a long ceremony, for he wore but three garments), he +clutched her while he had his bottle, he screamed if +Derek touched her. And Derek would touch her just +for the pleasure of hearing him yell.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After breakfast Derek carried him to the barn to +weigh him. Annie, Lizzie, and Susy danced about +the weighing scales singing:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Buckskin weighs twenty pounds! Buckskin and +Pegleg weigh twenty pounds!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s Christmas Day, Mister Vale,” cried Lizzie, +the prettiest of the three. “My brother Bill is goin’ +to take us to church.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where, then? To Mistwell?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. To Stead. The niggers have got a church +there. You know the nigger church?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had heard of it. Mrs. Machin had told him +how, during the American Civil War, several southern +families had taken refuge in the beautiful little village +of Stead, a few miles east of Mistwell. When the war +was over they had returned to their own country, but, +as the servants they had with them were now free, +they left them behind in Stead, first providing them +with cottages and situations. These slaves had been +the nucleus of a respectable little coloured colony in +Stead. They kept to themselves, were prosperous, +prolific, and had their own pastor, whose collar and +cuffs, it is safe to say, were whiter and shinier than +those of any other minister in the village.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To the nigger church,” repeated Derek, looking +at Lizzie, musingly. “Now, look here, if your mother +and father are Indians, and you, yourself, go to the +nigger church, I’d like to know what you are.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lizzie’s great eyes flashed up at him as she cried +stoutly, “Me? I’m British!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lizzie, you rebuke me,” said Derek. “You’re +an intrepid little soul. May I shake hands?” And +he took the little brown hand and held it in his own. +“Good for you, Lizzie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He led her to the stable, where Bill and Lottie were +filling the mangers with hay. “Mister Vale, is it true,” +asked Annie, “that God was born in a stable?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, yes,” said Derek. “It’s true.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Was a manger really His cradle, just like these +here ones?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. Only it was Jesus, you know, the little one. +Not God. At least, not exactly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mister Vale, you lay Buckskin down in the +manger and let’s see just what a baby in a manger +looks like, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ain’t they awful?” said Bill.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek laid Buckskin in the Welsh pony’s manger +and held the pony’s head to one side. “There you +are,” he said. They filled the stable with their laughter, +and the morning sunlight fell on the sweet-smelling +hay, and on Buckskin’s blond head and golden-brown +face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Annie said: “We’ll be the three Wise Men. We’ll +bring him gifts. I’ll bring him this big Northern Spy +apple. What’ll you bring, Susy?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This new egg I jus’ find,” answered Susy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“An’ you, Lizzie? What’ll you give this little +Jesus?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There’s thistles in this hay,” said Lizzie of the +great dark eves. “I’ll make him a crown o’ thorns.” +Bill and Lottie, their pitchforks in their hands, +stood gazing fascinated. Lottie said: “Last winter +we was at a place where them little girls went to Sunday-school +all winter. They learned an awful lot of religion. +I expect it’ll do them the rest of their lives.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek had given the Rains a turkey for dinner and +he had one to himself. Buckskin sat beside him in his +high chair, alternately gnawing a drumstick and beating +his tray with it. After dinner Derek had a happy +thought. He went to one of the trunks he had not +unpacked since he had come from Halifax and unearthed +his most cherished boyhood possession, a +glass-covered box of carefully mounted butterflies. +These he presented to Buckskin, who gazed, round-eyed, +clutching Pegleg to his breast.</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-11'>CHAPTER XI<br/> LOVE AMONG THE HUMMOCKS</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>Hobbs</span> got his knee put out in the New Year while +playing hockey with a team composed of his own +workmen against the Mistwell players. He was confined +to his room for five weeks, and Derek spent an +hour or two every day with him, smoking, talking +endlessly about cattle-breeding and poultry-raising, +and playing chess, for which it turned out Hobbs had +a passion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Of his other passion—that concerning Miss Pearsall—he +talked little and haltingly, but Derek gathered +that he was acquiring her as a suitable mistress for +Durras, one who would give a tone to the place that he +never could. Derek found this rather pathetic, and he +pitied Hobbs. He should not have liked to be tied up +to Miss Pearsall himself and he wished Hobbs would +not do it, but the man was determined that Durras +should not lack tone. “The one drawback is,” he +confided, “that I shall have to go to church on Sundays, +and that’s my special day for loafing about the +stables. In the stables I’m happy and cheerful, but +put me in church and I’m a lost man.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek still kept up the fiction of Fawnie’s illness. +Well, she wasn’t exactly sick, he said, but she had a +delicate chest, couldn’t stand the cold. Hobbs was +sympathetic. “Your wife is what I call a raving +beauty,” he said. “As far as women go, just <span class='it'>as</span> +women, well—if a fellow has the nerve—there’s a +woman for you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The worst was when Mr. Jerrold brought some jelly +to the door that Grace had made for Fawnie—jelly that +enclosed a cluster of California grapes. Derek was +miserable. Full of shame, he strode up and down the +room, eyeing the jelly as it quivered on the dark blue +plate. “This will never do, Buckskin,” he groaned. +“This will have to stop. I’ve simply got to tell. +There’s no getting out of it. Buckskin—d’you hear? +I’ve got to tell that you and I are just batching it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He and Buckskin ate the jelly.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>One morning Bill Rain asked Derek to go up to the +shack. His father was anxious to see him. Derek +found the sick man lying on the floor behind the stove. +A quilt was wrapped about him and his stockinged +feet projected into the middle of the room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had grown terribly emaciated, a bright fever-spot +burned on either cheek, his hollow eyes sparkled +with pain and hatred.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My old woman and my son don’t mind if I die +here,” he said. “I been tellin’ them for weeks to fetch +you up to see me. I got to get to the hospital at Yeoland +for an operation or I die here. You see that, +Mr. Vale. You pay my way and I work for you when +I am well—yes—my fingers to the bone—yes—till I +fall in my tracks. I’m a strong man, I tell you, no +poor rat like that Bill—but this pain’s killin’ me. Oh, +send me to the hospital, Mr. Vale, and I work for you +till your farm’s the finest in the country. Oh, this +awful pain!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t worry any more,” soothed Vale. “I’ll +send Bill with you to-day. You’ll be all right.” Outside +he said to Bill sternly: “Why didn’t you let me +know your father was in this state? I thought he was +getting better.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, maw and me kept thinkin’ he would git +better, but he’s worse. He’s like a crazy man sometimes. +He keeps his stick beside him and gives us +some awful cracks, and yells at the little girls enough +to ruin their wits.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You must take him to the hospital to-day. He +should have gone long ago.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was arranged that Derek and Lottie should attend +to the stock and do the milking for the three days that +were required for Bill’s journey to Yeoland where the +hospital was, and where, near by, the Rains had some +relations.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was glad when the fruit-waggon, on the +bottom of which Bill had made a bed of straw for his +father, passed into the road. He felt that some blame +was attached to himself for not having enquired more +closely into Rain’s condition.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Bill returned on the third day and told how his +father had suffered on the journey and was now lying +in the hospital awaiting an operation. But he was cheerful, +he said, and full of gratitude to his benefactor.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>His benefactor! Vale groaned. He who had let +him lie and rot all winter.