iM if 1 1 ?a« I hitif ill I H it 8ff ^ UNIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE. LIBRARY, 3 1210 01782 6023 I Vu.y.&&, THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE BEQUEST OF 7Kn*. *?4*6el *%. SUU ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE WALTER RAYMOND ON THE WAY TO SUTTON From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE BY WALTER RAYMOND author of 'the book of simple delights" 'crafts and character" etc. ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR FROM WATER-COLOUR DRAWINGS BY WILFRID BALL, R.E. CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. EDINBURGH: T. N. FOULIS 19 I I DA 523 ^3? Printed in Great Britain CONTENTS CHAP. I. On the Way to Sutton II. Bacon and Eggs III. To walk out round like . IV. Old Abe V. A Few Bundles o' Reed VI. Threshing— Old and New VII. Our Old Sexton VIII. How the Sun danced on Easter IX. The Easter Vestry . X. First Aid XI. Dairyman XII. The "Hedge Caffender" . XIII. Finding a Bird's Nest XIV. Uncle Dick's Rook-Shooting XV. Mrs. Dark's Dairy . XVI. The Idle, Mouching Fellow XVII. The Old Squire and the New XVII I. Sutton Club- Walking Morn l'AGE I 24 32 43 5i 56 63 73 81 92 109 118 135 146 163 172 187 206 CONTENTS CHAP. XIX. The Sobriety of Micah Dodge XX. A Queen of Curds and Whey XXI. The Hoopmaker XXII. The Wayside Hovel XXIII. The Refractory Tenant . XXIV. Potted Rabbit XXV. A Couple o' Young Cautions XXVI. Clothes-Pegs XXVII. The Meadow-Saffron Pickers XXVIII. Jane's Summer Excursion XXIX. The Smithy and the Field XXX. That Rise in the Rent XXXI. The Harvest Supper XXXII. Michaelmas . XXXIII. Carter Peters XXXIV. My Property ! XXXV. Shepherd's Hut XXXVI. Christmas . 219 248 257 267 277 291 298 309 323 335 349 365 378 392 410 418 427 436 ILLUSTRATIONS from IVater-Colour Drawings BY WILFRID BALL, R.E. On the Way to Sutton Nearing Sutton On Sutton Manor — Home Farm . Old Abe— Flailing . Old Sexton Huckleby When Evening is Still Japheth at Work . Sutton ..... Widow Teape at her Garden Hatch The Acorn .... Haymaking .... View of Sutton Village . Gipsy Encampment . Harvesting .... Ploughing .... Winter Scene . Frontispiece Page 8 ' )) 40 • >> 56 • n 88 11 120 ' 11 136 ii 168 n 200 • ii 232 ' ii 262 ' )> 296 • i) 328 ii 360 ii 408 ii 440 Some of the following sketches and stories have appeared in " Country Life" " The Westminster Gazette" " The Daily Mail," and " The London Magazine." The author has to thank the editors of these periodicals for permission to in- clude these in this volume. ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE CHAPTER I ON THE WAY TO SUTTON " Sutton is the most charmino- village in the country," she told me. " A real English vil- lage, a sweet village, an ideal village — ancient, but not behind the times — small, I admit, but not, well, not petty. A really simple, con- tented place ! At least it was in my day. And the people ! Well, the people really were Now, if you want to write a book " The lady was born there and she ought to know. I had but to mention her name, she said, and I should be welcome everywhere. I might take beautiful rooms for certain with Mrs. Josiah Heppell. Everything was so 2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE simple that I was compelled to start at once. I shall not disclose the whereabouts, nor need the reader hope to identify the particular Sutton which is the inspiration and birthplace of these sketches. Within the limits of a county he may chance upon a dozen pleasant English villages of the name. The grazet- teer is full of them. He may take his choice. He can never hope to select it from so many. I traced out the way and found it no more than a day's march. I started early in the morning, at that time of the year when winter is at odds with spring and the morning does not begin too soon. My journey took me first by a short cut across fields, over the stile and by the footpath through the level meadows to the stepping-stones across the brook, up the stony track to the hilltop along the gorse, then, bearing to the right, by a bee-line across the common to the holly bush that stands beside a five-barred gate, and into a winding lane — in truth it took me by everything that is sweet in English landscape. If at times I ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 3 lost my way — what more natural ? The way is hard to hit. Moreover, no human soul, old or young, big or little, is capable of giving the wayfarer accurate information as to the way to Sutton. A chorus of children's voices arose from the lane between the holly bush and a few cot- tages sheltered by a larch plantation. " Lauk ! Here's a half a han'ful, all open so wide, a'most so big as dinner plates." "Where?" "Why, here." " Get on. Why, 'tis no more 'an half a dozen, if so many." " Never you mind " They were children on their way to the village school. The bio-aer ones carried their satchels bulging with liberal noonday meals. There were five in a group and they appeared to be all of one family — at least they were all of one type, with light hair, varying from golden to flaxen, and with broad fresh faces, cheeks like apples, and lips the colour of the few remaining holly berries which the missel- thrushes and fieldfares had overlooked. They 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE had been climbing on the bank to gather primroses, but at the sight of a "foreigner" came down into the lane and stood, open-eyed, amongst the glistening celandines, to stare at me. " Can you tell me the way to Sutton ? " None of them answered. They just stood in a row and gazed in wonder. Gradually a smile dimpled on one freckled face. Then a little maiden tittered ; then all grinned in unison ; then laughed in chorus. " The way to Sutton ? " " Do ee mean Farmer Sutton — he what do live at Woodrows Farm up half a mile " " No, no. A place — a village called Sut- ton." The five little faces became thoughtful, but without result. " Then you don't know ? " " No. Never didn't hear tell o' no such place." The gravity of the situation clearly de- manded relief. "Well, then, can anyone of you tell me the way to Timbuctoo ? " ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 5 As a joke the question fell fiat and was an evident failure. I glanced from one end to the other of the little rank, which had dressed into more even line and stood at attention very like a class in school. The last child but one was taller than the rest — a slim maiden, very neat in a blue pinafore over a bottle-green frock not much the worse for wear, but outgrown and so short in the skirt* that a pair of pheno- menally thin, black-stockinged spindle legs were left uncovered almost to the knees. Her face was very long and narrow, the features sharp and irregular. Beneath a red woollen cap her hair, which was something the colour of tow, hung in rats' tails over her shoulders. Her pale brows and eyelashes would have been scarcely distinguishable had they not glistened in the morning sunlight. But her countenance, although so plain, was alert, eager, intelligent, even spiritual. Suddenly she thrust out her hand, her arm bare half- way to the elbow by reason of the shortness of the sleeve. Her wrist looked bony. Her fingers were extended, yet her long thumb 6 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE retained firm hold of some half a score of violets, of which the white petals were only- just beginning to unfold. She had gathered no primroses. Her search was for the frag- rant and the rare. "Well?" "A town on the banks of the Joliba in the south of the great Sahara." " Is that so ?" said I, for it was gratifying to learn it. "To know the way to Sutton may some day be of more use. Good-bye. Get along. God bless you. Gather the vio- lets while ye may." It is a wonder the little maid did not correct the misquotation. So they went off down the lane, running, laughing, climbing, a new generation starting upon a life different in all its social aspects from any that its rural forefathers have lived, and chanmno- still. I watched them out of sight before tramping forward between the ruts. A mile or more with a neglected old hedge- row on either hand. Fringes of yellow catkins were quivering ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 7 from the boughs of the hazel, and mouse- coloured buds of willows were beginning to show their gold. A yellow-hammer sang its " Little bit o' bread an' no cheese " from the twig of a hawthorn bush, and a pair of newly mated blackbirds came flirting out of the brier-tangled ditch and back again. The spring was just arriving with the smile of an expectant guest. Yet it seemed that there was none but myself to welcome her. For a full half-hour I met not a soul. Then, turning a bend of the lane, in the distance I saw a thin film of pale blue smoke, drifting and winding over the hedgerow, wrapping the dark trunk of an ivy-covered ash in a veil of mist. Where there is smoke there is fire. Where there is fire, evidence of human activity may be inferred. A little beyond the ash was a gate, of which one of the bars was broken. It opened into a large arable field of some twenty acres, recently sown to spring wheat. The weather having been good, it looked as smooth and the soil as fine as many a garden plot. Close by the gate, under the shelter of the hedgerow, 8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE a small hut had been set up against the bank, with sides and roof of old hurdles left for this purpose when the shepherd moved his flock, and the fold was hauled away to give place to the plough. The roof was roughly thatched against the rain with straw. In front crackled the little fire of sticks which sent its smoke across the lane. On the bank close by, beside a patch of white dead-nettles, an old man was seated in the sun. In his left hand he held a hunk of bread with a thick slice of cheese laid upon it, which he cut with a clasp knife. Between his feet lay an oaken firkin almost black with age — one of those little barrels, not so common now as formerly, in which labourers used to carry their drink into the fields. Ready to hand, leaning against the hurdle, was a rusty old gun. At the approach of a stranger the old man stood up. He was small and spare with a face that looked shrivelled, and none of his clothes had been meant for him. He wore a livery over- coat which doubtless once looked smart upon NEARING SUTTON From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 9 a finer man. It had shed its buttons, all but one close under the collar — a brass button, which clung on in spite of adversity, just as a solitary yellow apple will sometimes cling in spite of weather to a leafless winter twig. His trousers were buff, of the sort often worn by quarrymen, and tied in below the knees with tar twine. His boots were in holes. His hat, a Jim Crow, had lost its band, and the brim was turned down. From head to foot he was as complete a scarecrow as ever frightened rooks. " Sit down," said I. " Don't let me disturb you. " I had a-zot down to snabble my bit o' nunch," explained he, with a grin. He spoke the broadest dialect as it is now rarely to be heard. I will not attempt to convey it in spelling, for the real interest of rural speech lies more in its retention of quaint forms and phrases than in its use and pronunciation of forgotten words. " Your nunch ? " said I. " Ay, well, my ten o'clock, then, very likely you do call it," he laughed. io ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE The names, now fast falling into disuse, by which the workers in the fields called their meals, possessed a descriptive quality border- ing on the poetic. The villager whose business called him forth soon after daybreak, the shepherd who went early to his flock, or the carter to attend to his horses, had a horror of going- fasting-. He knew better than to go "abroad on an empty stomach." So before starting he fortified himself against the early morning air with a "dewbit," a morsel sufficient to keep off hunger until he was able to return to breakfast. At ten he took his " nunch " or " nuncheon," a term now conveying the idea of an inter- mediate snack, but originally a midday out- of-door meal taken in the shade. " Laying by their swords and truncheons They took their breakfasts or their nunchions." His midday meal, enriched by a thick slice of fat bacon and maybe an onion or so, he called his "nammet," a contraction of "noon meat." Thus, with the aid of another "nunch," he held on to the evening, when the fragrance ON THE WAY TO SUTTON n of fried rasher and potato welcomed his return to the cottage. " That is to say if they black-coated thieves will but let me bide a minute. But they can't. I do know they can't. They be back so regular as Christians so soon as ever I do sit myself down." As he spoke he pointed at three rooks which had settled on a tall elm growing intheopposite hedgerow. One after another they spread their wings and, glistening in the sunlight, slowly dropped from the branch to the soil. "Come three — come thirty in two ticks o' the clock. They be so sensible as folk to a fair. Where a (ew do stop tothers do see an' join the crowd." He marched a short distance into the field, and I saw that he was stiff in one leg. He waved both arms, the nunch in one hand and the knife in the other, shouted without result, and then started the continuous yodling vocal exercise, which was one of the charms of seed- time in the days before the school withdrew the bird-keeping boys from the landscape. The rooks bore it for a while, then rose 12 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE leisurely and flew away. He came slowly back. He had consumed his meal. He sat down, closed his knife, put it away, and took out his pipe. " Have a fill of baccy. I haven't heard that old song; for a long time." He tapped the dog out of his clay on the heel of his boot and filled with careful deliberation. " I did my first day's work in this ground o' wheat. ' Fly away, blacky-cap, Don't you steal my master's crap While I lie down an' take a nap.' Ha ! ha ! ha ! " With a lau^h he cut short the quaint old tune, once as familiar in the early months of spring as the blackbird's song-. "An' I don't doubt but what I shall do my last here. Have ee got sich a thing as a lucifer about ee, Master ? " I provided a match. "You've done many things between then and now." He sheltered the lighted match with his hands and puffed. His eyes twinkled — they ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 13 were wrinkled, puckered, cunning little slits of eyes. He chuckled, as one who can take a legitimate pride in his past. "I've a-bin a shocken bad feller in my time," said he. " What have you done, then ? " " Got found out at the first going off," he laughed. "That was bad," I assented. " Master," said he, with mock solemnity, "that's the worst folly 'pon earth that any man can be guilty o'." "What was it?" "Only a hare, Master. Here in this very ground too. A moonlight night like daylight an' at thik very gate. I've a-nabbed a many since, but that were the first." " Did you go to jail ? " " No. They didn' summon me, not thik time. An' they didn' catch me no more — not here. I ought to ha tookt warnen. But you don't in youth, you see. But, mind me, Master " — he raised his finger with an air of speaking for my good — "poachen is no good to a man. 'Tis the like o' this — what can a i 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE man do wi' the stuff? What could I do ? I could but carr' it up to ' The Three Cups ' master, up there anighst the four cross-roads. Shocken bad house ' The Three Cups ' in old days — always was. Card-playen, smugglen — ay, an' worse. An' the poacher don't get much, an' what he do get he must drink. An' then 'tis, ' Ah, how do he get so much drink ? Ah, shocken bad feller, that you mid depend — shocken bad feller ! shocken bad feller ! ' " He shook his head and spoke in imitation of respectability denouncing the disreputable. " I didn' bide about here not so very long- after that. Once you be a shocken bad feller you can't do nothen right. I've a-bin a pretty tidy runabout in my time — droveren an' what not, up the country, down the country, here an' there. But I never couldn' keep out o' it, Master. Always — shocken bad feller. Still, I never sought no help till I squot my leg." " How did that happen ? " " The dairy-house catched a-fire, Master. I was out by night, as it fell out. They said as how the old grammer were a bedrod in the ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 15 little downstairs room. I runned in, but the beam fell in an' squot my leg. They pulled I out, but they couldn' save the wold ooman. She were smothered in the smeech o' smoke like. Oh, they behaved very handsome to I. When I corned out o' hospital, folk clubbed money together to buy a wooden lag second- hand. 'Tis a wonderful sarviceable lag, mind. He idden such a very bad fit neither, an' you can wear a boot 'pon un. Then I were a-packed home to my own parish." " Well, and what did the parish say then ? " "They said, 'Ah, but he have a-bin a shocken bad feller.' An' eet I don't know that I be so much wo'se than some that be better off." He was beginning- to show symptoms of restlessness, for the rooks had come back more numerous than before. " Take the baccy," said I. " How far is it to Sutton ? " He thought awhile. " To Sutton! Oh, a tidy ways," said he. "But how far?" "Ah, a goodish step!" " How many miles ? " 16 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Now, I won't tell you no lie," said he. " You had better to ask to ' The Three Cups ' up there by the four cross-roads." So we parted, and long before I was out of the lane I heard the discharge of his musket, and rooks passed cawing overhead. I found "TheThree Cups," as the scarecrow had described, occupying one of the corners where two highways intersect each other. An enormous provision of stabling marks it a hostelry at which in old days coaches changed horses, and the cross-roads probably served as a junction where travellers of indirect route changed coaches. But whatever the history of the house, it carries to-day no record of past iniquities upon its smiling face. The front is covered with creepers, chosen, as one may believe, to be bright in early spring. Hundreds of bees were humming amongst the red blossoms of a japonica between the windows, and the yellow jasmine was in full flower upon one side of the porch. The house stands back alittle from the road, and the space accommodates a long horse-trough and a lofty sign. The artist of the signboard must have ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 17 been a man of rare and sympathetic imagina- tion ; or, it may be, endowed by Nature with extraordinary thirst. He depicted three cups of gigantic size, three full cups — full to the brim and crowned with mountains of froth that trickled down the sides. And the door stood invitingly open. I walked into a large kitchen. A wood fire was burning on a Dutch oven, but otherwise the old hearth had not been changed. On the chimney-shelf were marks where the roasting- jack had once been made fast. Above it was a rack for the holding of spits when cleaned and ready for use. There has been a deal of roasting before that hearth at some time or the other. Yet the place is but an alehouse kitchen now, with a shove-halfpenny board carved upon the bench, and a set of hooks for catch- ing rings hanging against the wall. When the landlady of " The Three Cups " presently came bustling in to find me sitting on the settle, she seemed concerned at my presence there. Mine hostess was small, neat, sharp- featured, with a deal of obseqiousness in her smile, and a thin voice, which might at any i8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE moment harden into truculence. Wouldn't I please to walk into the parlour? I should find it much more pleasant in the parlour, and although, to be sure, there was no fire in the parlour, the weather I cut her short, refusing the parlour with decision. " It's just as you like, of course," she assented, with the slightest tinge of acidity — enough to arouse suspicion that the milk of human kindness might be turning sour. She mentioned the parlour again when she re- turned bringing one of the three cups. " You get few people here now, I suppose ? " "Not so early in the year. But all the summer through the passing is wonderful. Cars, bicycles, and on foot. This house went down for years. There is a dairy-farm do go with it, to be sure. There used to come only a drover, or folk of a market-day, or the like o' that. Now, nine months o' the twelve, all day long 'tis run an' draw, an' run an' draw, to say nothing o' teas an' now an' again a bed. Of a fine day all four roads is a perfick stream. We've got two parlours." ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 19 11 What about the country folk around ? " "They drop in here of an evening," she explained with condescension, pointing at the bench and stools. Then she went her way. Scarcely was she out of hearing when a heavy step approached by the flagstone passage, and, with a nodded " Good-morn- ing," a youth of twenty came in and took a seat on the opposite side of the hearth. As he sat silent and did not call for refreshment it appeared evident that he must be at home. I asked him what he would take. He flat- tered me by choosing a cup of size and quality equal to my own, and retired to draw for himself. " Do people ever play shove-halfpenny now ? " I asked when he came back. "Very few. Only the rougher sort now and again. Never the better class." " What do they do of an evening, then ? " He fetched a tablegame, of which he seemed proud. It consisted of throwing an india- rubber ring over a wooden peg. He showed how it was done in the highest perfection. 2o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE "The better class play nothing but that," said he. " But I suppose they sing. Old-fashioned songs, now ! Do you often hear any very old songs ? " " They never sing here. We don't never allow no singing, except on the night of the horse-show or fair-time. Singing do sound too drinky to anybody going by. Besides, the better class don't care for singing. If a man should start singing, one or another of the better class would tell him to shut up. " The old-fashioned drinks, now — shrub, lamb's-wool, purl, do people ever call for them now ? " " Hardly ever. The better class " But I would hear no more. A scribbled note in a pocket-book, "The Aristocracy of the Alehouse," and I rose to go. " How far is it to Sutton ? " The young man raised his voice and shouted — ■ "Mother! How far do ee call it to Sutton?" Such is the prudent form a question of dis- ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 21 tance has assumed on the lips of all true country people. The hostess of "The Three Cups" came running to oblige. Like a saleswoman who has not the thing called for, she did her best to fit me with what she had in stock. "I couldn't rightly say," said she, "how far it is to Sutton, but 'tis just over fourteen mile to Willoughby Leigh." She followed me towards the door. "Good-morning, sir. Much obliged, sir. This would be one of the parlours if at any time you should be passing. Yes, sir. Good- morning, sir." I could have loved "The Three Cups" better in the old days of smuggling, poaching, card-playing — "ay, and something worse," when it was a "shocken bad house," than to- day with its one eye fixed upon the parlour and the other upon passing respectability. By woods, by rivers, through hamlets with thatched homesteads, and between fields of all shapes and sizes the old coach road went on and on. The distance to Sutton varied upon no system, but depended upon the tern- 22 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE perament of the person giving reply. On one occasion a genial optimist gave it as five miles. Half an hour later a pessimist declared it to be eight, every inch of it. At last, at the corner of a narrow byway, I found a one- armed finger-post bearing the legend : To Sutton — i Mile. Five minutes' walk, a bend of the road, and Sutton was in view. A little village on a hillside richly timbered with ancient trees. In summer only the tall church tower and a gable of the Manor House are to be seen. In winter and before the bursting of the leaf all its buildings may be discovered playing hide-and-seek behind the trunks of tall elms and sturdy oaks. The straight roof lines of its farms and homesteads are to be found and lost amongst the branches. The ancient tythe barn is well in sight. The fragment of the old priory wall looms dark under its load of overgrown ivy. The modern school with its bell turret peers out of a gap between the trees where the rookery is thick- est. Behind the village rises a tall hill with a higher point in the shape of a cone. Below, ON THE WAY TO SUTTON 23 a merry trout stream rushes along and dashes over a weir at the head of a still mill-pond which mirrors the trees and half-hidden dwell- ings above. It was afternoon when I reached Sutton and wanted a couple of hours to sunset. The children were out of school and playing sing- ing games in the village street. An engine drawing a thresher was panting and rumbling its way over the bridge. The old mill-wheel was humming merrily. There was a bleating of fresh dropped lambs. A voice was calling to the herd, and a dog was barking furiously. The sounds blended into a symphony of village life — an overture to the events of another rural year. And on the topmost twig of the tallest tree two love-sick rooks were sitting side by side within a foot of a half-built nest. CHAPTER II BACON AND EGGS The only rooms in Sutton available for a visitor are to be found in a house conveniently situated in the very heart of the village, a really imposing edifice with a large projecting arched porch, surmounted by two storeys of mullioned windows and crowned by a gable jutting out from the main roof. The rooms possessing these bay windows are mine. I took them gladly on the assurance of my landlady, Mrs. Josiah Heppell, that for four consecutive years they had once been in- habited by "the passon," whilst the rectory was let. Another reason for doing so was their complete command of the village street. What degree of lesser gentry may have dwelt in this small mansion in days gone by it is not possible to suggest. It is called the Abbey, BACON AND EGGS 25 and was a fragment of a religious house re- cently built, and therefore best worth saving from the destruction of the dissolution. When asked to whom it formerly belonged, Mrs. Josiah Heppell can only reply, "Oh, to the old Doctor Thwaite, to be sure. Such a nice, pleasant old gentleman ! A slight cast in the right eye and wore a white hat." Josiah Heppell, the present occupier, is a master- mason, and what was once a garden at the side of the house has been turned into a builder's yard. From the first moment of my arrival Mrs. Josiah Heppell proved herself a woman of promptitude and resource. To the inquiry, " Can you get me something to eat ? " she replied without a moment's hesi- tation, " Bacon and eggs." To the further question as to how long the meal would take to prepare she answered, " Only jus' long enough to fry 'em." Whilst the pan was frizzling I sat in my window, which is almost as large as a small room. It was now late in the afternoon, the hour of leisure in village life which precedes 26 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE the time of rest. The smaller children had been called indoors ; the elder brought the portable portions of their suppers into the road and ate thick slices of bread and butter on the raised paved way or leaning against the garden hatch. All the cottages in Sutton have gardens in front. The little box-hedged borders below the windows of a few were gay with clumps of jonquils, but the season for a show of cottage flowers was not yet come. Sometimes a woman stepped out and scanned the road in search of a loitering child or in anticipation of the return of her " man." Not seeing him she would spare time for a shrill chat with a friend on the other side of the road or a gossip with a neighbour over the garden hedge. Mrs. Josiah Heppell (we do not omit the Christian name in Sutton) spread my table in the light of the window. " Sure ! " said she as she stroked a crease out of the cloth with her fat hand. " It'll be something for Sutton to talk about that a foreigner is come to stay in the parish." And all the while she kept one eye upon the street. BACON AND EGGS 27 " I suppose you have always lived in Sutton, Mrs. Heppell?" She answered in poetry : " Sutton born, Sutton bred, Sutton kirsened, Sutton wed. Please God to lie wi' Sutton dead." Having fetched the bacon and eggs she returned to the subject. "Oh yes, I be real Sutton." Only to glance at Mrs. Josiah Heppell is to discern that she is the genuine article. She is of about the middle height and of a most contented plumpness suitable to her three- score years. Fashions are slow to change in Sutton, and she wears her hair parted in the middle, with a little curl, and a tortoiseshell comb to hold it in place, on each side in front of her cap. Before it became sprinkled with grey, her hair was of a dark brown, yet her complexion is fair and fresh-coloured. Her features are of a placid symmetry and her brow as innocent of wrinkles as a village maiden in Dresden china. Such immunity comes only 2 8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE of a simple mind. And for this I can vouch, although the tongue of Mrs. Josiah Heppell knows no more of weariness than a mill- clapper, from that day to this I have never heard her breathe one word of envy against the rich or utter a syllable in belittlement of any humbler neighbour. Whilst I ate she talked and talked, but always, as I have said, with one eye upon the street. Her perception of the full significance of the smallest action of every Sutton person was most remarkable. Let but a passer come into view in the far distance and Mrs. Josiah Heppell at once, but without the slightest pause, would break off the smooth sequence of her main discourse and drop her voice into a mysterious whisper. Sometimes, lest she might be seen, she would slightly draw back from the window at a period when the approaching figure could scarcely have dis- covered her through a first-class telescope. Thus her monologue became subject to a con- stant alternation of tone, and rose and fell like the hum of a threshing-machine whilst fresh sheaves are being thrown in for its considera- BACON AND EGGS 29 tion. The interpolated passages I have written in italics. Some of them at the time were not easy of interpretation, but the cor- rectness of Mrs. Josiah Heppell's intuitions was never once called in question by any sub- sequently ascertained fact. " Oh yes. As I was a-saying, I was a Dodd, an' my mother's maiden name being Priddle I can indeed look up and say out bold ' I be real Sutton.' Hoi The local tremens. Very young an not much experience, I should think. Young Dr. Thwaite being bad, an away for his health. Eight-and-forty year did poor dear old Gran'father Priddle live up to Greenclose Farm an' milked five-an'-thirty. Ha ! Farmer William Purchase. Heve a-got his twins up in Little Croft, where do lie sheltered and warm to the sun. Heve a-ivalked out roun last thing afore he do go in to his supper, an that's lambs -tail pie, so sure as the light, for he tailed the first d ' em yesterday morning, an lambs tails be sich a bother, or else no better to ■my mind 'an a ball d worsted between the teeth. The maid might find time to scald 'em over- night, an Mrs. William Purchase roll out a 30 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE bit o pie-crust to-day morning to have cold for supper. Yes. Eight-an'-forty year up to Greenclose, an' died in the end o' Saint Tantony's Fire, which, to be sure, as was only natural, did give poor mother a goodish bit o' proper pride. There goes John Jeans wi a fine faggot to his back. Heve took the making d the hedge d the great wood. Poor mother was most terr'ble against Heppell ; but though I was but twenty I stood my ground, an' this I must say, in a manner o' speaking, Heppell have, he really an' truly have justified the choice, for we've a-brought up lebem — an' two in the grave — all doing well, out in life or wi' their father in the shop. Ha ! Miss Cann, a- stepping out so brisk in her green skirt. Shdve a-been to the First Aid. Miss Cann started the First A id. Well, whatever there is new in Stitton Miss Cann really an truly do start, passon being so old. But the First Aid must ha' corned out half an hour agone. Miss Cann must ha been in along wi Miss Litisher Piir- chase about the Sale o' Work. Miss Cann have put up for Board d Guardians, an there s no opposition, so she s bound to be in. Some do BACON AND EGGS 31 laugh. I do like Miss Cann, my own self. Not but what mother lived to respec' Heppell, seeing how he got on, an' got the contract for the new school, an'" worked Passon. Poor old man ! There he do jus preach but painful to listen. Ought to be a pension, I do call, for all passons past work. Heve a-been up to John Grey s. John Greydokilla lamb now an again. Heve a-been to bespeak the fore-quarter, by the polyanthus in his hand. Yes. An' to see how Heppell worked for all the gentry round, an' made every coffin laid in Sutton grave- yard for the last thirty year. Ha ! Here's Miller Toop an Mr. Buckmaster, who do take his rent, a-walking up street together. Then 'tis all settled, for certain sure, about the new hatch down to weir. They be on their way to see Heppell. I'd better to jus' run an warn Heppell." CHAPTER III TO WALK OUT ROUND LIKE " I suppose you'll take a walk out round like," said Mrs. Heppell as she laid the breakfast. I supported the supposition and in due course carried it into practice. To my thinking the most attractive dwell- ing in Sutton Street is the Manor House. It stands next to the church, and there is a wicket gate opening from the garden into the church- yard. In front is a sloping lawn equally divided by a broad paved path having a mulberry tree upon the right hand and a drooping ash upon the left. Surrounding the trunk of each tree is a wooden seat, calling up visions of fra- grant tobacco, of a cool drink, of quiet rest in the shade of a summer afternoon. The wall against the causeway is low and old with wall- TO WALK OUT ROUND LIKE 33 flowers growing from the chinks. Two stone pillars surmounted with spheres support a pair of wooden gates painted white, which slope to meet each other and form a pleasant curve. The house itself is of the most homely simplicity. It has never grown or put forth wings, but remains in the form it took three centuries ago. The door is of oak, studded with nails, hanging by a pair of iron hinges wrought into a flowing pattern. The old latch is still there, and the heavy ring by which it is lifted serves also the purpose of a knocker, although there is an iron bell-handle haneine at the side. Above the door is an heraldic ornament, just a shield and mantling carved on a large, flat, square stone. The windows, two on each side of the door, and five above, are all of a size, with overhanging labels, and upright bars between the mullions to support the small leaded panes. A well-pruned pear tree spreads over the whole of the western end. In the barton, on the side away from the church, is a large thatched barn. The great doors, although fairly sound, are old and 3 34 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE weather-stained. The thatch is smooth and brown. You can see the yellow stacks in a mow-barton behind it as you pass down the road, and in a paddock close by is a dovecote. You can glimpse the orchard and the tall mud wall, with a little ridge of thatch to keep off frost, that encloses the garden at the back of the house. It is the sort of place which tempts one to go a-prying, but scarcely had there been time to observe these details when a tall, broad- shouldered man stepped out of the gate. He was plainly dressed in a Melton jacket, riding- breeches, and gaiters. A white stock enhanced the brilliancy of his florid complexion. See- ing a loiterer he nodded. " Good-morning. Fine morning." I recognised the Mr. William Purchase who, previous to supping on lambs' tails last even- ing, had been to see his twins. " I was admiring the old house," said I. " Oh well ! A useful plain place." He spoke in the off-hand manner of a man too proud to praise his own. " You have a very fine old barn." TO WALK OUT ROUND LIKE 35 " Walk up. Walk up and see it, if you will." And he turned back whilst speaking and led the way. Mr. William Purchase is a substantial man. That is the adjective by which I have since heard him described by all the country round, and it fits him as the cup fits the acorn. It is not intended to depict the weight and dignity of his person. There are other phrases more suitable for that occasion. For instance, " A fine, upstanding man, a trifle red about the gills," or, " A man like a church tower," would either of them find more favour as a means of identification. The word substantial refers only to the solid foundation of prosperity upon which Mr. William Purchase stands. For he comes of a long stock of yeoman ancestors, and Sutton Manor House, the barn, the dovecote, and the land he farms are all his own. Mr. William Purchase is able to take care of his own. Although little over forty years of age, he is so much of the old school that he cannot even buy at a shop without hoping for an abatement. "Come, come. Your lowest 36 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE figure, mind. And remember William Pur- chase is a ready-money man." He opened one of the barn's doors, and we went in and stood on the old threshing-floor. He pointed to the roof. " All chestnut — all chestnut wood to keep away the spiders," said he. " I suppose many years have passed since threshing was done on this old floor ? " "Not altogether," laughed he. "There's one man left in the parish can thresh. I let him beat out a bit o' rye with the flail some time back. Half in joke and half to suit my own convenience. And may again, for all I know, before I die, please God." We came out of the dim barn into the daylight. A brilliant idea flashed upon the mind of Mr. William Purchase. " I was just starting to walk out round when I fell in wi' you. Would you care to just walk out round like ? " It is the summit of quiet, open-air enjoy- ment "to walk out round like." We passed through the orchard, so cun- ninglyplantedthatwhichever waythe eyelooks TO WALK OUT ROUND LIKE 37 it finds a glade. There was a ragged missel- thrush's nest with eggs in the fork of one of the trees. Chaffinches were singing on the branches, and longtailed tits flitted from twig to twig. A gander and four white geese came towards us, one with a brood of ten early little yellow goslings. They stretched forward their long necks and hissed. A sow with a litter of about a dozen grave a grunt and with slow deliberation moved away. " I should like to see all my stock every day of my life," said Mr. William Purchase as we walked along - . " But it can't be done. There's so much public business now — County Council and one thing and the other. I've given up the Board of Guardians. We don't make paupers in Sutton. There is one Sutton man there, Micah Clarke, but he is but a poor half-witted fellow. He could do well enough. But he can't keep away from the drink. Ha ! ha ! Miss Cann, a lady up here, is returned unopposed. I am not, my- self, against a woman — or even two — with a seat upon a Board. A woman can at times be very useful — very useful indeed. But not 38 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE too many — not too many — not too many." He repeated the words with increasing em- phasis as he considered the awful results of a superfluity of women on a Board. We had come to a stile in the orchard hedge. He paused with one leg over the rail, shook his head, and said in a deep, impressive tone, " That's the danger. There'll be the very devil to pay if we should ever get too many." We walked across a piece of winter wheat fresh and green as grass. A skylark soared over his future nesting-place, but his carol was brief compared with his summer song. We stood on the bank and olanced over the hedge at a piece of spring wheat. On the broad expanse of the field the eye could just detect the springing crop in drill, like a thin green thread in a striped pattern. "Went in wonderful well, to year," said Mr. William Purchase. There was no old bird-keeper this time. There were no rooks. In the middle of the ground was a "mommet," and close by, as it appeared, an inverted tin bucket, from which came a sudden explosion and a cloud of TO WALK OUT ROUND LIKE 39 smoke. " Spring gun. Go off every twenty minutes," explained Mr. William Purchase. " Now rooks be artful birds. They'll soon get used to a mommet. They'll go and pitch on his head. And they're soon back after the report of a gun if they don't see any man. But that smoke do prove it gospel. They've got to believe when they do see that smoke. However, this'll pretty quick be up out o' the way o' the birds, come a nice warm shower upon it." Over a five-barred gate and we came upon a broad, rough slope. Here and there were clumps of gorse, and the linnets had returned to them. Three pairs of lapwings rose, circled over our heads upon whirring wings, turned, dropped in the air, and flew away on a broad circuit over the arable grounds. On the ground in all direc- tions were patches thinly bestrewn with hay, remnants of many feeds, the trusses having been divided so that the weak or the meek might fare as well as the strong and trucu- lent. " Now I fancy," Mr. William Purchase 4 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE paused on the word with an affectation of modest doubt, " I can show you a little lot of promising young stock." The beasts were standing all around, quiet, placid, with a lazy contentment begotten of the sunny warmth shed down upon their backs out of a clear spring sky. "There! there!" pointed Mr. William Purchase. "That white-faced one — she's a very likely heifer now. And the red — she really ought to make a very handsome beast. She did. With luck, that is to say, with luck, of course." Then we strolled round looking at one after another. "Count 'em," said Mr. William Purchase. " Thirty-seven." "That's right. Seven-and-thirty. So none has taken wino- in the nisdit. Come along. There's a few colts in this paddock. They've had a bit of corn through the winter over in the shed. Nothing much. Nothing much. Well, the bay ought to make a use- ful mare. But hark ! There's Sutton church clock. There's just time to go into Little Croft and see my ewes and doubles. Then ON SUTTON MANOR— HOME FARM Front a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. v , HB2 w£$ TO WALK OUT ROUND LIKE 41 you'll walk down and take pot luck with Mrs. William Purchase. Yes, you will — yes, you will." All the parish of Sutton slopes towards the south, but the Little Croft is the sunniest field there is. "Ha! ha! A man from town came in here with me one day," laughed Mr. William Purchase. "'What breed of sheep is this? Why, they all have twins ! ' But I put the doubles here. Little Croft is a fortnight earlier than any place I've got. See how green it is. There's a nice bite o' sweet grass already, and we feed 'em well in the troughs there." All around was bleating of every conceiv- able note and pitch. From ewes which had lost a lamb, and from thirsty lambs that were looking for their mothers. Lambs were rac- ing. Lambs were frolicking. Lambs, sound asleep, lay stretched out as if they were dead. Lambs, one on each side, went butting their heads into a milky, sweet-smelling udder, sucked, and wriggled their tails with delight. "There!" cried Mr. William Purchase 42 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE with enthusiasm. " To walk out round like, of a fine morning, to look at stock — all contented, all doing well " — he threw back his head and made a rhetorical pause between each word — "is — my — delight." Mrs. Josiah Heppell proved to be correct in every detail. I lunched from a portion of a lambs'-tail pie left over from the evening repast. CHAPTER IV OLD ABE Just off the high road, but only a short dis- tance up the lane, stands an old cottage with mud walls, and a squat thatched roof with a little chimney of red brick at one end. It has but two small windows all told, one of them below, on one side of the door, the other upstairs, in the middle, and close under the eaves. It may therefore be inferred that it possesses but two rooms. As, however, it has only one inhabitant, they are to be deemed sufficient. The more so as there is a small lean-to shed against the chimney end of the building, very useful for locking up tools and other odd thino-s. O In the landscape this dwelling is con- spicuous, but from the lane it is scarcely to be seen. The lane is in a hollow and the hedge- 44 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE row at the top of the bank is too high to be overlooked excepting by a passer on horse- back. Periwinkles intermingle their shining leaves amongst the ivy and bear their purple flowers in profusion over the bank, a sure sign that there is, or at some time has been, a garden near the place. There is a wicket gate opening upon a flight of cracked stone steps which lead up to the cottage. Almost all humble rural habitations carry on their faces some si^ns of their origin. They were obviously built to provide dwell- ings for labourers on a farm ; or they were the homesteads of very small holdings which no longer exist ; or they were put up by squatters upon a piece of waste and after- wards enclosed. This one may perhaps belong to the period when it was not legal, except by especial permission of the Justices, to build a cottage without laying thereto four acres of land. The garden of Old Abe's cottage is so unexpectedly large for the size of the dwelling, and yet so evidently belongs to it, that it may possibly be all that re- mains of some such ancient allotment. When OLD ABE 45 Sutton folk mention Old Abe's cottage they dismiss it briefly as "a terr'ble one-eyed place " ; but they will talk for half an hour of the merits of the garden, where seeds will come up earlier than anywhere in the whole parish, and anything planted is certain to take root. There is a tradition in Sutton that the parents of Old Abe brought up ten sons in that cottage. That they all grew up fine straight men as any you might meet in a day's journey. That they went abroad, went to be soldiers, went to one thing and another — but all went, excepting Old Abe, who was the youngest, and the shortest by two inches. The old fellow stoops now, and yet must be very nearly six feet when he stands up for a rest, from bending over his spade or his mat- tock, and holds himself upright. The cottage is a dream of colour all the year through. The old man reveals some touch of quaint character wherever you may meet with him. They belong to each other, and when Old Abe departs the cottage will be pulled down. Nowhere is such a wealth 46 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE of roses to be seen as on the old-fashioned seven sisters that climbs over the front. " Ah ! Old Abe do know the way to cut un back, sure 'nough." Nowhere is there such a scent of gilawfers, pinks, and mignonette as on the front garden-path after a summer rain. "Ah ! Old Abe do grow a few flowers for his bees, an' no mistake." Nowhere in the parish are dahlias more faultless, of deeper crimson, or a brighter gold, than Old Abe can give when the church is decked for thanksgiving after harvest is in. "Ah ! Thik Old Abe have a-got the knack wi' delyers, an' that's the truth." Even its defects add something to the charm of this poor dwelling. The stains on the whitewash where rain has dripped through the eaves are as of ochre and of burnt umber. The moss on the old brown roof is green as grass, except where Old Abe has renewed the thatch in patches of varying shades of yellow up to the brightness of last season's reed. The ladder used for these re- pairs hangs on the end of the house, near neighbour to a couple of rusty hoops awaiting OLD ABE 47 an opportunity for usefulness that will never come to them. The two leaning apple trees in front are held up with props almost as big as their own trunks. But thus in spring they do but embower the cottage with blossom, and in autumn half hide it behind masses of rosy fruit. If this description may seem but a false glorification of a mere hovel not fit to remain, it is perhaps in some measure a reflection of Old Abe's contentment with his place. "Rain or shine they old cob walls," he says, " be so dry as a oven. Why, let alone, they'd see out some o' these-here new houses one brick thick, that do shake wi' fearcome a puffo' wind, an' the winders rattle like a drum." The talk of Old Abe is largely made up of similes. He does not invent them for himself. They came to him a vast accumulated treasure of o-ems of speech, handed down from a long line of rural forefathers. The modern generation, being educated, do not take up the inherit- ance. Should you happen next winter to buy a stick of celery of Old Abe, you will find it bite off " as crips an' short as a young carrot." 48 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE He will warrant it to break abroad " so white as a hound's tooth." The most striking possession of Old Abe is his face. It is no absurd assortment of eyes, nose, mouth, and chin, such as may be met by the score at any country market or fair. There is nothing bucolic about it. The hair is brown, the brows are straight, the eyes grey, the nose aquiline, the mouth well-formed, and the chin deep and strong. There is present in it a refinement from which the weather- stained old jacket or the patch on the knee of the trousers cannot detract. One feels in- stinctively that he must have come from the well-bred. Old Abe's head might serve a painter as a model for a viking. Such as he has served the ethnologist for many a surmise concerning race. Many a worse countenance may be found as frontispiece to some in- tellectual work of reputation. Yet Old Abe is no scholar. When there is an account to deliver, his married daughter writes it for him. When a receipt is asked for, Old Abe signs his mark — "a chris-cross." His married daughter steps across to tidy up his house, and OLD ABE 49 through the open door you may see the plates and dishes on the dresser shelf shining clean and bright. His son-in-law has a pony and cart, and the garden produce, when there is any, is driven into the market-town of a market-day. Old Abe has never been a regular labourer upon any one farm. He was brought up to the independence of this garden as his father before him. Yet in all the arts and crafts of country life he excels, and the present genera- tion gives him little satisfaction. His chief accusation is that "folk don't take time, now- adays, to consider the real natchur o' things. Why, if 'tis plant a apple tree, 'tis dap un in, trample un down, there-right, out o' hand, all to once. But I do like to spread out the mores an' little roots wi' my fingers, kindly like, an' work the fine soil in between gentle- like, an' then he do not only live but thrive. For that's in the natchur o' it. An' if I do make an' lay a old hedge, there, I do aim to leave un so pretty as a picture, I do. But la ! What be the hedges about some places these times ? 