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>In a fortnight (it was now late in February) a letter +came from Yeoland to the Rains. Lottie and Bill +brought it to Vale to read to them. The lamp had just +been lighted, and, as he bent forward in the circle of +lamplight to read, he was struck by the pathos of the +two waiting figures by the door—Bill clutching his cap, +Lottie her shawl, attentive, anxious, dark, humble.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Rain was dead all right. The cold, dry letter of +the matron said so. They must come at once if they +wanted the body. (That poor, lank, huddled body in +the cart! it came between Vale and the letter.) He +read it aloud, trying somehow to soften it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lottie and Bill stared at the floor. “Dear, oh +dear,” Lottie said, softly. Bill said: “Well, paw’s +dead. I thought he’d be gittin’ well by now.” They +were silent then, thinking deeply.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m very sorry,” said Derek. “What shall you +do?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’d like to go over to Yeoland and look after +him,” replied Lottie. “She said he was dead, did +she?” . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The next morning she set out with the three little +girls. They were all in black.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My maw she made them little dresses out of two +black skirts a lady gave her,” explained Bill, proudly. +“She sat up all night to do it. I wish paw could see +them.” He sighed deeply and went about his work.</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>That day a gale blew from the east. They were in +for heavy weather, Bill said. Gulls, in ever-increasing +numbers, drifted above the foam-splashed waves that +hammered on the bluffs like rowdies at a door. Spray +dashed against the windows of Grimstone; foam +clogged the mouth of the creek like lather.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Happy, wayward, fantastic creatures, the gulls! +Exultant, crying, eager, voracious! Buckskin beat +his fists on the window and laughed at them. How +they swept and rose and fell, this one shooting upward +like a flame, that one just kissing the rim of a wave +with his breast! Wonderful gulls! Heartless, cruel, +merry gulls!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>All day there was no sun. Heavy purple clouds +were draped like curtains above the green, uneasy +lake. In the afternoon sleet began to fall. To fall? +No. To drive, to hiss, to spit, to cut like a whip! Derek +thought his cheeks would bleed before he reached the +barn. Coming back, he crooked his arm across his +face and ran, his feet crunching in the granulated +depth of it. The storm grew worse and worse.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When night came, he was too restless to read. He +walked up and down through the empty rooms, feeling +singularly alone in the world. Buckskin, lucky Buckskin, +slept. Derek looked at the familiar pictures, at +the thin, aloof, china greyhound on the mantel. It +was against the greyhound that Jammery’s note had +been propped. How long ago that seemed! How +alone he was!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last he went to bed. But he could not sleep. +The house rocked. The four-poster swayed under +him. He had never known such a storm. And, as +he lay listening, the confused uproar resolved into +definite, terrible episodes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It seemed that he could hear the clash of two armies, +who met with ring of steel and roar of lusty throats, +fighting up and down the road. And, mingled with +the wild uproar, came the keening of women crouched +above their dead. . . . And, ere their wailing ceased, +the clamour of a brazen band burst forth. Oh, the +deafening discords of the horns! The thunder of the +drums! And, in the far distance the women still +wailing. But what had come to the clashing armies? +There was no more shouting nor hurrahing. Only +the stamp and pad of thousands of flying feet. They +were madly running. Running! Oh, the footsteps! +Crunching, padding in the snow. Footsteps everywhere. +The women had ceased their keening to listen. +The footsteps were coming in at the gate. Hammering +on the flagstones. Kicking at the door. They would +have the door down yet. Terrifying, deafening uproar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now the footsteps were gone. The keening women +gone. The bandsmen that had fallen into panic gone. +Only a deep-toned humming of some far-off organ +remained, singing through the hissing sleet, filling +the night with melody.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>To this accompaniment it seemed that the Spirit of +the lake rose out of the foam, strode up the cliff, and +then before the homely stone house did battle with the +Spirit of Grimstone for possession of the land. Derek +pictured the Spirit of the lake—long-armed, with +streaming hair and blazing eyes; the Spirit of Grimstone—massive, +brown, earthy. They laughed and +shouted on the cliffs, half in rage, half in ferocious +play. Derek laughed to hear them fighting for the +land while he lay snug in bed. And Buckskin, in his +sleep, laughed too.</p> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek did not realize that he had slept, and yet, +there was the ruddy sunrise staining the wall and he +had never seen the dawn. Where was the wind now? +Utter silence and piercing cold. When he raised his +head the breath from his nostrils made a little cloud +above the quilt. The window was completely covered +by downy frost flushed pink by the sun. Sharp cracking +sounds came from the old house. He jumped out +of bed. His boots, which he had taken off wet the +night before, were frozen to the floor. He jerked them +up and pulled them on. Lord, how cold they were! +Hurriedly he got into his clothes, put the boy into his +three little garments (what a blue bit of a nose!) and +carried him to the kitchen. Here the coal fire still +burned and one did not feel quite so frozen. He +fastened Buckskin into his high chair and made the +porridge. While it cooked he went outside, to see +what sort of world the storm had left behind.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was as though a curtain had risen to show him +some strange stage scene set in the polar region. No +wonder his brain had been filled with wild fancies last +night. The storm had done its damnedest, and left +behind this white, silent, sinister passivity—all its +passion frozen into a glittering picture for remembrance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The lake was a seething cauldron. From its rocking +waves rose endless spirals and columns of vapour, +twisting, writhing together, struck into a thousand +radiant tints by the shafts of the sun. The red sun +itself mounted with speed into the melting glories of +the sky, like a fiery ball hurled upward from below by +giants at play.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The lashing and freezing of the spray had formed +for a quarter of a mile from the shore hundreds of +hummocks from five to twenty feet high, of matchless +purity, blue-white in the shadow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was exhilarated, excited, by the splendour of +the scene. After he had given Bill a hand with the +work, he set out to explore this new polar region at his +door. He went down the road and crossed the bridge, +where icicles jutted out horizontally from the framework +like frozen fingers pointing to Grimstone. He +wandered among the hummocks out to the water’s +edge, winding his way in and out, staring down into +ragged caverns where the black water pressed and +sucked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I might be the only soul on earth,” he thought; +and then he saw that he was not alone, for a figure +had suddenly risen on one of the highest peaks and +stood there like a statue gazing outward over the +lake.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was Grace Jerrold.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A flood of emotion shook him. To meet her alone +like this! As though it were at the world’s end. He +and she. He slid and scrambled down his hummock +and started towards her. She heard him coming and +turned her head, but she remained on the peak of the +hummock looking down at him unsmilingly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall I come up?” he asked, when he had reached +the bottom of the slope.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She shook her head but did not speak.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not come up? Grace. Have I done something +new?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no. But——” She paused as though she +could not go on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But what?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is not good for us—for me—I mean, to be here +together. I feel too much. Why should I pretend +otherwise?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I say, Grace, don’t pretend with me. Be yourself—your +darling self! We love each other. Well, +can’t we face that love together—even cherish it, a +little, on a morning like this?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her fair face flushed, her eyes became a deeper blue +as she answered, “Face it, perhaps, but not cherish +it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He moved a step closer and then said, with a tragic +flourish of his hand towards Grimstone: “Do you see +that house, Grace? A lonely-looking house, eh! +Well, I live alone there—except for the baby. Fawnie +left me over two months ago.