'Tis a han'ful o' dead sticks, 4 5o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE wi' all the natchur agone, two postes an' a barbed wire. There ! to see some o' the hedges " — and Old Abe mournfully shakes his head — "do make I so sick as a pig." So, what with haymaking, harvesting, thatching a hayrick or a cornstack, hedging, and so on, there is always a job for Old Abe when he wants it. You may meet with him at many times and places. He keeps his church ; and of a Sunday morning, attired in the black suit kept for worship and funerals, walks down the village street just when the chimes are cominsf to an end. " I don't always set such a wonderful store by the sarmint," says Old Abe, "but I do dearly love to be read to." What education might have made of Abe it can now be of no service to consider. He is almost the last of a fast-vanishing type. That he is an original thinker you will be sure, when you have some day walked with him in his garden of a quiet Sunday afternoon in summer. CHAPTER V A FEW BUNDLES O' REED After those days of gentle spring there came an unexpected hurricane in the night. It played a good many pranks in the village ; and then the morning shone with a serene gentleness, as if wishing to take a lenient view of what the night had done. After an early breakfast, at the time when the brain is the clearest, the brightest intel- lects of Sutton met in contemplation of the various items of damage committed. The gale had brought down the head of an ancient elm which for centuries had stood in one corner of what was once the village green. The unanimity of Sutton, when not involved in a parish dispute, is phenomenal. "Oh well, the old tree's down," said Josiah Heppell gravely, with an air of giving 52 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE information. The success in life of Josiah Heppell expresses itself in a grey tweed suit of unquestionable respectability, and a pair of shining brown gaiters buttoned over his folded trouser legs. He is a stout, serious-looking man with a grizzly, scrubbing-brush beard and a shaven upper lip. " He's down ! " "Oh ay, he's down," agreed Miller Toop, a youth with a fair moustache and a pink complexion peering through a thin deposit of flour. Baker Heath glanced from one to the other. A thin, sallow face with a billy-goat beard, his mission in life is to bake a good loaf and warmly corroborate all who eat bread. " He's down, sure 'nough ! " " I always said he would come down — sooner or later," reflected Josiah. " He did creaky so. He did moany for all the world like a Christian. I said he'd come down some day, certain sure, tother way a-top o' Widow Teape's house, an' het in the roof. I did, then. " Josiah, conscious that each of his predic- tions displayed every feature of a first-class prophecy except fulfilment, spoke with pride. A FEW BUNDLES O' REED 53 " I do know you did," said Baker Heath, with an air of taking his oath of it. But the great elm had knocked a hole in the parsonage wall. They went to look at the gap. " Now, there's a job for a mason, Josiah." "Ay, there's a job for a builder, Mr. Heppell." " Hullo ! hullo ! " cried Josiah Heppell, for his eye caught sight of the gable of the Manor House barn. "The stroke o' the wind have a' catched the corner o' Mr. William Purchase's thatch." " Ha ! ha ! " laughed the miller, keeping up the joke. " But that's no job for a mason." " No, no, that's no job for a builder, Mr. Heppell." " That's a job for a thatcher." " Sure 'nought. A job for a thatcher." They strolled up to look at it, and found Mr. William Purchase out in the barton yard considering the matter. The wind had lifted the thatch on one side of the gable over the barn's door, leaving the rafters bare above the eaves, and the thatch above the gap bristling like the back of a hedgehog. 54 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Ha ! The old barn, mind, had a bit o' a fright, I'll warrant it," said Josiah, with a knowing shake of the head. " Made his hair stand on end, no mis- take," added Miller Toop. Then Baker Heath puckered his fore- head. "Now, shall I tell ee what I do think?" he ventured, yet glanced from one to the other with the self-satisfaction of one who knows that he has an original truth to offer, no matter how it may be received. " Because I do think that Mr. William Purchase will be wanting a few bundles o' reed." "Ay, sure ! Mr. Purchase 'ull want a few bundles o' good reed." " An' that's no more 'an truth. Not so terr'ble many, but a tidy few bundles o' real good reed." " And that," said Mr. William Purchase, " is just what I have not got." They all roared with laughter. The de- ficiencies and perplexities of their neighbours provide the raw material for a considerable portion of the humour of Sutton. A FEW BUNDLES O' REED 55 "You'd better to find a job for Old Abe, sir," laughed the builder. " Yes. Ha ! ha ! a job for Old Abe." To the surprise of everybody Mr. William Purchase grave serious consideration to the matter. "There's many a true word spoken in joke," said he, and he turned smiling to me. "You remember you were asking when the old threshing floor was last used. I believe now you've got a fancy for all such old thinofs. I have half a mind to encourasre you with a bit o' old-fashioned threshing. The machine bruises the straw and spoils it for good thatching. Of course we can cut off" the ears and have the reed as it grew. Old Abe is the only man left can thresh with a flail, and he can't last for ever. Yes, I will— I'll find a job for Old Abe." Then the villagers dispersed, laughing and repeating to each other — ■ " A job for Old Abe ! " CHAPTER VI THRESHING— OLD AND NEW Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! The front doors of the barn were open wide and the afternoon sunlight was falling aslant across the old threshing floor. It was still in good repair, with its broad elm planks neatly laid, and the spirting-board remained undis- turbed on either side to keep the corn from being driven off the floor. The old build- ing was designed to meet the requirements of agricultural conditions very different from those of the present day. In olden days the corn was hauled home to the mow-barton to be threshed as convenience and the variations of the markets might suggest. There, close to the homestead, the yellow stacks were raised above the damp, and safe from the rats, on mow-staddles — those stone columns with 56 OLD ABE— FLAILING From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, K.E. THRESHING— OLD AND NEW 57 flat projecting caps, that looked so much like giant mushrooms and may still be seen lying abandoned in odd corners around the farm- yard. The broad doors, back and front, were wide and high enough for a loaded waggon to pass through, so that the rick to be threshed might be taken into the shelter of the barn and remain secure from rain whilst the corn was slowly beaten out by flail. Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! Again there was a heap of yellow sheaves piled in one of the bays. A few bundles of reed neatly bound up with hazel withes loomed out of the gloom, and in front of them on the barn's floor was Old Abe, threshing after the ancient manner. His sleeves were rolled above his elbows. His shirt was unbuttoned and open at the throat. A pair of red braces hung as festoons around his hips, and he wore a broad leathern belt. A narrow strap of leather also encircled each wrist. With skilful regu- larity he swung the flail over his head ; and, as it descended on the ears of the sheaf spread out before him, the straw leapt and quivered, the corn and chaff scattered upon the floor. 58 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! He stopped to lay down another sheaf. The old man was proud of his work, proud also of the quaint old tool which years ago he had in part made himself. Like all home- made implements it showed a careful adapta- tion of materials easily within reach. No doubt, by a gradual evolution, ages ago it attained to its simple perfection and remained unchanged for centuries, to be abruptly cast aside at last. Old Abe became fondly re- miniscent as he showed and explained. The handle, "handstick" Old Abe called it, was a fine stick of ash that doubtless grew half a century ago in Sutton Wood. " My poor father cut thik han'stick when I was a lad. He's sound now an' tough as a hempen rope. 'Tis ten year since I last handled un. I do hang un up to kitchen wall, an' folk do look at un for a cur'osity like." At the end of the handstick was a revolv- ing cap. Old Abe twisted it round to show how it would work. " Now that's the capel," said he, "and what do ee think he's a-made o' ? " He chuckled to himself. " 'Tis ram's THRESHING— OLD AND NEW 59 horn. We did boil the horn to work it. Do boil soft, but pretty soon get hard again. Tis half a ram's horn, bent round so as the two half hollows do meet an' make a circle round the stick and a loop at the end. Ah ! he was a wonderful fine ram that wore thik horn, no mistake. We did burn the holes wi' a hot iron to put the thong through that do bind this 'capel,' as we did call it, to the grooves inside cut 'pon the han'stick. This one's tied on wi' a eelskin — I catched un down here to mill, my own self. The cudgel that do swing is the flail. He's made o' holly a'most so hard as flint. The whole concarn is a 'drashle.' The flail have a-got a capel too, but he's o' raw hide from a bull's neck. Terr'ble nasty- tempered rascal this one were. That don't have to turn round. An' the middle-bind is o' hide too, pinned together wi' a peg o' black- thorn. So you do see, he do show the use o' things accorden to their natchur — that's what I do say." Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! Thump ! The flail went swinging round on its ram's- horn swivel. Well pleased to have somebody 6o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE to look on, Old Abe was performing in his best style. He was perfect at the work. In spite of its long disuse, his flail fell always on the ears and never on the reed. "There," cried he at the next pause, " that's no job for a fool ! A man can break his own head to this game so easy as cracken a nut ; ay, though his skull mid be so thick as a stone wall. Catch un hold, an' have a try, master. You be welcome as the light." But no confidence is to be placed on the thickness of my skull. " There, it got to be just a-combed to take out the broken straw-motes, an' this 'ull be a capical bit o' reed for the thatcher." Old Abe stopped and tossed back his head. " An' now, if you be a-minded, you can step up the lane where I do live, an' watch the engine to work in the great plough-ground." In his heart he has not yet forgiven the machinery. Nor does it, to his mind, show any understand- ing of the " real natchur o' things." In the great plough-ground the threshing- machine was humming away. The crops need not be hauled home to the barn now, but are THRESHING— OLD AND NEW 61 stacked where they grew, for the steam- thresher can go into the field and draw up by the side of the stacks. There are no stone mow-staddles, but only a foundation of faggots of thorns and rubbish to raise the lowest sheaves from the damp ground. The rats that congregate in this rough staddling and work up into the mow are not left long in peace. The machine soon comes. A stack may be begun and finished in a day, and few of the rats escape. Nor is the modern threshing without its interest and charm in the English landscape. Usually under a bright sky, its surroundings are in wide contrast with the half gloom of the barn. A white cloud of steam rises from the dark engine beside the golden stack. The belt on the big wheel runs swiftly around, and the wooden " thresher " hums and sings. The place is alive with men all full of hurry and activity, as if they have caught the spirit of the never-pausing machinery. They on the rick pitch forward the sheaves, another feeds the machine, and the sheaves quickly disappear into the maw of the " thresher," whose appetite 62 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE is never satisfied. Others below carry off to the new stack or the waggon the straw that comes to them ready bound in enormous sheaves. Some rake away and remove the ever-growing heap of chaff. And all the while some half a dozen rills of grain keep pouring from projecting shoots into the sacks that have been placed to receive them. There is nothing more to do but to tie up the mouths of the bags. CHAPTER VII OUR OLD SEXTON " Our old sexton died o' Friday last, and is going to be buried to-day. Ah, dear ! Yes, sure ! To think he should put so many to bed wi' a shovel, to come to it in the end his own self. I should wish to just draw down the blinds, if you don't mind, as a last token o' respect, an' Heppell, being undertaker, walk- ing in front o' the coffin all so well. Ah ! Poor, good old man ! Eighty-two on the plate. So we all must. But hardly up to his work for years. Ah yes ! There's the bell. Never again — never again ! " Mrs. Josiah Heppell, having carried out her pious wish, remained with her nose jammed between the edge of the blind and the window frame until the funeral was over and the little procession of mourners walked back to the 63 64 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE house. Every truly rural mind loves a funeral. The days of feasting are almost over, and a burial in Sutton to-day differs little from a burial in a town — except in this, that there are no complete strangers in the village, and death means the calling away of a familiar figure. The solemn tramp of the bearers on their way to the quiet graveyard is more impressive than the passing of a hearse and plumes through the busy street on its way to the cemetery. There is no distraction here. Neighbours watch the falling of the curtain on another drama of human life ; but one which they have witnessed, in which they may have taken part. I knew the old sexton quite well, and had talked to him almost daily since my arrival in Sutton. Nothing was more easy. He was always there, always waiting, always ready to talk. Jabez Huckleby was the name of "our old sexton," and of any before him only a dim tradition lingers in the village. For many years he was a familiar figure in the village street, and did not fail to attract attention by OUR OLD SEXTON 65 the strangeness of his attire. H e wore a black coat, rusty with age — a coat with an ex- perience of half a century of funerals. He wore trousers of the same piece, mangy-look- ing where the nap was worn, and baggy at the knee, in a village given up to breeches and gaiters. His neckcloth was white, with a little sprig pattern, and tied in a bow. He walked with a stick, yet was nimble at eighty. He had a round, good-humoured, shaven face, and shaved it twice a week — Sundays and Wednesdays. His hair, what was left of it, hung in grey wisps over his ears. Everybody thought him a picture of old-fashioned re- spectability, and, truly, it was a wonder how well he kept his memory. He could tell you the details of every funeral since time out of mind, and the comparative merits of the funeral repasts — wherein some were wanting in respect for the deceased, and others out o£* vain show did more than the occasion required. But Jabez Huckleby's chief claim to fame was that he had seen corpse-candles. He had many opportunities for telling this story, because in his declining years he enjoyed 5 66 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE a life of leisure. His granddaughter, who married young John Brook, kept the church clean. Young John Brook having an eye to a future vacancy, was always ready to dig a grave for the old man whenever death might chance to call for such a thing. So Jabez remained as an ancient institution, cherished and protected long after he was obsolete. He only tolled the bell, arranged a christening party around the font, and sat of a Sunday during service in the official seat beside the church door. But he was full of his office, and started for the graveyard every morning of his life. Only he was slow to get there. He could give nobody the go-by. Jabez must stop to have a word with both gentle and simple. So he drew up more often than a baker's cart, and stood and yarned and talked until — "Hark! What's that?" The sound of laughter and voices from the other side of the lich-gate fell upon his ear. " Drat they bwoys. There they be to play in chichyard again. I'll dust their jackets, I'll warr'nt I will, then, if I do but once lay hands OUR OLD SEXTON 67 'pon 'em. But I tell ee what 'tis — bwoys nowadays they be so cunnen an' sly as foxes — zo they be. 'Tis all this here edication. Zo much larnen do but fill up bwoys wi' sass. Now you bide where you be a minute. Let I " Then, with a nod and a wink, Jabez would endeavour to stalk the boys by creeping under cover of the churchyard wall to make a sudden dash through the gate. But as he got there the voices ceased. He stood on the step and looked. All was solitude among the tombs and grey old leaning stones. No child was ever caught or even seen, and Jabez, after an interval, would come slowly back to resume his gossip. " You can't get upzides wi' they toads o' bwoys. You can't so much as catch a glimpse o' 'em, for just afore you do get there, they be gone." He never learnt that it was one of the harmless pranks of the youth of Sutton to disturb him with unseemly noise and then to lie down out of sight among the graves. " But you were just going to tell me about the corpse-candles, Mr. Huckleby." 68 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Jabez had a solemn way of shaking his head. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Ay, twice in my life I've a-seed a corpse- can'le. There's no liven soul in parish but myself can say it. There's things that tidden a-gied to everybody to see. 'Tis a gift, I do reckon." "'Tis a gift very rarely given, Mr. Huckleby." " Old folk did hold in years agone that none but the sperichule-minded had eyes to see sich things. How that mid be, tidden for I to say. Maybe the diggin' o' graves do gie a man deeper thought than common. I've many a time pondered, my own self, atween the strokes o' the passen bell. Nobody don't know how things do come about. To be sure, few do know much an' none all in theas world. There's a many theas days do titter an' giggle when they do hear a plain truth, for titteren an' gigglen be the signs o' ignor- ance. They'd down-arg a man out of his own senses if they could. But I do know what I seed, an' followed, an' watched, too, for more 'an a mile an' half." OUR OLD SEXTON 69 "It was on the road from Combe, Mr. Huckleby, if I've heard aright." Then Jabez would settle himself into his narrative. "There's none can tell all I seed but I my own self. Mind, 'twur early in the year, just a night or two a'ter Twelfth Night, an' I had walked up so fur as Combe to collect the rate, and we sot there by the vire, Farmer Crad- dock o' Combe an' I, over a cup o' hot gin an' cider, some time a'ter the missus and the maidens had a-went up to roost. I do mind the wold clock went ten then, and there we was, still a-sot. An' Farmer he wur most wonderful merry that night, a tellen up all the wold tales an' rozims he could call to mind. He wur a man not dreescore, wi' a fresh colour an' a cheerful countenance, an' he'd drow back the head o' un an' sing like a drush. Mind, he had no troubles, an' he wur well to do. You could lef his rate till near 'pon the last day an' be sure you could bring away the money for the asken. He wur so hearty an' fond o' company he wouldn't pay that night till I had a-got up an' swore if he didden I'd 7 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE goo 'ithout. Then he pulled a bag out o' his burchees pocket an' paid there-right. An' he showed me out wi' a lantern, drough garden an' into homefield, to put me 'pon the short path into high road. There had a-bin a wick a vrostes, I do mind, an' now a thawin', wi' the sky a-covered wi' cloud an' not a star to show. Well, I lost my way athirt the grounds, an' by time I got into road my eyes had a-got used to the darkness like, an' I could make out the line o' the hedgerow 'pon each hand. An' there afore me I saw a light. Mind, 'twerden a very big light, an' 'eet I shouldn' call un so terr'ble small. An' he werden a very bright light ; an' 'eet, for all that, he did sim most wonderful clear, an' all the edges o' un did kind o' melt away like, as a can'le-light do in a vog. But he wur a sort of a reddish light, too, as one mid say, about the colour o' a gleam o' virelight a vallen 'pon the wall of a house new whited-out. An' he moved on steady an' slow, about so fast as a miller's waggon up the hill, an' a-top o' the knap he stopped, for all the world as a carter mid let his hosses catch their breath. An' I stood an' OUR OLD SEXTON 71 waited, for I had an inklin' in my mind like what it mus' be, though I had no thought for who. Then he went on again to the four cross-roads an' stopped again. An' then down drough parish to church-gate an' stopped again. An' up the path, an' into porch, so orderly as could be, an' drough the wold church door, but never stopped for oak or nails ; an' I did sim, though mid be fancy, that there corned a dim light drough all the winders. There! I stood amazed. I'd a- heard tell o' a corpse-can'le, but never dreamed to see one. An' while I did watch, lo ! an' behold, the light appeared in the porch again, an' passed along by the tower to the west end, where the Craddocks do lie, an' there he sunk into the ground an' were gone. Mind I didn' dare to tell folk what I had a-seed. This all fell out of a Saturday night. But when, o' Tuesday marnen, afore light, one corned to house to bid the bell for Farmer Craddock o' Combe, I could scarce stand up to pull the bell-rope. The poor man wur a-buried 'pon the Saturday, an' wherever the corpse-can'le had a-stopped the funeral stopped, an' I digged 72 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE the grave where the corpse-can'le, so to speak, went to orround. Hark! What's that? There's they bwoys again " It was all over. Mrs. Josiah Heppell turned away from the window, brushed a tear from her eye with the back of her hand and sniffed. "Ah! An' how the children used for to tease the old man too. There'll be no more o' that. 'Tis poor Mr. Huckleby his own self now who is lying down amongst the graves." She pulled up the blinds. "Well! An' who'll be sexton now, I wonder, sure. Not young John Brook, if Heppell could have his way in the matter. But that'll be a matter for the Easter Vestry." A toss of the head and something signifi- cant in the toneof Mrs. Josiah Heppell seemed to indicate that one might look for excitement in the Sutton Easter Vestry. CHAPTER VIII HOW THE SUN DANCED ON EASTER MORN He is considered by his neighbours to be a very slow youth, young John Brook, and they try to take advantage of him whenever they can. He is slow in his work, though he never stops working; and slow in his thought, though he never stops thinking. You can watch young John turn a subject over in his brain for weeks, just as you turn hay of a wet season. If you ask young John a riddle at Christmas he will come with an answer, often unexpectedly brilliant but invariably unsound, by about Lady Day. Yet he has a solid mind. I have heard young John's wife declare a hundred times: "If you do but once get a thing into John's nut he do never forget it — no, not in a twelvemonth." That is the very time that has elapsed since young John went 73 74 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE up to Wynberry Beacon to see the sun dance of an Easter morning. The matter began with an eclogue, as so many things do in the country. Young John and the carter were ploughing after turnips to put in spring wheat, and the two ploughs stopped at the headland under shelter of the hedge for the horses to have their nose-bags and the men their "bit o' nammit." So they sat down together with a flagon of cider, a hunk of bread and cheese, a bit of cold bacon, and an onion apiece. The shepherd strolled across from the fold where the lambs were bleating, and talked from the other side of the hedge, where an old hurdle filled the gap made by the hounds. The young chap hauling out the cake in the donkey-cart stopped also and came across. The under-keeperchanced to come along with a young retriever that growled at the shep- herd's dog. So there was quite a little party. They looked down the straight shining furrows where the wagtails were running and the rooks stalking along, and agreed that the ground worked well — main well — never knew ground HOW THE SUN DANCED ON EASTER MORN 75 work better — and never shall in this world. But this was but the overture, and they got talking. Carter : Ay, and please God to send a fine mild spring, and theas ground 'ull look so level and so green as a field o' grass, come Easter. Shepherd : He will so, though Easter is not so wonderful late, to year — or so they do tell me. Young John : I never can't think (such was John's modest way of speaking) how Easter can fall one year early and another year late. 'Tis a time when much happened, we do know, so there must be a fixed day o' the month for it, to my mind. Under-Keeper : 'Tis put to match pan- cake day, by all accounts. Carter : Oh no, no. 'Tis pancake day is arranged to go afore to signify Easter. Young John : Then, maybe, they don't know the date for certain sure, and so they do hop about a bit so as to pitch right now and again. The Young Chap : An' that's better 'an always wrong. 76 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Shepherd : 'Tis. Carter : Though, if what my mother did use to tell up is true, that can't well be. Young John : What's that, then ? Carter : She did declare that the sun do dance of a Easter morning, for when she were a little maid she and her mother climbed up 'pon Wynberry afore light to watch un. Shepherd : I've heard the same thing my own self — though not o' late years. Young John : But do ee believe it, both o' ee ? Carter : Well, all I can tell is, my mother were no liar, though I do say it my own self. Young John : But did ee ever go to look ? Carter : Not my own self. The sun do rise at such a ill-convenient time, I do call. For when Easter is early you could never get back to your work. An' when 'tis late a man must a'most go up overnight to be in time for the sunrise. Young John : But do you believe it, Carter ? Carter: I've a-heard it said hundreds o' times — as a proof o' the Resurrection. HOW THE SUN DANCED ON EASTER MORN 77 Shepherd : Now, there's a job for young John — to go up to year and see. Young John : Anyway, I should like to know. Carter : But you must go to the beacon- top, mind. Tis only at the moment when he do show hisself over the edge o' the earth that the sun do dance — not when he've a-climbed high enough to peep over three mile o' hill. Young John : I should like to know. This laudable desire for knowledge in- creased to a passion with young John. Everybody in the parish fed the flame. Although not latterly much spoken of in Sutton, it appeared that the fact had always been unquestionably established. One and all said so ; but what weighed most with John's mind was that they told his wife the same tale when John was not present. They said they couldn't have thought, in these days, that any man living could be so ignorant. In the end John said he didn't half believe it, not even now ; but be dashed if he wouldn't go up and see. The parish greatly approved 78 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE of John's spirit. More than one pointed out the utility of the investigation — because, although beyond a doubt the sun did dance, no soul living in that neighbourhood could exactly specify the step. Nobody saw John go up the beacon, because he went in the night. But John's wife told the hour of his departure ; and as there are two miles of open track up the hill- side, there was quite a party to meet him when he came home. "Well, John, and did you see the sun dance ? " " I did," replied John with decision. " What did he dance like, then ? " " He danced proper." " But how do he carry out thik sort o' job, then, John ?" "Shepherd," replied John, "he do dance for all the world like one o' your young lambs when he do run in hopes of a daisy and find out 'tis a snowflake." " But what manner o' way do er dance, then, John ? Do the sun bob up and down — or more across and athirt like ? " HOW THE SUN DANCED ON EASTER MORN 79 " I tell ee what 'tis, Carter, he do dance — if I may so express myself — like the old mare Chestnut when you do turn her out to grass." " The old sun do begin to show a bit stiff in the lag, then," said the keeper. " No," said John. " He's sort o' spry in his own way, too. Maybe he do gambol more like a stoat when he do aim to catch the eye of a young rabbit." Descriptions such as these could not fail to be convincing ; and when the serious aspect of John was taken into consideration, there were some who very soon came to the con- clusion that John must have seen something. When, however, a fortnight before the time, John arranged to borrow the donkey and cart overnight, so as to haul his missus up to the Beacon on Easter morning, not a single soul was left in doubt. "'Pon my life ! " said Shepherd. " If the sun do dance, 'tis a'most the duty of every Christian man to go up once in his life to learn the truth and gie a little encouragement." " It is," agreed Carter. So ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE They all went up. Alas ! just at daybreak there rose a monstrous cloud in the east and hid the sun's face. 1 1 was a disappointment to all — because, of course, when the eye can see nothing there is nothing that the mind can go by. " Well, I s'pose, please God, there'll be another Easter next year," reflected Shepherd. " If we be spared," said the carter solemnly. So they all trudged down again except young John. He said he had thought this would give a wonderful o-ood chance to drive on his missus to see her mother, Easter-time and all, and they "full three mile on the way." That was what he really and truly had in his mind like, when he made so bold as to ask for the little donkey and cart for the day. CHAPTER IX THE EASTER VESTRY Of all the inhabitants of Sutton there are but two who do not, either by birth, marriage, or early association, belong to the place. They are Captain Kennedy Cann and his daughter Miss Cann, whom we have already seen in the village street. For years they have resided at Knap House, a long, low dwelling in which the rooms open one into the other in a very ancient, primitive fashion. They have so identified themselves with the parish that it is now impossible to imagine Sutton without them. Of the adventures of Captain Kennedy Cann previous to his settling down in Sutton nothing can be stated in exact detail. He is said to be a gentleman of family who ran away to sea. He is known to have travelled S 2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE all over the world. He is believed to have been a blockade-runner. It is reported that he fought a ship in a naval engagement in the American War. But only this is certain. Having retired to Sutton, with money, he devotes himself to the most innocent of re- creations — ornamental gardening and poetry. For Captain Kennedy Cann is a poet. A local poet, it must be admitted — but, a poet. No person of imagination can pass Knap House without first being transfixed with admiration. It is situated about a furlong beyond the village, and the yew hedges of the garden and its cypress trees are a wonder to behold. In former days the hedges were mere yew hedges, and the trees peacocks, sugar-cones, and such commonplace subjects. But all that is altered. To-day one yew hedge is a Dreadnought and another a torpedo catcher. They have funnels of yew, but are properly fitted with masts and rigged. Only between certain hours, on certain days, accord- ing to the regulations, will Captain Kennedy Cann allow a line to be run up to accom- modate the lighter articles of the wash. The THE EASTER VESTRY 83 cypresses are turrets, and such his ingenuity in clipping that the nozzles of Long Toms protrude six feet or more and command the garden path. But Captain Kennedy Cann is for ever clipping. You may see him at any hour, a short, stout figure, in a blue serge suit with the firm, sunburnt shaven face of a sailor, enframed, as it were, with the white wavy locks of the poet, and crowned with a glisten- ing black straw hat, which appears to have been waterproofed with some species of japan — and whilst Captain Kennedy Cann is clipping, he composes. For recreation he cruises around the country on a bicycle. Should you meet him on foot he is on an expedition and means business. The Captain and Miss Cann dwell in per- fect amity, although they disagree in every particular. Miss Cann, tall and slender, is at all seasons in plain and serviceable attire, and may sometimes be seen in a pork-pie hat with a skewer through it. Captain Cann is a disciplinarian. Miss Cann is humani- tarian. The Captain is by no means 8 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LTFE vegetarian. Miss Cann is fruitarian. Miss Cann is also opposed to the use of alcohol in all its forms ; whereas, years of experience in climates various have convinced the Captain that the constitution of man not only demands but requires "a little stimulant." It was Easter Monday, near upon eleven in the morning. The vestry bell was tolling. Parishioners from all directions were bustling towards the church, and a group gathered by the lich-gate was already engaged in animated discussion. Captain Cann strode down the causeway. The old rector passed into the churchyard by the other gate. The parish disappeared into the porch. The bell ceased. The election of a successor to poor old Sexton Huckleby was a question which stirred Sutton to its depths. A sexton, as every- body knows, is no common man, and once made he is made for life. As Heppell was credibly reported to have said more than once, an' more than twice, "That so, it do behove any parish to take thought to what they do do." Sutton had taken so much thought, that the vestry under the tower, with the sur- THE EASTER VESTRY 85 plices hanging against the wall above the old chest with three locks, was already filled to overflowing when the old rector took the chair behind the table upon which the newly wed of Sutton sign the register. The minutes were read and passed. The distribution of the charities drew forth no comment. Everybody knew that a crisis was approaching and Sutton held its breath. The old rector adjusted his spectacles. " To elect a sexton in the place of Jabez Huckleby, deceased." A genial old antiquar- ian with a wrinkled face the colour of parch- ment, and a great lover of peace, he smiled complacently on the Vestry with a benign expression which seemed to say, " Let them fight it out." Baker Heath rose at once. " It is not for me," said Baker Heath, "to dwell upon the great age attained by Jabez Huckleby afore he died. Yet for all that he passed away greatly respected in the end. Jabez Huckleby to my mind was so good a sexton as ever laid hand on a bell-rope, and his grand-daughter Anna Maria, the stay of 86 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE his declining years, the same ; so, therefore, I do beg to propose that young John Brook be appointed sexton o' this parish church o' Sutton at a annual salary o' ten pound a year." Struck by the cogency of these remarks the supporters of John Brook cried "Hear, hear ! " Heppell, casting his eye around and esti- mating the numbers, smiled. " I second that." Nervous at having to make a public speech, Miller Toop jerked out his notes like a robin on a post, and, after a moment of hesitation, sat down. Then Heppell rose. Heppell has a con- vincing way with him, and shakes his head from side to side as he speaks with an air of setting the matter forth in plain honesty. " I hope the parish o' Sutton do well con- sider what they be about. Because I can tell 'em so straight as a plumb-line. There is a post to fill an' a man required to fill thik post. Now take it the like o' this. Say thik post is a post, an' thik man a brass-headed nail. If this parish do het thik brass-headed nail into THE EASTER VESTRY 87 thik parish post, they do not only drave un in but they do clint un there, mind that, now. You may hit the head o' un off, but you don't get un out, an' there he'll bide so long as God Almighty do allow un to. Now that's a very serious matter in the instance of a young feller like young John Brook. Because he wed wi' Anna Maria he have a-digged graves for the old man, we do know. That idden to say he've a-got a vested interest in thik post, or that you do wish un to shine up the church plate. I myself be for a change o' blood in all questions, so to speak. An' I can tell the parish this, young John Brook is a healthy man — I don't want to say nothen agen young John Brook ; but if the parish do 'lect he, there's very few staid men in Sutton now liven can hope wi' sense ever to see any other parish clerk. So there ! An' I do vote we do 'journ ! " "Ridiculous! Ridiculous!" The voice of Captain Cann is like a speaking-trumpet. " No doubt the fellow wishes to dig the graves himself." At once there was an uproar in the Vestry. 88 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE The rector might raise his hand and call " Order," but nobody heard or heeded. Some cried, " Vote for Brook," others, " Let's put in Heppell." Baker Heath, beginning to sus- pect a minority for the Brookites, could not hesitate as between Heppell, a regular cus- tomer, and Captain Cann, who,to the enormity of baking at home, added indignity by taking up occasional loaves from theWynberry baker. In a momentary calm Baker Heath stammered that if there were any opposition he would withdraw his resolution. An adjournment might have followed, but the interval had given young John Brook time to grasp the full significance of Heppell's par- able. From a modest corner he pushed for- ward. He fronted Heppell and clenched his fist. " I may be yaller-headed, that I do own," cried he, " but you've a-called I a brass-headed nail. I " Young John Brook had to be forcibly restrained by some of his supporters. All the while the rector pleaded, " Order, order ! " Without ceasing, the Captain's trumpet, tones continued to repeat : " He's manceuv- OLD SEXTON HUCKLEBY From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. V4.|V'«* Hg& THE EASTER VESTRY 89 ring for the post. Heppell is manoeuvring for the post for himself." " I am not," cried Heppell. " You were, but you're unmasked," fired back Captain Cann. " I wouldn't take it." "You would." " No more than you." The Captain is a man of resource. He seized the situation at a glance. " I would take it — if I were elected." Mr. William Purchase had so far said nothing. " That is a good way," laughed he, " to get over the difficulties of a life appointment. Captain Cann can do the work by deputy. I propose Captain Kennedy Cann." " I second that," cried Miller Toop. Heppell was discomfited yet stubborn. " It have always been the custom in Sutton for the sexton to sit behind the door. Gentle or simple, I vote for no sexton unless he do undertake to sit behind the door. Will Captain Cann undertake to sit behind the door ? " 9 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Captain Cann hesitated. He was a quarter- deck officer and used to sit in the chancel. " I will sit behind the door," roared Captain Cann in a voice like a fo^-horn. Then Heppell hauled down his flag. " Of course, if the Cap'n do consent to sit behind the door " The voice of the old rector interrupted the acquiescence of Heppell, " It is proposed by Mr. William Purchase and seconded " It sank into an almost inaudible murmur and rose again. " For — Against ? Nemine contradicente" " I engage young John Brook as my deputy — at sixteen and eight a month," cried Captain Cann. " But let him look to his swabbing — that's all. The church has never been swabbed. Let him look to his swabbing." The business of his new appointment brought Captain Kennedy Cann frequently into the village on foot during the next few days. One morning he button-holed me on the causeway and promptly drew a manuscript from his breast pocket. " Just a bit of a screed," whispered he, and THE EASTER VESTRY 91 the blushing diffidence of a true poet for a moment spiritualised the red-brick complexion of the buccaneer. " A little singsong. A trifle. A mere jingle." Then he read — " Kennedy Cann sailed into the west " — the vestry, you understand — " Kennedy Cann sailed into the west Under the tower of St. Margaree. ' I'll be a sexton as bold as the best, And young John Brook shall be deputee, To beat the hassock and dust the pew, To toll the curfew and light the dip, To swab the aisle and the chancel too, For I'll have that church as clean as a ship.'" There were many verses, for the Captain's muse is voluminous. On the following week the poem appeared in the columns of the Oldbury Gazette and was greatly admired. CHAPTER X FIRST AID " Urn, urn, Urchett ! Do'ee, then ! Up to Manor House, an' tell Selina Jane Edwards that the little Rosie Ann have a-creeped out o' bed an' drinkt th' embarkation ! " It was drawing towards dusk, in the sweet- est and calmest of spring evenings, when the Widow Teape, walking slowly down to her garden-hatch to take a look up and down street and call in her Richard, was disturbed by " screams and scritches " of the most "gashly" description, and "worse than any pig-killing." They issued from a little top window of Selina Jane Edwards' house. The Widow Teape hastened into the garden to demand the cause. Then rushing out upon the village green, where her Richard was riding astride of the fallen elm, she shrieked FIRST AID 93 the above injunctions, to the alarm and con- sternation of the whole parish. For the Widow Teape had received from nature a voice of such penetrating quality that it went right through anybody, verily and truly it really did. It helped to carry poor Jacob Teape to an early grave, as everybody said, and he one of the mildest, softest-spoken men, too, that ever trod shoe leather. But Sutton is such a quiet little place. If Keziah Teape had but whispered, every soul alive must have heard. " Urn, Urchett, urn ! For little Rosie Ann have a-drinkt the embarkation." Good neighbours popped from every cot- tage door, and ran to every garden hatch, urging Richard to sublimer effort. " Urn, Urchett, urn ! Now do'ee, then ! " Richard was a podgy boy, with a big head, short legs, and boots of large tonnage. He ran with his head low, like a ram that is butting, and his elbows stuck out on a level with his ears like the arms of a direction post. There might have been something comic about Richard's running if the little 94 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Rosie Ann had not "a-drinkt the embark- ation." Now all the delights of spring were in full swing, and nowhere are more of them to be found than at Sutton Manor Farm. In the front garden lilac was in flower, and laburnum on the way. There were primroses and violets, tulips, jonquils, and daffodils, and all sorts of budding joys. Sparrows chirruped to each other their designs on every shoot and water-spout. Starlings whistled and chattered from the barn, the orchards, and the stalls. Twittering martins darted to and fro or clung to the wall where the ruin of their last year's nest still hung in a semicircle under the eaves. And head and chief of all these several delights, from the paddock behind the house came the rhythmic thud of carpet- beating, for the inmates were in the very revelry of spring cleaning. That was why Selina Jane Edwards stayed on an hour that evening — to oblige. That was why the little Rosie Ann, to be kept out of mischief, was put to bed before her time. That was why this inquisitive child of Eve, FIRST AID 95 unwooed by sleep, rose from her couch and swallowed the pernicious draught. " Urn, Urchett, urn, or the poor maid 'ull heave up the very heart o' her ! " So Richard came panting to the gate, ran up the steps and paving stones between the drooping-ash and the mulberry tree, and arrived at the Manor House front door. Furniture had been dragged out upon the lawn ; mahogany, horsehair-seated chairs of the most graceful Chippendale variety, a carved oak chest, a table and a bureau with handles of brass, all of quite an ancient respectability, shone and glistened to find themselves out for the day. And amidst them moved a tall, willowy maiden wrapped in a long blue pinafore and wearing garden gloves. She was the picture of health and well-being. Her face was by nature smiling — her cheeks rosy, her lips red, her hair black, and her dark eyes looked on the approaching Richard with mirth and astonishment from beneath a broad- brimmed garden-hat of straw. " Ple-ple-please, Miss Letisher, Selina Jane Edwards's Rosie Ann have a-drinkt the 96 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE — the — Selina Jane Edwards's rubben'-in stuff." Miss Letty Purchase threw down her duster, cast off her chamois leather gloves, and ran into the house. " Mrs. Edwards ! Quick, Mrs. Edwards ! " Now Selina Jane Edwards is a wonderful woman to work. Many have said so, but none has ever questioned that. A shilling a day and her keep, or eighteen pence and run home to her victuals, will ensure the most astonishing results at anybody's spring clean- ing. With nobody to fend for her she has been forced to work, and is lean and sharp- featured with it, and short of her temper too. The little Rosie Ann does not belong to Selina Jane Edwards, but has been taken in and brought up at five shillings a week. The little mystery which surrounds the origin of the little Rosie Ann naturally makes any iniquity which she may commit of more importance than the offences of a duly authenticated child. Dishevelled, begrimed, perspiring from the carpet-beating, a decapitated mop-stem in her FIRST AID 97 hand, Selina Jane Edwards came bolting out of the front door like a frightened rabbit. Breathless with haste, she managed in spite of all to speak out her mind as she ran — "You can't never be upzides wi' childern. No, you never can't. An', do what you will, you never wun't. Now, I put thik little bottle up 'pon tap o' tap shelf. A good-for- nothen hussy ! She must ha' dragged a chair athirt — she mus' — so she mus' " Before she had reached the village green she was overtaken by Miss Letitia, who, with tennis in summer and hockey in winter, can run like a young gazelle. Miss Letitia — it is really a pity that the local pronunciation should sound so much like a sneeze — carried a quart bottle of salad oil in one hand and a small book in the other ; and so they reached the little crowd of villagers by this time gathered around the cottage door. The crowd fell apart. "Miss Litisher,"— " Miss Litisher," they greeted her one after another, as she and Selina Jane Edwards entered the kitchen together. 9 8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE The Widow Teape, divining, with truly marvellous insight, that Selina Jane Edwards, like every other villager, when locking up her house, having first peeped up and down street to be sure that nobody was looking, would take the precaution to hide the key in the chink at the top of the lintel, opened the door without difficulty. She had brought Rosie Ann downstairs to the embers of a wood fire, and alternately warmed her toes and held her head over a basin. All the while she administered comfort — "You've a-drinkt pizin ! Poor lamb! 'Tis a-burnen up your poor inside, so 'tis. You've a-drinkt pizin ! Sure you have ! " In times of distress, in spite of her shrill- ness, there was something exceedingly en- couraging and motherly about the Widow Teape. "You naughty maid," cried Selina Jane Edwards, still having before her mind the iniquity of the act, "how dare you drink out o' mother's bottle ! There ! if I didden think you wuz like to die, I'd slap " The presence of Miss Letitia caused Selina FIRST AID 99 Jane Edwards to pause. ''I'd whip 'ee well, I 'ood." " I don't want to die ! " piped the child, and between the paroxysms screamed at the thought of it. Now Miss Letitia Purchase, fresh from the first-aid class inaugurated by Miss Cann, and presided over by Mrs. Josiah Heppell's " local tremens," the young Dr. Willoughby, felt equal to the occasion, and took charge at once. She smelt the mixture. She sniffed at the cork. The bouquet reminded her faintly of hartshorn, mingled with some other and vaguer reminiscence, but taught her nothing. "What is it?" she inquired quickly. " 'Tis a oil that the wold Jacob Tozer bought of a travellen'-man for his rheumatics last summer fair," explained Selina Jane Edwards promptly. "An' wonderful bad Jacob wur. But he thought it done un good, so he gi'ed it to the wold Betsy Mogridge when she had a 'ruption in the lag. She said it brought out thik 'ruption somethen most wonderful. So she gi'ed it to I vor ioo ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE the quinzy, an' I rubbed a drop into my droat, an' put the rest back 'pon shelf vor another 'casion." The origin of the embrocation was sus- picious. " Let some one ride at once for Dr. Wil- loughby ! " cried Miss Letitia with decision. Then she hesitated. There being no stain upon the child's lips, Miss Letitia, having consulted her book to freshen her memory, decided in favour of the oil. She called for a spoon and began to administer. Gaining courage, she made use of an egg-cup. Bolder still, she bid Rosie Ann drink from a small gallipot. But suddenly, when not more than a pint had been consumed, Miss Letitia suffered a terrible doubt that paralysed her will. She had not given a thought to phosphorus. This was really most reprehensible, for phosphorus, being luminous in the dark, may so easily be detected. "Have they sent for Dr. Willoughby ? " she wailed. Miss Letitia seized the bottle, and ran and FIRST AID 101 shut herself in the dark in a coal-cupboard under the stairs. Not a glimmer of phos- phorescence enlightened the gloom. Miss Letitia gave it time — at least three minutes — and finally set her mind at rest. Selina Jane Edwards's Rosie Ann was better. Nobody could question that ; and the neighbours one by one began to push into the cottage kitchen to witness Miss Letitia's wonderful cure. When that young lady returned from the cupboard she found the room full. "Continue the oil," she said with con- fidence. Then, as persistent internal lubrication gradually set the little Rosie Ann almost free from pain, alarm subsided, and the tongues of the village were free for reasonable talk. " I do really believe," reflected Selina Jane Edwards, "that childern be the most wor- rittenest things 'pon earth. (You naughty chile ! Drink down some more oil to once, an' thank Miss Litisher to the end o' your life.) Now, a goat is a wonderful trouble- 102 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE some thing, so well as meddlesome. I kipt a nanny myself once. Her wur more pig- headed 'an any calf. You never didden see the likes o' she. I did chain un up to apple- tree, too ; but lauk ! her'd eat the very wash from the line if did chance to blow down 'ithin reach. Her eat the best part of a sheet an' two peddycuts vor I, her did. An' wur nothen' the wo'se. Though her wur a good milker, too, an' I wur terr'ble sorry to part wi' her. But childern, now, childern be wo'se 'an goats. You don't dare to chain they up, an' you can't part wi' 'em. No, you can't ! (You wicked maid ! Drink down the oil to once ! )." The old Betsy Mogridge is a little, wizened old soul, with a face as wrinkled as the old- fashioned apple that folk used to tell us would keep till apples come again. Satisfied with the general success of the embrocation, even when misapplied, she took a genial view of the subject. " Well, we wuz all childern once ! Zo there ! " There are truths we all know well, accept, FIRST AID 103 and readily forget. To give expression to them is only to call attention to their magnitude. " Iss. We wuz all childern once, for certain sure," they cried in chorus. Softened by the surrounding unanimity, the voice of the Widow Teape became genial and communicative. "You wouldn't never think it," whispered she, confident of a lofty moral altitude at- tained in later years, "but I do believe I wuz the wustest little maid that ever walked. Do 'ee know what I done ? I drinked out o' the spout o' the kittle ! Father brought un out an' clapped un down tap o' wall, and I corned on an' I drinked. I really did. Oh, you niver veeled sich agony o' pain. Oh, massy 'pon us ! Oh, my droat — oh, my gullet, an' I fo'ced to bide an' glutchy too ! Oh, all down my chest and my inzides ! For he had but jus' bin 'pon the boil, like, when father put un down. Well, 'twere doctor twice a day then for a wick, an' thought I should ha' died. But I tell 'ee this : 'twur a lesson to I. I never ha'n't drinkt out of a kittle io 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE since. No ; I could take my Bible oath I never ha'n't ! " "Drink some more oil," interposed Miss Letitia. A statement so solemnly made, even if incredible, rises above question. The gossips murmured a belief that Mrs. Teape had not quenched her thirst from the spout of a kettle since that early occasion. They pre- dicted that she never would. Mrs. Teape's experience started old Mother Mogridge on a story of her own infantile iniquity. " Now, when I wur a little maid," quavered the old soul, " I do mind I took to drink myself. For father had a drop o' cider in a jug, an' to be sure I must needs goo to take a sip. So I put a chair an' climbed up to reach the dresser-tack. An' I didden stop to look inzide the jug, mind. I don't tell you I did. But I drinkt. An' sure's the light there wur a wopse. Lauk ! How he did sting my tongue ! I didden swallow un down. Mind, I don't tell you I did. I spit un out so quick's I could, an' hollared. But I never didden forget thik wopse. An' if FIRST AID 105 ever I've a-got a drop o' anything to put back in jug or cup, I do put plate or saucer up 'pon top. Summer or winter just the very same. Auvis plate or saucer — never fail. An' no soul 'pon earth, not wi' truth, can't tell you no differ'nt." " Take some more oil, child ! " urged Miss Letitia, smiling encouragement. " Drink it down to once, you naughty girl ! " commanded Selina Jane Edwards, and then took up the thread. " Mind, though I do say childern be wo'se 'an the ten plagues o' Egypt," began she, with broad-minded candour, " I don't tell you I wur never a plague myself. I wur. I do own it. An' I'll tell 'ee what happened to I. Father had a-stickt a pig, an' to be sure, chile-like, there wur I all agape, eyes an' mouth, to look at the blood. An' he had a-made ready to scald un, too. Now, how could fall out I can't say. But there, I took a step back an' sot myzelf down in the pail o' boilin' water. Oh, I wur a-scalded, to be sure ! There, father he did use to say for years, if ever I should chance to be toled io6 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE away an' carried off by the gipsies, he could swear to I anywhere, if 'twur out o' ten thousand ! " Further reminiscences of childhood in Sutton were prevented by the sound of wheels in the village street, and the hasty entrance of Dr. Willoughby. He is young, handsome, a man you might speak to, and kind to the poor. So he is popular in the neighbourhood wherever he goes. He smelt the embrocation gravely, and, looking at Rosie Ann in a very serious manner, solemnly assured the surrounding village that, but for the promptitude of Miss Letitia Purchase, he really could not and would not undertake to say what might not have happened. He casually inquired how much oil the child had swallowed. Selina Jane measured the bottle with her eye, and replied with pride — " The best part of a quart." After a brief reflection, Dr. Willoughby thought, Rosie Ann being out of danger, the FIRST AID 107 administration of oil might cease ; but every intelligent person in Sutton will tell you to this day that "Miss Litisher" saved the life of Selina Jane Edwards's Rosie Ann. It is a grateful parish, and will never forget. It was almost dark when Dr. Willoughby left the cottage in company with Miss Letitia Purchase ; and it was noticed that he did not at once mount his cart and drive away. He walked with the young girl as far as the gate of the Manor House, whilst his groom drove slowly up the street behind. The gossips stood watching as the two figures melted into the dusk. One thrush was singrino- its last sonof. "Now, I've a-heard their names a-men- tioned together, an' more an' once, too, since thik class," whispered Selina Jane. Selina Jane's charing the Manor and other houses lent especial value to any hearsay she might repeat, because getting about like that there was no knowing what she mieht hear. "An' I do hope they will catch a mind 108 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE to each other, an' wed together, and live so happy as the day," cried Keziah Teape. " Sure, 'tes but what th' Almighty gied 'em their youth vor ! Idden it ? " chuckled the old Betsy Mogridge as she hobbled away. Perhaps it may be. Who can tell ? CHAPTER XI DAIRYMAN " Dairyman ! " He is not constantly seen in the village. His house stands remote from the highway, almost hidden amongst hedgerow trees, and approached by a narrow road, which leads through pasture fields only to the dairyhouse. His name is Ebenezer Dark, and none but very humble people address him as Mr. Dark. His " missus," as he occasionally calls his wife, though his habit is to address her cere- moniously as Mrs. Dark, never speaks of him otherwise than "Master." He rents a dairy of thirty cows of Mr. William Purchase, and the dairyhouse in the old days was the Home Farm. When passing Sutton Street of a week-day he is usually driving an undipped old brown mare in a market-cart, now and no ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE then with a calf or so under a net behind the seat. Of a Sunday he is always going to or returning from church. Under neither cir- cumstance is he quite himself or really com- municative. The serious nature of his errand appears to weigh upon him. He does not draw rein or stop to talk. An acquaintance nods — " Dairyman ! " Dairyman nods back the name of the acquaintance. In Sutton every degree of affection, respect, or proper pride can be conveyed by a nod coupled with that simple salutation. Yet Dairyman is by no means a taciturn man. In his way he is fond of company and loves everything that is good — a good tale, an old song, a big cup, and a long pipe. But he is so homely that the only place where he finds himself truly at home is the dairyhouse. His mind is so simple, that in spite of early rising, hard work, and the bringing up of a con- siderable family of maidens, he has grown fat upon contentment. He weighs, by his own admission, " up vowerteen score," and his DAIRYMAN 1 1 1 height is "vive voot ten." Such dimensions o are displayed to the best advantage in a long white milking apron. That shows up also his jolly round red face with the fat cheeks and the double chin. Next to that, Dairyman looks well filling out his comfortable chintz-covered arm-chair by the fireside when the day's work is done. And yet there are folk in Sutton who hold the opinion that Dairyman would be nothing at all and quite lost without " his missus." It was of an evening late in April in a broad pasture sprinkled with cowslips that I first talked with Dairyman. There had been showers during the day, but for a while the sky was clear, although rain- drops glistened on the grass. From a shining holly bush in the hedgerow a blackbird was fluting. From the top of a lofty elm a thrush whistled and sang with all his heart. A litter of young rabbits had ventured from their hole amongst the gnarled roots of the oak that stands alone in the field. Alert at the pre- sence of a footfall on the ground they lifted their heads and pricked their ears. The herd, ii2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE that had been hidden away in the stalls when I first "walked out round like" with Mr. William Purchase, sleek and red and bright in the slanting evening light, was peacefully chewing the cud, whilst starlings solemnly inarched and wagtails gaily ran amidst them. Then came the rattle of wheels bumping in the ruts of the lane, the jingling of metal, the laughter and the shouts of voices raised in mirthful expostulation. The blackbird darted out of the holly bush. Starlings and wagtails took to flight. The young rabbits listened, then scuttled out of sight. The thrush remained, but for a while was silent. Presently a lad opened the gate, and the waggon bringing the milkers, Dairyman, the woman who helps Mrs. Dark about house, and two of Dairyman's maidens, crowded to- gether in front, with the silvery pails and cans behind, turned into the field and drew up under the broad shadow of the hedge. Dairyman descended slowly from his wag- gon. He was in that longwhite apron tied with strings and reaching below the knees which is the modern substitute for the old smock. DAIRYMAN 113 In a lusty voice he called to his cows — " Hobe — hobe — hobe — hobe " But at sight of the waggon many of the herd had risen and were slowly coming towards the milking-place. An old bob-tailed cow-dog ran around the sluggards and barked, but mostly for form's sake. The hindermost cows gave a canter and a kick, but merely in derision of this formality. The boy unhitched the horse and tied him up to the hedge, yet so that he could amuse himself with a bite of grass. The woman and Dairyman's maidens came each with stool and pail, moving quietly amongst the placid beasts and settling down to a chosen cow. Morn and evening each milked the same cows, or with little variation, and Dairyman and the woman took those which did not readily yield their milk. For cattle are as different the one from the other as human beings. Some are ready and generous, others restless and untrustful. Dairyman's cows stood motion- less and ruminant — more completely lost in thought than many wise-looking people who cannot think. The old dog went quietly away some score of yards to lie down by himself. ii 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE And with the hum of the milk a sweetness rose from the pail to mingle with the breath of kine and add another fragrance to the scented growth of spring. Dairyman strolled forward to pass the time of day. " 'Tis pleasant in the fields the time o' year." And most certainly there was also some- thing pleasant in the modulation of his voice, for Dairyman speaks in a singsong drawl as suited to his pastoral surroundings as the cooing of the pigeons in the wood not far away. "And milking-time the most pleasant of all." " But this is only half of it, you know. There's a pretty sharp frost even now in the early mornen. Sure enough the ground were so white as a sheet to-day mornen. Oh, the maidens found it a little bit finger-cold to-day mornen." " The frosts will soon be over. The summer mornings must be as beautiful as this." DAIRYMAN 115 "Why, heart alive, an' so they be. But, mark me, 'tis always beaudiful — terr'ble beaudiful " — he paused, and his eyes twinkled in anticipation of the coming joke — " to stand by an' look on." " But the cows are worth looking at, Mr. Dark." " Ah ! Where can any man wish to see or show better. Now, this I will say, anything second-rate Mr. William Purchase don't keep long. They be good milkers, too. They be quiet cows — and a good milker is mostly a quiet cow. You see they've never been hunted about. We do treat 'em ofentle. There's no bang 'em on the pinbone wi' a milken-stool about we. We do talk to 'em instead. The old-fashioned way used to be to sing 'em a ditty to sooth 'em, an' make 'em gie down their milk. An' my maidens— well, I don't deny they do pitch a stave, now an' again, when there's nobody about. I can't tell how 'tis — but at times in the quiet to my ear do sound most wonderful sweet." "You must make some big cheeses." " Mrs. Dark do — though I say it myself — n6 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE make some wonderful fine cheeses, now on through all the summer months. But look in some day when you may chance to ramble near the house on your walks. Mrs. Dark'll take a pride in showing her dairy. Well, Mrs. Dark is quite celebrated for her cheeses." The woman carrying a pail on her head, steadied by an upraised arm, walked across to the waggon and poured the warm, frothing milk into one of the cans. "Well, well. I mustn't stand an' look on. Mrs. Dark don't like to be kept waiting if we should be a bit late." Thus he bade me good evening, and was soon with his head tucked into the hollow above a cow's full udder. In the lane I happened to loiter a while, so I was out of sight long before I was out of hearing. Presently Dairyman's maidens, believing that nobody was about, pitched their stave. I have never met with the words elsewhere and scarcely believe they can be in print. The maidens had a very quaint way of singing — first a line each as DAIRYMAN 117 a solo and then a third line together in very simple harmony : — I'll take the footpath that goes by the mill. I'll take the beaten track that winds round the hill. And we'll meet by the wood when evening is still. I'll bring a crooked ninepence to break it in twain. I'll hang it o'er my heart, love, for ever to remain. For all the world's so wide, love, we'll never part again. I'll spin a fleece o' lamb's wool to knit me some hose. I'll put away my pennies to buy me new clothes. And we'll go as fine, love, as all the world goes. I'll step down to neighbour's a swarm for to buy. All to twist a bee-butt I'll thresh a sheaf o' rye. And we'll live on honey, love, until we die. I'll go a-gleaning till setting o' the sun. I'll take a grist to mill so soon as work is done. We shall never lack wheaten bread— till there is none. I'll gather goose down to make a feather bed. Oh ! A stick of oaken timber to build a bedstead ; For afore the year is out, love, we'll to church and wed. CHAPTER XII THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER " Japheth Pike, in his manner of life and modes of thought, savours more of the country than any other person in Sutton. This seems the more remarkable as he is by no means an old man nor indeed even middle-aged. He was the youngest son of old Noah Pike, a wheel- wright of considerable repute in his day, whose handsome waggons, with their curved raves (those ladder-like frames which held the load above the wheels), are still to be met with at haymaking and harvest, or on the high roads for many miles around Sutton. Japheth is in fact in the prime of life — an uncertain period, which the reader may designate according to his own a^e and o o o opinions. Japheth is not a Sutton man by birth. Old THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER" 119 Noah earned distinction at Hazelgrove on the other side of the hill ; but village waggon- building scarcely lasted his time, and some years ago trundled away to the factory in the big town. Japheth, as Mrs Josiah Heppell has explained to me, "having wed wi' one o' Sutton, after a few words like wi' his brothers, jacked up, took the little house an' yard down street, and corned to Sutton to set up for his own self. A good sober man, a good husband and father, an' she such a piteous little ooman, too — but la," added that excellent woman, with all the condescension of the wife of a master mason grown into a builder, "there! he is but a sort of a kind of a hedge-caffender after all." The little house with the yard down street is a commonplace small dwelling, with no feature more important than the arched pro- jection of painted metal which serves as an inefficient shelter to the front door. What- ever of interest the place possesses must be sought for in the yard. There is a work- shop with sides of rough boards, and a store of straight poles leaning against the end. 120 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Through the open door, when Japheth is at work at home, a carpenter's bench with its wooden vice and handle may be dimly seen. But that is not the best time or place to interview Japheth. He is always more talkative over a job in the open air. In front of the hedge between the house and the shop are boards set up crosswise against a sort of gallows of poles to season, and close by the wall is a grindstone. But the place is often left as a playground for Japheth's younger children ; for a large stick of timber lying across the yard serves as a famous rest for a plank to play see-saw. There they play for hours unnoticed, except when Mrs. Pike, a thin, sallow woman with black hair, comes periodically to the door, scans them in search of evidence of iniquity, and having said with approval, " There's good children, now don't ee fall into the saw-pit, none o' ee, mind that," disappears as suddenly as she came. Now and again there is a waggon to patch up, and then, until the time of wet paint, the children climb about it. Most of his home work, such as coop-making, for instance, Japheth does in WHEN EVENING IS STILL From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.F. THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER" 121 the early morning or of an evening sometimes by candlelight, and many of his days are spent in the fields. Japheth is not illiterate. Noah, being well to do, sent him as a day-boy to the smallest kind of commercial school in the little town of Oldbury not far from Hazelgrove. He is fond of reading and consumes the local weekly paper at leisure of a Sunday. If he happens upon a book of adventure, suitable to a big boy, he loves it, and wants no other for a year at least. Japheth has a deep respect for print. As a result, Mrs. Pike derives her greatest comfort in life from patent medicines. In fact, Japheth Pike is nothing but a great boy himself. He looks it. His face is frank and good-humoured, but it seems never to have put on the man. In reality I think he has all the virtues of the man without the guile that so often grows with the years. He is sandy-haired and blue-eyed, large in limb, and so muscular that it is a common saying in Sutton that Japheth Pike does not know his strength. He is supposed never 122 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE yet to have made a demand which has taught him the limit of it. It was at the time when the blackthorns all round the hedgerows of the homefield were white with blossom that I came upon Japheth and his eldest lad late of a cold, biting afternoon. He had just lifted the gate upon its hinges and was letting it swing to watch how it would fall to. "Very sharp," said he. "Blackthorn winter to rights, an' no mistake." And he held open the gate for me to pass. " A new gate ?" " No. Only a new bar to the gate. We've just put in a new Prime Minister. He's a bit o' hard oak. He'll outlast any they've a- got up to London town, I'll warrant un," he laughed as he tapped the head of the hang- ing-post with an approval almost amounting to affection. "Why a Prime Minister?" " That's only my name for un. All the whole concarn do depend 'pon un. So long as he do hold up firm and straight all do go suant." THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER " 123 He let go the gate again. It fell slowly home and smoothly fastened itself. "That's all right," said Japheth, and set to putting together his few tools. "What do you call the other post?" I asked. "Oh, he's of much smaller 'count. He's no more an' a common Member o' Parlia- ment." My way home passed his house. The lad hurried off, and he and I walked along to- gether. He talked of nothing but the vil- lage. That there was a new shooting tenant — a Mr. Peter Badgery — a Londoner — and the keeper had ordered fifty new coops. That he was coming down very soon for a week-end, on one of them there motor cars. That there were some oak to be thrown in the big wood, and Squire Winsfield had given him the job. " I digged up a funny thing last haymak- ing," said he as we drew near his door, " when I was putting up a rail round a rick. Some do say 'tis a fairy-bolt. My wife do believe that maybe 'tis worth money. Likely i2 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE enough you could just spare a minute to tell me what 'tis, if you would please to step in." That was how I came to meet the " piteous little ooman." "An' how is it now, Jinny?" asked her husband. "Terr'ble bad. Such stabben pains under the shoulder blade," she whined. By the side of this great strong man she looked more than ever insignificant — so small, thin, and narrow-shouldered. " Well, cheer up. Did ee take the stuff? " His gaiety was gone, his voice most gentle and solicitous. "'Tis no orood. There's nothen in this world can't do no good. Doctors' stuff can't touch no such complaint as I've a-got." See- ing the stranger, without pausing she turned to me and explained herself. " 'Tis very sad — very sad indeed — when you do waste, an' waste, an' got no heart for your victuals, an' can't make no use o' the little you do fo'ce yourself to take in. An' some days you be all of a trem'el, and other days you be all to a cold sweat ; but as 'tis, so 'tis, an' so mus' THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER" 125 be, for there's no cure for what I've a-got. I be booked for another world. I do know what 'tis the matter. I be booked so sure " Her husband interrupted. " Show the gentleman the fairy-bolt, Jinny. Maybe he can tell us what 'tis." The fairy-bolt was but a little flint arrow- head. Mrs. Pike looked both surprised and suspicious to hear that it was not worth a little fortune. " It used to be lucky, so I've a-been told, to find a fairy-bolt. Sure, we've a-got need enough o' luck. Maybe t'ull bring it to Japheth and the children. But nothen can't bring it to me. I do know what 'tis, an' I be booked — I be booked, so safe " Some fortnight or perhaps three weeks elapsed before I again fell in with Japheth Pike. It was morning, and he was passing down the street, his tool basket hanging over his shoulder on the haft of his felling-axe. The lad was with him and carried the saw. They were on their way to the wood to throw i26 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE the last of the oak trees he had spoken about. " 'Tis a wonderful still day and a good ripping-time," said he. So we went into "merry green wood" at the beginning of May, within a day or two of the time, taking into consideration the change in the calendar, when our forefathers used to go there, " For to fetch the summer home." In the copse the elder was covered in foli- age, and the hazel had opened its crisp young- leaves. The petals of the blackthorn still lay like a hoar-frost under the shadow of the black limbs upon which its young sprouts of green were bursting abroad. The hawthorn was in flower, and in the still air the scent of it filled the grassy ride down which we walked. The stately beech trees had put on the glossy robes that hang around them like spreading skirts and hide the bare ground, brown with last year's husks, where the squirrel came of a mild winter day to visit his hidden store of nuts. THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER" 127 We came to an open space where the copse had been cut. With the inflowino- of lioht and warmth the ground had become covered with flowers. Large white anemones still lingered, but the whole place was yellow with clumps of full- blown primroses, intermixed with patches of the delicate pale lilac of the wood-violet. Be- yond lay strips of hyacinths, so blue that one might almost mistake them for the sky mir- rored in sheets of still water. And from all sides came the music of birds. Hard by a cuckoo was calling, insisting upon his pre- sence with constant repetition of his tale. Now and then from the depth of the wood sounded the crow of a cock - pheasant. Amongst the branches chaffinches pinked and sang boldly against each other ; whilst unseen, from a distance, came the frequent soft trill of the greenfinch. Close by was a chiff-chaff, constantly announcing himself by name, and little willow-wrens, the sweetest little musi- cians of the woods, kept singing their soft cadences on every hand. In the centre of this paradise stood a noble oak. On every twig i28 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE each bud was opening into fresh green leaf, and his head stood out in clear tracery against a sky which had no cloud. From one of his limbs sang a fluttering little wood-wren, with his " Tweee tweee ; twee — twee — twee — twe, twe, twe." The oak was marked with a number in white paint. " Clear away the rubbage round un," said Japheth to the boy, and he stript himself of coat and waistcoat and laid them on a faggot close by. Japheth walked round and scanned the tree. " He's a monarch," said he, with his boyish laugh. " He's at his best. He never have been better. An' he couldn' well grow better if he were let bide. So that's a fit time for kingdom-come to my mind. Do seem a'most a pity to throw un, all in his pride, wi' the sape (Japheth pronounced sap to rhyme with tape) a-risen ; but you've a-got to leave a oak till the breaken o' the leaf, or the bark won't run. Gie us the axe, boy." He o lanced at the lean of the tree and the o THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER" 129 lie of the land. " Let's fell un away well this side, an' let un fall this way." He spit in his hands. " Here's luck," said he. This spitting in the hands is not, as it may appear to the modern observer, a mere appli- cation of moisture to give a good grip upon the handle of the tool. The man who does it to-day probably regards it in that light. But it is the survival of the practice of spitting to bring luck upon an enterprise. The Roman pugilists, we are told, spit in their hands be- fore the combat, and you would see many a countryman do so to-day when clenching his fists in the hubbub of a rustic brawl. " Here goes ! " The executioner was worthy of the victim. Japheth swung his axe, and the thud of each blow resounded through the wood and echoed from the vale. Great yellow chips sprang away, to lose themselves amongst the dog's- mercury or lie unnoticed amongst the prim- roses. The songs of the birds were hushed, or fell on the unconscious ear only as a faint whisper from the distance. Very soon there 9 130 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE was a deep undercut on the side on which the oak was to fall. " Bring on the saw, boy," said Japheth. The sawing was on the opposite side, and almost reached the undercut. " Sometimes when there's a wind a tree may split an' fall before 'tis time like. Or you may have to haul on his head wi' a rope to throw un where you will. But a still day like this you can throw a good tree to a foot. Let's ha' a couple o' wedges, boy." He drove the wedges to open the saw-cut, which already gaped ever so little. Crack ! " He's a-comen," cried Japheth, and, with a last tap of the back of the axe on the wedge, stood back to watch. The great tree just swayed ; paused as if it would not fall — lost its balance — toppled for- ward — slowly, but always gaining pace — faster— faster — crash ! There is no sound on earth like that crash. The great tree broke its limbs — it flattened itself. " There's nothen to my mind such a sorrow- THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER" 131 ful wreck as the broken limbs of a great tree," said Japheth. The contemplation of this destruction, so sudden and complete, was a delieht to him. His honest face beamed with pleasure and he threw back his head and laughed. Close by were some birch poles, silver and brown in the light, leaning against the limb of an ash just breaking into its feathery foliage. Whilst the boy was busy trimming away with a hook all the twigs of the fallen tree that were too small for ripping, Japheth cut two forked props, about the size of his "hand-wrist," as he explained, and drove them into the ground. Then he laid a birch pole in the forks to serve as a rail against which to set his bark to dry. " Bring on the ripping-irons," said Japheth. The ripping-iron is a sort of curved chisel with a short wooden handle. Between the rough dry bark and the smooth yellow timber lies the channel of the sap, at springtide and the breaking of the leaf rising in full flood. If the time be well chosen, the bark runs under the pressure of the iron, and comes 132 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE away in long strips and shields. But not, as it were, without expostulation. It cracks and shrieks as it runs. "He's a-crying," laughed Japheth. That is the word of the woodman when the ripping goes merrily. The bark leans three or four days against its rail to dry, and is then bound in bundles of about a hundred-weight with withes of halse or birch. The bundles are stacked against some neighbouring- tree to await the waggon. The tree itself is " knotched," that is trimmed of his limbs, and lies " a stick of timber," per- haps for months, before the coming of the dealer's timber-carriage. I left the wood before the day's work was done. As I passed down the glade under the over-arching branches, the picture of Japheth swinging his great felling-axe was fresh in my imagination. In his strength, in his capability for the work he undertakes, in his good- humour and light-heartedness, he seemed to me in his walk of life a complete man. Could he be happier if his mind were more complex, THE "HEDGE CAFFENDER " 133 more advanced ? — if it be advancement to suffer this fastidious increase of physical wants and weary augmentation of mental perplexi- ties. I could almost envy this " hedge- caffender " his simple life amongst the hedge- rows and in the woods, with a job always ready to hand for which his hand is always ready, if only — he had found a better mate than the " piteous little ooman " to whom he spoke so kindly. It happened that he entered his house that evening as I passed homeward down the street. Both door and window were open to the sweet air of May. " And how is it now, Jinny ? " "'Tis no good, Japheth. I be booked — I be booked so sure — I do know I be " "What is the matter with Japheth Pike's wife ? " I asked of Mrs. Josiah Heppell as she served the evening repast. She drew closer and stammered in her most mysterious window-whisper. " Well — to tell truth — Jane Pike — she was i 3 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE one of a very rough family — not at all so respectable and — and select like as the Pikes. Mind — I always have a-said — I do say — and I always shall say — that Japheth did right and — and — well, acted the man, when he married the girl. The Pikes was very upset. An' now she do believe an' o-ie out that she's a- witched by Japheth 's brother's wife. There's some men about 'ud beat it out o' her. But la ! How could a man such as Japheth lift his han' to such a poppen little Jinny Wren as that piteous little ooman ? " CHAPTER XIII FINDING A BIRD'S NEST Mr. Peter Badgery, on whose behalf the fifty coops were ordered of Japheth Pike, not only kept his word as to coming to Sutton for a week-end, but was so delighted with his visit that he determined to run down every Saturday throughout the spring and summer. He is a fine man. He comes in a large check knickerbocker suit, and a pair of new gaiters of the finest quality and fit. Yet Mr. Peter Badgery is not to be called a cockney in any sense of the word. The Badgery is an old-fashioned true-blue stock, and there is a deal in blood as we all know ; but Peter was born and passed his school-days in a manufacturing town, whence he paid holiday visits to country relatives, and breathed a whiff or so of unadulterated country air. 136 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Thus quite early in life, on a frosty Christmas morning, he compassed the death of a wild duck by taking a walk at daybreak up the miller's brook. He went to rook-shootingf parties and, scorning perchers, brought down flyers in fine style. He was not altogether unacquainted with the ways of the rabbit, its disposition to go abroad in the cool of a dewy summer evening, and its incomprehensible refusal to bolt on a cold December day. He had also waited among the autumn sheaves or at sunset in the dark pine spinney for wood pigeons to drop in. And suddenly he was snatched from these holiday delights to be planted " out in life " in a Tooley Street office devoted to hides. But Peter Badgery struck root, and flourished like a pelargonium cutting in a flower-pot. He blossomed into general manager, and very soon expanded into full flower as a junior partner. Then he went down to the village and married the miller's daughter. They lived in West Hampstead, in a de- tached villa with a lawn the size of a hearth- rug, on each side of a tessellated pavement JArHETH AT WORK Front a ivatcr-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. m ji FINDING A BIRD'S NEST 137 leading from the gate to the front door, and an almond tree spreading into the road over the privet hedge and the palisade. Nothing even in Sutton could be more idyllic. Peter and Mrs. Badgery were as happy as a pair of goldfinches. What with the business, the house, and in due course the little ones, there was nothing - on earth to be wished for. Of an evening they would read the Nature articles in their daily paper. Thus they picked up plovers' eggs, gathered nuts, and went a-mushrooming, all in season, and in fact, enjoyed in imagination all those perennial rural delights which never grow stale. Then they took to dreaming over their little grate of coal. "If things go on as they go at present," said Peter, " I tell you what 'tis, Jane — we'll buy an estate one of these days." " That would be lovely, Peter," sighed Jane. "Yes. With a fine old house." " But not too large and expensive to keep up." " No, no. And a bit of wood to have a 138 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE pheasant or so — and a brook to give a chance of a wild duck — and — and, be hanged if I wouldn't keep a farm in hand, and manage it myself." Then Jane would laugh until the tears ran down her cheeks. She at least was country- bred. " You couldn't do it, Peter. You'd lose money. You don't know those country folk. They'd have you. You'd get 'proper a- sucked in,' as they call it. You're a sharp man, Peter, I know — but Tooley Street is no more than an infant school to a country market." Then Peter laughed too at the idea of his beino- had. " I don't care. It would add ten years to my life to watch lambs grow up into ewes — and all that. I should breed a colt or two "Oh, Peter! Peter! Ho ! ho ! ho ! You'd never do it but once." "Why not? Why not?" Peter ap- peared to be getting a little crusty. " Nobody ever did, Peter — for pleasure." FINDING A BIRD'S NEST 139 " Why — Nature does the whole trick. You just " "' No, no, Peter. It's the colts that do the tricks " "Not at all! Not at all!" cried Peter. " Nothing can be more simple. No business worries ! Purchase a really good mare, and there you are." Things went so well that towards middle age, Peter feeling, as he put it, the want of exercise, and that he really must unbend the bow, determined to take a shoot. He said it would be such a capital thing for the boys. A rough shoot, with plenty of walking after wild birds, was his mark. Not a slaughter of poor hand-fed creatures that had to be hunted into flight like barn-door fowls. Peter Badgery felt very indignant about that sort of thing, and almost swore that he would never countenance it though he should live to a hundred. No! He would have his shoot just as Nature intended, with a keeper to look after poachers and keep down vermin. And there must be a nice cottage which the keeper's wife, a homely, clean, respectable 140 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE woman, could look after, and keep well aired when they were not there. Peter Badgery found a place just to his mind when he took Wynberry Hill. To be sure at first there was no great head of game on the shoot, but then, as the keeper explained, it had been so neglected. Why the very hedges stank of rats and stoats, and the sky, in a manner of speaking, was really black with crows and great blue hawks. " Only wait a bit, sir," said the keeper, "and then if you should but hear a jay scream or catch sight of so much as the tail of a magpie, why, you show un to me, that's all." " But after all, my dear," explained Peter to his wife, "the mere shooting is not the chief advantage to be derived from renting a shoot. No, no! The week-end in spring is the thing. With all the birds mating, nest- ing, and singing, it brings a man in touch with Nature. Just think of the anemones and the primroses, and then the bluebells, like a lake of water in the wood. Picture the cow- slips dotted all over the meadow." Peter would return from his week-end thus FINDING A BIRD'S NEST 141 eloquentof a Monday evening, and on Tuesday morning boast to his business friends of all the birds' nests he had found. As a matter of fact Peter never discovered a nest except in the company of the keeper's urchin, though it was scarcely worth while to mention that. " Come down with me, old chap. Take a run down with me next Saturday, and I will show you round," he would say to one after another, in the exuberance begotten of fresh air, and brought back from the open fields. One after another went down. Upon the reports of the wonders that he had to show, Peter very soon built up a reputation of being a first-rate naturalist. Everybody said it was a marvel how he could find so many nests. It only showed that your really fine man of business was in reality a many-sided man. Peter drank in this appreciation greedily, and felt refreshed. Yet in moments of secret self-examination it troubled him to reflect that he had never dis- covered one single nest. " Badgery ! " cried his partner one morning, "they tell me you are a perfect genius at bird-nesting. I never saw a nest in my life r 4 2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE except a pigeon's in Kensington Gardens and a sparrow's in a spout. I'll run down next week and take a walk round with you. They say you are a regular squire down at your place there, and more at home in the country than if you'd been a yokel all your life." Peter was delighted. He modestly set aside the compliment, but admitted that he had already learnt a thing or two. They ran down by the Saturday afternoon express, and had time for a pleasant walk on a beautiful May evening. Knowing that he had to deal with a real Londoner, Peter was more than usually instructive. His mind be- came exceptionally clear. As he warmed to his subject, all the learning acquired from numberless Nature articles he had at control. He led the way through an orchard, and pointed out the chaffinches' nest on the limb of an apple tree. He showed how cunningly the lichen had been selected, so that it matched and was scarcely to be distinguished from the mosses on the branch. And what a pattern of neatness ! They stood with legs apart in suits of Donegal tweed, and puffed the fra- FINDING A BIRD'S NEST 143 grance of Havannah, while they meditated upon the transcendent wonder of it. Presently they went on to a thorn bush. "That's a long-tailed tit's," whispered Peter, "there, in the shape of a soda-water bottle. Hush ! She's sitting. That's her long tail sticking out of the hole." The partner stooped to gaze with reverence at the tit's tail. So they continued, looking in upon linnets in the clump of sweet-smelling gorse, and stopping to pay a hurried call upon the blackbirds behind the plashing of the hedge- row bank. At last they wandered on into the wood and down the ride through the coppice. " Badgery," said the partner, " you surprise me. I confess it, you surprise me. I have always known you to be a smart fellow. In my opinion, and I do not hesitate to express it, you are the finest judge of a hide in Tooley Street " Peter, staring up into a bush, suddenly uttered an ejaculation of delight. " Great Heavens ! " cried he. 144 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Yes, you are, Badgery. I never flatter. You may take it from me. But I never dreamt this of you. There is nothing — absolutely nothing — to do with country life that you do not know " Peter could contain himself no longer. Alone, unaided, all by himself, he had just found his first nest. " Look here ! " he interrupted, pointing to a hazel bough. " There ! There is a nest — a new nest. I mean one that I have not found before." And sure enough there it was, a thrush's nest of fresh green moss, but placed with the utmost candour on the most open situation afforded by the bush. They gazed at it a while in silent admiration. " Now that bird, if I may put it this way," said Badgery's partner in a diffident tone, knowing himself a little out of his element, " does not appear to me to have chosen so eligible a site — from the point of view of pri- vacy, I mean — as some of the other " "Oh well, they may vary a little when — when sheltered by a wood," explained Peter. FINDING A BIRD'S NEST 145 " But it looks to be out of level — quite as if it had been stuck up there." " That's the wind ; but it must be all right," cried Peter, raising himself on tiptoe, "because it has eggs, quite a lot of eggs. I'll just take them out to show you. One should always be very gentle in dealing with a nest. Birds are so apt to forsake it. Great Scot ! What the devil ! There's a stoat, or a rat, or a squirrel got hold of my hand ! I can't pull it out ! It's a badger — it must be, for they bite hard and eat eggs. Oh, the deuce! It's got my finger through to the bone, with teeth like an alligator. Oh, pull it down ! Oh ! " At the sound of Peter's voice there came a crackling of sticks in the copse as some one came pushing a way through the bushes. It proved to be Peter Badgery's keeper, and he ran up for all he was worth. " Massy 'pon us ! Why, here's master have a-catched his hand in the gin I set up for a jay. I'm blessed! My body an' soul! That ever anybeddy should ha' thought that wino-s and feathers could ha' builded in a place like that ! " CHAPTER XIV UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING "Uncle Dick" is one of the most popular men in the neighbourhood of Sutton. His name is Richard Tucker. He lives at Wyn- berry, the long, low homestead near to the mill, and the meadows of his farm lie on the right bank of the stream. His house is surrounded with tall trees, and an avenue of ragged firs shelters the lane that serves as an approach to it. They are so old, weather-beaten, and broken that the very rooks have forsaken them. They have not, however, forsaken Uncle Dick, for his is the great rookery that greets and charms the arriving stranger to Sutton with such a welcome of cawing. It not only surrounds his dwelling but has sent out colonies to occupy the distant hedgerow trees of his domain. Nothing therefore can 146 UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 147 be superior to Uncle Dick's rook-shooting, and it is justly celebrated. The Tuckers are an ancient family. They have existed ever since woollen cloth, as an article of clothing, was substituted for fig- leaves. They speak of themselves, and are spoken of in Sutton, as " a good family." By this phrase they have no intention whatever of claiming a gentility which they do not possess ; but it is a fact that Tucker is the earliest name recorded in the Sutton Register, and it has provided an unbroken succession of baptisms from that date. The Tuckers are very proud of this. Not only is there no gap, but there has never been loitering. More- over, the way has been enlivened by a very creditable sprinkling of twins. There are certain other no less admirable characteristics which all Tuckers are in the habit of claiming for their race : " A Tucker may be a bit close-fisted in business, but is always open-handed in his house." " When a Tucker have once made up his mind, you may just so well try to turn a mad bull." " A Tucker do wed wonderful young, or not i 4 8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE at all." "A real Tucker is ginger-headed and bald down through the crown by forty." Should any individual bearing the name show a variation from the Tucker standard, this is due to one of the mothers of the clan. Thus, " a black shock-head of hair came in from the Surridges," and " a slight cast in the eye, some- times to be found, was brought in by one Jane Tapp." "Uncle Dick" is a perfect Tucker. A bachelor, middle-aged, middle height, sharp at a deal and free of his hospitality, he enjoys a pink and shining baldness of which any Tucker might be proud. He is long in the body and large in the girth. He is short in the leg. And these features are accentuated by the tailed coat sloping away over a sprig waistcoat and held by a row of three buttons close under a white cravat pinned with a fox's tooth. Uncle Dick has certainly a horsy appearance. But he does a little dealing both in horseflesh and stock. If you hear wheels and a fast-trotting horse pass the street of an early morning before Sutton is astir, that is Uncle Dick catching an early train for UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 149 some distant market. If you hear it after dark, that is Uncle Dick driving home from fair. Wherever he goes he both carries mirth and makes money, you may be sure. Thanks to the Tucker proclivity no man on earth is more an uncle than " Uncle Dick " ; yet this is merely a market nickname used by all, a title of goodwill begotten of a truly genial disposition. He is a tender- hearted man. You should see his pained expression when somebody underbids him for a horse he has to sell. There is pity in it too. Uncle Dick's hospitable bachelorship is made possible by a housekeeper. The lady who presides at his feasts is a distant relative, and much is the banter that Uncle Dick has to endure by reason of her presence. Friends solemnly warn him that he will get nabbed some day. Some urge him to matrimony as a sacrificial duty owing to the devotion of "poor Miss Eliza." Others declare that " poor Miss Eliza " will not link herself to such a reprobate. Uncle Dick only throws back his head and laughs. There is some- 150 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE thing very comic in associating the idea of marriage with "poor Miss Eliza." The good things of this life have not fallen to the lot of "poor Miss Eliza." And yet, who can tell, for her wry little face looks always bright and happy. Her relatives all say that she is lucky to have a home with Uncle Dick, because, vou see, she has eot nothing. Her father had nothing before her. He emigrated to Australia with his grrowinor family, when little Eliza was a mere slip of a girl. She was so small for her age they thought it folly to take her. She went to live with her maiden aunt, who taught her, and drilled her, and made a little slave of her without either of them ever suspecting it. It was, " Now, Eliza!" all day long. "Now, Eliza, you must learn all you can, because, you see, you've a-got nothing." " Now, Eliza, you mustn't sit still. Fetch your needlework. You can't afford to form idle habits, you know, because you've a-got nothing." Poor Miss Eliza blesses the memory of that maiden aunt, and will bless it for ever. When that kindest of relatives was taken suddenly, UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 151 "and no great age either," as all the neigh- bours reflected, the poor girl felt homeless and utterly alone. She had little time to grieve. Her relatives all said, "Come, Eliza, you must find something, you know. You really can't bide about to pick and choose. For why, 'tis a pity, but, except what you do stand up in, you've a-got nothing." Poor Miss Eliza has never possessed more, yet some- thing has always been found at the moment it was wanted. After varying fortunes she settled down many years ago to keep house for Uncle Dick. There are quite a score of younger Tuckers eligible for the post. Uncle Dick is a sly humorist, with failings of his own and a quick insight into the weaknesses of others. He loves to praise Miss Eliza behind her back. He says, "There! Eliza is a jewel. Small she mid be — but so jewels be. I shall see to it, if anything should happen, Eliza shall never want." Yet nearer relatives agree with him, "That is nothing- but right." In discussing Eliza, they assure themselves that, in the course of nature, she ought, please God, 152 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE certainly to take precedence of Uncle Dick. And yet they repose confidence in her integ- rity, and add, " But mind, Eliza, though so small, have a-got a real Tucker heart. Any- body could trust Eliza. Tucker money leave she would to Tucker kin." Poor Miss Eliza has grey hair and has come to the time of caps. She is at least ten years older than Uncle Dick. She is cheerful and active as a little bird. On Sundays, through- out the summer and on festivals, commencing with the rook-shooting, she wears a drab-grey gown, carefully saved through many years. There have been no incidents in her little life. No man has ever looked upon her with the eyes of love. If she has ever hoped or loved it is a secret that will never be told. She has just gone on day by day performing house- hold duties with all her might. It is impossible to say how many guests there will be at any of Uncle Dick's festivi- ties. He has a way of picking some up on the high roads and bringing them in at the last moment. He was driving down the street, at three in the afternoon, just as the UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 153 red mail-cart was drawing up before the door of the post office. His invitations come as a whirlwind and the guest is carried away. " Hullo! Whoa! Here! Look here! I'm killing a few rooks this afternoon. Come on down. Whoa, will ee ! Yes, you will. Kill a few rooks — bit o' cold supper — game o' nap — drop o' hot grog. Hop up. Whoa, you fool. The mare do know when I be in a hurry. Come on. She won't stop." Gunners were already there when we arrived. For although the shooting does not begin until evening, there is tea. And what a tea at Wynberry ! Seventeen sat round the table and ate and praised the fare. Never was bread so wafer-thin, or butter so shining and smooth, as when Miss Eliza held a loaf of her own baking to her bosom and worked the knife through the bottom crust. There were hot cakes bearing the mark of the grid- iron that Miss Eliza remembered how to make from her youth. There was a flavour about the honey that made some folk declare that Miss Eliza must plant some particular kind 154 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE of flower, not far from the bee-butts, with a name that she kept to herself. "And how do your bees work this spring, Miss Eliza ? " " Wonderful busy, thank you. There ! Really, anybody to find fault must be hard to please." There were eggs, too — hen-eggs and duck- eggs — for it is characteristic of a Tucker con- stitution that it wants keeping up. And after all, what is a matter of two or three little hen-eggs and a duck-egg with your tea ? Why, nothing. " An' how do your fowls lay to year, Miss Eliza!" " Why, capical well, thank you. Now, wouldn' anybody like a slice or two o' ham to their egg ? For 'tis long to supper, mind that." The shooting was the mere slaughter that it always is. Every sportsman began by loudly asserting the absurdity of knocking down perchers. " What skill is there ? W T hat fun can there be in shooting at a bird sitting up to UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 155 have his portograph taken?" asked Uncle Dick. To a proposition so obvious every one of his friends and relations replied, " None in this world." Nobody held this view more soundly than John Batch, a second cousin once removed to Uncle Dick, who, although only a connection by marriage, felt more strongly on this matter than any Tucker, and declared loudly that to his mind so to do was little short of downright murder. "Then here goes," cried Uncle Dick, and raising his gun brought down in fine style a first-class flyer that had taken to the open air. At once followed a shouting and a clapping of hands. The old rooks rose high in the sky and circled above the trees with incessant cawing. The fusillade began. Victims fell on all sides. The Widow Teape's " Urchett," now in the employ of Uncle Dick, enjoyed himself hugely in pulling off their heads. Then came temptation. Flyers began to 156 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE be scarce. High up on some twig in a gap amongst the bright green leaves the black form of a percher stood out against the soft evening sky. The over-confidence of one so young seemed really to be begging to be taught a lesson. Just that one ! " Now, he really do ask for it," cried Uncle Dick — and fell. So did the rook. After so bad an example there was no safety for perchers. The only chance for the rising generation was in bold enterprise. But parties had gone out on expeditions and awaited the fluttering arrival of wanderers to distant trees. One only of all Uncle Dick's party kept his word to abstain from shooting perchers. John Batch is a tall, lean man of middle age and bilious temperament, with straight hair and a thin, long beard. His fowling-piece is of an ancient pattern, and when he holds it to his shoulder he is unstable on his legs. He appears to sway with excite- ment, and five minutes or so of uncertain aim usually precedes the explosion. He spent an unsuccessful evening, wooing a solitary percher — and it proved a flyer after all. UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 157 At last came dusk and the hour of supper. Poor Miss Eliza had got everything ready. Anxious, yet smiling, she was taking a last glance at the table when the guests came tumbling in. Miss Eliza did not sit down to table that evening. Seventeen of them, all men — there was so much to do, and so many little things to see to. She moved around and gave directions to the maid. She had an eye to everybody's wants. It was good manners as well as " nothing- but truth" to praise the poultry of her rearing, the ham of her curing, the salad of her mixing, and the pastry of her making. Poor Miss Eliza was very happy in the midst of her activity, and conscious that all was well. Supper finished, Uncle Dick raised hisvoice. " Come on, all o' ee. Let's go up in tother room." He was all haste and impatience, for Uncle Dick dearly loves a game of nap, and carries always a pack of cards in his pocket ready to play when he travels by train. How some people sit still and do nothing to occupy the mind is a puzzle to him. 158 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Come on, I say. Here ! I'll lead the way. Mind the steps." The room was ready. A fire burning in the grate, a kettle steaming on the hob, decanters, glasses, and sugar close at hand ; for many Tuckers are still in the hot gin- and-water era which preceded the soda-water age. There were four tables set out for cards. "Come on, all o' ee. Sort yourselves up. Come, Eliza." But Eliza replied that she would look on. I was of one mind with her. Uncle Dick was in too great haste to argue, since there were four, a comfortable number, for each table. All danger of thirst having been for the present provided against, I sat on a sofa beside poor Miss Eliza and talked to her. " You are not fond of cards ? " Her small pinched face is redeemed by large dark eyes, so expressive when she speaks that they tell you more than the mere words. They lighted up with mirth. " No money to lose," laughed she. UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 159 " But you might win." The eyes became serious. " No wish to win," said she. " What is your choice for a recreation ? " 11 Oh, I don't know. There be so many little things to see to all the day through. 