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She uttered a low cry and held out her hands. “Oh! +Derek. I’m coming down, catch me!” She slipped +and ran down the sloping side of the hummock, and +when his arms had caught her and supported her she +said again: “Poor, poor Derek! But why did she +leave you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She ran away with Jammery.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“With Jammery? An Indian! How horrible!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not to her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But—after you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Apparently I didn’t satisfy her.” He still held +her arm, and they began slowly to follow an icy path +among the hummocks.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you cold, dearest?” he asked. She shook her +head, and said, “I’m all bundled in fur, don’t you +see?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He saw indeed the etherealized beauty of her face in +the brilliant light. He became aware that she wore a +grey squirrel coat and a little grey squirrel toque with +a knot of red berries on the brim.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are so utterly adorable,” he said, “that I +never know what you wear. I am only conscious of +your nearness and dearness. Now don’t be angry, +please.” He could not help it. He slipped his hand +into her muff beside hers, and his fingers closed about +her slender wrist.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m not angry,” she said, pretending not to notice +his hand in the muff. “That is what makes you such +a dangerous sort of man. A woman cannot be angry +with you for more than a few moments. I think it’s +those boyish appealing eyes, and something about your +mouth. But it’s really terrible. One feels angry and +then, in a flash the tables are turned and one is sorry, +feels oneself cruel, and condones. Really, I think that +is a dangerous sort of man, don’t you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit. Just a poor blundering idiot, floundering +from one morass into another. Never meaning any +real harm—upon my soul, Gay, no real harm, even at +my worst. But I’ve actually no strength of character, +I think—I’ve time to think these days—I know Edmund +thinks so, too. He’s as much as said so.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Edmund!” Her tone said, How dare Edmund +judge Derek! “What does Edmund know of trouble?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nothing at all. He doesn’t want to know anything, +so he keeps out of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had walked along a level plateau of ice and +from it mounted a hummock that overhung the water. +Down the glassy curve of it they watched the crashing +of the malachite waves, now impotent to destroy what +they had so recently created.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You know,” Derek went on, “the only decent +thing about me is that I’m faithful. I mean—oh, +Lord, I never can express myself—I mean that when +any person—or thing—belongs to me once—once I +possess it and care for it—it’s always mine. Nothing +can change that. For instance, there’s a bit of you +that’s mine—that you gave me that morning in the +stable—nothing can take that from me. I’ll cherish it +always. And look here,”—his face reddened—“there’s +Fawnie, too. Only so different. I wish I could explain. +But I was thinking once about a flower—a sort of lily +thing that comes up in the stream in August, by the +bridge there. Its roots are in the mud, its stalk and +leaves in the dark water, but its flower opens in the +pure air, and turns to the sun and breeze. Well, that’s +like my love for you. It’s the flower of me. The +bloom. All that’s best in me rushes up to it, and still +my roots are in the soil and my stalk and leaves in the +dark. What a comparison!” He laughed with a +tremor in his voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I understand, and it makes me very happy,” said +Grace, and her eyes met his with a look of ardent +resignation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Reckless, passionate words came rushing to his lips. +He thought: “For heaven’s sake, exert some self-control +now . . . show that strength of character +you’re always howling about. Don’t kiss her!” And, +even as he was thinking, he put his arms about her, +and held her to his breast. So they kissed hopelessly, +longingly, and yet with joy under the compassionate +splendour of the sky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Afterward they stood quietly, two lonely figures, +her head resting on his shoulder, his lips against the +bright, winglike sweep of her hair, and she said, half +laughing, half crying, “Oh, you poor darling, you +need me so!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If only I could have you for my very own,” he +cried. “If only I could!”</p> + +<h3 id='ch2-12'>CHAPTER XII<br/> BUCKSKIN STRIKES HIS TENT</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> may have been standing about on the ice so long +that gave Derek a cold (he wandered there an hour or +more after Grace had left him), but, whatever it was, +the cold appeared, manifesting itself in flashes of heat +and chills, and, worst of all, a toothache. He did not +sleep much all night because of the toothache, and +when morning came his one thought was to be rid of +the tooth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He did not like leaving Buckskin for so long, but he +had a way of barricading him with chairs on the couch +in the dining-room that had answered very well when +he had gone to visit Hobbs. After breakfast he imprisoned +him thus, gave him Pegleg to play with, a +bottle of milk and two biscuits for refreshment, and left +Jock on the foot of the couch for company.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The ride to Brancepeth made him feel better, the +invigorating air, the light rise and fall in the stirrups, +the feel of the well-groomed horse beneath him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>By the time he was sitting in the waiting-room of +the dentist’s office the tooth was not aching at all; +nevertheless he was determined to have it out.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a patient in the chair, so he was obliged +to wait. He felt nervous about Buckskin. He stared +through the dingy window at the shops across the way. +There was the milliner’s where Fawnie had come out +on the step to show him the new hat. Fawnie. She +should be at home now minding Buckskin—the +baggage!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He picked up one of the women’s magazines that littered +the table and began to read. It was an article on +Better Babies. As he read his fair boyish forehead +was puckered into worried knots. He had never +dreamed that babies needed so much attention. Why, +Great Scott, if he did everything for Buckskin that +was advised, nay, commanded, here, he should have +time for nothing else! What the devil was this about +orange juice at ten every morning? Buckskin ate +pulp and all at any old hour. What was this about +coddled eggs and grated carrots? And a thermometer +in the bath? The book made him sick. Buckskin +wasn’t that kind of baby. He was a healthy little +animal that needed no pampering. Hold on—Weight +at ten months—Dangers of overweight—Buckskin was +five pounds overweight! Well, well. He had known +he was a whopper. How that tooth was howling now!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The dentist came to the door, smiling, and beckoned +him with his head. He was a twinkling young man +who looked as though doing things to teeth was the +most cheery profession on earth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Open, please,” he said, and twinkled into Derek’s +mouth. “Now which tooth?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Widdom toot,” said Derek, as well as he could, +through the dentist’s fingers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Wisdom tooth, yes. A cavity that should have +been attended to some time ago. But we can soon fix +that. It needs treating.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pull it out,” said Derek. “I’ve no time for +treatments.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” agreed the dentist, still twinkling. +“Gas or freezing?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh—freeze it. . . .”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was out. What a beastly grating noise the forceps +made! The dentist was all twinkles as he held it up, +gory-rooted, for Derek to see.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek felt immensely relieved to be back in the +street without it. He went to the “Duke of York” +and had a little whisky neat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>His cold was worse, a cough was developing, yet he +would not set out for home till he had bought the boy +a new pair of shoes. Shiny patent-leather strap slippers +he got with little buckles. He pictured Buckskin’s +kicks and crows of delight when they were put on +him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was really getting anxious about Buckskin. +Suppose he fell off the couch someway and got to the +fire! Or Jock might get rough with him. Jock wouldn’t +actually <span class='it'>hurt</span> him, but he might get a bit rough. He +covered the last two miles at a gallop.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He gave his horse to Bill at the barn and hurried to +the house. “Buckskin!” he called, as he unlocked +the kitchen door and stamped the snow off his feet. +“Hello, Buck!