'Tis a'most a job to find time for all. Verily and truly 'tis then. So then, if should come a quiet hour of an evening, I do dearly love to sit down an' work." " You don't care much for reading ? " The eyes brightened at once. " Oh, but I do though," she cried with enthusiasm. " I never could miss a chance to read for half an hour or more of a Sunday afternoon — not in all my life. I was always most terrible fond o' reading. I never could see that 'twas time a-lost to read. Why it must gie a body some- thing to think about in your work, all the week through. Now, isn't that so ? " " It must," I agreed. It was clear that poor Miss Eliza was a real reader, who would get all the good possible from her intellectual victuals, and suffer no mental dyspepsia either from hasty reading or 160 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE overloading her mind. It seemed absurd to inquire who might be her favourite author. " What book do you like best ? " I asked. She hesitated. Her pale cheeks reddened. Her eyes glanced at the card-players as if fearing to be overheard, then became intent upon her needlework. We were almost strangers, and she dared not speak the word that came into her mind. She suddenly re- covered, and looked up with her usual frank simplicity. " For reading for pleasure " — from her tone it appeared that she meant for lighter reading — " The Pilgrims Progress. It is so clear and so interesting." All the while from the tables before us had come a constant " chackle " of voices and laughter, shouts of triumph and good-natured jeers. When Uncle Dick called nap, he announced it with a prolonged view-halloo from the very bottom of his lungs. When he went down, he shouted " Poor Richard ! Poor Richard ! In ditch again." The room was noisier than the rook-shooting. And suddenly an altercation arose. Long John UNCLE DICK'S ROOK-SHOOTING 161 Batch angrily seized a handful of cards and threw them down upon the table. "He never ought to ha' made it. Not if young Miller Toop had played his highest trump. Nap is no game — no game at all — if but one player is a noghead fool." The young miller looked perplexed, and pulled his weak moustache. " But I don't see what " "A noghead can't see." " But just listen a " " I won't listen to a noghead." .< But if I " " Ah ! 'Tis all ifs and buts wi' a nonhead." And long John Batch rose from his seat. "Sit yourself down, you fool," said Uncle Dick. " Why, Miller hadn't a-got a trump in his hand." They placed out the cards and proved it unanimously, but with many words. Long John Batch, discomfited, sat down again. " Come, Eliza. Fill up his glass. He can't see," cried Uncle Dick. There was no more talk with poor Miss 1 62 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Eliza, who had so very many things to do. When I presently left Uncle Dick's rook- shooting party the night was still. Stars were shining above the trees and over the church tower. All the village was asleep. Thoughts of poor Miss Eliza occupied my mind — so oddly made in stature — so simple, capable, contented — yet with nothing Is it certain that poor Miss Eliza has nothing ? Are there not some who, without know- ledge, possess the Kingdom of Heaven in their hearts ? CHAPTER XV MRS. DARK'S DAIRY " Come in," cried Dairyman. " Now do step in to dairy and see Mrs. Dark." We were on the north side of Dairyman's homestead, where the roof slopes down from the main ridge, bringing the eaves within easy reach of hand. Beyond the narrow shadow of the house a June sun shone its warmest on the paved yard, the low wall, the kitchen garden beyond, where potatoes neatly hoed, and ranks of peas in white flower and young flat pod, and sweet-smelling broad beans with blotches on their petals lay east and west along a sunny slope. By the wicket gate, where the milkers' was^on comes morning- and night, is the branching trunk on which the silvery milk-pails hang and glisten throughout the day between milking hours. 163 1 64 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Spreading over the wall and almost over- hanging the pump is an ancient barberry bush. Its boughs were sprinkled with clus- ters of yellow blossom. At the sound of voices the door was opened. " Sure then, here is Mrs. Dark," said Dairyman. The respectful and subdued manner in which Dairyman whispers the name of his better half is a tribute to her great talents as a cheese-maker. All the success of a dairy- man depends upon the skill of his wife. He, with the aid of the cows, may provide the milk, but she produces "the goods." The price depends on the quality. The quality seems to result from certain innate virtues — cleanliness, industry, and a conscientious sense of duty to the curd. The curd is more susceptible to neglect than an elderly maiden aunt of moderate fortune, surrounded by a large family circle. Framed in the doorway Mrs. Dark was a picture of simple respectability. Her print frock was covered in front from neck to skirt with a blue pinafore now faded and pale after MRS. DARK'S DAIRY 165 many visits to the wash-tub. Both summer and winter when eng-ao-ed in her cheese- making Mrs. Dark assumes an old-fashioned sun-bonnet with a deep curtain reaching below the " top-strings o' the pinny." She is the most contented-looking person alive — such a "wonderful fresh complexion," although the mother of such a family of maidens. No lines, no wrinkles, and never so much as a crease if it were not for the duplication, ay, the triplication of her chin. Mrs. Dark is tall and stout — yet not too stout. Mrs. Josiah Heppell hit the nail on the head to a T when she once described her to me as "a terr'ble portly lady." " Look here, then, Mrs. Dark. Here's a visitor, Mrs. Dark. He do want to larn to make cheeses, Mrs. Dark." Mrs. Dark's portliness displayed no terrors that June morning. Her black brows, now slightly grizzled, lifted into broad-span arches, and her mouth assumed the shape of a butter boat that has lost its handle, as, with hands crossed on her maternal bosom, and her head on one side, she simpered — 166 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE "Master must have his joke, to be sure. One o' they gentlemen, maybe, what do come around to larn we." Over each shoulder, but dim in the back- ground, I could see the rosy face of one of Dairyman's maidens peering to discover who the visitor might be. I disclaimed official rank. " Do ee please to step in." One of the maidens had vanished. The other, standing by the great tin cheese-tub, evenly stirred with a sort of open-work shovel called "a breaker" the fragments of curd that floated in the whey. Mrs. Dark pinched the curd between her finger and thumb. " Let be, Tilly," said she with decision. The maiden ceased to stir and the curd was left to settle upon the bottom of the tub. " That's the heater an' that's the cooler, an' there's the vats wi' yesterday's cheese and the day's afore to be pressed. But la ! I ben't no talker. I be a doer. If you do want to hear about the cheese-maken you should talk to our Ursie up to Squire's new MRS. DARK'S DAIRY 167 dairy. She do know the rights o' it an' the why an' the why not. I can't larn no new- fangled ways. I've a-got nothen agen 'em, but I can't. I do say 'tis all experience. I've a-got my own ways, to be sure — that is, part my mother taught an' part my own. I do go by the feel, an' the taste, an' the smell o' it — all by experience. These new things do but puzzle an' dather a body. When I've a-got the last night's milk and to-day marnen's milk in tub, an' have a-put in the rennet, an' have a-stirred it about, I do put the bowl dish afloat, an' so soon as he'll lift out clean the curd is proper a-set. Then we do cut the curd and break it, and treat it gentle, mind, an' let it rest for the whey to rise — all experience, you see — an' lift some whey into the heater to get ready for the scald. Now we do use a what-ee-call — what is it, Tilly?" "A thermometer, mother." "To be sure, a therboliter, there, I never could mind the word — poor mother, to tell the heat, she did just dip in the crook of her elbow, all experience, you know ; 168 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE but we, well, late years we do use a therboliter, yes, we do. Our Ursie could tell ee the why, though she hain't got no experience, mind, an' take away her ther- boliter, her elbow isn't one mossel o' good to her. Well, then, to draw off the whey I do go by the touch, an' the feel — all ex- perience — an' squeeze out a bit o' curd to lay to a bit o' hot iron, only the iron mustn't be too hot neet too cold, but just right — all by experience like — an' if 'tis right the curd do come away stringy. But la, there ! I ben't no talker like. If 'twere our Ursie, now, her tongue 'ud run on like a house afire, for she must tell ee all she do know. But when I've a-heaped up the curd in tub, and drawed the whey, well, by that time the curd do cling together and I do cut it into squares, say up a foot four-square, an' cover it wi' a cloth. Well, then, I do do as I do think — all experience, you see — and put it away into the cooler, an' there I do put it under a pan wi' a half-hundredweight 'pon top, an' turn it, an' break it, an' put it again till do come to grind. Now there I do go by SUTTON From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. MRS. DARK'S DAIRY 169 taste, all experience, you see. An' when 'tis fit I do grind it in the mill there, an' spread it, an' cover it with clothes, an' come back an' salt it. An' if 'tis too soft, let it bide a quarter of an hour or so, all experience, mind ; an' if 'tis hard, vat it to once, all experience, and not put on the weight just at first going off, but what your experience do tell ee. Now, our Ursie, now, she don't know so wonderful much of her own self like, for, you see, she didn' bide home so wonder- ful much, an' I never larned her. She do go by a what-ee-call — what do she call it, Tilly?" "An acidimeter, mother." " That's right, a scimitar ; an' she've a-got a thingumbob — what's the name o' it, Tilly ? " "A pipette, mother." "That's it, a pipe it, to suck it up like, an' mix stuff up to make a whity-pink mixture, much like the physic the old Dr. Thwaite did send for spasms years agone, an' hundreds o' bottles I've a-tookt, wi' such a pressure here to the heart o' me for up two year, but better now, for it left quite sudden, an' let's hope not 170 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE to return. Now that's all I can say. To be sure, if I could talk I could tell ee. Now, our Ursie, now, she'll talk. You go up an' see she. But this I must say, our Ursie is so good a maid as ever wore shoe-leather, an' a maid o' high principle too, an' a goodish- looking maid for all that, but experience she can't have, an' what's more haint a-got, for she is but in her one-an'-twenty, so how can she ? An' if she should chance to break the what-ee-call, or to let fall the thingumbob an' can't pipe it, what is she to do ? But I must get on. There, I be no talker. Now, our Ursie have a-got a little red rag — that is to say her tongue, you understand me — is never at rest. Where she got it from is a wonder an' a mystery to all o' us, for master here, though merry enough in his heart like, 'ull often bide a hour at a stretch so silent as a mute. An' now master 'ull show ee the cheese-room, for I mus' go on to draw the whey." Dairyman showed me the cheese-room with "the goods" arranged all round to ripen. He explained how they must be turned daily, MRS. DARK'S DAIRY 171 and he estimated the weight of some of the largest. " Mrs. Dark is a wonderful cheese-maker," said he with some solemnity. " I've a-been blessed in a wife, sure 'nough — though I do say it my own self! " CHAPTER XVI THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW Phil Davy is his name, but the well-to-do ot Sutton, when speaking of him, always add — "a idle, mouching fellow." His occupation is a mystery, for he rarely appears to be doing anything. His father was a rat-catcher in the days when rat-catching was a very paying business, and he got together a field or two of his own. But rat- catching as a profession went out of date when the pits were abolished. Now that the corn remains so brief a time in the mow and hardly enters the granary, farmers destroy their own rats, after a fashion, when they find them a nuisance about the house or the piggeries. Sometimes Phil does a bit of mole-catching. But the labourers generally do that for a fee, and hang their victims up on a thorn bush by THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 173 the gate to be counted. Keepers suspect Phil. Farmers do not care to see him on their ground — "a idle, mouching fellow." The fact is Phil Davy knows too much. They say he can charm rats and lead them about like the pied piper. No doubt he can. All the old rat-catchers knew that trick and used it to their advantage. People who did not hire them were always rich in rats. They used to put a few drops of oil of rhodium on a pair of felt slippers large enough to go over their boots, and walk of a night from a place where rats were plentiful to any homestead that did not find employment. Every rat that got wind of the track would follow it. The man merely took off his slippers and went home to bed. Phil will get a dozen of live rats now, on the sly, for anybody who wants to train a young terrier ; or supply a badger, or a hedgehog, or a bottle of adder's fat. When the scarcity of hares is remarked upon, people always mention Phil Davy, "a idle, mouching fellow." Yet Phil is an interesting man. He knows the habits of the wild living things of his i74 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE countryside and where they are to be found. It may be that he is a potential naturalist, or perhaps only a primitive man cast by chance into this twentieth century. The first time he spoke to me was at the corner by the old disused village pound. He appeared to be lying in wait, for he loafed forward and asked in a mysterious voice, " Would ee like a few peewit's eggs ? All fresh. I'll warrant 'em." Since then we have frequently conversed. Phil has been a great observer, and there is no item of rural natural history sufficiently erroneous to have escaped his experience. He will lie without a shiver, yet he always observes a beautiful moderation in his false- hoods. The rarer wonders of Nature he has seen only once. "Hullo! There's the cuckoo back. I wonder where he has been all the winter ? " "Changed into a little blue hawk," said Phil with confidence. " How do you know that ? " "I've a-seed it. Had the hawk in my hand." THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 175 " But if it was a hawk how did you know it was a cuckoo ? " " Hadn' had time to change. Just pa'tridge shooting-time. Had some cuckoo feathers on his breast. There ! Somebody did ought to ha' had un stuffed. I've never met wi' it but that once." "You used to catch adders, did you not?" " Hundreds. Thousands. Had a order to send 'em to London." " Did you ever see one swallow its young ? " " I have. She opened her mouth, an' the young uns all run down like young rabbits into a hole. But I've never seen that but once. They do know when you be about an' do it quick. Never in all these years but once." " Some people say they can jump." " I've a-seed that, often an' often — but only just say a foot maybe, an' scarce leave the ground. Mostly they be asleep, or do try to get away. But once I had one jump bang at me, ay, ten foot an' so high as a man's head. But never but once. Never afore nor since. No. Never but that once." It was a perfect morning after a warm rain, 176 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and the passing sunlit clouds were so thin that a light transparent shadow alternated with the clear sunshine. At breakfast-time I stood in my window, admiring a most successful patch laid on a wader by lamplight overnight, when Phil Davy went sauntering down the street, in the old fustian jacket that must have been his father's, and followed by the mongrel bitch that never wandered three feet from his heel. I ate my meal, arranged my lunch, attired myself for the water, and strolled towards the river. It has been said that water is the making of a landscape. A trout-stream in spring-time is certainly the crowning charm of a country life. The river at Sutton is one of the most delightful of its kind. Sometimes rapid, sometimes sleeping in long, smooth reaches, between the bridge where the streams meet below the mill, and the level where it winds and twists within sight of the withy- beds, there is no spot that is not beautiful. It sighs amongst rushes, laughs its way through the meadows, and hides its face in the woods. And at frequent distances there are notice- boards — This Fishing is Preserved. THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 177 Phil Davy was leaning with his arms upon the low wall of a stone bridge with buttresses between the arches, pointed to cut the stream. He had been there for an hour at least, looking down at the clear, rushing water that came eddying and spinning through the arch. Long spells of silent contemplation were not infre- quent with him. He was not much of an earner, being of the temperament that does not covet a steady job. Yet having regard to his requirements and surroundings, Phil Davy was better off than many who are accounted rich. He possessed a little house with a large garden and two or three fields of his own. He had a couple of cows, a sow or two, a horse and cart, fowls of all sizes and colours — but some of the right blue — and a mongrel bitch, a misbegotten bit of cleverness that came by chance between a sort of grey- hound and a mixture of a collie and water- spaniel. With bread and cheese, supported by a sufficiency of beer, he was generally content. His Sunday suit, reserved for quite extra- ordinary occasions, had lasted a quarter of a centurv. H is working clothes were of the sort 178 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE that never wear out. So with a rabbit often, and other things now and then for a change from his home-cured bacon, he did well enough. At any rate, at threescore he could show a sound set of teeth whenever he grinned, tie a blue-upright without spectacles, and had never had an ache in all his life. Moreover, he had a round, contented, chubby face, covered with a stubbly beard of four days' growth. He looked up as I stopped beside him, and the mongrel gave a low growl. " Get out," cried he, and shoved the bitch aside with his foot. "She won't bite. 'Tes living close upon the road and lonely, I do suppose. She do speak to everybody that do but stop, but she don't never offer to catch hold." I leaned on the wall also for a chat ; for what Phil Davy does not know about the river is not worth finding out. He smiled and pointed down into the water. Under the shelter of the buttress lay a trout off lb., poised just off the rapid eddy of the crystal stream. The fish hung in the current appar- ently without effort, almost motionless and THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 179 scarcely visible. Just then the sun burst out between two mountains of silver-edged cloud ; and, although the trout still kept the colour of the stones around him, a dark shadow, a silhouette, was cast upon the yellow gravel below. The trout shifted to one side, opened his great mouth wide to swallow something that was invisible to us, and again took up his customary place. Phil Davy winked. We both smiled. I cannot tell why it was amusing ; but I think we both looked beyond the wideness of the gape and the sudden closing of the jaws into the psychological experiences of the fish. We understood his hunger and satisfaction, and found him to be a sound sportsman and a master of his craft. A blue dun came floating from under the arch, and another fluttering aslant across the ripple. Thicker and faster came the flies, and at once our trout became as busy as a fly- catcher on a garden rail. For my own part, I sympathise with Phil Davy and his leaning upon a wall ; for the common incidents of 180 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Nature do not grow stale, and to observe again is like listening to a familiar strain of music, which is all the better because it has been heard before. " You'll have good sport to-day, sir," said he, glancing from the water to the sky. "That is, if you can call it so nowadays. For 'tes nothing as it used to be. Paugh ! " — he paused after this ejaculation of contempt and spat upon the road. "Why, I can call to mind when, pick my day, I could go out an' catch fifty of an afternoon, an' now a man do think it a fine thing to bring home a score." "There is less food brought down than formerly, and the river rises and runs low very quickly," I suggested. " That's not all," said he, with an impatient wave of the hand. " I don't know what your opinion may be, but I can tell you my view o' it. 'Tes preservation, that's what 'tes. Now I never didden see no good come o' preserva- tion. 'Tes my belief that God A'mighty don't hold wi' preservation an' upsetten things as He've arranged 'em like." THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 181 He paused, apparently for support in this pious contention. I remained silent and he went on : " They, salmon folk, do charge a five-shillen licence now for a trout-rod, besides the 'socia- tion ; an', so vur as they can, mind, they do stop a poor man from all the little games he used to play. They wunt allow un to put down a night-line now, not if they do chance to find un out, for fear he should now an' again catch a trout. We used to catch some wonderful big yeels, mind, an' every yeel do eat a lot o' veesh. Do ee see the Q-'irt stone over there, where the water do lie still off the swirl, like. I wur a leanen 'pon the wall one time, as you yourself mid be to-day, jus' to cast a look roun', an' I seed a little trout come up the stream an' lie over the gravel close beside the stone there. In a second out jumped the head of a girt yeel an' catched un across the back like a shot. He couldn' very well pull un in under the stone. 'Tes a smallish hole. An' thik yeel corned right out wi' the trout in his mouth. I urned down, but he let go the trout, an' went down under 182 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE the stone an' hid hiszelf. Yeels do do a main lot 'o destruction, a hundred times so much as night-lines. Or anyways that's my view O It. I agreed as to the culpability of the eel, and it gave him encouragement. " Now jus' look at thik five-shillen licence a minute. I used to catch a goodish many trout wi' rod an' line, an' I mid go now a score o' times an' none the wiser, or mayhap the fust time I did walk up the stream their keeper- fellow mid be a-squinten down from the hill- top an' come a-runnen down to look at my bit o' paper." " He is always there," said I, " with a tele- scope." " Paugh ! Do they think I don't have so many trout as I do want? If they do they mus' be fools." He drew closer as if to confide. His voice grew more angry and boastful as he went on. " There is places where their man mus' be down close 'pon the river bank to see what I be about. There's trout under the stones. THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 183 There's trout under thik clump o' rushes and under the mocks o' the bush. Or take a quiet a'ternoon of a hot day, all the veesh do get under the long weeds that do be so still in the gentle water or jus' sway to and fro along the edge o' the current. I do count they do go to sleep there. Anyway you can pick 'em up a'most like pullen turmets. A veesh do never slip if there's ever so small a bit o' weed against your palm. Now, what about thik five-shillen licence ? I used to catch fair wi' a line. But I've a-got to have 'em, mind. So now I do poach so many as ever I do want. I don't see no harm in it. An' I do hope somebody or 'nother '11 knock thik keeper-feller's head off one o' these days. Anyways, that's my view o' it." Suddenly he cast aside all selfish thoughts and became solicitous for my interests alone. " Now, look here now, how do they get their money to pay thik feller to come a-meddlen wi' we ? They do have it out o' you. This idden a salmon river, not vor gentry to come to pay to catch 'em. So they must have it out o' you. They do all know they couldn' 1 84 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE catch no salmon here no fashion " — he made the word rhyme with nation — "but there's hundreds o' thousands o' little salmon, 'bout so long as your middle finger, to eat up the food, an' you be bothered to catch 'em a'most every cast an' chuck 'em in again. There's no money do come out o' this river but what the trout- veeshers do pay. They do take your money o' purpose to spoil your sport. That's what they do do. They do rob you, I do call — you that do pay. Anyways, that's my view > • . it o it. He turned and looked at me, frowning, in the intensity of his indignation on my behalf. But when I laughed his features relaxed into a grin and he chuckled also. Yet the re- counting of his views had made him very irritable. He hooked a bit of mortar from a crevice between two coping-stones of the wall and again looked down into the water. "You greedy old toad. Idden your gut full by this time ? You be like the rest o' the big uns. You do want all, you do." He pitched down the mortar almost on the trout's head. The fish turned and darted THE IDLE, MOUCHING FELLOW 185 off downstream. He laughed, wished me " Good morning," and walked off up the road. I presently clambered over a fence and wandered up the riverside. The day did not fulfil its promise after all. Before noon, the sun shone out of a clear blue sky, and the cast glittered like silver on the dancing water. It was no good to fish. Better to sit on a leaning pollard willow within hearing of the whisper of the stream, and watch the thin film of fleecy cloud melt away in the warm sunshine. Better even to dream and then to doze — "a idle, mouching fellow." Then came the bleating of flocks, the bark- ing of dogs, and the laughter and shouts of men. They were bringing sheep to be washed in the convenient pool of a smaller tribu- tary stream a field away. Isaac Jeans, the shepherd at the Manor Farm, and young John Brook were there. They pitched and shoved the sheep off the bank and let them out by a shallow to dry clean and white on the warm hillside. After washing, in a day or two they will be ready for shearing. 186 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE The scene was full of life and rural sounds. Some sheep were thrown in. Some, of them- selves, eager to follow the others, leapt boldly off the bank — all to be well soused before they were allowed to pass out dripping by the shelving gravel on the opposite side. Then I strolled up the brook to look for a moorhen's nest under the shelter of alder bushes, or a dabchick's midstream, with its eggs, once white, hidden under pieces of green weed. Yet why should a man find delight in the useless, childish search for such familiar objects? — "a idle, mouching fellow." CHAPTER XVII THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW It is not possible to present a portrait of the old Squire that can with any confidence be asserted to be a likeness. Hanging in the dining-room at Netherby Court, a mansion situated about half a mile from Sutton, you may see him on horseback surrounded with his hounds. Tradition states that a family group having been suggested, he refused to sit otherwise than in a saddle and in this company. He also chose an artist supremely gifted in the portrayal of animals. These statements appear to rest on a solid foundation. On certain post-prandial occa- sions, when the soul mellows and the heart expands, elderly men, who hunted with him in youth, may even now be observed to wander to the picture and sigh, " Ah ! The old 187 188 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Squire ! " But they fall immediately into animated discussion as to the identity of some of the hounds. This proves the old Squire's heart to have been in the right place, and that he decided well. But the question as between " Faithful " and " Fortitude " will never be decided in this world. All that is deeply important concerning the Winsfields of Netherby Court may be learnt from the heraldry on the tablets in Sutton church. They have never been conspicuous beyond the confines of their county ; and their reward is that they remain at Netherby to-day. For the new Squire has not, as is now so often the case, a new name. He is one of the old stock. He is not young, and has already reigned some years. His father died early in India. He succeeded the old Squire, his grandfather, and is new only in the sense that he is modern. All that is truly interesting about the old Squire must be sipped slowly over a cup by the winter fireside, or gathered, an anecdote at a time, on occasions when there is company at " The Acorn." THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 189 "The Acorn" stands opposite the smithy. Sutton is a temperate village, and for the most part its alehouse is as quiet and neglected as the aisle of the parish church on a week-day. One solitary ghost haunts its loneliness, and making intermittent visits to peer into the empty kitchen, but finding no one there, de- parts again. Bill Mason does not sit down alone. He has never the price of a pint in his pocket. Yet in his day he has been a great celebrity. Having outlived his fame, it has left him nothing, except a clear perception of the universal deterioration of mankind. Now and then there is a symposium at " The Acorn." In winter, after a shoot, the beaters spend an hour recounting the events of the day. Or after a sweating week at hauling hay, with an extra shilling or so for overtime, of a Saturday night the kitchen may be full. Then you may hear much quaint wisdom and strange philo- sophy, with occasional weird prophecy of evil coming to your country. At such times Bill Mason is always present. He sits by customary right in the corner of the i 9 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE settle close against the wall, a strange figure, unlike any of the labourers around him. He wears a cast-off tweed suit, with trousers baggy at the knee and patched with pieces cut from worn-out garments of quite a different character. He likes his hair clipped short. He is his own barber, and a critical eye may detect a lack of finish in the performance, but many are the cuts and scars revealed upon his bullet head. A seam divides his forehead. There are marks of a surgeon's stitches on the summit of his high cheek-bone. He is clean shaven — now and then. His face, once strong and hard, is sodden to-day, and his cheeks are loose and fat, though Bill's ability to drink is sadlypiandi- capped by his frequent inabilityto obtainliquor. They had been shearing at the Manor Farm. The feast of sheep-shearing, described so often by the poets of old English manners and life, is a thing of the past. It may be that some lingering hereditary disposition to jollity filled "The Acorn" on this occasion, or per- haps the extra beer allowed by Mr. William Purchase promoted thirst. Or again, it may be that shearing is a greasy sort of job, begetting THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 191 a yearning for comfort and company. At any rate Isaac Jeans, the shepherd, and young John Brook dropped into the alehouse kitchen and called for a quart. Bill Mason put his head in at the door and wandered to his accustomed corner. John Peters, the carter, hearing voices, just stepped in for a minute, and Japheth Pike, coming to fetch the supper beer, for once sat down, "just to have a word wi' shepherd about them hurdles." I can assign no reason for my presence there. Thus in a few minutes quite a party assembled at " The Acorn." Rural folk live very little in the past. The present absorbs their cares, and they are shy of talking to a stranger of bygone people and conditions. If you inquire of the aged, they cannot " call to mind," or they have heard " a summut," but really couldn't " tell the rights o' it. " If you ask of the young, it was before their time. You cannot gather anecdotes in an ale- house as you can pick nuts in an October wood. The student of ancient customs and old country life must be as wary as a trout-fisher. He must keep well out of sight, and cast the i 9 2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE neatest of flies with infinite patience, until something rises out of the depths. There began a friendly discussion in " The Acorn " that evening. The weather was warm, but for the sake of the kettle the fire had been blown up from the embers, and a hand- ful of sticks were crackling across the dogs. " Here. Gie us they bellice," cried the shepherd to young John Brook. " I've a-got the rheumatics in my joints. I do always feel it for a full week a'ter sheep-washen. 'Tis standen in the water, I do allow." In company Shepherd Jeans is a little apt to take the lead. He is not more en- lightened than his fellow labourers, but his responsibilities are greater and he must constantly think and act for himself. He is getting on in years, and his forehead is brown and lined and weather-beaten. His brows are drawn together into a sort of frown ; and yet he does not look ill-natured but only serious. He does not shave, but trims his beard with his shearing shears whenever he finds himself a little long in the fleece. He was neatly trimmed that THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 193 evening. As he held out his hand for the bellows, his face displayed more character than any of those around who looked at him in surprise. "Here! I say ! Good now! You do want to roast us, don't ee ? Why I do sweat like a bullock as 'tis," remonstrated young John Brook. " Gie us the bellice, dostn't hear? Don't I tell ee I've a-got the rheumatics ? " repeated the shepherd in a tone of authority. The young John Brook, drawing his chair back from the hearth in silent protest, obedi- ently handed the bellows. Shepherd, with a great air of knowing a thing or two, solemnly placed them as one might a cushion against the back of his chair, and sat erect with as little discomfort as the arrangement allowed. "There's nothing like a pair o' bellices to your back to ease the rheumatics. Do beat a hot fermentation out an' out. There's no inside physic can touch it — not for a quick cure. For I've both a-seed it an' a-proved it on my own self." J 3 i 9 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Well. Where there's proof there's no gainsayen," reflected the young John Brook, willing to make amends for having been hasty. " Now that's a funny thing," said the carter, " that Shepherd should say that. My poor father suffered from the rheumatics somethen shameful, an' from the boneshave all so well. He did sit wi' the bellice to his back night after night, an' so did mother too. They had two pair o' bellices, looky-see, but, mind this, the oldest pair had a crack in the leather, an' 'oodn' puff the fire not so wonderful well. Now he werden half so o-ood for the rheumatics as the sound pair, and yet he were the biggest pair o' bellices, too, if hadn' a-been for the hole. Now to my mind that do show, so clear as day." "Ay! but mark me," said Shepherd, care- fully pressing amazing black tobacco into the bowl of a clay that was a marvel for shortness. " Bellices is a very funny thing. There's more in bellices an' some folk do know. 'Tis said, an' have a-been proved hundreds o' times, that if you should dap the bellices down 'pon table, there'll be a death in house afore the year's THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 195 out. I can't warrant it my own self. But so 'tis said." " I don't hold wi' that," demurred young John Brook. " Bellices be scarce about now, but deaths be all so plenty as in years agone." "Ay, but they do die o' other things now- adays. An' besides — might not cause death, but be only a token." " Ah ! Now there you be," agreed Carter. " I do believe in warnens, my own self. There corned three taps overnight 'pon the winder- pane, an' our old grammer, her send for passon to once, an' her were a-tookt afore daybreak." "That were for preparation," said Shepherd. He threw back his head, then put down the empty cup and tapped upon the bench. " A quart," cried he. "Some do tell up," ventured the young John Brook, " that the old Squire up to Court met wi' a hint like years afore his death — something awful! So I've a-heard say." A pause, caused by the arrival of the quart, seemed to give an appropriate opening. " What sort of a man was the old Squire ? " I ventured to ask. 196 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Oh ! He've a-been dead these years," replied Carter Peters, and the subject seemed dismissed. " You can remember him, Shepherd ? " "Well, as to that, I can — but still — well, he had a beaver-skin hat an' a blue coat wi' brass buttons. But la ! There ! 'Tis all gone out." " I never set eyes 'pon the man, myself," said young John Brook, desirous not to with- hold any valuable information. " I'll warrant you didn', young John Brook." "For he were dead an' underground ten year afore you were born." " So you couldn't very well see the man." " An' if you had a-said you had, you'd a- been a liar." " He would so." " Ay. An' so he would." " He were a big man in his day, no doubt," reflected Shepherd. " But there, he's a-gone wi' all the rest — gentle an' simple." A thoughtful silence fell on the company, for the shepherd's remarks savoured of piety. THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 197 " That's so," remarked Japheth Pike gravely. "An' ever must be," added the carter, shaking his head. " The thing that surprises me is that such a sportsman should have been such a strong teetotaller." The company looked at me in astonishment. " He would not let even the cudgel-players have a drink." At once there was a roar of laughter. "You don't understand, master," cried the carter. "Ho! You've a-o-ot hold the wrong- end o' the stick, sir," drawled the young John Brook. " Did the old Squire manage to make you a tea-totaller, Bill ? " asked Japheth Pike, turning to the old man in the corner. " He did," answered the veteran shortly. " Tell about it, Bill," cried Carter. " Here ! Catch hold the cup." Bill Mason sat upright on the settle. The conversion had not been permanent. The others watched the gradual elevation of the 198 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE quart with anxiety. When he set down the cup there was again a tap upon the bench. " A quart." Bill Mason turned round and addressed himself to me. He had told his stories hundreds of times, and, to be sure, neither hesitation nor diffidence were to be looked for in one who had seen much company in his youth. The rest of the party listened with eagerness. They liked the tales all the better because they could anticipate them word by word. " You must know, sir, that years agone Sutton were bigger, an' a place o' more fame 'an 'tis these days. There were four men o' Sutton, my own self an' three more besides, open to challenge the world. Any four cudgel- players that 'ud send word — an' put the money up, to be sure — we did go an' meet 'em where they would. Three year — more 'an a hundred battles an' never once beat — and then Squire, he 'ranged a match up the country, ay, two days' journey herefrom, an' drove us up in his coach an' four so as to get there overnight, all THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 199 ready like for next day. But la ! We were thought so much o' ! We was royalty or pretty nigh. When we did walk out round wi' our ribbons up, folk did stop to gape at us. Then 'twere a drop wi' one, an' a thimbleful wi' tother, an' a glass wi' a third. When come noon, time to go up, there were thousands come for miles all round to see the sport. As you stood on the stage the heads o' the folk below were so thick as pebble-stones 'pon a pitch-pavement. But lauk ! 'Twere little sooner up, an' shake hands, an' ' God save our eyesight,' when 'twere down again all four one a'ter tother, wi' the blood a-tricklen down our foreheads. All over an' done in a twink ! An' the folk cheered for a minute, as mid say, an' then they hissed we, an' shouted ' Drunk ! Drunk ! ' To think they'd a-comed so far to nothen at all. Yet mind, we was not drunk. We could all stand up. Well, we couldn't stand upright, maybe. An' we didn't stand up long for certain sure. But 'twere injustice to hollar ' Drunk ! ' Then the folk did hiss an' hoot we. And Squire he did cuss. He had a-lost a lot o' money. But he went on — 2oo ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE paid there-right — had his hosses put to, an' off in a jiffy. "When we corned to, an' we was left behind, we had but sevenpence-ha'penny in our pockets all told ! Tother fellars had a-winned ten pound a-piece. They'd ha' helped us 'ith- out doubt, but la ! every face did grin. So we tramped an' slept under hedge, an' begged a crust at a farm now an' again. We slunked home, pretty footsore, the second mornen about milken time. Three score miles an' five, in one clear day an' two nights. But la! We didn' dare to show our nose for a wick. " I were Squire's feeder them days. I did rear an' train his birds o' the game. We had a beautiful lot that time. I thought I'd better to go up to Court. I went up to the door there close to the gun-room, an' he were in- side, so I could hear what they said. The man said, ' Here's Bill Mason, Squire,' an' he said, 'Tell Bill Mason to go to hell.' So I went back home. We had a beautiful lot o' birds, but, a month, an' he never corned to see 'em. The poor man must ha' suffered somethen awful. Then he sent word a day to be ready. WIDOW TEAPE AT HER GARDEN HATCH From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 201 They was beautiful birds. We fought a main in Sutton church under the tower, an' Squire were most wonderful pleased." " But what if the passon had a-caught wind o' it ?" asked young John Brook. " Passon ! you fool," cried Bill Mason con- temptuously. " Passon were there, werden er?" Young John Brook collapsed amid laughter. " So Squire, he made the cudgel-player match up over again. He drove we up, all the same as afore. But he locked we in a room. There was four little truckle beds in a row, an' a table wi' a plenty of victuals. But no drink, not so much as a sniff o' it. He marched we up under his own eye. An' we beat 'em well, an' parted fifty pound atween the four. Heart alive ! There were nothen we couldn' have then. An' Squire drove we home triumphant — all "a-stratched out in the bottom o' the coach so drunk as pigs. "Ah! The old Squire were a proper wonderful man. There's none such about now. Men ha'n't got the strength now. 202 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE They ha'n't got the heart now. He were most terr'ble fond o' the prize-ring. He could do a bit wi' his fistes, his own self, too. He were a proud, high-minded man, yer know. If a carter or a timber-hauler didn' get out o' the road to the sound o' his horn quick enough to please un, he'd hop down an* knock un down. But he were a-catched pretty tidy once. Somebody put a prize- fighter in the way to annoy un. He hopped down. But he got the worst o' it. Tother knocked he down that time. But the old Squire, he only got up and knocked off the dust like, an' he gied the man five shillens, an' he looked at un an' said, ' My man, if you was ten year younger, I'd make your fortune for ee.' "That's what he used to say to I, too. ' Bill Mason, if you were so clever wi' your fistes as you be quick wi' thik cudgel-stick, I'd make you the first man in England.' " But there's none such now. All the men be wimmin now. An' all the wimmin be like to be men, by what I do read. Look at the Squire up there now. He couldn' tell a game- THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 203 cock from a Dorken pullet. He couldn' put up his fistes if any man did put 'pon un. How do he 'muse hisself ? Got a steam saw, got a steam dairy, show a few cart-hosses, an' that's about all. Ay, the country is crone down. There's no men now. An' I read tother day in the paper there's a-gwaine to be a revolution." Japheth Pike rose as one who has had enough of it. He was proud of his strength and conscious of sober living. " I can't sit still to hear no more such lies," cried he impatiently. " There's stronger men now in this parish than ever you was, Bill Mason, an' that don't misuse their strength. The old Squire ! Ay, an' how did er leave things after his pranks ? The farms a- crumblen and the buildens a-tumblen down. Not a sound gate 'pon the estate, nor two sound postes to any one o' the ramshackle patched-up pa'cels o' splinters. Why, Squire couldn' come there for ten year, but must let it an' live away an' save — an' look at it now. Josiah Heppell have a-made a fortune out o' the new buildens. 'Tis a picture, I do call 2o 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE it, Netherby Court estate. An' as to the steam saw, go an' see it work, you fool, an* then put in a week in a saw-pit. I do allow the old man left Squire a hardish time, and Squire have a-put his back into it." He walked out in haste. " Ah, he do get a goodish many jobs out o' Squire," muttered old Bill Mason. I overtook Japheth before he reached the little house and yard. His wrath, by nursing, had grown into a really fine indignation. "The dairy! 'Tis clean as a pin. An' the goods do come out every time alike — allowing for the feed, to be sure." He was silent for some half a dozen paces. " Look at the cart-colts — an' the prices. 'Tis money in the country. Must be. An' I do call our Squire do work hard. Off every day idden er ? To some Board or Council or somethen or 'nother." He stopped in the road and for emphasis punched with his fist into the palm of his left hand. " But what I can't abide," said he, " is light THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW 205 talk about the wimmin folk. Look at Miss Cann. I do smile as she do traipse down- street. But she is all for the bettering o' things — she is. If the old sot had a-been fifty year younger, I'd a-catched un hold by scruff, an' a-twisted the neck o' un — I would. No, I cannot sit still to hear the letten-down o' the wimmin folk." Too excited to say " Good-night " he hastily passed through his garden gate and slammed the door behind him as he went home to the "piteous little ooman." CHAPTER XVIII SUTTON CLUB-WALKING The old walls of the village pound are slowly crumbling. The holes between the stones offer a nesting-place to the tit. From the dusty mortar of the crevices grow spikes of pennywort a foot tall, and the yellow flowers of the stonecrop are bright in golden patches. But although Sutton folk, on their way down the street, frequently stop in front of the pound, they take no note of such ordinary trifles as these. Their attention is always directed to the door. It is a very old door with a small iron grating, at about the height of a man's eyes, through which people used to peep in search of stock that had wandered. You can rarely see the grating now. The bill-poster has made the door his own, and it is plastered half an inch thick. SUTTON CLUB-WALKING 207 The other afternoon, just as the stream of merry, noisy children came rushing out of school, the bill-sticker was pasting up another bill. A crowd gathered round him at once, for elder people also came popping out of their houses. " Read it out, one o' ee," screamed the voice of Widow Teape. One of the bigger boys began to shout : " Whit- Monday, June 10, Sutton Friendly Society." But all the others took up the strain, until, presently, half the children of Sutton were reciting the contents of the poster, after the manner that you may over- hear them through the open window, as you pass the schoolhouse, repeating poetry in class. And the purport was that Sutton Club would meet at 10 ; attend Divine service in the Parish Church at 1 1 ; dine in the marquee in a field kindly lent by William Purchase, Esq., at 1 ; that the sports would commence at 3 ; that the magnificent Oldbury Brass Band had been engaged, and that dancing would begin at 6. From the time of this announcement until 208 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Whit-Monday a suppressed excitement was to be observed in Sutton Street. Out of all the rich succession of festivities that once made up the rural year, Sutton has retained only this one. But Sutton Club-Walking is celebrated, and there is no other for many a mile around. Cottagers from neighbouring villages flock to Sutton on Whit-Monday. Sutton knows that it has a reputation to keep up and does it. Not but what there are croakers who try to find fault with the constitution of the Club. They mutter that its economic system leaves a something to be desired, and predict its speedy decease. " This'll be the last," they say. "Village clubs can't stand up 'gainst the big societies. 'Tis the same wi' clubs as 'tis all the world over — the big do eat up the little." Meanwhile the maidens get out their summer frocks, for the bill is out for this time, at any rate. They watch the opening rose- buds on the cottage front, to see whether any will be ready by the time, and " worrit their heads " to find a new way of trimming up the house. SUTTON CLUB-WALKING 209 For the village is decorated at Club-Walk- o ing. Heppell lends scaffolding-poles, and at daybreak — because of Sunday it cannot be done overnight — his men are busy erecting a triumphal arch at the entrance to the field, where preparation has already been made for the marquee. At six the Union Jack flutters from the church tower and the bells strike out a peal. Before breakfast there is a festoon of flags from the upstair window of the smith's house to the sign of "The Acorn." Selina Jane Edwards has a string of bunting from the lilac bush to the clothes- pole on the other side of the path. The Widow Teape has fastened a Jubilee handker- chief, emblazoned with the Royal Arms, to a long lath, and her boy "Urchett" has climbed up and lashed it to the top shoot of her apple tree. So the village is gay indeed. All being perfect, women in their best, maidens in their white, and children with orreat flowers in their buttonholes stand in their doorways, or by the garden hedges, or in groups upon the causeway, and adorn the street itself with palpitating human 14 2ic ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE life. They are awaiting the arrival of the band. The band is to be depended upon. Quite pat upon its hour it drives up in a brake and pair, with all the great brass instruments and the big drum in view. The children cheer, throw their hats into the air, and shout : " Pla-a-ay up ! " " Pla-a-ay up ! " But the band, conscious of fame, remains solemn. The drum sits self-contained. The trombone does not smile. Only a frivolous and romantic cornet has before now been known to wink at the village maidens as he passed. So it reaches its destination — the open space, which was once the village green. At once all is stir. The walkers are there, each bringing his pole with the brass head, a fleur-de-lis for Sutton, if he has one — for in a business age such trifles are no longer imperative. Old Abe, Japheth Pike, and some of the older men also wear scarves over their shoulders. Japheth Pike andyoung John Brook bring the great blue banner on two poles, bearing the legend in gold: "Sutton Friendly Society." SUTTON CLUB-WALKING 211 The old rector in his surplice comes from the church and takes his position in front ; the banner is raised ; officials hurry members into rank ; the band strikes up, and the Club marches up the street, round the lane, and into the street again. In Sutton those who have no part in a procession never follow it. They are so eager that they run in front. But at the church the village stands on one side, and watches the Club into the porch. Thus it has happened without change for many a year. The old rector preached on this occasion on brotherly love. He could find no better subject, to be sure. The kindly parish was most lenient in its criticism of the sermon. But as Mrs. Josiah Heppell afterwards said, " Dear old man, to be sure ! But la ! what we do want is a young man up to the times, for a place like Sutton." The dinner was a hot dinner. It could not be otherwise under a marquee in June. Many of the ladies, wives and sweethearts of Sutton, were present. We dined off British beef, roast or boiled, or both. There was plum-pudding of a most admirable variety and 2i2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE a strong flavour of mixed spice. We drank good honest beer or cider, according to taste. We were hearty and merry, and laughed and joked, and at the end drank to "The King" with a seemly reverence. After that the serious business began, when we drank to " Sutton Friendly Society," associated with the names of Mr. Richard Tucker, the treasurer, and " Mr. Ebenezer Dark, our worthy and energetic secretary." For "Uncle Dick" and "Dairyman" are great supporters of the Club, and although paying members, would "never dream of making claim either for sick- or walking-pay." But before there was time to put the toast, long John Batch, with a complexion more sallow and his hair straighter than ever, arose and expressed a desire to say a few words. Long John Batch is evidently the reformer of this neighbourhood. "Gentlemen," said he, "there has been some talk about that sixteen pound ten an' two, stock money. Our treasurer, when he wur asked, he didn' appear to know the whereabouts o' that sixteen pound ten an' two. SUTTON CLUB-WALKING 213 But I've made it my business to find out about that sixteen pound ten an' two. I've a-been treasurer myself, and I'll own up that I didn' know then who did hold the money ; so I don't attack nobody, nor cast no blame. But I do find now, when I be out o' office, that there is or should be a sum of sixteen pound ten an' two. I've a-put the question in to the bank, an' the money is safe there, gentlemen ; sixteen pound ten an' two, in the name of our secretary an' another. Now I do consider it did ought to be put to a real account in the name o' the Sutton Friendly Society, an' I do propose " " Shut up ! " cried one. " Go on ! " cried another. "Is the money safe ? " "Very well, then " In the midst of this hubbub Dairyman as secretary rose to explain. " I've a-been secretary o' this Club one-an'- twenty year," said he. " I an' another have always held the money, an' the treasurer he've always a-took charge o' the book. I've always done right wi' Sutton Club an' the 2i4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE money, an' Mr. Richard Tucker he've always done right wi' the book, an' if any change is made, I shall resign." The Club rose and cheered as one man. There had been some wild rumours about the " sixteen pound ten an' two." Nobody had been quite sure where it was but the banker. That being ascertained, the Club favoured no reform and the toast was duly honoured. "Well, then, is that all?" asked Dairy- man officially, as secretary. "That's all." " That's right, then. For all I can tell you is, that if there had a-been very much more talk 'tis not only myself, but you'd ha' lost the services of a first-rate treasurer. I call on Mr. Richard Tucker " Sutton cheered. It then appeared that, besides keeping the book, the treasurer had a duty to perform. Uncle Dick drew a paper from his pocket and sternly called: "Jim Burch, Tommy Peters, David Snook, Bill Jeans. Where be, all o' ee ? Stand out here and show yourzelves." SUTTON CLUB-WALKING 215 Four grinning youths stood forward in the presence of all. "JimBurch! So there he is, then. Take a good look at un. Fit to take the King's shilling to my mind any day o' the week. Any objections ? — 'Lected. " Tommy Peters. Stand out there. Five foot ten an' fresh as a rose. All the maidens be a-looken at un. Don't ee blush, Tommy. Any objections? — 'Lected. " David Snook. Sound in wind and limb. I'll warrant un. A bit bow-legged, but that's better 'an bandy. Any objections ? — 'Lected. " Bill Jeans. Find un victuals an' drink an' he'll never pray for physic. Any ob- jections ? — 'Lected." The company took a look at each in turn, or pretended to do so. The early youth of Sutton are rosy as morning and straight as pine trees. This was the medical examina- tion for entrance to the Club. "All elected!" shouted Uncle Dick, and we rushed from the sweating heat of the marquee into the clear and glorious June sunshine. 216 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE We were ready for the sports and com- petitions ; and the sheep-shearers, who do not require music, were started while the brass band, which had played during the speeches, retired into the marquee to dinner. Sutton was justly proud of the band, because ten years ago it gained a prize at a competition. It enjoyed eternal reputation on that great success. Uncle Dick in particular was anxious that the band should be kept well nourished and sustained, because much was expected of it, and the music was known to be first-class and remarkable. He walked from one to another, a jug in each hand, declaring that no man can blow brass if he's dry. Then came the sports, and in them we had no old-world games, no sack-races, no wheel-barrow, but a military tournament with tent-pegging and the slicing of lemons with cavalry swords. We did not really have lemons, which are expensive and scarcely known at Sutton, but substituted the finest potatoes eyes ever saw. The young yeomen of the surrounding district rode and slashed with such skill, that, as Uncle Dick said, half SUTTON CLUB-WALKING 217 the parish might pick up a breakfast of teddies all chopped up an' ready to fry if they was a-minded. Then there were pony-races and foot-races for girls, but still the thoughts of Uncle Dick, keeping always in view the evening dance, dwelt upon refreshment for the band. Now and then his voice might be heard across the field — " For God's sake, Ebenezer Dark, don't let's forget the band." The band was not forgotten. When the hour for dancing came there was a certain want of unanimity about the brass, but this was amply compensated for by the precision of the big drum. The youth of Sutton with peonies in their buttonholes, without invita- tion, seized the willing maids all dressed in white and frisked and bobbed them round as merry as lambkins. You cannot waltz upon the grass, and they danced the old country dances of long ago which were so much like romps. At the winter dance in the school- room Sutton can waltz well enough and is proud of it ; at Club-Walking they go back to " Hunt the Squirrel " and " Four-hand-reels." 218 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE They were still at it as the dusk came creeping on. And still the voice of Uncle Dick was to be heard at intervals — " Ebenezer, for God's sake, don't let's forget the band." I shall never forget the band. CHAPTER XIX THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE There was excitement in the neighbourhood when it became understood that Sutton, of all places in the world, had returned a lady member to a seat upon the Board. Never before had such a thing been heard of in the Oldbury Union, and some old-fashioned people regarded the innovation with alarm. The opinions of Miss Cann had so often been described as " very pronounced " that perhaps there was reason for the flutter in the Oldbury dovecotes. Really sound opinions may be taken for granted, and need never be " pronounced." However, here was the lady duly returned, and the wisdom of Oldbury must make the best of it. In that sleepy rural district ap- proaching change was ever made the sub- 22o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE ject of melancholy prediction, but genial op- timism followed the accomplished fact. More than one well-nourished guardian of the poor agreed with Mr. William Purchase that there were doubtless "matters in connection with the administration of the Poor Law in which the opinion of a woman — the right woman, mind you — might be of distinct utility." The chairman himself was reported to have whispered in a genial moment over a glass of after-dinner port that, if Miss Cann would but keep from quixotic views and hysterical utterances he really did not see what harm she could do. Being duly elected Miss Cann mounted her bicyle without delay and rode to explore the scene of her future activity. At the great iron entrance-gates she dismounted. Then, having taken half a dozen steps on the broad gravel path, she stopped and gazed with close attention upon the great building before her. Thousands of times she had glanced at it from the road ; but to-day, with a keener interest, she observed it in every detail. It was long and high, and grimly rectangular THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 221 throughout. No touch of fancy relieved the stern squareness of any amongst its three tiers of windows. No curve hung like a smile of welcome above the lintel of the open door. The whole business of the place was hospitality, and yet to the eye of Miss Cann it wore a grudging look. She could not feel prepossessed with this structure, so large and so important in the social system that it was always spoken of as "The House." The new lady guardian betrayed no symptom of hysteria as she stood on the workhouse path that day. In front was a garden with flowers and a small lawn, upon which the Master's children were at play. Two aged paupers were weeding a border before the door. Another, the eldest of the three, was cleaning away the grass from the edge of the path, but he stopped and leaned upon his hoe to look at her. " Heart alive ! Why, if tidden Miss Cann," cried he. And so it was, sure enough. She "had on," as he afterwards explained to the other paupers, "a plainish, whitish sort 222 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE o' frock, wi' no gimcracks or furbelows, not in the body ne'et about the tail o' un." The skirt was short, and the boots " pretty stoutish." The old man had been a village cobbler, and he "allowed they were sixes." She wore a straw hat with some white ribbon but no feathers. She looked like a real lady, with nothing " high-minded " about her, and so he raised his finger to his hat. Miss Cann advanced, then stopped again. " Micah Dodge ! Good-afternoon, Micah," said she. " It is very pleasant here in the sun. The old man stood upright as well as he was able, for he was bow-legged from his trade and bent in the back. He took off his hat, and discovered a round bullet-head with grey hair clipped short. His eyes held a sort of mirth in them and his face broadened with a grin. He had been a humorist in his day — had tapped and heeled for gentry, and been licensed to say what he liked. Pauperism had not made him shy, and, after a moment's surprise and hesitation, he found his tongue. ''There's nothing the matter wi' the sun, THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 223 that I know of," drawled he, shading his eyes to take a glance at the heavens. "Well, Micah, there is nothing the matter with you, is there?" smiled the lady guar- dian. " I don't know ! " growled he, for at this question his one perpetual grievance arose in the old man's mind. "Then, Micah, if you don't know, it is clearly impossible that any one else can." At this, Micah, as he afterwards fully ex- plained to his fellow-inmates, " up and spoke." "Well, miss," said he, " I do call it a very wrong thing that I can't go out. Not a foot have I set on t'other side o' the garden-wall, not for so much as a errand, not since the summer afore last. 'Tis a very hard thing, and no mistake. A man, miss, is not a calf or a pig, to be penned up all his time. He do want to walk out round for his recreation. An' I do most terr'ble want to q-o across and look at Sutton once more, for that's where I was born and bred. I do long to see the old place again. I do want to see Bill Adams and Tommy Piatt and old Uncle Huckleby 224 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and one or two more, and eat a mouthful o' victuals, if 'tis only out under hedge. What harm could that do anybody ? 'Tis but three mile over the hill if I had but a day out. I could walk over and spend an hour and walk back if 'twere only of an afternoon. But the Master, he do refuse to let I out. He do let out some o' 'em, his favourites, but not I. I do call it unjust to have favourites. I do call the man out o' place. He's not a man fit to have charge o' poor folk, not Mr. Stroud, the Master here. He's too stony hard at the heart — that's what he is." At that moment a tall figure came into the doorway. The approach of Miss Cann had been observed from the window, and the Master promptly fetched. He saw her talk- ing to Micah Dodge and waited. " Get on in, you double-faced, flinty old dog ! " growled the old pauper, and sullenly returned to his hoeing. Miss Cann passed hurriedly on. The incident worried her. She was well aware of the fear and hatred with which humble country folk regard "The House." THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 225 Hitherto she had thought it only pride — a very proper pride, with which she deeply sympathised. Respectable poverty could not bear to be indiscriminately thrown with the bad and dissolute. A human being, to be sure, wants more than food and clothing. A soul- hunger no loftier than a yearning for Bill Adams and the familiar scenes of the past has its claims. It certainly seemed hard that Micah Dodge was not allowed an occasional day to go to Sutton. All the while that she was being shown over " The House " this thought was in her mind. It made her ear alert to every word the workhouse Master uttered, and even to the changing tones of his voice. She listened in vain for any touch, even slightly significant, of the hardness of which Micah Dodge had accused him. Mr. Stroud, the workhouse Master, was both tall and stout. He was plump in the face, fair, a trifle freckled, and of an almost rosy complexion. He wore a moustache that was evidently well cared for, and his smile reminded Miss Cann of an eminent tenor singer whom she had recently heard. He 226 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE had the appearance of one who enjoys life and takes responsibilities easily. That he could be firm seemed likely enough, but he looked at things quite upon the lighter side. Miss Cann was an eager questioner. He talked of paupers and their ways with a certainty be- gotten of long experience, and enlivened his conversation with now and then an anecdote of the casual ward or an incident in the history of one of the inmates. Some of these struck Miss Cann as painful. But, whether it were a folly or worse, with good-humoured tolerance he always laughed. She reflected that a man of tender sensibility would be miserable in that little world of failure and misfortune. They came again to the door when her visit was at an end. " Do these old people sometimes have a holiday ? To go home for the day, for in- stance ? Or to see their friends ? " " Some of them now and then," said he, and laughed. " But I see old Micah has been air- ing his grievance. He's very angry with me because I won't give him leave. But there are none of his kin left in the village, and he THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 227 always gets drunk. He's a bit of a character. People talk to him and stand him a glass, and then he is done for. Otherwise he might go, for he's a harmless old fellow. He comes back drunk, and kicks up a row and sings. Last time he did not come, and we had to send out and find him. So since then he has been stopped." "Is there no chance for him ? " " Oh, I don't know. It is inconvenient, and it's a bad example. Still, he might have one more trial." "If he were to promise?" pleaded Miss Cann with sudden enthusiasm. " He would do that readily enough," chuckled the Master; "but no power on earth could make him keep it." " But he might now that he has been punished ? " The Master humorously shook his head. "Oh, well," said he, "I suppose the heavens will not fall if he does not." He walked down the path to where Micah Dodge was weeding. The old man did not look up, but kept steadily on with his work. 1 228 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE "Well, Micah, this lady has been kind enough to ask me to let "you out. But you know what happened before. Now, what am I to say ? " "I'll take good care not to have too much," murmured Micah in a low voice, which faltered in his anxiety to know how this would turn out. " You must give your word not to touch a drop ! " cried Miss Cann with emphasis. The paupers on the garden-border stopped weeding to listen to this little comedy. They knew how it would end. "No more I won't, then!" cried Micah with determination. " I won't — not if all Sutton do come out to door 'pon their bended knees wi' a quart cup in each hand to beg o' me to drink. I won't " He glanced around defiantly. The fat double chin of the Master was shaking with laughter. On the face of each of his fellow- weeders was a broad grin. Only the lady looked serious. " I shall inquire the first thing when next I come," said she. THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 229 The old man's hand clutching the stem of the hoe quivered like an ague. He lifted the tool and struck a blow that sent the gravel flying upon the path. "I won't, then!" cried he. "Ton me solemn oath ! I won't. Not if I do die for it." There is little to relieve the monotony of life in " The House," and the news that Micah Dodge was to go out afforded great amuse- ment. It created more excitement than a quarrel, which, under the circumstances, must invariably end in words. It offered a problem. But the subject of discussion was not whether Micah would get drunk or not, but how drunk Micah would get. The paupers promised themselves great fun upon Micah's return. The permission was postponed for "a long summer day," and until the moment for his departure they gave him no peace. The weeders talked at him by the hour over their work. "The young lady have a-catched a mind to Micah, that's sure." "Anybody could see that by the way she cast her eye 'pon him." 230 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " But Micah'll deceive the maid, an' that'll break the heart o' her." " I shall call it a shameful thing then if he do." " But 'tis more than Micah can compass — to hold the cup from his lips." Micah laughed with the rest. He was to go out. That was enough for him. But the constant repetiton of the same idea, in all the varying forms that pauper wit could devise, made a deep impression on his mind. He said little, but thought so much the more. Ah ! they looked to see him fetched in again. Did they? They could look till their eyes did ache. They should all be "proper a- sucked in." So there ! Finally the Master contributed his mite of jocular warning. "Very well, Micah. You can go this morning. Now, take care of yourself and take care how you behave. For next Board- day, if there is not a weed left in the garden, I'll put you out in the front to work. When the lady comes she'll question you pretty well, I'll be bound. 'Tis against my judgment, THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 231 Micah. You have to thank her. So look out." Micah caught sight of a twinkle in his eye. They were all fooling him, but he was sharp enough to understand that. On the path, when he came out, smiling and ready to start, the weeders stopped him. One of them snatched off his hat and said he should not go. They shoved him to and fro in real mirth and good-fellowship. They pulled a spray of ivy from the wall, and made a wreath around the brim. They picked a bunch or so of the best full-blown flowers from the laburnum by the gate, and added a gar- land of "golden chain." They swore he should not pass unless he would take his oath to wear it all the way to Sutton. But Micah was willing enough. Why not ? He entered into the joke. With excess of joy his bow-legs staggered under him as he hurried down the road, now and again looking back over his shoulder to see if he were watched. Silenus — brought down to pauperism and reduced to travel on foot. 232 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE The sun was very hot, and beat full on Micah's back as he bent forward in haste. The summer road was half an inch deep in dust, white as flour, so fine that some of it arose from his shuffling footsteps and parched his throat. It almost choked him when he met the flock of sheep in the narrow hollow, where the banks are steep upon each side. He took off his pauper coat — too stout for June, but chosen for wear — and carried it upon his arm. Never before had the way- seemed so long. The hill, where the little wayside alehouse stands at the top, was surely steeper than it used to be. But Micah, in his eagerness for Sutton and the companion- ship of Bill Adams, was travelling too fast. A furlong before he came to the inn he must needs stop. He was breathless. His heart went thumping against his ribs. He sat down on the grass, with his back against a milestone, and rested. He had no money. Only a crust of bread and cheese in his pocket, and he did not want to eat yet. He was only dry, terribly dry. But there was no water, not a drop, until the little spring, THE ACORN From a water-colour drazving by WILFRID BALL, R.E. THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 233 half-way down to the other side of the hill. To be sure, he might beg for a glass at the " Cluster of Nuts." Micah knew what would happen then. The good man, a thatcher, was for certain away at work putting a cover to somebody's early rick of clover hay, and the " missus " would be at home in an empty house at this time of the day. A good sort, the "missus." The right one to go straight to the barrel and not to the pump. And so she ought, after the pounds he had spent at the " Cluster of Nuts " in years gone by. Yet, somewhat overcome with the heat and the climb, for the while Micah felt little inclina- tion to move. He sat there in a day-dream, revelling in the imaginary gratuitous half- pint. Not that he meant to beg for it. But the thing might be done. He scarcely noticed the miller's waggon crawling slowly up the hill. "What, Micah Dodge ! Well, I'm blowed ! So 'tis. Whoa ! " The carter stopped his team, came to the wayside, and stood grinning at Micah. "Why, they did say in the parish that we 234 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE should never set eyes on Micah Dodge again." Micah told the old story of his promise, and all that he had said and done, and they laughed together like boys. Then the miller's carter looked serious. "Then I'll be dalled if I'd touch o' it, Micah," said he. " For you do know there's more strength in a pint than is in your old head. You be such a fool, Micah, when you be drunk. Verily and truly, you really be." " I be," agreed Micah sadly. " And such a little do do it, too." " So do," Micah sighed. " I won't for one minute say no different, for I do know do." " Though 'twasn' always the same, you know. Why, you must ha poured down rivers in your day," said the miller's carter cheerfully, for the conversation had become too serious for a holiday, and he wanted to hearten Micah up. "Ho! rivers now!" remonstrated Micah. But he was a proud man. THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 235 The miller's carter laughed all over his broad, dusty face. "There. Jump up, if you be a-minded, and ride so far as the four cross-roads." So Micah climbed into the waggon, and, enthroned on a white, floury sack, was carried in safety beyond the dangers of the " Cluster of Nuts." The four cross-roads are at the end of the village, with the outlying cottages in sight. As Micah dismounted, the clock in the church tower was striking noon. On the last stroke he heard the shouts of the children rushing out of school, and presently he met the little human stream racing and eddying down Sutton Street like a summer brook on a broad river bed. At sight of Micah the children came running - towards him. The golden chains around his hat were sadly drooping, and high-road dust whitened the shining ivy- leaves. Yet they gave Micah a bacchana- lian appearance, and many of the children had known him before. At once he was the centre of a noisy group shouting, " Hallo, 236 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Micah — Micah Dodge ! " The phrase was piped in an infinity of treble tones, and Micah, joining in the merriment, turned round and shouted also. He even tripped a bit of a jig, such as he used to dance with pride of an evening on the alehouse kitchen floor. Then, at the head of a little crowd, he went on his way down the street. Folk popped out of door and ran to the garden- hatch to find out what new diversion was afoot in the parish. "Lor! 'Tis only old Micah Dodge, after all ! " shouted young John Brook's wife, a stout matron, with two children clinging to her skirts, shading her eyes with her hand. " And drunk already ! " Micah heard. Angry at the false accusa- tion, he made haste to contradict a statement so uncalled for. The neighbours all came round. "'Tis a wrong and wicked thing to say, Anna Maria Brook ! I tell ee I don't drink now ! " exclaimed he warmly. " What ? And you never so much as blowed the froth off of a half a pint at the THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 237 1 Cluster of Nuts ' ? " demanded young John Brook's wife, holding up a warning finger, for she had, if possible, to make good her statement. " Not a drop ! " cried Micah, with growing indignation. He defied Anna Maria Brook to prove her words in a tone that, from a man with money, would have been understood to threaten law. He challenged Anna Maria Brook to smell his breath. Public opinion, that is to say Selina Jane Edwards, the Widow Teape, old Betsy Mogridge, and all the rest of them, recog- nising that under the circumstances Anna Maria could do no less, supported the sug- gestion, and the sober condition of Micah was at once firmly established. But how had so strange a thing been brought about ? When Micah told of the intercession of the lady guardian, there was but one opinion : If Micah by any chance should go home drunk, the Master would have the laugh over Miss Cann, sure enough. 238 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " You never mustn't do it, mind that." "For that's to hold both she an' Sutton up to scorn. So there ! " The women of Sutton unconsciously set themselves to protect the sobriety of Micah Dodge. " Now, march on, all you children, and leave Mr. Dodge alone," cried Selina Jane Edwards with sudden sharpness. " And you walk round, Micah, and see anybody you've got to see. If you come back down street after a bit, I'll make you a cup of tea." "An' I'll find ee a bit o' nice hot cake," piped the Widow Teape. "Now, who do ee want to see, Micah?" asked Anna Maria Brook. " The most partic'larest," began Micah slowly, " is old Uncle Huckleby." His face brightened with anticipation. " I did want to have a word with Uncle Huckleby." A hush fell upon the little crowd. Then, ekeing out the solemn news in fragments, one after another, they spoke in whispers — " But, Micah, haven't you heard ? " "Old Mr. Huckleby is gone." THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 239 " He's dead, Micah." " And buried." Uncle Huckleby dead and buried! The crowning pleasure of this visit to Sutton was to have been a yarn with old Uncle Huckleby. That was the very heart and soul of the expedition. For Uncle Huckleby Well, old Uncle Huckleby carried a tongue in his head. He always had. What Uncle Huckleby would not have told was not worth telling. Nobody ever had such a gift for talk as he. Micah did not exactly feel regret. He was too overcome with surprise and wonder. A frown of perplexity puckered his forehead. Then he opened his eyes wide, and deep wrinkles rose in semicircular arches under the drooping laburnum flowers. Micah spoke in a tone of remonstrance, as if he would argue the matter, both as to the fact and the rightship of such a thing. " But Uncle Huckleby was no age. No age at all. There was but a year, or maybe two, between him and me." " He do lie t'other side o' the old yew ; 2 4 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE nice dry grave, so they all said," said Anna Maria Brook, in a tone at once practical and consoling. " But who besides, Micah ? " "There's old Bill Adams " " He don't bide to Sutton now. He had nobody to keep un, so he were fetched away home to his own parish." "There's Tommy Piatt. He " " No, no! Tommy is out in Mr. William Purchase's hayfield. But Tommy's in drink. Keep away therefrom, Micah Dodge ; do ye now. Don't ee go near the cider, there's a good man. Now, do ee take a walk round parish and see what you can see." Thus encouraged, Micah started on his melancholy quest. He looked in at the forge. It was empty, for the smith was away in the hayfield "pomstering" up a mowing-machine. " Hallo, Micah Dodge ! Is that you ? " Mr. William Purchase called from the field hard by. He was on horseback, leaning forward to open the gate into the road. Micah ran forward to lend a hand. THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 241 Mr. William Purchase laughed all over his broad, red face. Having been a guardian, he knew something of the past. " So they've let you out once more ? " Micah nodded assent. " But what's the matter ? You do bear a very downcast countenance, by all appear- ance." "Nothing," answered Micah. Mr. William Purchase thrust his hand into his breeches-pocket. " Well, here's a copper. Now, take care what you are about. Don't get drunk. Mind that." And he laughed as he cantered away up the lane to his hayfield. Micah stood in the road. "Tuppence-ha'penny," muttered he, as he counted over the money on his palm. He put the coins carefully away to purchase an ounce of the old sort of baccy at the village shop. To be sure, with old Uncle Huckleby gone to his long rest, and Bill Adams consigned to a distant workhouse, there was nothing 16 242 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE to be doing, yet Micah enjoyed a strange, doubtful pleasure whilst standing there alone. The indelible impressions of happy child- hood came looming through the fog of later, foolish, unsuccessful years. Old things be- came oddly familiar in a most unexpected way, and set Micah talking to himself, but always in a tone of surprise. " Ay. There's the old church, sure enough. Ho, he ha'n't a-moved, not so much as an inch ! An' there's the little house, wi' the winder just the same. Lord A'mighty ! what thousands o' pairs o' soles I have a-tapped and heeled in that same little winder ! And there's the pond " Suddenly, from the lane, came the sound of a voice, now truculent and cursing, then carelessly singing in snatches — " Then I hope an' trust the rain'll fall, and your beastly old hay can rot ! Then fare ye well, my black-eyed Sue. You old nip- cheese ! Begrudge a man a quart o' cider ? When you could you would not ; now you will. What! Micah Dodge? Old Micah Dodee " THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 243 Micah understood. Tommy Piatt, being in drink, had been sent home. He was cursing Mr. William Purchase for this public humiliation, yet giving expression to his independence in song. He staggered into the road and took Micah by the arm. "Come on, Micah! I do know Micah Dodge — old Micah Dodge the cobbler ! Come on, old man, down to ' The Acorn,' and I'll — I'll chalk up a pint ! " "The Acorn?" Micah felt a yearning to look once more at the inside of " The Acorn," with its upright oaken settle and sanded floor. He suffered himself to be dragged on by Tommy Piatt, though they were often in danger of rolling over each other. But at the sound of the noise and singing, all the folk again ran out. Then Micah felt shame of his company, remembering what had been said. He shook himself free. " I — J don't drink ! " he stammered. " That's a fine tale ! Come on, you old fool " " I don't touch it now ! " 244 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " You shall have a pint, I tell ee. What ? You won't ? When you could you would not ; now — you're too proud, I s'pose ? Live retired, eh? Into 'The House,' eh? Then get on home, you high-stomached old pauper ! So fare ye well, my black-eyed Sue ! " Tommy Piatt reeled on alone. The parish watched him out of sight, and quickly dis- appeared indoors again. The street became empty of every moving thing ; there was not a sound of voice or wheels or footstep. But for the whistling: of a blackbird in a cage hang- ing against the wall by the bakehouse, the village would have been as quiet as a suburb of the city of the dead. Micah sighed. He had been pretty well shaken by Tommy Piatt, and his breath was short. Baker Heath dragged out his two-wheeled cart, and set the shafts level upon a trestle, ready to pack his bread. Micah strolled down to have a look at the blackbird and a word with the baker's man as he went to and fro, bringing out loaves. The warm air of the THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 245 bakehouse came heavy laden with reminis- cence. How many an errand he had run to that place when he was a child ! And how his mother had slapped him when he picked the loaf! Yet he always picked. He never could help it, even after she kept a stick on purpose to meet the crime. Again he longed for that little, brittle corner crust. The craving grew upon him stronger than for the drink. He went in and bought a half- loaf, crisp and brown upon the top, but hot and steaming from the oven. He crept away with it under his arm to a shed behind the bakehouse, where the four-wheeled van that went the longer journeys was sheltered from rain and sun. He climbed up and sat in, out of sight. None of your workhouse bread to-day ! Bought by tender and supplied by contract. Why, every inmate in " The House " grum- bled that it was sour. He pulled off the crust, he tore apart the middle, moist and clinging like tripe. It was sweet as a nut and soft as a bun. It was so 246 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE good that he grew hungry upon it. And so Micah ate — and ate. Miss Cann was at the seaside on a summer holiday. She ran up to Oldbury by train and went straight to " The House " on the day of the next Board meeting, and, finding herself with some minutes to spare, she remembered Micah, and went to inquire of the Master. 11 And has the old man had his day out ? " she asked, with an air of genial expectation. " Oh yes ; he has had his day ! " But the answer sounded short. It awak- ened suspicion in the mind of Miss Cann. " Did he behave himself? " "Yes." " And come home sober? " " But haven't you heard, or read the account of it in the weekly paper ? " " No ; I have been away." "Yes; he came home sober — he was brought in dead ! " "Dead! How— dead?" "There had to be an inquest, of course." "Yes?" THE SOBRIETY OF MICAH DODGE 247 " The verdict was ' Syncope, following an excessive indulgence in new bread.' ' " But what did he do?" " Oh, it all came out before the jury. He kept his word. He told the village about it, and would not touch a drop. He had a weak heart, it seems. The jurors kept asking questions. The doctor said in court that a little stimulant might have saved him. I ought never to have let him out. Now the country tale is that we starve the paupers here." The Master turned away. Miss Cann went into the Board-room. At that meeting she did not speak. She sat reflecting upon the irony that sometimes lies in wait upon the path of o-ood intentions to mock at a kind deed. But Captain Kennedy Cann was deeply moved by this incident. He wrote a poem, short, it is true, telling the story in simple words but full of emotion, each verse ending with this touching refrain : — " So lacking one thing Micah went, A little stimulant." CHAPTER XX A QUEEN OF CURDS AND WHEY The new Squire's new dairy stands apart from the picturesque group of buildings to which it belongs. But it is even more remote in spirit than in fact. Its stones, fresh from the quarry at the base of Beacon Hill, are brighter and cleaner than any of the ancient walls from which it holds aloof. The mark of time is not yet set upon it. No ivy climbs to lift its new red tiles, as it has done with some of the heavier slabs of stone which roof the barn. No creeper clothes it or even makes advances, as do the honeysuckle and the cabbage rose east and west of the dwelling, where they have turned the corners of the old lean-to dairy which no longer knows the scent of curd. There is not a crevice in which fern or yellow stonecrop can take root, or a dusty chink to A QUEEN OF CURDS AND WHEY 249 hold the red valerian that brightens the garden wall and lies reflected in the horse-pond be- low. Only the Tudor labels over the win- dows, repeating a feature of the old home- stead, link the Squire's new dairy with the past. In company with undulating roofs and crumbling gables it holds itself square and sharp-edged, another step in the triumphal advance of science over empiricism. Mrs. Dark's exposition of cheese-making had satisfied my hunger for knowledge. The more subtle technicalities of the art offered no allurement. Truth demands the admission that my visit to the new dairy was entirely to see "our Ursie." A maiden only "in her one-an'-twenty," born of "a doer" and a quiet man, yet a talker, and thus giving flat contradiction to the law of heredity, is one to awaken a secret sentiment. Candour demands the admission, I went to see Ursie. It was evening, and one of the milk-carts had just driven home from the field. Two men were lifting a large tin churn to pour the sweet milk through a filter into the small conduit which carries it through the dairy wall. The 250 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Squire's young bailiff, a smart young man with a fine moustache and a jaunty air of having been to the war, was keeping an eye on the proceedings. " Miss Dark ? Oh yes, you'll find her inside." He stepped forward and opened the door. His neck is strong, his shoulders well set up. The man is a sergeant of yeomanry, I suspect. Miss Dark was standing with one hand on the rim of the orlistenino- cheese-tub as the stream of milk came foaming in. The walls of the dairy are white. The floor is of a pale- grey concrete and smooth as a sheet of cream- laid paper. The windows face the north, and only late of a summer evening may one slant- ing ray of sunlight glint across the bottles, the " what-ee-call " and the "thingumbob " ranged on one of the sills. "Our Ursie" is taller than her mother. The hope of future portli- ness, justified by her upright bearing and the ripe curves of her bust, only adds a richness to the glory of her perfect youth. She wore a summer frock the colour of ripe barley, with a smocked yoke ; and above it, against the pale background, the head of " our Ursie " was as A QUEEN OF CURDS AND WHEY 251 strikingly bright as a single poppy against a grey sky above a field of corn. Her dark hair was rolled back from her forehead and crowned with a comb. Her cheeks, as a maid's should be "in her one-and-twenty," were the colour of the morning, and her eyes as merry as twinkling stars. " Our Ursie," to my mind, is enthroned on the very summit of the dairy-business — a veritable " Queen of Curds and Whey." " Mother told me to look out for somebody — oh ! a month ago," laughed she. " I have delayed too long." " She said a pupil." " That is exactly it." " But you've come at the wrong time. No. I don't quite mean that. We have almost finished." " But you must regard this as a visit preliminary to a prolonged course of instruc " When Her Majesty laughs all sorts of dim- ples come upon her cheeks and ripple around the corners of her mouth. Her mirth suffers no restraint. It is audible at a distance like 252 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE a peal of bells. The sergeant stepped in and fetched a bucket. "All utensils are scalded out with steam. Bacteria can't stand that," she explained, serious for the first time. The flood had ceased. She glanced at a thermometer hanging against the wall, plunged her arms into the milk, and, talking the while, gently stirred it around. "The milk has to be kept moving. Of course the whole process of cheese-making depends on Bacilli acidi lactici " " Of course." Smiling, she continued, " They have a way of sinking to the bottom and then the ripen- ing of the evening milk is not so satisfactory. I try to explain this to mother, but she only says, ' Don't you tell your mother no stories now. "But she stirs also." "That's because grannie did." " Then she won't accept the bacillus ? " " Well, she doesn't see the need of it. She says folk stirred before any bacillus came about." A QUEEN OF CURDS AND WHEY 253 Again the laughter rang out. The sergeant brought back the bucket but retired immediately. She dipped milk from the tub and carried it to the window-sill. To save time she sucked it into the receptacle of a pipette, let it flow until the required measure was accu- rately reached, and stopped the pressure of air by covering the tube with her finger. She poured it into a phial, took a bottle from the sill, and, having added two or three drops of colourless fluid, placed the mixture under the drip of the acidimeter. " This is the soda test," said she. "In the phial are 10 cubic centimetres of milk, with a couple of drops of phenol-phthalein, which becomes red if an alkali is put with it. In the graduated glass vessel of the acidimeter is a solution of sodium hydrate of a strength that each cubic centimetre will neutralise a certain quantity of lactic acid. The soda drops in very slowly indeed and gives the milk a red tint. You have to shake it, of course. But at the point when the red colour becomes permanent the lactic acid is neutralised, and 254 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE so, you see, you know. It is really very in- teresting." " It is of engrossing interest," said I. " I have tried to explain it to mother. There is no need to understand, if she would only use the apparatus. But she won't. Still, mother is a real wonder, mind." I understood how " our Ursie " obtained her reputation as a talker. Meanwhile the in- vestigation was complete. She drew water from a tap close by to cleanse the pipette by filling and blowing it empty again. Her mother was right. " Our Ursie " is a good- looking girl — a very striking girl. J ust as her cheeks were drawn in, with the effort of suck- ing, our eyes met and she laughed again. " This reminds me of the songabout sucking cider through a straw," said I. " I know that song," cried she. " But alas ! there seems to be no accom- modation for two." " There is none." I never saw merrier eyes in my life. They are honest too, and not afraid to look you in the face. A QUEEN OF CURDS AND WHEY 255 "That seems a pity," I lamented. " But you may take a turn with the pipette." Just at that moment that fellow came in. Her Majesty went back to her tub and stirred the milk again. He came to talk to me, trying to make himself agreeable with mere banality about the weather and the crops. When you come to look at him closer, he has — well, a look of extraordinary physical well-being. Really more than his share. A strong man without doubt. What many would call "a fine man." If he does not take care he will be more than portly after middle age. As cheese-making was finished for that evening, I took my leave, saying I would con- tinue my studies at a more convenient time. " Do," cried she, with willing good-nature. " It goes on every day alike all through the summer," explained the sergeant. The man is so exempt from every disturbance, physical, mental or spiritual, that he carries a perpetual smile. A little wearisome, I think, such everlasting contentment. I took a long walk in the dusk that evening 256 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and returned to Sutton Street by way of the fields by Dairyman's house. In the twilight I heard laughter and saw dim figures coming towards me. There were two of them — a man and a girl, but it was already too dark for recognition. " Good-night," cried a voice that sounded familiar. "Oh, good-night, Miss Dark." "Good-night," said he. The young bailiff was seeing home my Queen of Curds and Whey. During supper I informed Mrs. Josiah Heppell where I had been. " Miss Dark is a very handsome girl," said I. " What, Ursie Dark ? Ah, she's a merry maid, an' a good-looking maid, an' a good maid too," said Mrs. Josiah Heppell with en- thusiasm. " An' if you had a- went to church o' Sunday, you'd a-heard her banns a- published first time o' asken." CHAPTER XXI THE HOOPMAKER In the solitude of the wood, not far from where the great oak was felled, is a hut, so simple in all its contrivances that from a distance it looks like the dwelling of some primitive man. Closer inspection, however, proves it to be the shed of a hoopmaker, and leaning against the lower branch of an oak tree, by which it stands, is his store of slender rods — the only raw material of his humble industry. Although it was late in the season I was fortunate enough to find the man at work. I have not learnt his name. He is not "one o' Sutton," but comes from a village on the other side of the wood. Hoopmaking is a winter trade ; but it sometimes lasts well into the summer, until the rods become dry and 17 258 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE too brittle to be sufficiently pliable for the purpose. There had been a rainy spring, and this year he was enabled to continue much longer than usual. All the trees were now in full leaf and a dappled shade fell upon the flowers. It was getting on for