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jock came to him through the pantry crawling on +his belly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>What was wrong? For God’s sake what was wrong? +Buckskin! Buck!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was lying, wedged, between the row of chairs +and the couch. He was writhing—twisting. The +whites of his eyes showed through the half-closed lids, +his lips were blue.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek snatched him up and shook him. Buckskin! +Waken up! Thank God, there came a flicker of those +white eyelids!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Oh, for a woman! Any woman! Lottie Rain. . . . +Miles away. . . . Mrs. Chard. He laid the child on +the pillow and ran wildly through the house. He +crashed through the dry currant and gooseberry +bushes. Bang! bang! at Chard’s back door! Mrs. +Chard opened, her arms white with flour, flour on +her nose, fright in her eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Whatever is the matter?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My boy—my little chap—dying!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She began to wipe the flour off her arms. “What is +the matter? What does he act like?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Oh, the incredible coolness and slowness of the +woman! “Oh, Mrs. Chard, he’s stiff and blue—he’s +perhaps dead by now. He looked awful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Chard turned to her stove. She lifted the lid +off the tea-kettle and looked in. “Full,” she said, +“and boiling. It sounds like convulsions. Just you +bring this along, Mr. Vale. Children, be good while +I’m gone.” She shut the door and followed Derek +heavily through the yard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He showed her where the child was lying, but +he could not bear to go into the room with her +because of what he might see. He felt more afraid +than he had ever felt in his life before, a new, sick, +helpless sort of fear. Buckskin was so little, so +young.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After a moment she came to the door. “Fill his +bath,” she said. “Make the water as hot as you can +bear your hand in. I’ll strip him. He’ll be all right, +I think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Glad to do something, Derek got the little green tin +bath, filled it, and tested the water with a shaking +hand. Mrs. Chard came out carrying the baby. Derek +turned away. He could not look.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Ages of misery passed. Mrs. Chard was speaking: +“Now, what a good little boy! My, my, what a good +little boy! Look around, Mr. Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He turned. Buckskin lay in the bath, his body, +steaming, scarlet, supported by her hand, his face +bewildered but—thank God!—natural. He looked at +Mrs. Chard, he looked at Derek, then he smiled, pushing +forward his lower teeth and wrinkling his nose in +a funny way he had.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek went to him. “Is he all right?” he asked. +“Shall I get a doctor?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wouldn’t now. You might ask the doctor to +advise you about him, but just now he’s all right. One +of mine had two convulsions, but he got over them +and he’s the healthiest of all now. This is an awful +fine child.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had taken him from the bath, laid him on her +broad lap, and, with a practised hand, was drying him. +Derek looked down at her with almost overwhelming +gratitude. At the moment he really loved her for what +she had done. Her sad heavy face, her large bosom, +her thick round shoulders were admirable, because +they were the essence of brooding motherhood.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When she rose to go he saw that she was with child +and his heart smote him for having been so excitable +with her, and for having almost dragged her from her +house to his.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How can I ever repay you?” he asked, when she +had Buckskin comfortably tucked up on the couch +with Pegleg clasped to his breast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I s’pose his +mother was badly frightened, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“His mother! Oh—she’s away,” Derek stammered, +his face scarlet. “She’s gone to Brancepeth for the +day, shopping. I was here alone with him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No wonder you were scared,” said Mrs. Chard, +kindly.</p> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Buckskin slept well that night and awakened Derek +as usual by clasping his head in his fat little arms and +kissing him rapturously. To get his jumping, naked +little body into his clothes was a task that took all +Derek’s newly acquired skill. At breakfast he beat the +table with his porridge spoon, and broke into trills of +laughter over nothing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s all very well,” said Derek to him, seriously. +“I like to see you in high spirits, old man, but have +a thought for your poor dad. Yesterday you changed +him from a hardy young man into a doddering old +imbecile by your eccentricities. Don’t do it again.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Gug-gug! Did-dy, dad-dy!” replied his son, +winking at him between his curling pink fingers, and +getting porridge on his hair.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek thought: “I believe I’ll buy some of those +women’s magazines. A fellow might get some pointers +from them after all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had determined that he would see Mrs. Machin +that day, tell her that he and the boy were alone, and +beg her to come back and keep house for them. Surely +no woman with a heart in her body could refuse him +when he told her of yesterday’s fright.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had Bill bring the red sleigh to the door. When +Buckskin heard the bells jingling and saw Derek fetching +his rabbit-skin coat and cap with the earlugs, he +could hardly contain himself for joy. He kicked his +heels and shouted. He showed all his pearl-like teeth, +and Jock, to add to the gaiety, leaped to the couch, put +his nose to the window-pane and gave forth a volley of +short, mad barks.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin came out of her sister’s cottage near the +lighthouse and stood with folded arms, on the doorstep, +listening to Derek’s recital. She did not look at +Derek while he talked, but stared out over the scene +familiar since her birth. The pier was thronged with +gulls, resting quietly with folded wings in the February +sunlight. Sometimes one rose and sailed aloft, his +cries mingling with the constant whining of the reels. +A smell of fish and wood fires ascended from the fishing +huts on the shore.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Mrs. Machin, when he had finished, +“it’s just about what I had expected. That rat Jammery, +eh? I could have told you so. D’ye mind the +time I sat up two whole nights to keep her in the room +where you’d put her? But she was one of the kind +that wouldn’t stay put no matter what you’d do.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Machin, are you coming back to me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She looked at him ruminatively now out of her pale +oyster-coloured eyes. “Well, I won’t say I will and +I won’t say I won’t. It partly depends on my sister. +She’s been on her deathbed now for six weeks and +seems in no hurry to be off, but when she does go you +may see me at Grimstone any day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I had hoped you might come right away, but, of +course, under the circumstances——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’ll know I’m comin’ when you see me. +And you take good care of that baby. He’s a beauty +and no mistake. The image of you, only a little +darker in the skin. And I wouldn’t worry too much +about them fits. Fits is fits, and if they’re in you +they’re bound to come out, the same as boils. He +may never have another. I’m more concerned about +that cough of yours. It’s an awful cough. However +did you get it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was up and down with a toothache night before +last. The room was cold. Then yesterday I had it +out. Took a chill, somehow, and I couldn’t sleep last +night.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, well, you have had a time,” sympathized +Mrs. Machin. “Now, look here, Mr. Vale, I’ve got +something that’ll fix that cold of yours up in no time. +It cured me of bronchitis and asamay when no doctor +living could. It’s a mixture that I make up myself and +the secret of it was told to me over fifty years ago. You +just wait and I’ll fetch you a bottle of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When she had gone into the house Buckskin rolled +his eyes up at Derek with the drollest laughter in them +as though to say—“Rum old party, eh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Rather,” agreed Derek, “but you’ll do well to +keep on the right side of her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When Mrs. Machin had brought the bottle she made +him take out the cork and swallow a mouthful of the +mixture on the spot. “It’s awfully queer,” he said, +tasting. “What is it made from?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin gave a delighted smile. “I’ll tell +you,” she said. “Though there’s very few I would +tell. But I can’t live for ever, and some time you +might want the mixture when I’m dead and gone.” +In a lowered voice she added with a triumphant grin, +“It’s a wasps’ nest.