noon. The birds had all mated and were nesting. Many had hatched their first broods, and were too busy for song. For a few hours in the middle of the day a hush falls upon the wood. There is no sound but the constant hum of insect life and the soft rustle of leaves. Such was the pleasant home of this woodland industry seen at its best on a sunny day in early summer. In the north wind of December, with a fire of sticks to unfreeze the rods, or with the grey rain of February dripping from every twig, the picture would be different. The " hoop-house," for so it is called, is built of poles chosen from among the copsewood, with lesser poles for slanting rafters, and covered with " chips " — long shavings made in paring the hoops to a proper thickness. These had been cast up quite loosely, and THE HOOPMAKER 259 without any art at all corresponding to that of the old-fashioned small holder who thatched his little rick with sedge. To the eye of the ignorant such a roof appeared incapable of keeping out even a passing shower. The hoopmaker, however, dismissed any such doubt with confidence. " Chips ? Oh ay, chips be weather-tight. Why, chips, in a manner o' speaken, that is to say if he had a-chanced to a-had 'em, which, to be sure, he never couldn' a-had, 'ood ha' made a roof for Noah's ark." Pleased with my ready acceptance of this statement, he, as it were, asked me in and made me welcome — so welcome that I at once paced his hoop-house and found it 16 ft. by 10 ft. But there has to be furniture in a hoopmaker's hut, and room to turn round as well. " Noo man liven can't make hoops 'ithout room. You mus' ha' a table — an' a hoss — and a pin-pwost. You've a-got to make 'em all your own self, an' put up your shed too. I do make all I do make use o', 'cepts 'tis the cutten-tools — my hook, my adze, my spoke- 260 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE shave, an' my whimble-piece. They be all boughten tools, they be. Oh ! Well, there — 'tis all very handy for me own use like ; but there's noo little parlour for company. Ha, ha ! But I don't never get so very much company out here. No, no. Not so very much. Ha, ha ! " He was a very genial old man, and he threw back his head and laughed. At such unexpected sound of voices a wren flew out from the roof. The little birds, naturally so shy as to their nesting, had built within the hut not more than 3 ft. above the head of the hoopmaker whenever his work brought him to the table. But birds seem to have an instinctive knowledge of the harmlessness of a man well occupied. Rooks, that rise from the plenty of a newly sown field of corn long before an approaching figure can get within gunshot, will follow the new-turned furrow and circle close above the ploughman and his team. "Company! Why, there's a wren's nest in the roof." "An' that's true," laughed he. " She've THE HOOPMAKER 261 a-got eggs noo doubt, though I never didden gie a thought to put my vinger in to see. They mus' be just a-gwaine to hatch out in all likelihood. There ! She don't hurt I. I don't hurt she. Ha, ha ! " His grey eyes twinkled, the corners of his mouth turned up, and his red, weather- beaten cheeks creased and puckered around his cheek-bones. There was an unsuspected joke under the most commonplace utterance of this merry old boy. " But now, maybe you'd like vor to see how hoops be a-made vrom start to finish. Ha, ha!" He led the way to his store of rods out- side the hut and selected three. This was evidently to be a show performance, for he had suddenly become solemn. There was a post driven firmly into the ground of a height convenient to serve as a chopping-block ; and another some 6 in. in stature at a little dis- tance to serve as a measuring-point. " I be to work 'pon six foot," he explained, as he measured the rod in his left hand. This done, he raised it level upon the block 262 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and chopped. Then he trimmed off the knots smooth with the rind. He carefully split the rods, not with his hook, but with the afore- said adze, thus of the three making material for six hoops. His leathern apron was neces- sary to protect his clothes from the friction of the rods, which he now carried to his " pin- pwost." The pin-post was a good stiff post set firmly in the ground close to the trunk of a tree, which served as one of the supports to the hut, and to which it was firmly withed at the top. At about the height of a man's waist, driven into the post, were two large wooden pins, the lower projecting some inches beyond the higher. Through the narrow space between them the hoopmaker passed each split rod, steadying it upon a shorter post. The elas- ticity of the stick made the grip secure. Then he shaved it to an appropriate thinness with his spokeshave. Some of the shavings, "chips," as he called them, were 2 ft. long. He had been at work for some hours, and a large heap of them lay at the front of his pin- post. HAYMAKING From a •water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. THE HOOPMAKER 263 He left the six hoops for a minute, to clear these away with as homely a tool as any lover of simple, old-world appliances could wish to meet with. If primitive man ever made hay he must have turned it with such a fork. The corn found in lake villages may have been pitched with something like it. It came from close at hand in the wood, a straight sapling with a natural fork, and a willow band withed to and fro across the prongs to strengthen them. A third prong at right angles to the other had been nailed to the stem to keep the "chips" from slipping. The prongs were about 2 ft. in length and the stem another 5 ft. to 6 ft. It was entirely home-made, with no metal but the nails. But this was none of your cutting " bough ten " tools. As to the chips themselves — some are sold and the rest the various workers in the wood take for firing. The true hoopmaking began on the "horse," a very high trestle with a rounded back. This also was withed to one of the uprights. On the side away from him the split rod was held down by a bar, and he pushed it forward, 264 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE bending it all the while over the round of the horse. When the end away from him pro- jected far enough, he hooked his foot around it and dragged it towards him underneath. Thus for the first time it assumed the form of a hoop. To be absolutely correct in size he went to the table, fitted this in a gauge hoop and marked the exact length. Then on the horse he drilled a hole with his whimble-piece, and finished the job with a wooden peg of his own making. The other five hoops were not pegged. On the low table, by the aid of his knee, protected by a leathern cap, he bent and fitted one within the other in the completed hoop. " Let cooper peg they to his own liking. Ha, ha ! " laughed he. Ten of these sets he piled neatly on each other, and twisted nooses at the ends of three pliant willow wands to bind them together. He placed a bar across the pile, and, standing with his heel on it and his toe on the circle, drew the withes tight, equidistant and secure. THE HOOPMAKER 265 " There ! " cried he ; " there's five dozen — half a hundred, hoopmaker's recknen. Ha, ha ! An' that's zebenpence ha'penny to keep my missus. Ha, ha ! " He could make two hundred and earn about half a crown a day. " But, law ! the trade's a'most gone," cried he. "They use iron now, I suppose?" " Not that," explained this laughing philo- sopher ; " but they do send 'em in from France ! " " Cheaper, from France ? " "Ay, an' more 'an that, the railway rate is too dear. Twenty-five shillens ! mind, five- an'-twenty shillens a ton is money." He did not know what his hoops were used for ; all he knew was, they went some- where " right down along." He evaded further cross-examination by the assertion that it was time " to ate a bit o' lunch. Ha, ha ! " I left him seated under an oak tree consum- ing bread and cheese and an excellent onion, with a bottle " o' tay-water " to wash it down. 266 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE In another part of the wood I came upon another hoop-house. The chips were fresh, and some one had worked there quite recently. The building was precisely like the one I had left, and, strangely enough, a pair of wrens had nested in this also. CHAPTER XXII THE WAYSIDE HOVEL " Hullo ! what a lovely morning ! " cried Mr. William Purchase. " Soon begin to think about haymaking if this lasts. I've got a beautiful bit of clover coming in flower, right at the other end of the farm. Wait a minute for the post. We'll turn up the lane here and walk up and look at it." The post for Sutton is brought on foot from a small town a few miles away. In haste to be off, he had walked impatiently beyond the village, and was waiting on the high road to intercept the postman, who was late. "The fellow is always behind now," crumbled Mr. William Purchase. Close by was a very humble dwelling. It had been an eyesore to him for years, that hovel on the strip of land lying between his 267 268 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE orchard and the high road, and on this beau- tiful morning in early June, when the heads of the apple trees were covered in blossom, of which every petal wore a blush more delicate than the thought of love upon a young maid's cheek, he turned and looked at it again. "There!" He pointed with his finger. " That, to my mind, is the black spot in Sutton. As I told the Inspector, not fit for a sow to litter in, and a disgrace to the parish." William Purchase was exactly in the humour to note every detail of that squalid habitation, and they were all such as to annoy him. To begin with, the foundation of the house was laid in theft. Some squatter, a hundred years ago, or more, when things were not looked after in Sutton so well as to-day, set up a hut on the wayside strip, a shanty of boards that grew in time into three mud walls and a pointing-end of stone, with a low thatched roof and a little squat chimney of red brick. Then a garden had been enclosed, and at last the waste be- came exalted into a property. Some later owner had even sunk a well. So, although THE WAYSIDE HOVEL 269 the place could boast of only one door and two small rooms opening one into the other, it must at some time have enjoyed a period of better circumstances. That time was p-one. The mossy roof sank down between the rafters and hung on them like a sodden garment. The stone wall was shored up on the outside by means of a plank and a good stiff pole, and yet a broad chink gaped between the mud and the pointing-end. Upon one side of the chimney the bricks were falling away. Of two windows, neither larger than a man's pocket-handkerchief, one was smothered and hidden under a dirty, ragged old sack. As a crowning incongruity (when looked at in its relation to so antiquated, so primitive a dwell- ing) a lean-to, roughly constructed by means of three posts and two sheets of corrugated iron, stood at one end to afford a shelter for a small, but ingenious, home-made hand- cart. " There ! " repeated Mr. William Purchase. " And the poor fellow who lives there is a good match for the house. Now, I'll tell you what ought to be done, Such a cottage is only fit 2 7 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE to be pulled down and cleared away. The hedges should be grubbed out, the garden thrown into the orchard and planted with young growing trees. A cheap pump over the well, and a better gate close by — then the water'll be worth its weight of a dry summer. As to poor Jakey Barton himself, he ought to be sent into the Union to be taken care of. There can be no question as to that. He'd be cleaner, happier, and altogether better off. Thank Heavens the property does not belong to any one in Sutton. The owner lives miles away. I made him a fair offer to buy it years ago. Yet the man refused — hoping, no doubt, because of the frontage, to get a ridiculous price." These reflections were suddenly brought to a stop by the appearance of Jakey Barton, who, having silently propped open the gate with one of the chimney bricks, came drag- ging his cart towards the road. The figure of the man and the odd propor- tions of the vehicle were truly in keeping with the old tumble-down cottage whence they came. Jakey Barton was misshapen THE WAYSIDE HOVEL 271 from birth. His barrow was the unassisted product of a peculiar genius hiding some- where between a humped back and a narrow chest which was certainly" pigeon-breasted. He would have been tall if he had not been so crooked. Made up of odd angles every- where, the strange behaviour of his knees and ankles made one think of a daddy-long-legs. His face was overgrown with unkempt hair and beard, making it difficult to guess his age. He had been like that when William Purchase was a boy. His barrow was a starch-box, two mop-stems and a pair of perambulator wheels, and he appeared to be intent upon steering it between the gate- posts. But he was sullen and would not look at Mr. William Purchase — the man who would put him in " The House " if he could — the man who brought the Inspector that morning when they stood in the road to- gether and found fault with the cottage. Yet it was worth any one's while to look at Mr. William Purchase on that beautiful June day. He had put on a new light tweed suit to welcome the summer, and stood with his 272 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE legs apart, a very model of stability and com- fortable respectability. He was said to be stubborn, but always good-natured. Cer- tainly he bore no ill-will towards Jakey Bar- ton, the cottage, or the cart. But the thing made a scandal in Sutton, and he hated a scandal and dearly loved the parish of Sutton. It is only fair to say that his action in the matter of the Inspector was not prompted in the least by his desire to buy the strip of land. The house was not according to the reooila- tions. He might sometimes be narrow, but William Purchase was never mean. "Hullo, Jakey. Going out round again? What job have you got on hand this morning, then ? " The words were spoken in the breezy, hearty manner of a well-to-do who sometimes patronises an inferior in order to assure him- self that there is no false, stuck-up pride about him. " Birds'-meat," grunted Jakey. " Oh ! Bit of groundsel, bit of shepherd's- purse for the canary-birds in their cages in the town, eh ? Why, Jakey, you must be THE WAYSIDE HOVEL 273 making a fortune. One day carrier — next day merchant — and then the mushrooms, the blackberries and sloes, and all the little crops that a man like you can take in for nothing. Jakey, you're the only man I know clever enough to reap without sowing." For the first time the cripple looked up, but his glance was dark and angry. " I never begged o' you, nor o' any other man liven," he growled. "As between man an' man, I tell you, I'm none too crooked to get on very well, if — if only a few good friends would but leave me to myself." " Don't be angry, my man. There is no ill-will towards you. I swear to God I never clap eyes on Jakey Barton without the wish to see him better off — better off and better cared for." To this Jakey made no response, but slowly dragged away his cart, scanning the hedgerow bank and sometimes stopping to gather birds'-meat as he went. That was one of his stock phrases — as between man an' man — and half the village nicknamed him by it. 18 274 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE And just then the postman came in sight. " Come, come ! You are late. How is this ? " shouted Mr. William Purchase in a tone of banter. "Only one for you, sir," replied the post- man. "Oh! That's a measly excuse, I call it — that you've had to bring me no correspond- ence." The postman laughed. To him Mr. Wil- liam Purchase was always a " thorough good sort." Mr. William Purchase tore open his one letter and read : " Some time ago you offered me a price for my cottage on the Hazelgrove road. Please say by return of post whether you still wish to buy it, as otherwise I shall put it up to auction at once." He laughed. " Getting worried by the authority, I sup- pose," he muttered to himself. " Here, postman, stop one moment. I can't go home to write. Just send a wire for me." THE WAYSIDE HOVEL 275 He tore an unused half-sheet from the letter and wrote in pencil : " I stand by my offer. — William Pur- chase." " There, postman. Send that. That'll be sixpence. And you can keep the other six- pence for yourself." " Thank you, sir. Good-morning, sir," said the postman and tramped on his way. "That's settled. Nothing more to answer — so come along. One more blot removed. Jakey, poor fellow, will have to go now. And much the better for him too. His must be a half-starved, miserable existence. If he will only be reasonable and go into ' The House."' Thus we crossed into the lane and turned our steps towards the clover-field. The field of clover was as beautiful as a dream. The morning being young, the sun had not yet drunk all the dew. Some of the moist leaves underneath were still folded, as if not awakened from their night's repose. The crop was more forward than had been expected, and everywhere the clover heads 276 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE were bursting into their summer purple, and giving off their dewy fragrance to the light and warmth. " It is wonderfully sweet," said I. " Honey-sweet," said he. The bees thought so also, for they were innumerable and their humming knew no pause. I picked a flower and pulled it abroad to suck its sweetness as country children do. Butterflies fluttered in the sun or basked upon the leaves. To and fro, up into the blue sky and then close to the green leaf, skimmed the swallows and the swifts, feeding on the insect life that, attracted by the scent of the honey, abounded everywhere. " Let this weather last but a few days longer," cried Mr. William Purchase in a tone of boisterous jollity. " It'll be in full flower. Then I'll take a first cut at this and begin haymaking." CHAPTER XXIII THE REFRACTORY TENANT When it became known that Mr. William Purchase had bought the tumble-down cottage from the approaching Midsummer day, there was wonder in Sutton as to where old " Man an' man " would go. He had lived in it so long that the village could not imagine him in any other place. Cottages were scarce. People were hungry for them in that neighbourhood and snapped them up before they were empty. No farmer was likely to take such a tenant, even if he had a house vacant, when he could pick and choose among half a dozen respectable, hard- working men with families to bring up. That much was clear to everybody. As Carter Peters said, that "was but reason." And Shepherd agreed it " was nothing but right." 278 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE The future of Jakey was discussed over many a quart of ale or cider. But as to whether anything had been done, for a long time nothing was known. And the " rights o' it " would never have been known but for the perspicuity of young John Brook, who, as soon as ever he saw Mr. William Purchase turn in to Jakey Barton's garden-hatch, knew, as clear as if Mr. William Purchase had told him so outright, that "something was up." Mr. William Purchase was a busy man, and for a while completely forgot his new property and its old tenant. The clover was cut, made, and carried before he took any steps in the matter whatever. Next to the orchard was a beautiful field of grass, with the herbage in full flower and the earliest of it in seed, just ripe for the mower, and young John Brook was by the corner of the orchard hedgerow with a scythe cutting a track for the machine to go round. Thus it was that he saw that significant action on the part of Mr. William Purchase, which revealed to him so much. The young John THE REFRACTORY TENANT 279 Brook dropped his scythe, nipped through a gap in the hedge, and popped down to Jakey's garden. The orchard now was like a bower with the fruit all kerned hard and green amongst the fresh and open leaves. Peering through the garden-hedge, with his great round face amongst the dog-roses, the young John Brook could both see and hear every- thing. This is the final form of young John Brook's narrative, as afterwards made known, a por- tion at a time, to the other haymakers as they turned the swath, or pitched beside the waggon, or gathered to their beer on the shady side of the rick ; and it does credit to his powers of observation. " There master, as I said, walked up garden-path an' rapped 'pon door wi' his knuckles, an' turned round an' bid so still as a graven image in a church wall. " Not so much as a sound. "Then master, he turned hisself round short, an' knocked 'pon door wi' the han'le of his walken-stick. " Not a step nor a word. 280 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Then master, he thought he'd take a little walk round like. He shoved his stick into the crack by the winder. He took a peep at the pole an' plank where the wall is a- shored up. He pulled a han'ful o' the dusty dry old thatch out o' the low eaves. Then he corned to Jakey's little tin cart-house, an' he sort o' smiled to his own self like, an' then he chuckled, an' then he stood an' laughed outright. An' he turned hisself round, an' he marched up to door like a turkey cock an' het 'pon un again, an' hollared — - "'Come, Barton. No hiden. I do know you be there.' " Not so much as a mouse. " ' Do you hear, you old fox ? I've a-catched sight o' your cart under the shed.' "Then come a footstep, so slow as a snail, 'pon the stone floor. Then the door oped just enough for Jakey to shove his ragged head round. He never nodded. He never moved his lips. He jus' bid an' stared an' blinked at Mr. William Purchase. " ' Come, come. This is terr'ble bad manners, Jakey.' There master, you see, THE REFRACTORY TENANT 281 he couldn' but laugh too. ' To let a visitor stand about an' knock twice.' ' At this point it was the habit of the young John Brook to become more dramatic, and to give the dialogue in style, with an imitation of the voices of the two disputants. " ' What do ee want? ' says Jakey. " ' The cottage is mine now ' '"So I've a-heard tell.' "'So I've just a-comed to have a word wi' ee.' " 'You needn't to ha' bothered. You mid rest yourself easy. I do always pay my rent.' " ' I don't doubt that, Jakey, but ' "'An' so you'll find. I shall send wi'out asken.' " ' But it's not a matter o' rent.' " ' I never ha'n't a-been a wick behind wi' my rent not in all my life.' " Then he popped back the head o' un, an' would ha' slammed to the door. But master, he had a-been too cunnen for un. He'd a-got his foot in 'pon threshold an' t'other couldn't shut he out. 282 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE 11 So then they at it again. " ' Stop ! Stop ! Stop ! I know you are an excellent tenant, but the law will have its way. It has made up its mind that the house is not fit to be a dwelling, and so ' " ' 'Tis good enough for I.' " ' But it's not according to the regulations, Jakey ; so you must take notice to quit.' " ' I can't find nowhere else to go to.' "' You shall have time to look. Getting around the country as you do, you'll soon chance on something to suit your wants ' " ' I tell ee I can't. There idden no other place 'pon this mortal earth to suit. An' zo, between man an' man, that's flat.' " ' Oh, you'll find a place — a better place. And I shall not hurry you. Say a month. Saturday four weeks, Barton. How will that do ? Four weeks Saturday next. Do you hear ? 'Tis not me — 'tis the law. And then this has got to be pulled down.' " But jus' to that moment master chanced to draw back his foot. Slam goes the door. Bang goes the bolt. All over ! But lawk ! To see his bushy brows and hear old Jakey THE REFRACTORY TENANT 283 scream, you couldn' but think o' some girt scritch-owl." This narrative was most popular, and the dialogues were demanded on every possible occasion. They went far to establish an opinion, which had been gaining ground ever since Easter morning, that young John Brook really cannot be such a fool as he looks. The matter, however, did not rest here. On the following day the haymakers turned in to work in the field close to Jakey's cottage. And there arose great sun-capped mountains of cloud, and the weather became most fickle with thunder and heavy storms of rain. The sun dried and the shower wetted. The hay- makers raked the sweet-smelling hay up into windrows only to throw it abroad again. Thus for the better part of three weeks they were close to Jakey's cottage and able to have a word with him every day. They learnt all his mind and his doings. How he gave one of the village children a halfpenny to carry his shilling and the well-thumbed penny account- bookto the Manor House every Saturday, with instructions that the payment must be entered, 284 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and the emissary must wait and be sure to bring back the book. Remuneration was made dependent upon the complete success of the mission, and the child had never failed. The haymakers jocularly encouraged old Jakey. They said if Jakey chose to do nothing at all he could remain as firm in that house as a staple driven into the wall. They said, if he kept the door lockedand the key in his pocket, when he was in and when he was out, the devil him- self could not force him to quit. They warned him that the main thing was the possession of the key. What the crown is to a king so is a key to a tenant. So Jakey slept with the key under his pillow. Also, in order to avoid his landlord, he sought the byways and lanes, and nolonger picked groundsel andshepherd's- purse on any of the high roads round about Sutton. Thus the four weeks passed and more ; and, with the overlapping of harvest upon hay- making, the expiration of the notice might pro- bably have remained overlooked, had not the labourers felt that the little drama in which THE REFRACTORY TENANT 285 they took so much interest was beginning to drag. In a dull way they sympathised with Jakey. Yet so odd a creature could not fail to be the object of ridicule, just as a sick sheep is the butt of the flock. Carter Peters thought that a chance word to master, " to act as a bit of a spur like," might make things move. They were far away from the Hazelgrove road, on the side of the gentle hill where the lapwings circled over the young stock in spring. The wheat close by was turning to ruddy gold. They were carrying the last few loads of a crop made under a clear blue sky, and mowed and hauled in four days with never a drop of rain upon it. Mr. William Purchase was there, mounted upon his cob, riding beside the growing load as it passed slowly down the avenue of pooks on its way to the rick. Most of the singing birds are silent in July. Every sound that fell upon the ear — the rattle of the horse-rake, the jingling of the harness when the horses shook themselves under the torture of the flies, the warning shout of the carter's boy to the men on the load, " Hold fast ! " and then the 286 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE creaking of the wheels as the waggon moved one step forward — had to do with the work in hand. Thus they drew nigh and came along- side the rick. The jar was fetched from under the shady leafage in the cool ditch, and the little cup to be filled for each. Then men and boys stood round for a drink. Mr. William Purchase dropped his rein on the quiet old cob's neck and leisurely took out a pouch to fill his pipe. He was by no means the man to inflict silence by his presence. To his credit, he was fully established to be " one you could speak to." On that day he was most complacent and smiling. Everything through- out the season, with the exception of the thunder-showers, which, after all, were the salvation of the mangolds, had gone first-rate. Carter winked to Shepherd over the cup. " Old ' Man an' man,' he don't find another house, sir," he ventured, and drank as inno- cent as a babe with a bottle. Shepherd, with the jar tucked under his arm, filled up for young John Brook. " I can't hear that he do look." " Maybe he don't think master do mean it." THE REFRACTORY TENANT 287 " No. He do hold the notice is dead now the time is up an' gone by." " Ay ! He do think he can't be turned out by law so long as he do pay the rent." "An' if he do but keep the door locked no- beddy do dare to break in." "Is that his notion ? " laughed Mr. William Purchase as he put away his pouch. "Well, get along with it, and pick it all up, clean and nice." Then, taking the rein, he turned his horse and rode away at a walk. The remarks of his labourers set him think- ing. He was a good-hearted man, but it does not do to allow oneself to be trifled with. He could detect something more behind. When speaking of the rent Isaac Jeans knew more than he said. Yet it does not do to listen to the tattle of the men. If old Barton were determined to lock his door and stay, it would be a fine job to get him out — and ex- pensive, too. Yet it does not do to be defied. On the other hand, it would never do to throw a wretched cripple's few sticks of furniture into the road. There are so many things, when a man is a churchwarden, a member of many 288 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE boards, and very respectable, that will not do. And it was he who had called attention to the uninhabitable condition of the cottage. He took the whim to ride round and look at it again. He cantered across the hayfield to a gate opening upon a narrow drove, impass- able in winter and in the summer little used. There, hidden between overgrown hedgerows, he came suddenly upon the groundsel-picker with his cart. "Well, Barton! Have you got a house yet ? " " No. An' ben't likely to. None but the one I be in," growled the old fellow. " You do not try, my man. The month is up. However, you may have one week more." " I do pay my rent, an' that's enough. If the wet do come in, or if the bricks do fall, I do keep silence an' pay my rent. What business is it to other folk ? The house is good enough for me, an' you do get your rent. You might grumble, to be sure, if I did keep ee out o' your rent." Old Jakey stepped down into the ditch and picked groundsel as if he had not the patience THE REFRACTORY TENANT 289 or could not spare the time to insist further upon so obvious a contention. Mr. William Purchase felt sorry for him. " I tell you what it is, Barton. Take the old cottage up by the wood at the same price. There are two rooms, just as you have here, and a better garden. It will just do for you." Old "Man an' man" raised his head and half turned to look over his humped shoulder. "Ha' n't you got eyes in your head to see," cried he sharply, "that my poor lags can't walk up and down stairs ? " It was impossible to be insensible to the pathos of this lament. Yet it did but confirm the opinion, many times expressed, that Barton would be better in the workhouse and com- fortably cared for. Mr. William Purchase did not say so. 1 1 could do no good. And it would not answer to refuse the rent. The old man would but stay rent-free. But this constant harping on the word suggested another plan. " You have not tried, Barton. Perhaps you may have to pay a trifle more. Now I shall send you a written week's notice to quit, and at the same time raise the rent to half a crown. 19 2 9 o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE You can get a better house for less money. You have to go, and this is to make you attend to the matter." Jakey did not answer. " Do you hear?" " My hearing is so good as another's, thank God ! " Jakey climbed from the ditch and packed his plants neatly in the cart with the air of one who will not be hindered. Mr. William Purchase chose to take this very ambiguous reply for acquiescence. Com- forting himself with the thought that Barton could never afford to pay half a crown, he dis- missed all doubt, with the reflection that it would be easy enough to return Jakey the difference when he came to vacate the house. The sun was shining. A brood of young thrushes went fluttering along the hedgerow. Everything was living, growing, prosperous and contented. By the time Mr. William Purchase reached the end of the grassy drove and turned into the dusty road, he had quite forgotten the condemned cottage and its miser- able tenant in the sense of his own well-being. CHAPTER XXIV POTTED RABBIT " Hullo ! Here, I say ! Why don't ee bring out your gun this hot weather in the cool o' the evening, just 'pon twilight, or in the quiet after daybreak, afore folk be about, an' creep round an' pot a few rabbits ? There's thou- sands ! Millions! Billions! You come." Such was the hearty invitation of Uncle Dick, shouted back at me on the high road out of a cloud of dust, as he whirled by at full trot in his market gig. Just upon twilight ! The words raised a vision of grateful quiet- ude and peace. Labour has gone home from the fields. The click of the mowing-machine and the jingle of the horse-rake have ceased. One empty waggon has been left ready for to- 29 2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE morrow beside the half-made rick. Another carried home a load of singing haymakers when they knocked off for the day. Ragged cart- horses, both young and old, having indulged in the kick and the flourish with which they celebrate their freedom in the meadow, have settled down to feed. Some time ago the cowman drove his herd from the milking-stalls slowly back to the pasture. Earlier still the dairyman's maidens ceased their song and rattled away with the full cans. Kine that stood all the afternoon knee-deep in the brook, having ceased to ruminate, are curling their tongues around the lush dewy grass to pull it. The breaking of the herbage has a pleasant sound as you pass, and there is also a fragrance of new milk. A blackbird is still fluting from the bush, and thrushes repeat their phrases from trees both far and near. The clumps of furze upon the hillside, though much of the flower has turned to hairy little pods, begin with the falling of the dew to scent of cocoanut, and from the twigs, or fluttering above them, linnets creep and warble of their second broods. The roses and the POTTED RABBIT 293 honeysuckles pour forth upon the air the sweetness they have saved during the heat of the day. The sun is low. Cool shadows stretch rio-ht across the fields. Columns of blue smoke rise from amongst the trees that shelter the village. The mill has ceased to hum. From the level fields, near where the church tower may be seen between the poplars, the distant sounds of the village cricket club at practice may be heard. The sharp tap of the ball against the bat, the applause which follows a mighty slog, the shouts of derision after the missing of an easy catch. Yet these cannot disturb the quiet of the hour just upon twilight. Nor the cawing of innumerable rooks as they rise and fall, and wheel and turn before settling down upon their roosting-trees. Nor the " fronk " of the heron, as with steadv flight he passes homeward from some distant fen to some more distant wood. And when at last the disc of the setting sun, that gleamed between the ivy-covered trees, has just passed out of sight, and the long- shadows have faded from the grass, the night- jar comes from his daily hiding-place in the 294 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE wood and utters his whirring note as he darts to and fro, hawking moths and the buzzing chafers that fly in the gloom and terrify village maidens as they loiter by the stiles or walk with their lovers along some lane. Quite early the grass is wet with dew. And even if the day has been still, there comes a welcome breath of wind in the cool of the dusk. What wonder, then, if the summer evening is so beautiful that no self-respecting rabbit can be content to stuff in a hole ? So they come lopping out by hundreds. Rabbits in infancy, rabbits adolescent, stout old does, models of domesticity, surrounded with families of five, and yet inclined to flirt with grey old bucks who for seasons have eaten the first of the clover and the sweetest of the spring crops while they toughened in iniquity. All sorts are there along the wood and the hedgerow bank. I have no love for the rabbit alive or dead, and care nothing how he is killed or how he is cooked. There is a lack of talent about him and an absence of temperament quite de- plorable. He comes, feeds, and goes to earth POTTED RABBIT 295 again. It does not recommend him to say- that many of us do little better ourselves. It is not given to every living creature to breathe the rare atmosphere enjoyed by the lark, or to soar to heights reserved for the minor poet. But the rabbit gravely works his jaw like an ordinary politician and stays where he is. There is an utter want of soul in his expres- sion, caused, it may be, in some measure by the absence of the white of the eye, which drives him to convey his loftier emotion by a finer elevation of a fluffy little tail called a scut. He is prolific also beyond the bounds of decorum. And then his cowardice. At the sound of a footstep or the mere snapping of a twig, if one should start, away scuttle all the rest. No spirit of independence stirs within the bosom of a rabbit. There is never a re- former among the bucks — never a suffragette among the does. For these reasons it is no crime to pot a rabbit sitting — if he will only wait. The way is to creep along the hedgerow or around the gorse and peep. It seems like a child's game. But it is all a matter of strategy, 296 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and every evening throughout the summer months hundreds of thousands of frivolous rabbits succeed in outwitting the deepest men. The sportsman may steal along on tiptoe, sniffing the sweet brier and the honeysuckle as he goes. The sandy bank is honeycombed with holes. The grass is eaten bare for twenty feet from the ditch ; and the earth, that ought to be clad in green, looks parched and rusty brown. Yet when the ground is dry and hard the rabbits that are so plentiful have all vanished long before he can approach within gunshot. Only when he peeps through the gate can he manage to surprise one half- grown innocent ; and appearing suddenly round the corner of the wood he gets another galloping home from the middle of the field. But the big patch of gorse offers more favourable opportunities. It is thick and dark. There are long peninsulas jutting out from the main conti- nent, and islands here and there along the coast. Hidden upon either side, he may pass through a narrow strait and kill a couple before they have time to look round. And VIEW OF SUTTON VILLAGE From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. , 4 t *■&•**•■ .4s 4^^ POTTED RABBIT 297 so his bag increases as the darkness draws on. Now, what if a man should kill three couple and have a mile to carry them home ? That is when each potted rabbit takes its most devilish revenge. After all, summer evening rabbit-shooting is only a sport for boys. For young boys home from school, rejoicing in the possession of a first single barrel, and thirsting to kill. For old boys "fat and scant of breath," who ascend a hill with deliberation and pant when they get to the top. In two essential require- ments the enterprise is utterly deficient. It makes no demand upon endurance, and is no test of skill. It is merely an admirable excuse for a quiet walk in the most pleasant hour of the twenty- four. CHAPTER XXV A COUPLE O' YOUNG CAUTIONS Ever after the memorable occasion when the promptitude of Miss Letty Purchase so mercifully preserved the life of Selina Jane Edwards' little Rosie Ann, Dr. Willoughby, the "local tremens," was noticed to visit Sut- ton with a frequency which the excellent health of the parish did not appear to demand. With such constancy and patience did his man slowly walk that "bay hoss an' two- wheel trap " to and fro between the church gate and the end of the causeway that, at first, great alarm was felt lest some epidemic might have broken out at the Manor House. Visits of such length, and sometimes twice a day, it was feared could only result in the speedy death of the sufferer. And yet, who could it be ? That nothing was ailing with Miss Letty 298 A COUPLE O' YOUNG CAUTIONS 299 must be clear to the dullest apprehension. When seen to step out upon the causeway, apparently in serious conference with the doctor before his departure, Miss Letty was observed to be brighter eyed, fresher cheeked, and rosier lipped than ever in her life before. Mr. William Purchase himself, tanned by the haymaking, walked up the street, or ambled by on his cob, at all hours of the day. Of a Sunday Mrs. William Purchase led the way up the centre alley to the square pew in front of the pulpit with unimpaired dignity. Selina Jane Edwards scarcely got a day's work at the Manor House in a fortnight. If anything were amiss, therefore, it must be some deep- rooted complaint not apparent on the sur- face nor quickly cured, but requiring constant watching. And this proved to be the case. One morning, — it was on the first of August, to be precise, — whilst serving a late breakfast, Mrs. Josiah Heppell, full of news, again used the window as an observatory from which to note the movements of wandering bodies in the Sutton firmament. " So maybe you've a-heard — though no, 3 oo ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE you can't, to be sure, since 'twere but settled last night between supper an' bed — that Miss Letty Purchase is to wed wi' the young ' local tremens,' an' he to set up in trade for his own self come next New Year. Ha ! There is Miss Letty, just out d gate, in the little pony an trap, holiday time begun, off to the station to fetch back the two boys, I'll warrant it. Oh yes, an' the time o' the wedden not yet fixed for certain, but not a long- ena-a£ement, for, to be sure, when a man do take a house, an' a doctor in partic'lar, he don't want to live single. Ha ! Heres one d the maids a-runnen up to Heppell. That's for the carpenter to move the fourposter into the spare r 00171, two beds there for the boys, an Dr. Willoughby to have the iron bedstead in the room t'other end wi the two winders where the roses do grow. For Dr. Willoughby is to bide there for a week or more, now Dr. Thwaite is home again, otherwise he was to lef to-day, but now o' course all's altered. Ha ! There s Mrs. William Purchase out in front garden, an down to zvall to peep up the road. ' Tis no good, my good ooman,for a full A COUPLE O' YOUNG CAUTIONS 301 half -hour yet. Though they boys 11 sweat thik pony, I warrnt it. They be sich a couple d young cautions. They be. Ah ! well there ! Poor Miss Letty 'ull have a time now. Co ! They won't gie her no peace, I'll warr'nt it. There ! They be ! 'Twas they what put Selina Jane Edwards' goat into old Betsy Mogridge's dresser cupboard. Come night an' he hungry, he did bleaty. Ho ! Fright- ened the poor old soul out of her wits. She thought 'twere the devil. First she hollered fire ! an' then she hollered out for the p'lice- man. Still, 'twere cruelish, for the old Betsy do declare to this day that the goat ate full half of a empty pickle-bottle. But Miss Letty, she won't care. Elder sister, you see, by up five year ; she do love they boys. But la ! they be a couple of young cautions, they be ! Ha ! There s the maid out from here. Hullo ! What do she run across to Baker Heath's for, then f Anybody dont want to order extra bread, sure, when they can take it up. Now that 's for bakers cart to lef a note wi old Miss Purchase, over t'other side d Wynberry, Til be bound, when he do drive his rottnd this 3 02 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE afternoon. That's to let she know the first, for a compliment like — godmother to Miss Letty. Aii she wi money — quite right, too." Thus this excellent woman continued to pour forth a most refreshing stream of the purest information, uncontaminated with error, until the pony and trap and " the three Pur- chases," as she announced, appeared in the distance. Ponies always know when they are going home. This one came at a gallop down the road. The couple of young cautions are old friends from last Easter vacation, and I went to the window to see them arrive. They were al- ready on the causeway, two frank, healthy boys, thirteen and fifteen, in short jackets, broad collars, and white straw hats, consent- ing- to be kissed. "Hullo!" ejaculated Mrs. Josiah Heppell by my shoulder. " That's not a Purchase bag, that yaller one, I'd take my affydavy. Now, only to think. She've a-fetched his bag. Just for a glimpse, you see. What 'tis to be young! An he to drive round wi Dr. Thwaite A COUPLE O' YOUNG CAUTIONS 303 no doubt, an be dropped on the way home. Co ! Letty Purchase ! You young maid! " Mrs. Josiah Heppell was so touched by this instance of love's devotion that she wiped her right eye with the corner of her apron. A certain gift of idleness, which will waste hours in the finding a bird's nest, first en- deared me to the couple o' young cautions. We are chums. It is needless to distinguish between Master William and Master George. They dress alike. In spite of differences of opinion, they think alike. They talk alike. Each is, in- deed, a replica, on a reduced scale, of Mr. William Purchase himself. When we under- take an expedition together, they walk one on each side and pour out their fresh young thoughts in alternate phrases, very like the psalms were read between the parson and the clerk in an old-fashioned village church. Shortly after their arrival we went down the river of an evening after a hot day to swim in the tepid water of a deep, still reach. They were pleased to impart their views of 3 04 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Dr. Willoughby, and to signify, with certain limitations, their approval of the engagement. " I say, sir, what a lark ! Letty going to be married next spring ! " "We do rot her, sir, because " " You see, he's a Londoner " " And so he doesn't know anything " " And Letty knows an awful lot for a girl." " Oh yes. Quite as much as a boy." " Of course he can't help it, but still " " We tell Letty he's an awful muff." " Because we stuff him up all wrong." " And then he goes and tells her " " And then she put holly leaves in our boots " " So we want to eet even with her " " And, you see, he really can't shoot a rabbit " "He can't shoot a haystack " " But Letty won't let him come out of an evening " " Because, of course, she wants to take him off " "For a walk in the wood or somewhere " " So he's going to get up to pot a rabbit " A COUPLE O' YOUNG CAUTIONS 305 "To-morrow before breakfast, and we're to call him " " Just as it gets light. So, presently, when we get back " " We're o-oinq- to stick a dead rabbit " " Up in the old willow tree, near to the pit " In the middle of six acres " "Where he can't help seeing it " "Then he'll tell about it at breakfast, and " " We shall send the rabbit to Letty " "In a brown paper parcel " "With his love." I ventured to express the misgiving that he might not believe in the willow tree. They admitted a weak point in the conspiracy, but hoped to overcome it. They had thought, they were good enough to tell me, that if I would join the party and give countenance to the proceedings with a grave face, all would be well. As an encouragement, they promised to run across and throw pebbles at my window in time to secure me against the humiliation of being late. 306 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Do come. It will be such a lark." " And of course Letty will know you are not such a duffer " " Only, she can't put holly in your boots." The argument was unanswerable — the ex- pedition enlisted a recruit. We started when the birds were twittering in the grey morning, and before the last of the bats had retired to their hollow tree. No other person in the village had risen, and no living thing had been disturbed. By the corner of a field of wheat, where the corn heavy in ear had been laid down by the thunder-storm, three ducks got up and flew away to the withy beds far down the river, where they pass the day in quiet security. As we walked, the young lover talked with regret of his ignorance of country sights and living creatures. His father being- in practice in London, he had gone to a city school and his boyhood never enjoyed the freedom of the fields. The dawn came over the hill. The thin clouds above the eastern horizon reddened, leapt into flame, and then brightened to gold. The dew that lay so A COUPLE O' YOUNG CAUTIONS 307 misty grey upon the grass suddenly caught the light, and there was a glistening diamond on every blade. As to the rabbits, they were everywhere and far afield. After the hours of un- disturbed darkness they are less timid than at evening twilight, and the steps of the rabbit-potter are almost noiseless on the moist, dewy ground. Dr. Willoughby dis- charged his gun frequently, but without visible result. The old willow tree stands alone, leaning with age and the experience of bitter winter storms. Its leaves shivered white in the morning breeze. "But do rabbits climb trees?" he asked in doubt. " Not habitually," said I. " Of course they can't climb a straight tree " " But only a very leaning trunk " " That they can run along." Thus the couple o' young cautionsjiastened to prop up my inefficient support. They were successful. With wary steps Dr. 3 o8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Willoughby stalked the willow tree, dis- covered his prey> — fired. It was a good shot. From the branch the rabbit fell dead upon the grass. He ran to pick it up. The couple o' young cautions ran faster, and were already there to offer congratulations. "Rigor mortis" was all he said. CHAPTER XXVI CLOTHES-PEGS Wynberry Beacon is the highest point in this part of the country. From the distant landscape in any direction it may be seen for many miles, a grey line rising into a peak behind nearer ranges of gentler and greener hills. From the village of Sutton, during the warmer months, it is a parched, stony height, issuing from a broad slope of delicious shady wood. Far from any main road and crossed only by a rough track, it remains almost unknown to tourists and pleasure-seekers. Upon the summit is a heap of stones. A few years ago a swarm of bees, refusing to listen to the beating of trays and pans, flew away from the woodman's cottage below to settle in the crevices of this pile. " There must be poun's an' poun's o' honey there by this time. 310 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Pay to go up an' take." So Sutton people tell each other. Yet the bees hold possession to-day against all intruders. Sutton folk are aware of many inducements to climb Wynberry, yet very rarely does one of them attempt it. " There's money an' jewels enough a-buried 'pon Wynberry to make everybeddy rich for life, if they could but put their finger 'pon it." " There's a flower, that some do know of, that do grow 'pon Wynberry, that don't grow nowhere else 'pon earth." "There's a well just in the wood, half up Wynberry, that you can drink an' wish for anything you do long for." " Some days you can see the sea from top o' Wynberry." These are some of the local traditions about the Beacon Hill. They made it worth a climb, for the legend of hidden riches is asso- ciated with an ancient British camp ; the wishing-well upon the road may as well have a chance, to be sure ; and the sea — though it be only a far-away gleam of silver, after all — is the sea. CLOTHES-PEGS 311 To make a day of it, I started of a morn- ing in good time. The sky was hidden be- hind lofty clouds. So much the better, for a clear sunshine wraps the landscape in a light haze, making the near appear distant and veiling the far horizon. A pleasant breeze set the woods a-rustling. The heavy foliage of the oaks was brightened with the fresh green shoots that come towards the end of summer, and clusters of nuts were sprinkled all over the hazel copse. The lane through the wood is little used, and I reached the hill- side and the wishing-well without meeting a living soul. The well is but a spring bubbling up with- in a natural basin of mossy rock and spread- ing over a small rushy swamp on a bit of level roadside waste, now gay with patches of yellow ragwort and bearing the charred marks of gipsy fires. The place was occu- pied that morning. A high, two-wheeled cart stood on a higher part of the waste between the rushes and the flowers, and on the ground beside it lay some half a dozen large bags. Seated on a box 3 i2 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE near the shafts was a man of about sixty peeling willow sticks. He had already piled up a heap of rind that would have filled a bushel basket. There was no fire and neither of the hearths was smoking. As I drew near he stood up, a straight, upright man of six feet in height in a long waistcoat with num- erous buttons and large pocket-flaps. He looked at me with anxiety and then seemed reassured. "Did you meet with anybody on the way ? " he asked. "Not one." He sat down ao-ain and went on with his work. "They moved us on from the other side at daylight," he explained, but seemed in no humour for talking. " Do you think it will rain ? " He took a glance at the sky. "It can't." So I took his word for it and plodded up the hill. From the beacon-head there is a broad view of open country upon every side, and CLOTHES-PEGS 313 dotted over it are villages such as Sutton — clusters of roofs around a church tower, with outlying farms sprinkled between them. Everywhere the hayfields were green with the aftergrass, and the great squares of yellow corn, billowing under the wind, were ripening for the harvester. There was no- thing begun as yet but here and there a field of winter beans. Just by the foot of the hill I could watch the reaper as he bent the tough stalks with his crook, struck with his sickle, drew the reap together over his foot, and stepped back to bind the sheaf. His Saxon forefathers may have cut their grain quite in the same way. And yet on the Sutton road a new patent reaper and binder clattered by in haste to be overhauled by the smith. In the far distance a trail of white steam from a passing express steadily made its way with- out stopping from one side of the landscape to the other. And quite near a gipsy caravan, all in its red and yellow, with a brass knocker on its door and blue smoke rising from the chimney in its roof, slowly crept around the hill. You may see many things close to- 314 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE gether which in spirit are wide apart, if you will only climb high enough to look at the broad expanse. Wynberry hill was a stronghold of pre- historic man, and on the same ridge are three barrows under which his chiefs lie buried. " Wynberry three humps " they are called by Mrs. Josiah Heppell, and there the riches lie hidden. Now it is a lovely sheep-run, bitten so close, that one can scarcely recognise the grasses and pigmy clovers that make its sward. But mixed with them is the purple of the wild thyme, though it will scarcely scent unless you bruise it in your hands. And running amongst the stones on the hill- side is the wheatear in his white and black and grey. As you walk along he will take a short flight and perch on a stone to clack at you. And if you lie on the slope and watch him you will soon find the treasure that lies hidden on Wynberry — a nest of grass and roots, in a rabbit's hole and lined with rabbit's fur, containing half a dozen eggs of a pale greenish blue. By my return towards evening the gipsy CLOTHES-PEGS 315 had pitched his camp — two canvas tents, neither covering a much greater space than an old-fashioned gig-umbrella. It was surely the smallest encampment ever seen ; but now a curlino- wreath of blue smoke arose against the background of yellow gorse and the bright green of the beech foliage. I took up the morning's conversation. " I saw your friends down the village. May I come and light my pipe ? " "Welcome," said he. "Who did you see ? " " A man, a woman, two children, a van, two loose horses, and two dogs," said I. He appeared to think it over, but gave up the idea of identification. " I can't say who that can be," replied he, shaking his head. " As to friends, we are all friends. But there are only two to come back here." At that moment an old woman came in view from behind the gorse and stepped on to the wayside. She carried a basket on her right arm and a brush in each hand. She was unmistakably gipsy, not of the dark- eyed type, but with the very small brown face 316 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE and pointed chin. She glanced sharply at the intruder, who might have come to order them off, placed her basket and brushes in the cart, spoke of "the roughness of the day, gentleman," in a coaxing, cringing voice, and crouched down close to the fire. I hoped she had found luck. " No ; there is no luck, my gentleman." The man sat down on the opposite side. Beside him was a heap of biscuit tins and canisters of all sorts and sizes, and with a pair of long pincers he held them in the fire, melted the solder, and burnt off the paper labels, spread them abroad, and then, with a handful of moss and earth, polished the flattened metal. " I suppose you ask at houses for the empty tins ?" " More often at the shops. We sell more clothes-pegs in towns to the shops. There is no call for them in the villages. They don't use many there." " But I see clothes hanging up everywhere." " They've got all they want. Pegs last for years. Besides, they dry more on the hedge- CLOTHES-PEGS 317 rows than they do on the line. But take a town, now, with gardens shut in by walls — they must have a line there. But then they don't want when we call. They buy at the shops there." " What do you charge for them ? " " A shilling a gross to the shops." " How long does it take to make a gross ? " " Three gross a day is good work," said he ; " but we are up before all the stars are gone in." " Well, you do not pay much for the material," I laughed. The man laughed also. " No. There's plenty of willow down below ; and some in the hedges too, but not so straight." The old woman had hitherto remained silent. The spot was well chosen. Gorse and hedgerow made so complete a shelter that, until it reached the wind, the smoke rose in a straight column. Peering down into the embers, her brown hands outstretched towards the warmth, she looked like a wizened little witch working an enchantment. At my re- mark about the willows she suddenly glanced up and changed into a prophetess. 