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A wasps’ nest,” he repeated, blankly. “What +do you mean by a wasps’ nest?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just what I say, a boiled wasps’ nest.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was somewhat aghast. “Mrs. Machin, was that +dose actually made out of a wasps’ nest?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was. You get the nest when the wasps are +settled down for the winter. You boil it three hours +with plenty of sugar and a little rum, and then strain +and bottle it. There’s nothing in the nature of a +cough it won’t cure.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Most remarkable,” said Vale, “I’d never heard +of such a thing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I s’pose there’s a few things you haven’t +heard of.” Her tone was tart. “You never heard +anything <span class='it'>agin</span> wasps’ nests, have you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No-o. Were there many wasps in the nest when +you boiled it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know. I wasn’t directed to look in the +nest and I didn’t look in. I always follow directions +carefully. If more people would follow directions +there’d be fewer mistakes made. Better take another +sip before you go.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He meekly took another.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Bah-bah,” said Buckskin, reaching up towards +the bottle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Bless his heart,” said Mrs. Machin, her pale lips +relaxing into a smile, “he wants some. And a little +taste would do him good, too. Whose pretty boy are +you, eh? Whose pretty boy are you?” She shook +her head at him and laughed.</p> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was now afraid to leave Buckskin alone. His +cold was so bad that he kept to the house almost continually, +but when he did go to the barn or the stables +he would carry the child on his arm. In fact, the child +was seldom out of his thoughts. He would light a +candle in the night and hold it near the little sleeping +face, to assure himself that those terrible contortions +had not again disfigured it. Word came from Yeoland +that Lottie’s children were ill of the measles, so +he could not look for her for several weeks.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>To make matters worse, he had trouble with his +sheep and cattle, which had fallen sick from eating +mouldy silage. If he had been about as usual, he +would have prevented its being fed to them. But Bill +Rain thought that whatever animals could be made to +eat was good for them. His own taste in food was +peculiar. He begged from Derek all the left-over +bacon rinds. These he frizzled in a pan till they were +crisp and hard. He carried them in his pocket and +produced them at all hours to crunch between his +black, broken teeth. “Say, Mr. Vale,” he would +affirm, “I’ve got the strongest teeth in the country, +exceptin’ just my uncle, John Blackbird. He can lift +a chair in his.” And he would take another mouthful +of rind.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So he thought nothing of feeding mouldy silage to +the stock. The silage had been ensiled in a dry, rather +ripe condition, and was woody and loose, perhaps +because it had not been tramped or settled solid. It +moulded badly, and two sheep died, and several cows +were very sick. Derek had the veterinary, but he was +glad when Hobbs appeared one day hopping on a +crutch, and ready, as always, to give advice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hobbs carried a bunch of daffodils from the Durras +greenhouse for Mrs. Vale. He looked downcast when +Derek said she was still ailing. After a pause he asked +whether he had ever offended Mrs. Vale. He believed +she was avoiding him. Good Lord, no, Derek assured +him, she was simply languid, lay down a great deal. +He believed the winter had been hard on her. He +placed the daffodils in a vase and they stood on the +table, golden and arrogant between the two men.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Since he had been so much alone with Derek, Buckskin +had grown very shy. He screamed and kicked +when Hobbs picked him up, and even the proffering +of Hobbs’s big gold watch would not tempt him. But +when Hobbs took a daffodil from the vase and held it +towards him, he did a wonderful thing. He left +Derek’s knees, between which he had braced himself, +and ran to Hobbs. They were his first steps unaided +by his father. Derek was red with pride. Hobbs was +jubilant. When Buckskin found out what he could +do, he did it again and again, toddling, head down, +from Derek’s knee to Hobbs. Mouldy silage, dead +sheep, sick cows were clean forgotten while they +watched the splendid staggering of the boy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, well,” said Hobbs. “It beats all. Most +cock-a-hoop little rascal. Eleven months, did you +say?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” replied Derek. “His birthday’s in April. +I don’t want to seem a fool about him, Hobbs, but he +really is a rip, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>To Derek it seemed that there would be no end to +this strange secluded winter that enveloped him like a +fog, a fog through which the memory of that morning +on the hummocks shot like a flame. But he sought no +further meetings. What was the use? Better cling to +the remembrance of those terribly sweet moments and +forget the rest, if one could. Not seek to add to their +sweetness, lest the fruit of the flower should be bitter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He would sit before the fire in the evenings seeing +in the flames the faces of the two women, Grace and +Fawnie. It was amazing how distinct they were—the +delicate aquiline of Grace’s profile, the disdainful yet +tender arch of her mouth—the glow of health beneath +Fawnie’s dusky skin, the rich convolutions of her +hair, her deep, mirthful eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He would stare and stare till he could bear it no +longer, then he would snatch up Buckskin from the +floor, and pace the room with him, singing loudly +some college song that he had never thought to sing +again. Sometimes he would recite bits of things he +had learned as a youth. Not so long ago, and yet +what had happened since then! Buckskin would +listen as though he understood every word. His +favourite was the song from Hippolytus. When +Derek would declaim in his rich, full voice:</p> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>“O take me to the mountain O,</p> +<p class='line0'>Past the great pines and through the wood,</p> +<p class='line0'>Up where the lean hounds softly go,</p> +<p class='line0'>A-whine for wild thing’s blood,</p> +<p class='line0'>And madly flies the dappled roe.</p> +<p class='line0'>O God, to shout and speed them there</p> +<p class='line0'>An arrow by my chestnut hair</p> +<p class='line0'>Drawn tight, and one keen glistening spear—</p> +<p class='line0'>Ah, if I could!”</p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<p class='pindent'>Buckskin could not restrain his rapture. He would +shout at the top of his lungs and thump Derek on the +chest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s all very well to be enthusiastic,” Derek would +admonish, “but you ought to restrain yourself to the +end of the piece. You nearly drowned me out.”</p> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>One moist evening, the first of April, when the +heavy air was fragrant with the essence of spring, Vale +saw the figure of a man standing with bent head, just +inside the gate, beneath the tallest walnut tree. He +stood so motionless and so long that Vale’s curiosity +was aroused and he strolled out to him. It was Newbigging. +Even in that dim light he could see that the +Scot looked thin and weather-beaten and that his +clothes were ragged.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Newbigging,” he exclaimed. “Is it you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ay, sir, it is. What’s left o’ me. I’ve had a haird +time since I left here last spring. I got what I wanted +and that was the sea. I’ve had enough o’ that to last +me the rest of my life. I’ve been to China and back, +two trips, and now I was juist standin’ here trying to +mak’ up ma mind to go in and ask ye if ye’ll no take +me back.” He looked up into Derek’s eyes, shamefaced, +yet unrepentant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek was eager to take him back, yet he showed +some proper reluctance. “If I do, Newbigging, you’ll +probably take it into that wild head of yours to flit just +when I need you most.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Never,” declared Newbigging, emphatically. “I +juist want to bide here on the fairm. Yon lake is sea +enough for me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come along,” said Derek, and took him into the +house. Briefly he explained the situation. He was +keeping bachelor’s hall; Mrs. Vale was away on a +visit. He said this last, looking steadily into the eyes +of Newbigging, who nodded solemnly. Derek believed +he understood.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But it was good to have a friendly soul in the house +once more! Newbigging settled down without ado. +Lass of all work, he named himself. And he set about +getting the tea, and washing up the stacks of dirty +dishes in the kitchen. He had no tin box to carry +upstairs, all his clothes were on his back; but he took +the little pasteboard box that held his gilt studs, and +the little red book of Scottish songs from his breast +pocket, and laid them in the dresser drawer where they +had been wont to lie. He carried a hot dish of ham +and eggs in to Derek and ate his own meal from his +knee as he dried his feet in the oven.