318 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " There'll be no pay, my gentleman, in the world to come." " I suppose not. But no doubt there are free willows here if you do not take them from the wrong place." " They do grow for one and all," cried she, in a shrill voice. "So do the hares and the little rabbits, gentleman. 'Tis man-made laws, and to break 'em is no wrong." Her philosophy was becoming too profound for me. " I suppose you belong to a bigger camp, and go back to it ? " Then she became talkative. " No. One more to come in and that makes all." She waved her finger round, pointing first at the cart and then at the two tents. " All we ever had, or our fathers, his or mine, before us. Summer and winter nothing more. Though we don't travel much in winter, when we find a lew place, unless they move us on." " You must have been all over the country? " " Never more than twenty mile*away from here." " Then you do not wander straight on ? " CLOTHES-PEGS 319 " No, my gentleman, we go round the same beat, summer after summer." In front of one of the tents a stick had been driven into the ground. It was about 2 in. in diameter, and stood about 1 ft. high. I had heard of wands and stakes in gipsy camps bearing a deep significance. But the man observed my glance. " That's to cut off the clothes-pegs on," said he. He sat down on a bag, which I think was to serve as a mattress, drew a sheath-knife, took a willow wand already peeled, and measured the length by means of a piece of hazel cut half through at the right distance and split down to the cut. Then he hammered the knife through the willow, using the stake as a block. He chucked the little 5-in. piece upon a heap of hundreds of others which he had cut off during the day. " But they must dry, and there has been no sun to-day," said he. How- ever, to show me, he split a peg and pared it to widen the fork. On the same block he hammered on the little ring of biscuit tin 3 2o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE which prevents the split from going too far under pressure of a clothes-line. Here was the article complete. " I thought the stake mioht have some meaning," said I. "I have heard that a stick is driven into the ground and that the camp sits in a circle around when any question has to be discussed, or the conduct of any member wants looking into." The old woman got up. " That was a council," she cried in a shrill voice. "But that is all gone with the rest. 'Tis all gone. We be but wandering folk now, all of a kin, 'tis true, but never meet except by chance. There is no Romany now. The best has but a few words " "Yes. That was a council," put in the man. " 'Twas a peeled stick. But that's gone years ago. I never saw a council. But that was the old way — handed down and never changed — right from Jerusalem ! " " What do you mean, from Jerusalem ? " "We all came from Jerusalem," explained he. "Yes; we all came from Jerusalem, my CLOTHES-PEGS 321 gentleman. That's true. We all know that," cried the old woman. " I thought you came from India." But they both would have "Jerusalem, Jerusalem." After all, there is a good foundation in history for this tradition. When, in the early part of the fifteenth century, the gipsies made their progress westward across Europe, they pretended and were everywhere believed to be pilgrims from the Holy Land. On this ground they were at first treated with kind- ness and obtained letters of protection from rulers and persons in authority. No doubt they made the most of the claim, and it might quite easily become the belief of later genera- tions. Just then a pedlar in rags came in view around a bend of the road. At once the man forsook his clothes-pegs and stepped forward to adjust a crook over the fire. The woman moved about, gleaning a dry stick or two — then pulled off a bush of dead gorse. At once the flames leapt up around the cooking vessel. 322 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE To stay longer would be absolutely to court an invitation to dine. " Well, here's luck. I hope you will have a quiet night and that nobody will hurry you on." " Here's luck ! " replied the man. " But oh, my blessed gentleman," cried she, " if you should ever sit in judgment upon one of us, bear in mind 'tis man-made laws and no wrong. No wrong, my blessed gentle- man — no wrono- — no wrono - ! " o o In the deepening gloom under the trees, with her shrill voice still ringing in my ears, I could not help wondering whether I had spent an hour with a Hebrew prophetess. " No wrong ! Man-made laws ! " Or was she, after all, only a suffragette ? The presence of a two-wheeled cart, even with the shafts empty and aslant, would seem to involve the existence of a horse. Where could the horse be spending this quiet day ? There are no byways on that solitary woodland road. That he was not on the roadside for miles in either direction I can take my oath. CHAPTER XXVII THE MEADOW-SAFFRON PICKERS It is pleasant of an evening to wander down to the mill. Towards the end of summer, when the river is low, the mill-wheel frequently does not stop until late. The water is too precious to be wasted. The mill-head fills so slowly, that, if the water is run off the last thing at night, the stream does not rise to flow over the weir before morning. So young Miller Toop is generally about the place giving ear to the voice of the mill, ready to put more grain into the hopper and to raise or lower the millstone to its proper feed if needs be. The back stream then is almost dry. Be- tween times he walks around the banks with his dogs, or on to the island to look for young -ats, hidden amongst the broad leaves of the 3 2 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE butter burs. Sometimes he daps for a trout with a natural fly between the alder bushes that hang over the millpool. Or, sitting on the stone wall beside the millrace, with the water dashing by below his feet, he smokes his pipe and waits for the waggon to come home empty from its round, and be backed with its tail towards the mill-floor ready for a load in the morning. He stands and talks to the carter whilst the horses are " hitched out," or to any chance passer-by, for he has plenty of leisure, although he will not go far from the mill. I strolled down one evening, after the hay in the water-meadows had all been carried, and from both sides of the valley came the pleasant fragrance of new-made ricks. Along the brook and leaning over the stagnant ditches the meadow-sweet was still in flower. Where the river bank had slipped away, I pushed a path through a thick forest of aromatic tansy and still taller willow-herb with purple flowers having a scent so much like roasted apples that they have gained the local name of " codlins and cream," and from this wilderness THE MEADOW-SAFFRON PICKERS 325 peered down into the water. The stream was but a mere trickle. Over a bank of stone it fell bubbling" into a pool, and went gliding out of it among leaning rushes that swayed and quivered as the hidden water passed. On the root of an old pollard willow jutting out from the opposite bank sat a vole. He was quietly- munching the succulent stem of a pond-weed which he had pulled out of the water. And close below my feet, unsuspicious of an ob- server, two lusty trout went lazily around the pool, from the shadow of the alder bush into the sunlight and back again. Sometimes, as if by a mere whim, one or the other would slowly rise to swallow some more than usually tempting fly. But the movement was deliber- ate and without hunger. " 'Tis too early by a couple of hours." There was the young miller watching also from the opposite bank. " They can see too much until dusk." "And later than that," laughed he. "I always find the best time to hook 'em is when 'tis too late to get 'em out." In the distance, wandering to and fro in the 326 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE meadow, were an old woman and two young girls. They appeared to be mushrooming, for they searched the ground and every now and then stooped to gather something. Yet I had not seen a mushroom when I walked down to the brook. I stuck my rod in the ground above the willow-herb and was ready for a chat. " What are they looking for over there ? " "'Tis the old Betsy Mogridge with Selina Jane Edwards' Rosie Ann and another dig- ging up crocuses." " Crocuses ! " "Yes. You know — the purple summer crocuses. There's a lot of them down there." " What do they do with them ? " " Now do you stroll across and ask the old woman. She do dig 'em up every year — but she's the only one. You ask her, just to see what she'll say." It was not difficult to perceive a joke behind this matter. So I crossed the meadow to where the little Rosie Ann and another apple- faced, short-frocked maid from school were thrusting forks into the ground with the greatest industry. THE MEADOW-SAFFRON PICKERS 327 " What are you after ? " Rosie Ann looked up with a broad grin on her face. " We do dig up the roots o' the wild crocuses," said she. That was her way of putting it, as, with a certain pride in the exploit, she lifted out of the moist earth a bulb of the meadow- saffron. " What do you do with them ? " Before answering she glanced at the old woman. Then she spoke in a whisper — " Granny have a-got orders vor 'em — to send 'em away." " And do many people dig up crocuses ? " " Not about here. They did use to years agone. Nobeddy don't do it now but granny. She do know of a place where she do send 'em, look-y-zee. But she don't never tell nobeddy about that." The crouching old woman rose up from her work with a look of surprise on her face, and came hobbling across to hear what all this talk was about. "Good a'ternoon. 'Tes a beaudivul fine 328 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE a'ternoon," said she, with a curtsey, and a deference which seemed to smack of guile. The old Betsy Mogridge is a little, wrinkled, gimlet-eyed grandmother in a sun- bonnet, and she held her apron gathered up in her left hand. I agreed with her on the matter of the weather. She shook her head thoughtfully and, with an air of settled conviction, looked upon the ground, and added — " Zo 'tes." "What are these used for? Can you tell me?" said I, venturing to take a bulb from her apron. " Physic," said she shortly. " What will they cure ? " " Now that I couldn' swear to," replied she solemnly. " There wur a wold ooman, when I wur a little maid the size o' these, did bile 'em in verjuice an' mix that wi' honey to take vor the brantitis. Still, didn' cure she vor ever, vor in the end she died most terr'ble sudden. She ded. They do tell I they do use it for the gout. So they do. Massy GIPSY ENCAMPMENT From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. mfc THE MEADOW-SAFFRON PICKERS 329 'pon us! I've a-got no use vor it myzelf. But I wouldn' tell you wrong, mind, vor you to lead yourzelf astray. 'Tes a thing 'ull pizen a body. Zo 'tes." " Then I suppose you sell it to a chemist — a manufacturing chemist ? " I suggested. She looked up at the blue sky and thought. " I wouldn' decaive you," said she gravely, " not vor a vi-pun note I wouldn'. I couldn' rightly say what the man do do. No ! I could not." " But isn't it printed on the top of his letter ? " " I ben't no scholard myzelf, I ben't. I do carr' 'em in to town, I do, an' a friend do send 'em off for me. He rade the letter for I when it corned." " But somebody in Sutton would have been pleased to read it to you ? " " I don't never ax nobeddy 'bout here to rade a letter for I, I don't. You can't never tell what mid be in a letter afore he's a-rade out. An' folk will talk." " No doubt." 33° ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE "I'd sooner any time traipse six mile. He do know all about it." " And of course he need not tell you." "There, you see, I be up in years, I be, an' I can't carr' things in mind, same's I could. 'Tes terr'ble wrong to say more 'an you do know. Zo 'tes." A few yards away one full-blown blossom stood high above the short grass. "Though 'tes job enough to find 'em, mind, wi' never a leaf to guide 'ee, zo 'tes," said she as she moved towards it but did not stoop. Of a pale lilac colour, with five petals spreading from a paler slender tube, the meadow-saffron, the colchicum of the phar- macopoeia, is surely the most delicate of all the autumn flowers. It has no sheltering leaves. They have gone before the flowers appear. It blossoms just in time to be before the early autumn frosts, and withers without leaving any indication of its fruit. The ovary lies under the ground at the bottom of the tube, and there spends the winter secure from cold. In the spring seed-stalks and shelter- THE MEADOW-SAFFRON PICKERS 331 ing leaves spring up together. The seeds mature and drop. The leaves wither and completely disappear before the flowers of next season sprinkle the meadows. " But you have passed one there," said I, pointing out that early individual which had come a little before its time. "Oh, he's no good," laughed the old woman. " They'll write an' grumble to I if I do send very many that be out in full flower. Just a-peep is old enough. There idden the strangth in 'em, so they do say. An' I can well believe it, I can. There idden the strangth in I that there wur when I wur young an' growen. 'Tes wold an' weak wi' all liven things, I do suppose. Zo 'tes." " Then how do you find them at all ? " But before replying this ancient lady walked across to that solitary flower, and, while she forked it up, addressed it in terms of derision, as one might a forward child. " You be too fast by half," cried she, hold- ing it up to tear away the petals. "I do suppose you fancied yourzelf most terr'ble, didn' ee ? a-stucked up there so wonderful 332 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE rathe an' fine, afore all the rest o' your own sart. So now you be a-digged up, so you be. Though, ver'ly an' truly, in good right, I didn't ought to put ee in. I ded not." She paused and narrowly eyed the bulb, as a young angler — or an old one, on a hopeless day — will sometimes look at a slightly under- sized trout. " I ded not," she repeated again and shook her head. "There, 'tes but one. They'll never hook out he. Though 'tes wrono- I do know. o o' Zo 'tes." Then, having clearly established the immorality of the proceeding, she dropped the bulb into the apron. " No, no," she presently went on, returning to the previous subject, " they will not have 'em in flower. So we do squint an' poke about to eye 'em like, jus' the very minute they do begin to peep above ground. Why, bless my heart an' soul, should ha' to turn up all the ground like teddy diggen if we didden wait for a siom." I began to squint about myself, " to eye 'em like," in company with the little fresh-coloured THE MEADOW-SAFFRON PICKERS 333 Rosie Ann, who ran after me with the fork. At least it was an open-air pursuit, and afforded all the pleasures of search. So the evening passed and dusk came creeping on before the saffron pickers gave over work. The blue evening smoke from cottages among the trees gave notice of the supper hour. " And you send them to London, I think you said ?" The old lady gave me a crafty sidelong glance and reflected. " Now that I couldn' rightly say," said she. " But la ! Things be wonderful altered these days. 'Tes a sad thing sometimes not to be no scholard. Zo 'tes. Good-night." " Good-ni-eet," piped the children also. " Good-night ! " I returned to observe the behaviour of those trout. "Well?" the miller greeted me. "What does she do with 'em ? " " She — she digs them." "You see," laughed he, "in these days of competition somebody might hook away her trade. Little Rosie Ann reads the corre- 334 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE spondence for her. The old woman makes her swear, with her hand on the Bible, never to tell what's inside by word or sign or look, every time before they open a letter. At least, so all the folk say." CHAPTER XXVIII JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION Down the river, some two or three miles from Sutton, below the sheep-wash and the smooth bathing pool, lies a low wet country. Although covered with floods in winter, it cannot be called a fen, for in summer the best of it becomes a rich grazing country, gilded with buttercups and studded with contented fatten- ing herds. Where the ground was too soft to bear the treading of the beasts it has been planted to withy beds. Thus the landscape is a smooth patchwork in irregular squares of osiers and of grass. Beside the only road that runs across it stands a solitary cottage. There are villages and hamlets where the distant hills slope down to the level, but its nearest neighbour is a mile away. Should a stranger, struck by the undesir- 336 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE able situation of this dwelling, inquire, " Well, who on earth lives in such a place as that ? " he learns, " One o' the name o' Gay." But this is a very moderate way of putting it. There are so many of the name of Gay. There is John, a most patient industrious soul, and Jane, as everybody knows, a very active, hard-working body. There are maidens, strong healthy girls, old enough to go into service, but they prefer the winter swamp and the summer buttercups and freedom. There are children of both sexes, down to the baby in arms, all strong as elephants and active as hawks. They are said to be rough. But then, as Mrs. Josiah Heppell very justly con- siders when by chance we see one in Sutton Street, " Down there, there is nobody to mix wi', an' wi' nobody to mix wi', children will grow up rough." And they all live out of withies. There is much to be done in withy beds. Although any willow stick pushed into the ground will grow, they must be planted and kept weeded, and cut, and tied into bolts, and soaked and stripped and dried in the sun, and JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION 337 tied into bolts again, before they are ready for the basket-makers. John looks after the withy beds, and Jane and the older girls work at the stripping, that is, the taking off the rind. So there is plenty of work to be found at home. And at odd times John goes eel-spearing in the broad ditches. John's maidens can run and jump those ditches like young gazelles. In stature John is a giant, and straight as one of the withies. Jane is a Dutch barge. They remain old fashioned in all their notions — not that modern life is remote in distance, but because so little of it comes their way. From their cottage windows they can see what Sutton cannot — the steam of passing trains in the far-off landscape, and when they hear the whistle louder than usual they pre- dict rain. Trains have their uses even for those who never travel by rail, and the trains in that neighbourhood keep more reliable time than Jane's old kitchen clock. She starts the children for school, cooks and carries John's meals to the withy bed by them with wonderful regularity, except on ZZ 333 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE the rare occasions of some unsuspected tampering with a well-established time-table. Jane resents that sort of thing. It detracts from the utility of trains. Early this summer, at about the age of fifty, the conception of a mighty truth was brought about in Jane's subconscious mind. " I never ha'n't a-rod in a train ! " She had not grasped this before. The knowledge had lain latent. But illumination comes of meditation, and meditation is born of leisure. Young children were no fewer, but older ones had grown up to help. That has given Jane more time to think, and she is not the woman to hoard her thoughts. She utters them and they circulate freely in the family. Thus, in the growing time, when John was a-hoeinof withies and she walked across to the withy bed of an afternoon with a hot cake and a bottle of lukewarm tea, she would say — " Ay, there's the vower o'clock. But la, there! I never shan't ride in a train." At work with her grown-up girls, stripping JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION 339 withies, under the shed of a wet day or in the sunshine under the mossy old apple tree in the garden, she sometimes varied the tune. "But la, there! I seem I never couldn' bring myself to ride in the train." Yet always Jane pictured herself in a cushioned compartment going to the sea by a summer shilling excursion, with the chicks of her family around her. " But there, I never shan't," said she. " La, mother," cried the elder girl, a young person of experience, who, in spite of disadvantages of position, had found a young man to go out with, " 'tis so easy as winking. You do but step in an' zit yourself down as you would in church like, an' bide still." Jane saw that. Yet when at last, as is reported, John, finding such repetition wearisome, up an' said, " There, missus, do take an' go an' make a end of it ! " Jane shook her head. " I couldn' never enjoy myself not a minute o' the day wi'out the childern," she said thoughtfully. " But there, the four could go wi'out pay." 34Q ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE "To be sure, Jane," argued John, "you never couldn' take 'em all. Take the eight. There's the baby in arms, an' the twins, under age, for certain sure — an' maybe you could smuggle in little Peter all so well. The others be all half-tickets. An' look here. Swill out the little hamper that we do zend away the eels in, an' carr' your own victuals to save expense. You do deserve it, Jane. You'll enjoy your day. There's the say, an' the zands, an' the bathers, an' a Punch an' Judy. An' when you've a-zeed all walk down to the quay where the fishen-boats be, an' " But this enumeration of joys had already proved irresistible. Jane gave way. John thought it all out, chose the day, found the shillings, and gave grave counsel just as the party was ready to set out. " Now, if 'tis all hurry-push and the train full, you bigger ones push in where you can. You can't make no mistake, for down to the say is the end o' all, an' if you do zit still long enough they'll turn ee out. An' Simon, you take charge o' the hamper, mind. An' look- zee, where there's many folk there's always JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION 341 rogues. Don't you let un out o' your sight. Don't you let un out o' your hands ; but zit wi' un in your lap. An' if any o' ee should stray apart like on the beech, all go back over- right the station on the pobble stones. An' you that can tell the clock mind the train do start at six. An', please God, you'll zee it all — the say an' the zands an' the bathing- machines, an' your mother'll take ee down to the quay where the fishen-boats do come, an' she'll " But there really was no time to stop to hear the end. They had to hurry all along the dusty road, and when they got in sight of the station the train was in. " All run for their lives," cried Jane. " Here, Joey, you be lightest o' foot. Take the money. Four halves an' a whole." Straggling, they reached the platform. They scrambled in where they could. The last thing Jane saw, as the guard helped her, panting, into the carriage, was Simon with his hamper, in spite of expostulation, pushing in at the other end of the train. So all was 342 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE well. Jane fanned herself with a handker- chief and watched the fields, noted the corn and the harvest, and kept remarking that there were no withies — none at all. Yet the morning began with a little mishap. They alighted on a strange platform and Jane called together her chicks. Every one was there except Simon. But that was nothing. Simon could take care of himself, and Jane had seen him get into the train. Still, as the crowd dwindled away, it did seem strange not to be able to set eyes on Simon and the hamper. " The little rascal really must ha' jumped out first. To think he couldn' wait a minute now. 'Tis downright silly to go off like that, I do call it. But there, come on, children, we shall find him a-waiting just in front, as his father said, 'pon the pobble stones," cried Jane, leading the way to the beach. They found and recognised the pebble stones beyond a doubt, but neither Simon nor hamper were to be seen. "He surely must have got out wrong — JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION 343 little fool — and the twins, little angels, a- whinen like for the milk in the ginger-beer bottles. Now, all that can, take off their boots." Jane set the five to paddle whilst she sat down on the stones and comforted the baby in arms. One by one the five fell and underwent total immersion. " Come on, here," cried Jane after each disaster, and stripped off their outer garments, and administered slaps and set them in a row on the warm stones to dry like peeled withies in the sun. " Now, all stay here, and not move," coaxed Jane, for something had to be done at last, " whilst mother do go and Well, I never ! Here's our Si. Si — why " Sure enough there was Simon and the hamper. "They turned I out, mother," he sobbed, "and the train went on." Subsequent inquiry elicited that the hamper alone was the cause of Simon's mishap. It was reminiscent of bygone eels and redolent 344 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE of freshly pulled spring onions. It carried a suggestion of blue cheese. Simon would not let go, he would not put it under the seat, would not put it up on the rack, and so " I held on to un, mother, an' I corned by the next train ! " explained Simon. So Si had done well. Jane was proud of her Casabianca-hearted boy. Sea, sands, bathers, Punch and Judy — they saw them all. Jane, with the baby in arms and the twins dragging at her skirt, pushed through the crowd and shepherded the little flock. The day was hot. Jane perspired and the lamb- kins grew weary. She took them on the warm, loose sand, and the hamper having yielded its last drop and crumb some of them slept. Then Jane remembered the quay and the boats and the John had been quite par- ticular that she should go there. She left the seven with strict injunctions that the waking should watch the sleeping, because very soon it would be time for the train. She hurried, and found everything just as JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION 345 John had said. Conscious of success she came back. The children were all there as good as gold, and she led diem off to the station, eager for the train. The crowd was enormous this time, for the shilling excursion was returning to all stations. Jane sought for places in vain until, at the last moment, an empty carriage was added. " Now where's Pete ? Where 'pon earth have thik little Pete a-got to ? Jump in, all the rest o' ee, while I do run an' look," shrieked Jane. Pete, a hydrocephalic child of five, was admittedly backward. Yet he bore a brow so massive that everybody accepted his mother's persistent statement that in the end the boy would prove himself "no fool." Now, as Jane ran up and down and called his name, she kept saying angrily to herself, "A little fool!" She traversed the platform. "He must ha' runned back. The little fool ! " She flew to the "pobble stones." 346 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE There was only the empty hamper there. And it might have been lost. " The little fool ! " To think how angry John would have been! "The little fool!" She searched the sands. She returned with the empty hamper but no Pete. "A little fool ! " When she got back to the station the train had gone. Then Jane sat down, rocked the baby in arms and wept. Presently the station-master came and tried to console her. He said that the child must have been taken along by friends. No child ever got lost. The same thing had happened in his experience many a time before. He packed Jane home weeping by the last train. The elder girls were waiting to meet her. "Our poor little Pete " began Jane. "Pete, mother? Why, he's home a-bed an' asleep. He were that clever he crope in the train all by his own self." Jane brightened. "Ah, I always said the dear little feller were no fool." JANE'S SUMMER EXCURSION 347 Jane was a happy mother again. " What sort of a day did ee have, mother ? " asked the girls. " Beautiful ! There was a bit of a bother wi' the hamper - — but nothen to hurt. Lovely ! There, they all got wet — but children will. Conscience sake, sure 'nough ! They be wet enough at home here, into ditch an' out all day long. Heavenly ! The milk turned sour in the bottles, but la ! wi' the sky so hot as a oven, what can anybody expect ? But your father, now, is he vexed I be so late ? " " Well, now you do put the question, mother, he did not look so terr'ble sweet," the elder girl admitted. " Didn' er speak ? " " Not a word, mother." " That's a bad sign," said jane. " I feared in the heart o' me he'd be surly because I be so late." " I shoudn' take no notice, mother. Don't gie un no words back," advised the girl. When Jane got to the cottage John hurried down the garden path to meet her. He wore 348 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE no hat, and she could see, even in the dusk, his forehead puckered into a frown. Jane felt nervous. " I— I couldn " With sharp, hasty words John cut her short. Yet it was only anxiety after all. " Have ee got the crab ? " CHAPTER XXIX THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD You do not hear in Sutton the clink ! clink ! clink ! of the hammer on the anvil so continu- ally as was the case in former days. It is not that a village smith is less busy, but the nature of his business has changed. In olden times he forced all his horseshoes and made the nails as well. Now for the most part he buys the shoes in pairs by the dozen and the nails by the gross. Also the many household ob- jects in iron that he used to hammer out, the fire-dogs for the open hearth, the chimney- crooks by which kettles and crocks were hung over the flaming logs, are of the past. So the smithy is frequently quiet. If you want to hear the hum of the bellows, to see the sparks light up the dingy smoke-browned old place and flakes of red-hot iron fall off under 349 35o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE his lusty blows, you must stand in the open doorway when old John Kipping has a horse standing waiting under the shed and is beating a "bough ten" shoe into a neat fit. The smithy opposite " The Acorn " has also advanced with the times. The old shoeing forge remains as it was ; but a workshop has been added, with a little wooden lean-to at the end, which serves for an office. The new shop not only has a forge but a lathe. It was the wildest innovation that has ever startled Sutton when young John Kipping came home, added this building, and, with his own hands, in letters of red paint along the whole length of the boards, announced the nature of his enterprise with a courage far in advance of his orthography : — REPARES, BIKES TIRES SPOKES OR OTHER WAYS AND TO HIRE OR EXCHANGE. All this happened more than ten years ago, but the legend, although now rusty, still re- mains. It has, however, been supplemented by a large board over the door, conveying THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 351 much further information and concluding : " Motor cars a speciality and petrol supplied." This board, havino- been designed and painted under the eye of Heppell, combines the correctness of a gravestone with the neat- ness of an alehouse sign. It marks the ulti- mate triumph of young John Kipping, who, in spite of paternal opposition, often enforced by blows, set his face against the shoeing, determined to leave Sutton, got a place in a workshop, and spent some years as a journey- man in a large Midland town. Very rarely does a country lad who seeks the town return more fully prepared to fill a useful place in the life of the village. John Kipping, the younger, is known for miles around for his cleverness with agricultural implements. In the winter his yard is full of " repares." In the summer and autumn he is here and there in the hay and harvest fields " pomstering " at one machine or the other. He is now past forty and has saved money. He is the personal friend of Heppell. But then, as Mrs. Josiah Heppell has repeatedly told me, " from the very first Heppell have always a-throvved 352 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE everything he could in the way o' John Kip- ping." It is perhaps only natural that old John Kipping, in his pride at the success of "my son John," should have forgotten the past. His imagination has gradually replaced it with a latter-day dream which bears no relation whatever to the facts. John is described in the neighbourhood as "a bunchy little curdly-headed fellar, once so black as a crow, though o' late years he do blossomy most terr'ble about the head o' un." This is a poetic way of stating that old John's hair is now as white as a hawthorn bush in full flower. In spite of his short stature he is hard and tough as an oak post. Although hot-tempered, as curly-headed men are apt to be, John is considered excellent company. Formerly he spent many a jovial hour at "The Acorn," but now he scarcely ever slips across the road. He is afraid of young John, or, rather, of young John's wife, whose eye is always upon him. But between times at his forge door, or in the shed in his leathern apron, with a horse's hind hoof THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 353 resting against his knee, he will talk as merrily as ever. " A man mus' keep up wi' the times or — drop behind. That's what I saw wi' my son John. ' John/ said I, ' there is more things in this world than the eye can see in Sutton. There is men, though you may not think it, can show you more than your father do know.' I would have it so. I send the lad away. I said, ' My boy, you'll thank your father in years to come.' He had to go. But so it proved." Then, with his long tongs, he will hold the shoe in the glowing heat until a thin trans- parent flame clings to it as he turns again to the anvil. " But la ! you know, 'tis all the system. My son John, now, he've a-got such a system. You wouldn' think it, but in thik little office there he do keep the books o' all the great makers o' machines. He've a-got their lists. He's agent to some. They do all know my son John by letter. 'Tis jus' the like o' this. Now, say your reaper is a-brokt, you do send to my son John to come up in ground to once. 23 354 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE When he do see what 'tis, what do he do ? Do he bide about ? Not he. Up 'pon bike, in to town, wire off for the part by number, send by post if small, next train if too weighty like — why, carter's on to work again next day where others would bide about a wick. 'Tis the system, you know — the system." Old John himself is not an important wheel in the machinery of the system. He is merely a little outside fitting. His tongue makes a rattle and that is all. Any Sutton person calling about a job and finding the office closed would go straight to the house and talk to young John's wife. Young John's wife is a woman of business if you like. Everything that she has the handling of is as neat and clean as a basket of clothes new washed and ironed. Her con- science compels her like a slave-driver. Her sense of duty can discover a failing in herself or an impropriety on the part of another as cer- tainly as a terrier can find a rabbit or a rat. Then, merely to call attention to it, she gives tongue. Her house is as tidy as a fresh-laid THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 355 egg, with everything as " orderly in place " as the petals of the dahlias which flower in autumn on the narrow strip between her front door and the street. The one toddling child clinging to her skirt is a cherub. Yet Kitty Rudd was never a beauty. Judged by the high standard of Sutton, which considers beauty as quite exceptional and ad- mires the well-nourished and sleek, she was classed as "very ordinary" and sometimes spoken of as "hungry-looking." She did not marry young. John Kipping was forty and she a suitable mate. Their courtship was an idyll. Of a summer noonday he went into his office to " figgur summat out." His arith- metic was not better than his spelling and the task demanded isolation, so, in spite of the heat, he shut the door. He inherited the curly black hair of his father but none of his levity of disposition. He never went to " The Acorn." He was no company, for he could not often fathom the depths of a joke, and somebody else had to make it. But he did not dislike figures. They 356 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE always worked out clear in the end. So he set his elbow on the high desk, rested his head on his fist, frowned on a sheet of creased paper, alternately sucked the point of a huge car- penter's pencil and scrawled strange signs. There came a rap on the door. Come in. Kitty Rudd stood in the doorway. Her hair is black as his, but it was covered with a pink sunbonnet. Her thin face with the hook nose and sharp chin is of a sallow complexion, the yellow colour of the limb of an oak tree, fresh ripped, before it takes the air. " Here, I say, this is a fine hod-ma-dod of a ramshackle old reaper an' binder you've a-send up to our place," cried she. <( How's that, then?" " He won't work." " Is that all ? Well, can soon make un work." Kitty Rudd climbed down a little from her high and mighty position and spoke in a lower voice. "All rioht, then. Come on to once. THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 357 Wasting so much time ! The wheat's full ripe as 'tis. Do want to finish it up afore dark — if can ! " "Very well, then. I'll be on in a minute." " In a blue moon." " No — in half a jiffy. I've jus' got to do this." " I'll wait," said Kitty Rudd with determina- tion and stepped inside. ' ' Father said, ' I f you do find un, mind to bring un on.' An' so I shall." John frowned and sucked his pencil with no result. "What be 'bout?" " I can't summy when anybody do look on," cried he impatiently. " I can." " I dare say. I were foaled a year too soon for schoolen by law." " I werden," replied Kitty. " Anybody can see that," grinned John. " Don't be a fool, John Kipping," cried she snappishly. " Let's see what 'tis. Wipe off the pencil an' gie un here. Massy 'pon us ! What figgers too ! I should hoe out any little 358 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE sum in time to come 'pon a twenty-acre groun' if I was you." John rubbed the pencil on his blue work- man's jacket until every suspicion of juicy succulence was removed. " I do allow you'd ha' swallered un by now if I hadn' a-comed in," laughed she. " Now then ! " John propounded his problem. Kitty Rudd pulled off her sunbonnet, bent over the desk, and figured quick. Beads of perspiration from her hurried walk glistened on her forehead and a lock of black hair by the side of her ear quivered in the cool draught. " How nimble-minded you be, Kitty Rudd." " Why, 'tis easy as pap," said she. " There ! That's what 'tis. Do ee see ? Put it down somewhere — not to forget like." John lifted the cover of the desk and put away the paper. "When I've a-done wi' it I'll have it framed for a keepsake," said he. " Then mind you do," laughed Kitty and put on her sunbonnet. She hesitated. Then THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 359 made as if to go. " So I'll tell 'em you'll be on now to once." "Why be off so quick, then? 