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Buckskin made friends with him at once and toddled +back and forth between dining-room and kitchen, +carrying Pegleg to be kissed by Newbigging and +Derek alternately.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, he’s a bonnie wee boy,” said the Scot, admiringly. +“He’ll mak’ a son to be proud of. But keep +him away from the sea, Mr. Vale. It mak’s a bad +son, and a bad husband, too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been awfully worried about him,” said +Vale, seriously. “He’s had a convulsion—a terrible +one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Did ye see a doctor?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I asked Mrs. Machin about it first. She +didn’t think it serious. Then I saw Dr. Bosomworth. +I thought perhaps I was feeding him wrong. But the +doctor said his diet was very good. Said it might be +hereditary.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Never worry, sir. I had three fits in one afternoon +when I was six years old and I’ve not had the sign of +one since.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Were there no bad effects?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Weel, whin I come out o’ the third one I says, +‘I’ll gang tae sea,’ and that was the beginning o’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Come along in,” said Derek, “and I’ll get a bottle +of whisky from the cupboard. I haven’t had anyone +to talk and drink with in the evening for a long time.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging sat down by the table with some diffidence, +but his blue eyes glistened when Derek set +the bottle before him and told him to pour what he +wanted. He half filled his glass, added some soda-water, +and then raised it in the direction of the sofa +where Buckskin slept.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The bairn,” he said. “Long life to him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Buckskin,” said Derek, and they drank.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wager,” said Newbigging, after he had wiped +his lips with the back of his hand, “that ye’d never +guess who I met out West in the Saskatchewan.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not Phœbe and Hugh?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The very pair. The train I was on was crawlin’ +over the dismal, flat prairie, and every time we stopped +at a station, I mairvelled tae see the pale, weary-lookin’ +folk on the platform. Grey, and dour, and old before +their time, wi’ never a rosy cheek or full red lips +among them. Presently, at one of the stops, the door +of the coach was flung open and a young woman +followed by a man came in. Her airms were full of +paircels, and when she boarded the train she tripped +on the step and plunged intil the coach, head down, +her bundles flyin’ in all directions. I jumped up to +help her, and she gied me a shamefaced look. I saw +that it was Phœbe, rosy as ever, wi’ her neck like a +bowl o’ new milk. . . . Man, they were glad tae see +me. And they asked kindly after you, Mr. Vale.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Had they a good situation?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fine. Keepin’ hoose for a wealthy rancher. +They were shoppin’ for him that day. They wanted +me tae come back wi’ them, and get a job, but I +slapped ma bonnet on ma heid and said, ‘Nae prairie +for me, I’m gaein’ back tae old Grimstone.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m glad you came,” said Derek. “Help yourself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“D’ye mind, Mr. Vale,” said the Scot, when he +had drunk another glass, “how Hughie used tae say +in lambing time—‘We’ll be haein’ a new wee lamb +afore the morn’?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll never forget that.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging chuckled. “I think he’d been safe in +repeatin’ that saying, tae judge by the appearance of +Phœbe.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tck,” muttered Derek. “What would the +rancher say to that?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Weel,” replied Newbigging, “they didna seem +to be worryin’.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Speaking of babies,” said Derek, “I must put +that little fellow to bed.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He carried the child to his bedroom and laid him +snugly in the old four-poster. He buried his face for +a moment against the little neck, inhaling the delicious +sweetness of the warm, tender flesh. Then he drew +the covers close, lowered the light, and returned to +Newbigging.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was sitting with his fair head thrown back +against the high back of the chair, his blue sailor’s +eyes fixed unwinkingly on the light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been thinking o’ some of my adventures in +China,” he said, solemnly. “I’d like tae tell ye aboot +them, sir, if ye’ll listen.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek acquiesced and sat down again. It was plain +that Newbigging had drunk a good deal. He launched +into stories of his doings in the East, which Derek did +not believe but which he found very entertaining, for +the Scot had a vigorous flow of words, and his changeful +face was a pleasure to watch. Derek had not drunk +to excess since those summer nights when he had +gambled with his Indian relations at the shack. But +now in the warmth of Newbigging’s presence (he had +not known how lonely he was) he grew once more +indiscreet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They exchanged reminiscences of boyhood. Newbigging +told of fights in Scotland—even to his first +real fight when as he lay on his opponent panting, +the other urchins crowded close, yelling, “Mak’ him +greet, Jimmie, mak’ him greet!” and, man, he had +made him greet!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last Derek told Newbigging of how, when a +small boy in Nova Scotia, he had squeezed his body +between the horizontal bars of an old farmer’s orchard +gate, and had filled his blouse with ripe red apples. +The farmer had given chase. Derek had had a +good start, but when he had attempted to get through +the gate, the bulk of the apples in his blouse had made +him too wide, and wriggle as he would he could not +escape. When Derek told this story, Newbigging +laughed. They both laughed uproariously. After +another drink Derek drew his chair closer and told the +story again with more detail. This time Newbigging +looked very grave, and they stared at each other in +sorrowful silence. Still another drink. Derek repeated +the story. “Picture me, Newbigging,” he ended, his +voice shaking a little, “a poor, miserable little fella, +c-caught there, between those bars, the apples on my +tummy, and f-farmer at my back!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging reached across the table and held out +his hand. Derek took and retained it. Then they +both sang together in voices mellow with feeling:</p> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>“And here’s a hand, my trusty fiere,</p> +<p class='line0'>  And gie’s a hand o’ thine;</p> +<p class='line0'>And we’ll tak’ a right guid-willie waught</p> +<p class='line0'>  For auld lang syne.”</p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek did not awaken until the bright spring sunshine +had flooded the room. He heard the familiar +liquid calling of the hen turkeys and the thunderous +note of the gobbler. He heard the hiss and scrape of +his tail feathers as they were unfurled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He scarcely remembered how he had got to bed the +night before, but there were his clothes neatly hung +on their stretchers. He remembered seeing Newbigging +disappear up the stair in his stockinged feet, +the candle in his hand dripping wax over the steps, +and there had been singing. Wonderful, soul-stirring +singing. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a wonder Buckskin was not up and doing. +Playing peek-a-boo under the sheet or trying to put +his toe in his mouth. He turned over to look at him. +Buckskin lay facing him. He looked, and a horrible +shudder shook him. He looked again. But surely +this was not Buck! This cold, set little mask of a +face, with the look of angry surprise in the open eyes +and on the compressed mouth, as though bitterly +indeed he resented this outrageous jest that Fate had +played on him. And that rigid body—those clenched +hands—Buckskin, oh, Buck!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek sprang from the bed. He ran to the foot of +the stairs and shouted for Newbigging. Newbigging +came headlong from his sleep.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“For God’s sake, what is it, sir?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The boy—the boy—he’s dead!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dead? How can that be? What killed him?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That same thing, I suppose. Come down! Come +down!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging came running.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek stood, sick and bewildered, in the passage +while Newbigging was in the room. When he came +out his step was heavy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re richt enough, sir. The puir laddie’s gone. +Gone these hours past.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He took Derek by the arm and led him to the +dining-room. He gave him something to drink—something +that burned his throat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Just sit here quietly a bit,” said Newbigging.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek sat down in the armchair before the black +hearth. He did not speak. He clasped his hands +between his knees, and twisted and turned in his chair. +His face was contorted with agony. He had not known +that one could suffer so. Jock came and timidly licked +his clinched hands. Buckskin, oh, Buck!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After a while Newbigging said: “I think I should +go for the doctor, Mr. Vale. It’s customary.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I won’t stay here alone,” said Derek, with a wild +look towards that room. “You go and harness the +mare, and I’ll get Bill.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He left the house and went through the orchard. +Moisture from the bare limbs dripped on his head. +He knocked at the door of the shack, a heavy, resounding +knock. Bill appeared in the door, frightened, +hollow-cheeked; an insufferable heat and stuffiness +came from within.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Go for the doctor,” said Derek, shortly. “The +little boy is dead.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Back through the orchard, under the drip of the +quickening trees, back in the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Once more in the chair before the hearth, twisting +his hands together. Buckskin, oh, Buck!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The doctor came. He was a nice fellow, sympathetic. +He was terribly sorry. He was the coroner, +too. He gave Derek the certificate of natural death +and a permit to bury the child at Grimstone. Derek +would not have him put in that desolate little graveyard +where Solomon Sharroe lay. He wanted him +near him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Hobbs came. Amazingly sympathetic. Tears in +his eyes. He brought a bunch of daffodils to lay on +the little coffin. You could have knocked him down +with a feather when he heard it. Would he let the +Jerrolds know? They might not hear until after—No, +no, for God’s sake, no. All he wanted was to be +left alone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin came. She had buried her sister two +days before and was now ready to take up the reins at +Grimstone. She bathed the child and prepared him +for burial. A little coffin was brought from Brancepeth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After the lamps were lighted Mrs. Machin and +Newbigging sat together in the kitchen. The sailor’s +tongue was running, doubtless about his adventures +in China. Derek now sat in state alone. He had not +looked at the newspaper that day, so he got it and +spread it out on the table before him. Mechanically +he turned to the column of Horses for Sale. That +always interested him. He read, muttering the words +half aloud:</p> + +<div class='blockquote70percent'> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>For Sale</span>—“<span class='sc'>Silken-Maid</span>”—</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Beautiful breedy-looking upstanding standard-bred +trotting mare; her sire “Silk-Tassel,” +dam “Belle Roland”; age six +years; sound: 15.3 hands; weight eleven +hundred; good free active road mare; road +all day twelve miles an hour; best feet and +legs; well-boned, level-headed, square-gaited +trotter.</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>Good Lord, he did not know what he had been +reading. . . . What was it all about? His eyes, +raised stupidly from the paper, rested on the collection +of butterflies that now stood on the mantelpiece. How +the little chap had loved them! Derek had tried to +teach him the names of the different species, and he +had made sounds that were really good attempts, and +had always leaned forward lovingly to pat the glass +above that bright blue one from the Hartz Mountains, +with his soft little palm. The little hands—the little +hands!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek pushed back his chair and rose from the table. +He went into the parlour. Mrs. Machin lighted +candles in the tall silver candelabrum there, to look +“pretty”—not because she held with “any popish +notions.” The candles threw a seemly light over the +little folded hands (he held one of Hobbs’s daffodils) +and over the little face—not startled and resentful now, +but wearing a look of sweet composure.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek placed one hand on the foot of the coffin and +the other on the head. Supported thus, he bent forward +till his lips touched the lips of that darling child +of his transgression. Sobs tore at his throat. “Buckskin, +oh, Buck, my little boy!”</p> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<p class='pindent'>Spring had come in the night. The world was full +of joy. Ingratiating odours stole up from meadow +and field. Forth from the lake leaped the hot bright +sun, and strode like a giant to his work. Sweet, hostile +strains of rival birds rose upward to the sky. Everywhere, +everywhere, the striving, shooting, leaping, +singing upward; but for Buckskin the lying down in +the dark earth beneath the walnut trees, the clasping +of little hands, the shutting of gay, deep eyes, the folding +of bright wings scarcely spread.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was only six o’clock when Derek crossed the lawn +to the green plot behind the apple-house where he had +told Newbigging to dig the grave. He had chosen this +spot because he had often thought that winter what a +nice place it would be for the little chap to play on next +summer. The grass here seemed especially fine; and +it was starred in May by little blue-eyed flowers, and +here the birds liked to hop about and sing. Then the +smell of apples that came through the latticed window +of the apple-house was sweet, very sweet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging was not quite ready yet. He was +digging so energetically that some of the loose soil +flew against the sloping, moss-grown roof of the apple-house, +and from there scattered to the ground. He +looked up and wiped his brow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The ground’s still haird,” he said. “But I took +all the sod off nicely, and it can be laid back without +a break.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m glad of that,” said Derek.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He watched Newbigging till the grave was ready, +then he said, “Come. I want to get this over before +anyone is about.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They returned to the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Machin was waiting in the parlour. In her +black bonnet and cape she was prepared to follow in +decency to the grave, though she thought it heathenish +that the child should not be laid in consecrated ground.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Nor would Derek have Mr. Ramsey sent for to read +the burial service. The conception of Buckskin had +been secret; their life together that winter had been +secret; now, in death, let him strike his tent in secret +and join his forebears without benefit of clergy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But Derek took his uncle’s large prayer-book from +the bookcase and carried it to the graveside. Newbigging +and he bore the light coffin between them. +Mrs. Machin followed. A strange funeral procession. +Their slow passage over the moist turf was watched by +heavy gulls swinging above in the warm April wind. +The chime of the waves on the shore was Buckskin’s +knell.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In a low voice, but steady, Derek read the burial +service, his head bent over the book, the wind tossing +his fair hair. Newbigging stood with folded arms and +legs apart, his tanned neck rising like a column out of +his blue sailor’s jersey. Mrs. Machin’s face was set +as she stared sorrowfully into the grave. The feather +on her black bonnet kept up a nervous quivering.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We brought nothing into this world, and it is +certain we can carry nothing out”—read Derek (not +even Pegleg, he thought, lying discarded on the floor). +“The Lord gave (He gave this kind, too!), and the +Lord hath taken away (He took this kind to Himself, +also); blessed be the name of the Lord.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The wind freshened; the chiming of the waves grew +sweeter; the gulls swung above their heads. Derek +read on: “Man that is born of a woman hath but a +short time to live (a year, this man!), and is full of +misery (misery? Oh, those mirthful, laughing eyes +of his!). He cometh up, and is cut down, like a +flower (like a flower! Derek’s voice broke); he fleeth +as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one +stay.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>With a motion of the head, he signalled Newbigging +to begin filling in the grave. As the earth was cast +upon the lid of the coffin only broken phrases were +audible—“to take unto Himself the soul of our dear +brother here departed”—“dust to dust”—“according +to the mighty working, whereby He is able to subdue +all things to Himself.” The mighty working! He +could read no more, but stood motionless and silent +as Newbigging finished his work.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Unconsciously his eyes followed the movements of +a woman, whose figure was outlined against the sky, +as she slowly made her way along the undulations of +the bluffs. Slowly she descended the steep and came +to the bridge. She stood leaning over the rail a +moment, looking down into the tumbling stream +below, before she proceeded. Her progression was +heavy as though she were tired or weak, but still she +drew nearer and nearer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Newbigging was laying the green sod in place as she +turned in at the gate. He sat up on his heels and stared +at the approaching figure, then he raised his startled +eyes to Derek’s face. Mrs. Machin, after one long +bitter look, turned and walked back to the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jock crawled to the end of the chain by which he +had been fastened to a tree, and lifted his lip in deprecating +welcome. Fawnie went to the two men and +stood between them, looking down at the grave.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What little grave is this?” she asked slowly, with +a catch in her voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s the wee lad’s,” replied Newbigging. “He +died yesterday.” He went on carefully replacing the +sod.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie watched in silence a space as though +fascinated by the movements of his hands. Then she +said, “Couldn’t you uncover him and let me see his +face, jus’ for a minute, please, Derek?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” answered Derek, coldly. “You deserted +him when he was well. You shall not disturb him +now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She drew a deep sigh. “It’s pretty hard,” she said, +“never to see my little baby’s face again.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose it is,” said Derek, without looking at +her, “but it’s not to be.” He went to Jock, who was +whining, unloosed him, and went into the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He hesitated a moment in the dining-room, and then +entered the dim, cool parlour. He replaced the chairs +that had been taken from their customary positions to +support the coffin, and then sat down on the sofa, +staring blankly at the shuttered windows.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He thought—“What a stupid, sullen chap I am +getting! Nothing surprises me. There is Fawnie come +back, and it seems perfectly natural. There is Buck—dead—and +she standing by his grave and—I’m not +surprised. Well—well—well—well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He repeated the monosyllable aloud, his mouth +twisted with a pained expression. He took his pipe +from his pocket, looked at it, turned it over in his hand, +and returned it to his pocket.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Though Buckskin was in his grave, Derek’s heart +would not let him be. Painfully he went over in his +mind the events of the past thirty-six hours. And after +each piercing recollection he said, “Well—well”—in +the same tone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was aroused from these thoughts by a movement +of one of the shutters. A slat had been opened and +Fawnie’s voice came through. He could see the glint +of her eyes in the aperture. “Say, darling, can I +come in?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, look here, Derek, can I tell you why I run +away?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was because you loved Jammery, I suppose.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. It was because I loved you. Jammery told +me if I didn’t he’d run a knife through your back in +the lane some night, and I knew he would. You didn’t +know Jammery, darling. He was wicked. He’d done +it before. Killed a man. And I didn’t want you +stabbed in the dark. So I went. Every word of this +is true, Derek. As I went my tears splashed on the +ground and I was sayin’ all the while to myself—‘poor +Derek—poor baby!’ And I sent Lottie Rain, and +every night I cried in my sleep, and Jammery got to +hate me and said he wished he’d never seen my face.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is he now?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s dead. I had to stay till he died. There was +no one else to take care of him. He was sick even when +he was here. With the consumption, you know. He +got worse pretty soon. He’d think his pillow was you, +Derek, and he’d kneel up in the bed and stab it with +a pretend knife, and he couldn’t kill it, so he died.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek made no comment, and, after a space of +silence, she faltered, “Derek, may I open the shutter +so’s you can see how thin and tired I am?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you wish.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She fumbled with the fastening, then the shutter +swung open and revealed her as in a frame. She was +indeed thin. Her cheeks had lost their child-like roundness, +her breast was flat, her eyes beneath their pencilled +brows looked very large and bright.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“May I come in and rest a little while, Derek?” she +asked plaintively. “My poor little feet is blistered.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” he said, shortly. “You may go up to your +old room. Go round by the front door.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Will I close the shutter?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No. Leave it open.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Meekly she turned away. He heard the soft brush +of her feet on the grass, the timid shuffle of them on +the stair, the pad of them in the room above his +head. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Through the open window he looked across the +lawn, across the strawberry beds, across the stream, +to the shore meadow where the young bull, son of +Gretta van Lowe, had been turned out for exercise. +He had had his fill of running, of snorting, of charging +the wind, and now stood in statuesque unconcern +staring insolently at the gentle ewes that grazed on +the bank of the stream.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A great love for Grimstone surged over Derek. +Grimstone and he were one. His own flesh that +morning had become one with the soil. He could +never leave it now. And there upstairs was Fawnie, +little, weak, something to be cared for, protected, his +own—after all. What a strange thing possession +was! You thought you were the possessor, when in +truth you were the thing possessed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He rose, and slowly went upstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Fawnie was lying on her bed, her loosened hair +tumbled on the pillow. Her eyes were wet, and tears +ran unheeded down her cheeks.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why are you crying?” asked Derek from the +doorway.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not for that poor little baby—not for Buckskin,” +she sobbed, “but for you, darling, because you suffer, +and—as a matter of fac’, I don’ know how to comfort +you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He came to her and sat down on the side of the bed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She clutched his hand and pressed it to her breast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, believe me, Derek, believe me! I’ll be as +true—as true as one of those strong trees out there—the +one with the iron ring grown into its side.” She +drew their clasped hands to her lips and kissed her +wedding ring. “Every word of what I told you is +true,” she said with passion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He did not answer, but looked down soberly into her +eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>From her appealing face his gaze moved to the +window. On the bluff before the house he saw the +figures of Grace and her father surrounded by their +dogs. They, too, became conscious of him. With a +military gesture Mr. Jerrold raised his hand to his cap, +and Grace looked and smiled a little, and looked again +as though she could not keep her wistful eyes from the +window.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But she knew nothing of what had happened.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Derek turned to Fawnie. He put his arms about her, +and laid his face beside hers on the pillow.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;font-size:.8em;'><span class='ol'>Billing and Sons, Ltd., Printers, Guildford and Esher</span></p> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;'>TRANSCRIBER NOTES</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. +Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been +employed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious +printer errors occur.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the +public domain.</p> + +<p class='line'> </p> + +<p class='noindent'>[The end of <span class='it'>Possession</span>, +by Mazo de la Roche.]</p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78850 ***</div> +</body> +<!-- created with fpgen.py 4.67d on 2026-06-12 16:00:26 GMT --> +</html> diff --git a/78850-h/images/cover.jpg b/78850-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2215fff --- /dev/null +++ b/78850-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78850-h/images/verso.jpg b/78850-h/images/verso.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5274758 --- /dev/null +++ b/78850-h/images/verso.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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