'Tis but to get a couple o' wrenches an' clap a nut and a bolt or so in my pocket, an' I'll walk on in your company." "Oh! Just as you be a-minded," replied Kitty Rudd carelessly and stepped into the open air and waited. The Rudd homestead is but a few fields away, lying at the back of Sutton smithy, and, by the footpath, may be reached by a walk of no more than ten minutes. The holding is a small dairy-farm of about sixty acres of grass, one large plough-ground, and two smaller ones. The large piece of arable was half in wheat and half in mangolds that summer, with some dozen rows of potatoes stretching across the field between the other crops. The wheat was full ripe, as Kitty had said. The ears were ruddy and hung low. The berries, which should be moist at the reaping, were hard and dry. Goodman Rudd was something of an "afternoon farmer," as folk said, but by the time the afternoon drew 360 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE near he became liable to excitement. He was in shirt-sleeves, with a broad-brimmed straw hat on the back of his head. Mrs. Rudd, a tall, muscular woman of more than threescore, also in a sunbonnet, and all the Rudd family had gathered around the refractory machine. " This here reaper o' yours is no good," cried the farmer, very red in the face. "He's wore out." John Kipping's nearest approach to a joke is to speak the naked brutal truth. " So'll you be too — pretty quick — if you do have the luck." Farmer Rudd became silent. John Kipping pushed aside a Rudd boy who was stooping down to peer into the machine. " Lead on a step or two. Stop. That'll do." Then quickly followed a hammering and a wrenching and a screwing which the boy watched with open-mouthed eagerness. " Now go on again. Stop a minute. Now then. What's the matter wi' that, then ? That's all right." Farmer Rudd was delighted. HARVESTING From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. ti THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 361 " Hop up," he shouted to the boy. John Kipping gave the boy a leg-up on to the fore horse, whilst the farmer seized the reins and clambered into the seat. " Gee-uppa! " The horses went nodding along. The reaper clattered. The dummy rakes rose and fell like the arms of a windmill. The tall wheat bent and was cut off, gathered, bound into sheaves, and dropped on the carpet of field-mint, bindweed and new-made stubble. "Capical!" cried the farmer as he came round again. " I'll stop a bit an' see how he do go on," shouted John. " One o' ee run in and bring out a jar o' ale," whispered the mother to one of the boys. " If you do stop you can stooky," said Kitty to John with a toss of the head. So it fell out that John stopped to stooky with Kitty — that is to say, they picked up sheaves behind the reaper and set them up into a stook of ten sheaves. But the stookers were many and close on the heels of the machine, so there was leisure even to sit 362 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE down on a sheaf in the shade of a stook and wait. A rabbit popped out of the standing wheat and all the Rudds ran whooping and yelling to the other end of the field. For full half an hour everybody forgot Kitty and John until they came forward and stood side by side watching the reaper clatter down one lap. " Everything's all right. I mid so well get on now," said John, with a brisker air of business than usual. " Do look as if you wouldn' be wanted no more, certain sure," remarked Kitty gravely. John clapped his wrenches and hammer into his pocket, called out "Good-day, all," and, as if he had already loitered too long to the neglect of some other errand, hurried homeward. Kitty seized sheaves and with feverish haste went on with her stooking. It was dusk by the time all the wheat was down and the farmer drove away the reaper and the stookers quietly took their way to the homestead. Kitty dropped behind and walked with her mother. THE SMITHY AND THE FIELD 363 "That John Kipping must be doing well, I warrant it," said Mrs. Rudd. " I don't doubt it," responded Kitty. " Such a lot o' work," reflected Mrs. Rudd. " So do seem," replied Kitty. " He must save money," suggested Mrs. Rudd. " Maybe he do," agreed Kitty. " He'd make a good man now to some sensible ooman," added Mrs. Rudd with conviction. " Maybe he would," consented Kitty. They walked in silence over the crackling stubble, until Mrs. Rudd stopped to bring to the open gate through which the reaper had just passed. It was half off its hinges and had to be lifted back. Yet Kitty did not lend a hand. The fields were almost dark, that is to say with the half-darkness of a summer's ni^ht. "Mother!" "What is it, chile?" "John Kipping put I a question there, as we sot under the stook." " An' what did ee say to un, chile ? " 364 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Mother ! " "What is it, Kitty?" " I took un, mother." They walked on again on the quiet grass for a good ten paces before Mrs. Rudd spoke. " Kitty, my dear," said she in a low quiet voice and paused — "you done right ! " CHAPTER XXX THAT RISE IN THE RENT The ingenious device of Mr. William Purchase to force old Jakey to give up the cottage by raising his rent brought about the most un- expected results. When Saturday came so did the half- crown. Letty Purchase received it, entered it, re- turned the book, and placed the coin on the dining-room mantelpiece to await her father's return. "What's this? " asked Mr. William Purchase, whose respect for property suffers annoyance should he happen to find money lying about. " Jakey 's rent, father. But did you really raise it to half a crown ? " William Purchase dotes on his one girl, and more than ever now that he is so soon to 365 366 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE lose her. He was aware of not only surprise but a spirit of gentle remonstrance in the question. "What? Jakey'srent? He's never sent up the half-crown, has he ? " " 1 thought there was some mistake," said Letty. " It's not exactly a mistake. I thought he couldn't send it." " But the cottage is not worth it, father?" " Certainly not, my child. He has got the notion, so I hear, that he cannot be moved unless he gets behind. I thought he could not pay it, that was all." " He'll starve," said Letty. " But he won't go out. The place is not habitable, yet he will not go out. I merely want him to go out." Then, seeing the con- cern on his daughter's face, he added affection- ately, " Make a note, my dear, of how many he pays. Then in a week or so I'll tell him that he can have the lot back the day he vacates. That'll dangle a bait before him. Perhaps that'll hurry him. Perhaps that'll tempt him." THAT RISE IN THE RENT 367 Thus the matter lapsed again and Jakey remained victorious. From the day of that conversation in the lane, the poor cripple resumed his ordinary course of life and was seen openly picking weeds on the high road. If anything, the parish found him in better spirits and more communicative than he had been before his trouble arose. He gave Carter Peters to understand that, taking into consideration the advantage of a house having no stairs, his landlord had consented to a continuation of the tenancy at the advanced rent of half a crown. He told Isaac Jeans that he should expect to have a few shillings laid out upon the place now that he was to pay more money, and Isaac Jeans agreed that was "nothing but right." He touched his hat to his passing landlord with such readiness that Mr. William Purchase smiled and said to himself that the raising- the rent was after all an idea of the very best quality, and in a very short time would bring the old chap round. Thus time drifted along for some weeks, but the half-crown was always forthcoming. The 368 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE harvest engrossed all the thoughts of Mr. William Purchase, but at last of a Saturday afternoon he declared his emphatic determina- tion. " Remind me, Letty. I really will walk up and talk to that chap to-morrow." To-morrow was Sunday. How sweetly the sun shone on Church- warden Purchase as, in the glossy silk hat which he abominated, yet into which he would whisper a prayer before taking his seat, and in clothes a little too warm for the season, he walked along the paved path between the gravestones, by the side of Mrs. Purchase in furbelows and an atmosphere of eau-de- cologne, followed by Letty in summer white, a broad straw hat on her head, and a bunch of red roses at her bosom, accompanied by Dr. Willoughby in professional frock coat, with the two boys demurely behind ! The Purchase household when in full force was wont to proceed in this orderly manner. At five minutes to the hour, in the hall of the Manor House, Churchwarden Purchase, in tones of a trumpet, would shout up the staircase — THAT RISE IN THE RENT 369 " Now then. Church. Time's up. Come along — come along. Church. Church." Then everybody bustled down and the pro- cession was invariable. It broke up in the porch. The elder persons passed in single file to the square pew. The " couple o' young cautions " went into the tower to put on surplices and take their places in the village choir. They had no knowledge of music, their voices were sadly unstable, and the elder boy was deficient in ear ; nevertheless, it was recognised as nice of them to set an example and do what they could to support the music of the church. The old rector when he met them never neglected to warmly thank them for their aid. How restful was the church on that autumn Sunday morning, when the earth itself was beginning to cease from labour. Birds were silent. Lambs no longer bleated to the ewes but fed in peace. All the landscape had be- come mute and not a sound came through the open door, whilst a sermon of inordinate length, as Mr. William Purchase thought, moved monotonously on. " By the bye, I 24 37o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE mustn't forget old Jakey," said he within himself. He felt drowsy. " Towards the cool of the evening, after a cup of tea." He dozed. Explanation, exhortation, recapit- ulation, all followed one another, "and now " At the words Churchwarden Purchase awoke greatly refreshed and sat up. He joined in the last hymn and recovered his silk hat from under the seat before raising his head from the benediction. Yet he remained in the church until all the congregation had departed, in order to have a word with the rector as to the most convenient date to choose for Thanksgiving. The deliberation was long. The church door was locked, the sexton had gone home, and they had reached the shade of the old yew tree before the question was finally settled. Suddenly the parson bethought himself — " Oh yes, I wanted a word with you about Barton " " He is giving me trouble," interrupted Mr. William Purchase. THAT RISE IN THE RENT 371 " I know. I know." The old rector almost whispered his sympathy. " But I fear misrepresentation is at work." " Misrepresentation ! " fired off Mr. William Purchase. "Well, eh — a friend of mine — of our own party, you may be sure — asked me to see you " " Speak out, sir. I shall thank you." " They are hoping to make capital — politi- cal capital — out of your cottage. One of these atheistic, socialistic, radical fellows has been speaking " "A rascal!" interjected Mr. William Pur- chase. " Unscrupulous, I fear," said the old rector, with a pained expression and raising both hands. " He did not mention you by name " "Ha!" " But you know the usual thing — an opulent gentleman-farmer " " Yes, yes ! " Mr. William Purchase could not contain his impatience. " Not six miles from the town of " 372 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " To be sure. To be sure." " Who reported a cottage to the author- ity Mr. William Purchase stamped his foot with anger. "And they can give that colour to it, I admit," he cried in a fury of candour. " But they say worse," moaned the poor old rector and almost shed tears over the malice of mankind. " They say that, without spend- ing a penny, you have more than doubled the rent." Mr. William Purchase paced up and down under the ancient yew. He expended on that half-witted fool of a cripple, who ought to have spent his whole life in the workhouse, some of the richest adjectives that any church- warden in a glossy hat, in the company of his rector and under shadow of the church, dare utter. Then, very red in the face, he calmed himself to explain exactly how and why the thing had happened. Deeply moved, the dear old rector offered consolation. " I see — I know — 1 realise your difficulty. THAT RISE IN THE RENT 373 I fear the report will be in next week's paper " "That's the devil of — I mean the serious side of it," cried Mr. William Purchase. " It is," agreed the rector gravely. " It gives a handle, I fear, to the party wire-pullers. A man of sound views cannot be too careful, Mr. Purchase. What had you better do, I wonder." " I'll go this minute — well, well — to-morrow, first thing — carry it back and — eh — and close the matter forthwith." "That will be the wisest way," said the rector soothingly. It was a capital sirloin of his own grazing, but Mr. William Purchase took no interest in his Sunday beef. However, during the after- noon, with a pipe under the drooping ash, he reflected that it was no good to be angry with old Jakey. The better way would be to speak clearly, kindly but firmly — very firmly. Fearing the last notice might have become vitiated by the changing of the rent to half a crown, he wrote another formal notice to quit, and on the following morning, to prevent all 374 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE further misunderstanding, carried it himself to the cottage with the rent just received and the book. Jakey Barton made no pretence on this occasion of being from home. In response to the first knock he opened the door and even wished his landlord " Good-morning." " Good-morning," replied Mr. William Pur- chase shortly and took the precaution to step inside. " I have brought back the rent, Barton," said he, placing the coin on the table and speaking in short, decided sentences. " And — your book. And — another notice." "I've a-lived here forty year " began old " Man an' man," but Mr. William Purchase calmly continued — " I shall take no more money from you " "I've a-paid as 'tis more for the place in rent than you by purchase." "Hush! Listen to me. If you remain after next week I shall go to the judge. In due time the bailiff will turn you out into the road and obtain possession. Is that clear?" THAT RISE IN THE RENT 375 " I be content as 'tis," said old " Man an' man." "That may be, my good fellow. But the place has to be pulled down." " I've always a-paid." " But no more, Barton. If I take rent I appear to ignore the law. I am sorry for you. If I had a place you should have it. But if you break the law, I must not. There's your notice. And no more rent." "Very well, then — as you don't wish it," replied Jakey with resignation. Mr. William Purchase went away to his harvest-field, contented that he had not only been clear but clearly understood, and so for a few days the matter rested. On the evening before the expiration of the notice Sutton people observed that the lean- to shed was gone. The three posts and the two sheets of corrugated iron had disappeared, and the cart was nowhere to be seen. Al- though it did seem strange that nobody had heard where he intended going, old " Man an' man " was evidently preparing to flit. But on the Sunday a film of blue smoke was still 376 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE rising from the chimney, although throughout the day the door was kept locked. Early Monday morning, on his way to work, young John Brook was fortunate enough to obtain an interview with Jakey on the road. A week of silent meditation had incubated a strange whim in the old man's mind. He told John Brook that Mr. William Purchase had been most thoughtful and kind. That the house had been inside the law, sure enough ; but if no rent was paid, that would put the house outside the law. Therefore he was allowed to stay rent-free. Young John Brook carried this problem into the harvest-field, where it was learnedly dis- cussed around the waggon during the hauling of the wheat. " I don't say but what he's right," argued Shepherd Jeans as he thrust his fork into a sheaf. " No rent — no rates. No rates — no property. No property — no law." " I don't see that about no property. The house 'ud stop there, I do suppose. 'Ithout you do think he'll take wing," THAT RISE IN THE RENT 377 cried John Peters from the top of the load. "That's nonsense talk," cried Shepherd Jeans. " I do mean property 'pon the book." "Book or no book, he can't bide. I'll warrant it." " I don't say that ! " "I'd lay a guinea he's out afore Michael- mas." But young John Brook was recognised to be talking more sense, when, with a sheaf in the air, he offered to bet any man the price of a quart that Jakey Barton would be there at Christmas unless he should go of his own free mind. The newspaper report amounted to nothing after all. It merely brought forth an explana- tion, and sound views triumphed forthwith. Twenty times a day Mr. William Purchase swore that he really must go into the town and set the law in motion. He argued that a man of property, who has threatened yet allows himself to be defied without taking action, stultifies himself. Yet he stayed at home and looked after his harvest after all. CHAPTER XXXI THE HARVEST SUPPER It was Miss Letty's very own idea "an' her most partic'lar wish," so gossip said, that her father should this year give a harvest supper. If Miss Letty could have had her way, we should have seen a real old-fashioned Harvest- Home with a Harvest Queen and all the rest of it. A sprinkling of old folk still living in Sutton can remember before that ancient festivity went out. Enthroned on sheaves, the old Betsy Mogridge, when a slip of a girl, enjoyed this brief sovereignty, of which the details remain in her mind fresher than yesterday. She could tell exactly how it was carried out. Miss Letty, provided with a packet of tea, visited the old soul at about the hour of the afternoon when the kettle is put to boil. On 378 THE HARVEST SUPPER 379 the ground that she was the first to predict the event, old Betsy takes to herself full credit for Miss Letty's engagement. She care- fully dusted with her apron the seat of a shining birchwood chair already scrupulously clean. "An' will ee please to sit yourself down, Miss Letty," curtsied she. Miss Letty sat down by the open window. It was a hot September day. The dimity curtains, suspended by a narrow tape held by a pair of brass-headed nails, fluttered in a gentle breeze, which brought the intermittent sound of Mr. Peter Badgery's firing, as he strode across some distant newly cut stubble or walked up the roots. But the cottage was cool as a grot. Fresh scrubbed out by the little Rosie Ann on that very morning, " really as mid sim as if a-purpose for company," the well-worn stones of the paved floor were as free from stain as the rows of plates upon the dresser and the cups and jugs hanging from its shelves. " Yours really is the prettiest cottage in Sutton, Betsy." 380 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE "La! Miss Letty, he's all doors an' draughts." " Never mind about that, Betsy. You always keep it nice." " La ! Miss Letty, the chimbley do that smoke an 5 smut, I be boun' to ope the doors to let out the smeech." To be sure old Betsy's kitchen has an abundance of doors. There is the front door, the back door, the staircase door, and the door of the cupboard under the stairs. It has also two windows, and now and then from Sutton Street the eye may glance right through the house and catch sight of the apple tree in the garden behind. But throughout the summer old Betsy's windows are blinded with flowers and her pelargoniums are the wonder of all who pass. "Then the more credit to you, Betsy." " La ! Miss Letty, I be but a old body a- most past work." " Don't say that, Betsy. Your flowers are the best in the parish." " La ! Miss Letty, there — maybe just to this moment they be better 'an they was." THE HARVEST SUPPER 381 " Not at all, Betsy. And I always admire the brass, and the china, and the cupboard." " La ! Miss Letty, there ! It don't shine like did — not like did." " Now don't you say that, Betsy. When there's not a speck to be seen." At this point of the conversation, which in politeness had equalled, and in sincerity was superior to, much that may be heard in a drawing-room, old Betsy always rose from her rush-bottomed chair by the side of the little kitchen range now built into the old hearth, and took her treasures one by one from the mantelpiece and the dresser. " Ah ! There's the old dumplen ladle. I ha'n't a-used un for years, an' a thing out o' use do get looked over. Mother did use un most days when I were a chile. But la ! Miss Letty. Gentlefolk without number have a- offered money for he. There ! I didn' part. An' the snuffers now — I've a-been offered money for they. But I didn' part. So I have for the little chainey house, an' the dog, an' the jug wi' the name 'pon un — many have 382 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE a-coveted they. But I never didn' part an' never shan't. They do please I wi' thoughts o' folk long agone. They was all in mother's house. Still they be wo'th money, mind. Money." The old soul shook her head. There was deep significance in her reticence as to the sum. She came from the class of small holders who were swept away by the economic changes of about a century ago. All over the country curiosity-buyers have overrun the villages in search of anything to be picked up cheap and sold at an exorbitant profit. Sutton lies remote, and, in spite of temptation, old Betsy Mogridge still clings to her "tokens," as she sometimes calls these relics. Nobody will ever buy them for little or much. She greatly exaggerates their market value, yet so much the stronger grows the sentiment which cherishes them. Her lean finger pointed to the little three- cornered cupboard which hangs in the nook between the front window and projecting chimney-breast. "An* my little oaken cup- board there, he's wo'th pounds. But I shan't THE HARVEST SUPPER 383 never part 'pon this earth. Maybe he'll help to put me underground." When alone the old Betsy Mogridge some- times sits and dreams of funeral honours. The kettle began to sing. " La ! Miss Letty. 'Tis so terr'ble warm. Now do ee please to drink a cup o' tay." Miss Letty graciously consented and old Betsy took her best teapot from the top dresser shelf in honour of the occasion. " He's about the most old-ancient taypot in parish," said she. " But la ! What's wo'th money now were thought nothen of when I were a little maid." "When you were Queen of the Harvest, Betsy?" " Now who could ha' told ee that ? But so I were now — so I were." She poured hot water to warm the teapot, then bustled to the door and threw it away into the street. But her tongue was loosed already. Whilst she measured the tea, and wetted the tea, and set out the cups while the tea was put to stand, she kept talking without a pause. 384 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " La ! Miss Letty, the Book do say — three score and ten, and very near so many years have a-passed since that happed. That were up in what is now your father's ground — up 'pon top o' hill — where they do think to haul wheat to year o' Wednesday next, please God. Dear I. 'Tis all gone out. Though verily an' truly I do believe, Sutton folk held on to the old ways after all t'others had a-forgot 'em. I were a little maid, just in my teens. The wimmen-folk did work out in ground them days, an' I did help to bindy and stooky after the reapers. 'Twere the father o' old Abe, he were the lord o' the reapers that year, an' he swore I should be Har'est Queen — so he did. The reapers did leave a bit o' corn, as may be a sheaf, o' purpose till the last load were up ready to haul. Then they did put a hook in the han' o' the Queen for she to cut it — an' bind it. They did tie it up wi' ribbons an' flowers, an' she all in white too, wi' wheat an' flowers all round the head o' her. An' the Queen did ride home a-top o' the last load an' carry the last sheaf in her arms. An' they dressed the THE HARVEST SUPPER 385 load up wi' strings o' flowers, an' the heads o' the hosses, all so well. An' everybody did dance an' whoop an' holler — " ' We have ploughed, we have sowed, We have reaped, we have mowed.' an' some did holler — " ' Well reaped, well bound, Well saved from ground. Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!' An' they did have music an' dance all down the lane, afore an' behind and o' both sides. An' then they did have a jolly good supper in barn, an' sing an' dance an' play pranks, ay, up to broad daylight." Miss Letty went home full of enthusiasm and bent upon a Harvest-Home in the ancient fashion. But in this twentieth century there are difficulties in the way. It is not easy to manage a real Harvest- Home, when the harvest does not come home. Moreover, it is a utilitarian and unsympathetic age and the gaiety of villages has suffered. " To haul home a load for the purpose of hoisting a Harvest Queen on the top," argued Mr. William Purchase at the family delibera- 25 386 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE tion which followed, "would be something and nothing." Mrs. Purchase objected that all such proceedings were injurious to the lower orders and that the Oueen underwent danger of getting her head turned. " Though as to a Harvest- Home," added Mr. William Pur- chase, with broad-minded toleration, "there is no harm in that in itself. In fact, if not made too frequent, a harvest supper promotes goodwill, and the outlay is not altogether wasted." A supper in the old barn was decided upon. The barn's floor was cleared, and a long table of boards and tressels reached almost from door to door. Not only the regular labourers and their wives but all who occa- sionally worked on the Manor Farm were invited. On their arrival a depression seemed to rest upon the company. Self-conscious, in their best on a working-day, they stood in groups, scarcely daring to open their mouths. In spite of a huge crimson dahlia in his button- hole, young John Brook, the assistant sexton, appeared to mistake the nature of the THE HARVEST SUPPER 387 solemnity. Carter and Shepherd gazed dumb- struck on the white tablecloth. Their wives attentively considered the chestnut rafters of the barn's roof to assure themselves that they were at ease. Selina Jane Edwards called for room to pass with the beef, and the spell was broken. Every tongue was loosed. One and all bustled into their places. A small cross-table at the top being reserved for dis- tinguished guests, myself and Heppell on the right and left supported Mr. William Purchase. "Grace!" It was necessary to hammer many times with the handle of the carvino-fork before silence could be obtained. From that moment the spirit of the old Harvest-Home, still haunting the recesses of the ancient barn, descended upon the feast. Knives and forks clattered. Cascades of beer foamed. The beef was removed — the plum-pudding demolished. Mr. William Purchase rose and grave " The Kino." " The King ! " It fell to Dairyman to propose the next toast. 388 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Now then, all o' ee ! You do know. Be ee all in tune ? " cried he, with a glance up and down the table. " Here's a — here's a health to " Dairyman led off at so high a pitch that after half a dozen words the whole company was driven into a falsetto, from which extri- cation would have been impossible had not Japheth Pike's " piteous little ooman " started an opposition in a lower key. For a moment all was confusion, but the piccolo quality of her voice triumphed in the end and the toast of the evening was duly honoured. " Here's a health to our good master, The founder o' the feast. An' we hope to God, wi' all our hearts, That his soul in Heabem mid rest. That everything mid prosper That ever he take in hand, For we be all his servants To work to his command." Mr. William Purchase responded in his most solid board-room manner, proving, by the analogy of the human body, that all our interests are but one, since the head cannot feed itself without the hands, and the hands become as labourers out of work if detached THE HARVEST SUPPER 389 from the head. Having worked out this original idea with great richness of detail, he hoped they would spend a pleasant evening together, and sat down amidst applause. The health of Mrs. William Purchase and the future happiness of Miss Letty having been honoured, table-boards and tressels were hurried into distant corners, forms and chairs were set back against the spirting-boards, and the fun began. From that moment Sutton discovered un- suspected gifts and accomplishments. Who would have believed that Heppell, the dogged, money-making Heppell, could by the waving of a German concertina ex- press sentiment so elevated and so tender that it reduced him almost to tears ? Or that the old smith was an absolute master of the tambourine and able to beat out any jig or reel that feet could wish for. The two to- gether, as everybody said, were as good as any band of music. The rhythm was so inspiring and the tunes so old, that half-for- gotten memories were awakened. Carter and Shepherd stood up facing each 39o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE other, and danced as men used to do when they were young. Although some might laugh to see them, they were grave indeed. Then there was a call for old Abe, who with- out much persuasion danced a series of step dances or rural hornpipes. After each he walked around the barn's floor with a proud little strut, but keeping step to the tambourine all the while. Between these odd old-world performances the younger generation danced quadrilles and waltzes in a style only to be acquired at the Oldbury dancing-class. And there were songs — sentimental songs, silly songs, and good old songs. Japheth Pike sang " Stingo," a song devoid of meaning, but without which no ancient Harvest- Home could ever be complete. " There was an old dog an' he lived at a mill, And Bingo was his name, sir, B, I, N, G, O, Bang her an' bop her, an' kick her an' kop her, And Bingo was his name, sir. You sing bang her, an' I'll sing bop her. You sing kick her, an' I'll sing kop her. For Bingo was his name, sir. The miller he brewed a barrel of ale And called it right good stingo, S, T, I, N, G, 0, " THE HARVEST SUPPER 391 And so, always with the chorus, the song went on through many verses, and when they came to the end they had it again. At last, after midnight, when the party broke up, the merriest of the revellers still shouted " S, T, I, N, G, O," as they staggered down the village street. So the harvest supper was a great success. " No, no," reflected Mr. William Purchase, as he turned the key of the barn's door; "if not carried too far, a harvest supper is not altogether money wasted." CHAPTER XXXII MICHAELMAS Always at Michaelmas as at Lady Day, largely following the custom of the locality, there is a small reshuffling of agricultural tenants. For about a week before and after quarter- day, slowly along the dusty high roads or between the hedgerows of quiet byways, pass flocks and herds loitering to bite the grass by the wayside while their drovers pull down yellowing hazel boughs to fill their pockets with clusters of nuts. Some of these have changed hands and are goino" to a new owner. The land which an outgoing tenant has taken may not be so good as the sheltered grassy meadows which he leaves. Then the stock would miss the richness of their old pastures, and he sells to buy in a leaner kine. They go leisurely under the clear autumn sky — now MICHAELMAS 393 a herd of milch-kine — now a flock of ewes — then some young stock and a few sheep as one sees them in old pastoral pictures. Even the great waggons piled up with furniture travel faster than they. Such waggons are to be met on every road now all the changing folk are ridding house. I suspect a reluctance concealed beneath the greater number of these heterogeneous piles of household sticks. Some are going to finer dwellings, and yet for the moment there is a sadness at leaving the old home. The greater number, perhaps, are moving because they have not been able " to make a do of it." But whether the change be to a better place or a worse, a true democratic spirit pervades the journey there. Utensils, buckets, dairy tubs and vats associate awhile with parlour tables and chairs. A highly respectable old horsehair sofa, decorated with brass-headed nails, back to back with a very common kitchen dresser, nurses a lapful of pots, pans, jugs, basins, and bedroom ware of no distinc- tion whatever. The grandfather's clock must needs chum with the baby's cradle. The 394 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE occasion is destructive not only of class distinction, but of all true modesty. Decent tables, habitually draped, get on their backs, like ewes heavy in wool before shearing, and lie with legs pointing up to the sky. Even a thoroughbred mahogany Chippendale will expose its elegant calves and feet to a staring - world without a blush. All things become equal at house-ridding as at the greater passing which men call Death. Sometimes a smaller waggon passes with a humbler load. Very often the carter or shepherd follows his master's fortunes and moves to another cottage on the new farm. High aloft above his few kitchen sticks and upstair furniture, mixed up with the bolsters and the feather- bed, or often sitting on a bundle of clean oaten straw, are his wife with the little children who are still too young for work. They are all eagerness for a first look at the new home. This Michaelmas there has been but one change in Sutton. Farmer Rudd has left his MICHAELMAS 395 holding and long John Batch has come in his place. They have been acquainted all their lives and many a deal have they had in their time, yet there is something about the worry and doubt of changing that begets suspicion. No outgoing tenant can for the moment cherish affection for the incoming man. One has to be valued out. The other has to be valued in. Although there can be but one inventory, it is unusual to do the business without two valuations. In this instance Farmer Rudd called in Mr. Buckmaster, whereas long John Batch employed Mr. Simon Shore of Oldbury. It is rare, on this side of the grave, to come in contact with any personality more im- portant than a valuer. All valuers are aware of this. Mr. Buckmaster, as you will quickly learn, has on more than one occasion been concerned in a matter of the greatest importance con- nected with the aristocracy of the neighbour- hood. Mr. Simon Shore, although not hand in glove with the nobility, has for years been a member of the Board of Guardians, as also 396 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE of the Municipal Council of Oldbury. Mr. Buckmaster, therefore, is more dignified, more courteous, more expansive, whilst Mr. Simon Shore surpasses Mr. Buckmaster in geniality and a sense of humour. Mr. Buckmaster dresses in rough tweeds, wears fancy waist- coats, and refers to himself as " a gentleman." Mr. Simon Shore prefers a Norfolk jacket of quieter material, and in the height of argu- ment will often commence his sentence, "And, speaking as a professional man, I say " Mr. Buckmaster is tall and large. Mr. Simon Shore is spare and of middle stature. Mr. Buckmaster sroes in riding-- breeches and tight gaiters. Mr. Simon Shore prefers knickerbockers, and exhibits his calves to the best advantage encased in thick stock- ings with a trellis-work of red on the part turned down. They arrived simultaneously about midday, Mr. Simon Shore in a four- wheeled dogcart. "Just a little matter with the Squire," explained Mr. Buckmaster. " So I left my horse at the Court and stepped across." They shook hands in the farmyard, by a handsome heap of horse-manure close to MICHAELMAS 397 the stable door, with a dignity courteous yet self-restrained. " A trifling matter b ring's us together," said Mr. Buckmaster loftily, "that will not detain us long. I could wish to have more of your company, Mr. Shore." " The desire is reciprocal, Mr. Buckmaster," replied Mr. Shore smilingly, rubbing his hands. " Speaking as a professional man, I say, a professional man can approach the subject with confidence when he finds him- self opposed to a man respected and looked up to in the profession." " Differences " — Mr. Buckmaster paused impressively — " differences, my dear sir, do — and must — and will arise ; but between gentlemen" — Mr. Buckmaster gracefully waved his hands — " they go no further. As I was saying to Sir William, only the other day. 1 said, ' The man is not a gentleman, Sir William.' 'Then, for God's sake, have nothing to do with him, Buckmaster.' Now I've thought of that a great many times since." 11 Of course, in the interests of his client, a 398 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE professional man may now and then become heated " " I grant you that. I grant you that," interrupted Mr. Buckmaster. "But " " Between gentlemen " " There it ends." " Exactly." " Exactly." " However, there will be no differences between us to-day," said Mr. Buckmaster airily. "A fi'-pound note'll cover it," returned Mr. Simon Shore, with confidence. " I think so too." " Still, eh ! As a matter of form, it is usual to appoint an ' Ump.' " "Certainly. Most certainly," returned Mr. Buckmaster, with emphasis. "In all cases the ' Ump ' should be named." " Exactly. As a matter of form." " Purely as a matter of form — and pre- caution." " And precaution — exactly." " Then what do you say to Mr. Couch ? " MICHAELMAS 399 "Peter Couch? Certainly not. On no account whatever. I should say Wilson." " Quite unsuitable," cried Mr. Buckmaster in a huff, and turned away and contem- plated the manure-heap. "Well — there's Tutsan." " Oh no. I shall not agree to him. I see we had better go out of the neighbourhood. What of Mr. John Briggs ? " " Mr. John Briggs ? Certainly. An excellent man." " Agreed ? " " Agreed." Mr. Simon Shore at once produced a red- covered field-book, entered the appointment of Mr. John Briggs, and handed it to Mr. Buckmaster to be signed. In like manner Mr. Buckmaster enriched himself with the autograph of Mr. Simon Shore. The tenants looked on and admired. Unanimity, which for a moment had been in danger, was com- pletely restored. " Let us walk out round first — if that is agreeable to you," suggested Mr. Simon Shore politely. 4 oo ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " By all means. And take the few house- hold fixtures last of all." Mr. Buckmaster pleasantly bowed assent, consulted his red-covered book, turned to Farmer Rudd, and said shortly, " Home Close." Farmer Rudd briskly led the way to that beautiful pasture. In the centre of the field, enclosed with rails, was a rick of new hay and beside it the brown stump of a rick of old. "Now then, Mr. Buckmaster," said Mr. Simon Shore. Mr. Buckmaster solemnly paced the length and breadth of the rick. He took a tape- measure from his pocket and fastened the ring to the handle of his walking-stick to lift it and measure the height. All the while Farmer Rudd kept firing off short sentences to which nobody paid any attention. "Capital hoss hay. Early cut an' made lucky. Not a drop o' rain 'pon it. First-rate quality. Prime condition. Cut out so green as a chibbole. I'll warr'nt it." " Thirty-five by twenty — and ten two " MICHAELMAS 401 muttered Mr. Buckmaster as he sucked his pencil and ciphered on a piece of paper on the back of the red-covered book. Mr. Simon Shore took the tape. "Catch hold," said he to long John Batch. " Thirty-four and a trifle — well, by hardly twenty — say thirty-four by twenty — by ten " Mr. Simon Shore was the first to finish his computation. " Come, Mr. Buckmaster," said he jauntily. " Six-and-twenty ton beside the roof," said Mr. Buckmaster, in an everyday businesslike manner. "Is there?" Mr. Simon Shore smiled sardonically. Mr. Buckmaster affected to review his figures. " That's what it works out," said he. " What weight to the cubic yard ? " sneered Mr. Simon Shore. " Oh ! A couple of hundredweight." " I will never allow it," cried Mr. Simon Shore, with heat. Mr. Buckmaster retained a gentlemanly 26 402 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE self-possession. "Well. I may be just on the outside. I'll throw in the roof." "Ridiculous!" cried Mr. Simon Shore. " No, sir. We shall not agree." But Farmer Rudd had come prepared with a crow-bar. Mr. Buckmaster thrust the iron into the rick to prove its density, and Mr. Simon Shore pulled it out again to show how loosely the hay was put together. He declared twenty tons to be the very outside. He was willing, however, to go to twenty-two. " Robbery. Flat robbery," cried Mr. Buck- master. " I consent to no such figures." " Robbery ! You say robbery ? I know a rick o' hay when I see one." " You may. But perhaps some others judge one better." " Not near here," cried Mr. Simon Shore, in a passion. Mr. Buckmaster drew himself up with the utmost dignity. " Make your entry, Mr. Shore. We shall meet and discuss the matter again." They estimated the stump without difficulty. Farmer Rudd and long John Batch followed MICHAELMAS 403 this dispute with close attention and deep respect, realising how their respective interests were being thoroughly cared for. From "Home Close" they proceeded to the mangold field. But the valuers did not hold the same opinion as to the ploughings, or the drags, or even the hoeings. Mr. Simon Shore de- clared that if the facts were as stated the farm must have been filthy beyond all descrip- tion, and a disgrace to Rudd. Thus they wrestled, each man doing his best for his employer. They quarrelled in the fallow- field and insulted each other by the side of a straw-mow. They almost came to blows over an old cider-press when they got back to the homestead. At last, argument being exhaustedand theendof the inventory reached, they arranged to meet at Oldbury on the next market-day and go into the matter more fully. Gentlemanly feeling and strictly profes- sional conduct again prevailed. Mr. Simon Shore offered Mr. Buckmaster a lift in the dogcart, which was readily accepted. Seated side by side in that vehicle, the two valuers left the farm together. 4 o 4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE As a matter of history, they did not agree. After all the " Ump " had to be called in. His valuation was exactly half-way between the other two, and everybody was satisfied. Either tenant, either valuer or the "Ump" could have appraised the inventory without diffi- culty. But the spirit of dealing and barter still exercises a great hold on the country mind. Farmer Rudd still congratulates him- self that he did not go out on the valuation of Simon Shore. Long John Batch cannot be too thankful that there was an " Ump " to partially correct the absurdities of Mr. Buck- master. The valuation cost about fifteen guineas. These details of the valuation of Farmer Rudd's outgoing would have supremely interested the quick intelligence of Sutton, had not a very dramatic incident occurred and completely knocked the colour out of every commonplace workaday matter. It was evening. Labourers were passing home from work, and a considerable crowd had gathered in the road before the old hovel MICHAELMAS 405 still occupied by old Jakey Barton, when the dogcart with the two valuers turned the corner and came in sioht. " Pull up," cried Mr. Buckmaster. " What is all this then ? " asked Mr. Simon Shore. There had been gales with heavy rain and storm during the last few days, and at last a rafter of the old cottage had fallen in, leaving a large hole in the sodden thatch. Isaac Jeans had climbed up upon the roof to peer in. " Jakey," cried he. "Here! Where be ? Come on out." No answer came. " 'Tis all neighbours here. You can have a night's shelter in my hut." Jakey made no response. "I do see the cart. There's no fire 'pon hearth. But so far as I can make out, the man is not there," said Isaac. " He must ha' crawled into the oven," suggested one. " Unless by chance he can ha' went into the town," said another. 406 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " Well, here's Michaelmas anyway an' J akey have still got the key." " Oh, well ! 'Tis all up now." "Ay. God Almighty have a-send a notice to quit this time. No mistake." Thus the village commented on the ruin of the cottage and the prospect of a termination to Jakey's tenancy. The two valuers also had a word to say before Mr. Simon Shore drove on. "A poor deformity — a little short here," said Mr. Buckmaster, tapping his forehead. " But you know the poor man. Now what, I ask, under such conditions can life be worth ? " "Very little," replied Mr. Simon Shore. " Nothing," affirmed Mr. Buckmaster solemnly. The mind of Mr. Simon Shore uncon- sciously assumed towards the subject its usual professional attitude. " And yet — life is sweet, Mr. Buck- master. Life is sweet. Gee up ! " The prediction that Jakey's tenancy was ended proved premature. MICHAELMAS 407 By the following morning, such was the ingenious perseverance of the old man, one of the sheets of corrugated iron had been nicely adjusted to cover the hole, and was held in place by an old grindstone and full a dozen heavy rocks, each as large again as a man's head. The village was delighted. Sure enough the old " Man an' man " was " not beat yet." Everybody smiled behind the back of Mr. William Purchase when he passed up the street to look at old Jakey's repairs. He knew it and was annoyed. It became an obvious duty to bring such a ridiculous matter to an end as speedily as possible. It would be a scandal to winter a beast in such a place as that, and the quicker Barton was turned out the better. As a matter of duty, Mr. William Purchase rode into the town and instructed his lawyer to set the law in motion. But before the law had time to move, the matter came to an unexpected end. Early on the following morning Mr. William Purchase was aroused before dawn by the clink of a small pebble against his bed- 4 o8 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE room window. He jumped out of bed, pulled aside the window-blind and peeped out, to see John Peters standing below. " Is that you, John ? Nothing the matter with the horses, I hope ? " he asked anxiously. But John Peters spoke in a solemn voice. " No, sir. The chimbly o' the old cottage an' the pointing-end that was a-shored up have a-falled inside. An' I do believe the man is under all." " Send up to the doctor. Call the men together. Run as fast as you can. Quick, John." No man ever tumbled into his clothes with greater speed. Yet before Mr. William Purchase could get to the house the villagers had cleared away the corrugated iron and the stones, entered the cottage, and lifted Jakey Barton into the road. "Dead?" " No ; not yet," replied the doctor. " He had better be taken to the workhouse as quickly as possible." " Poor man ! An' how he did hate the thought o' it," mourned the villagers. PLOUGHING From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID BALL, R.E. MICHAELMAS 409 " But there ! Nobody can't be blamed but his own zelf." " No, they can't." " For he would bide in the trumpery old place." "An' zo he would." CHAPTER XXXIII CARTER PETERS After the wheat in the broad level field was reaped there came a night of rain. The sheaves stood in stitch for full a week before it was convenient to haul them. Thieving pigeons came out of the horizon, warily- alighted on the hedgerow trees, and presently dropped from the branches to fill their crops with the yellow grain. The " couple o' young cautions " gave up rabbiting at dawn to build an ambush and lie in wait amongst the sheaves. After the moisture the sunlight, falling between the glistening drills of stubble, quickened every little flower and plant whose growth had been stunted in the forest of standing corn. By the time the stacks were up and thatched in their corner by the gate, the CARTER PETERS 411 stubble-field was getting green with weed and pushing blade. The little pimpernel, the shepherd's weather-glass, opened its petals to the very widest ; the yellow-eyed heart's-ease and the veined bells of the field convolvulus flourished anew ; the corn-mint yielded its scent under the hobnail of the partridge- shooter, tramping across to the mangolds on the other side of the hedge. Shepherd Jeans ran his lambs over the stubble for a few hours of the day. It was a change for them, and they bit off such fresh young herbage as they could find. Young John Brook's eldest boy brought up the pigs from the farm to pick up any stray ears missed bv the rake as well as the shaken grain that lay upon the ground. The old sow from the orchard was there with another litter running around her. The little pigs of the spring were quite big by this time and, the stubbling over, would be ready to go into the styes to fat. One fine September morning John Peters, the carter, and young John Brook, with teams and ploughs, came into the field and drew up under the hedgerow where the late honey- 412 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE suckles were in flower. John Peters was brought up on the Manor Farm. His father was carter before him, and John began serious life as a carter's boy and led the fore-horse alongside the furrow. Now he holds the most important place on the farm and has all the horses in his charge. Only Isaac Jeans, the shepherd, could hope to establish a title to equality of responsibility. Carter Peters is tall and strong. His short nose and long upper lip give him a rather truculent appearance. He assumes a tone of superiority when speaking to young John Brook. " Look sharp then. Set your sull. Got to plough it out to ten inches. I'll go an' mark it out. An' keep your eye 'pon the hosses, an' partic'lar Blackbird — mind that." Carter Peters laid his jacket and the rush- basket with the nose of a bottle peeping out under the shade of the hedge. He opened the clasp-knife with which he eats his victuals, cut a few small boughs from a hazel, and cleaned off the leaves with his hand. Many a year he had marked out the field for ploughing, and he CARTER PETERS 413 went at it with a great air of knowing what he was about, measuring offhis pitches, twenty paces to the first cut-out, making forty paces from hollow to hollow, and setting his hazel sticks without waste of time in a true line from hedge to hedge. " Come on," cried he, and young John Brook hurried up his team and turned a furrow the length of the stubble as straight as if it had been ruled. Carter went on pacing, taking the furrow as his guide, until very soon he was ready to cut out for himself. Then the two ploughs went steadily backwards and forwards, turning on the headlands, the borders of land left for that purpose under the hedges. The field is large and the furrrows were long, but gradually the rich brown strips of upturned soil grew wider and wider. Rooks, survivors of Uncle Dick's rook-shooting, came circling over the ploughmen's heads and dropped to pick up grubs quite close behind the plough. Wag- tails ran in the furrows, and chaffinches, sprightly and bright, hopped and flew from clod to clod. In the afternoon gulls found 4 i4 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE their way from the estuary far beyond the withy-beds, and sometimes congregated in patches of white on the dark earth. Mr. William Purchase's large arable field is not to be ploughed in a day. For more than a week the two teams went nodding to and fro, hastened now and then by a flick of the rope that served for a rein, plod — plod — plod, with a rest on the headland under the hedge at " nunch " and " nammet " and a bit of sweet hay or a nosebag to comfort them. But the ploughing day closes early. The teams come into the arable at about eight and the plough is left at the end of the furrow nearest the way home at about two. Then the carter and his horses quietly follow their way to the home- stead stables. Yet his day is not a short one. He is one of the early risers. For master's horses are in his hands and have to be looked to. John Peters is one of the most faithful of his class. He thinks of very little beyond the region of the Manor Farm and such out- side things as are associated with it. He could read well enough as a boy, but for want of CARTER PETERS 415 practice he has almost lost the art. Now and then he puzzles out a brief paragraph of the country weekly paper, and for the subject he prefers a crime. Yet he is the most law- abiding human being on earth — rising with the sun and going to bed without a candle in summer, and busy in his stable with a lantern of the dark winter morning-. All his thought is for his horses. He is prouder of them than of anything else in life. They are well bred and handsome, well fed and sleek, and their coats glisten. When John goes to the wood for hurdles, or after threshing hauls the sacks of corn to Oldbury Station, he cracks his whip and moves with style whenever folk be about. But if people praise his horses he affects dis- content. They are never at their best — never quite what they " have a-been," if you could have " a-seed 'em a month agone." For either it is the blackberry season, which as every- body knows is most terrible trying to horses, or the hay to John's mind " hant a-got the proof in it, to year" or "they have a-been a- worked a bit tightish the last few wicks," and then — what can you expect ? 4 i 6 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE John takes great pride in his harness, too, and shines up the brass upon it like gold before starting upon these errands away from the village. All the little ornaments upon the headpiece and the guide-rein were charms against witchcraft in the beginning. If he did but know it, the thought might comfort him. For deep in his heart he believes in the evil eye and that the horse is very easily affected by it. There is a horseshoe nailed to his stable door. John's father was most terrible pestered by the pixies at one time, and used to find his horses all in a bath of sweat of a morning and all to a-tremble like. John has never been troubled in that way. He will speak of it lightly and laugh, but John would not willingly take down the horse- shoe. John never departs from tradition, never introduces anything new. A black horse is called Blackbird, and his team has always a Captain and a Colonel. Any departure from these time-honoured names he regards with disapproval and treats with derision. But John is a steady and honest fellow, who can CARTER PETERS 417 do as good a day's work as any man and is ready to tell him so. He is also a good husband and in his rough way a kind father. Next after his horses and not very far behind them, even when they are looking and doing their best, come his wife and children. 27 CHAPTER XXXIV MY PROPERTY! Jakey Barton did not die. His ribs were broken and he had suffered a cut on the head that drove his senses wandering for several days. In his delirium he was still in the cottage, and kept protesting that he had not given up the key. He cried out that no man could be turned out of house until he had given up the key, and swore he would never give up the key. To comfort him they kept whispering in his ear, " That's all settled now ; you are not required to give up the key." With returning consciousness and the know- ledge of what had befallen him, his mind appeared to run on his few poor belongings. " My property ! all my things — all that I've a-got in the world be there." At first they could scarcely keep him in bed. 4 i8 MY PROPERTY! 419 They did the best they could to soothe him. One day Miss Cann came to the "House" and talked to him. " Everything is to be left just as it was," said she. "Mr. William Purchase has not touched the cottage — only made it good, so that nobody can get in. He is taking care of everything, so that you may move as soon as ever you are well and able to find a new house." Old " Man an' man " did not feel satisfied ; but, weak and helpless, he was forced to calm himself with these assurances. In time he became convalescent, and one noonday of an Indian summer they seated him in an arm- chair in front of the workhouse, on the garden path that old Micah Dodge used to weed. The sky was of a soft pale blue. The last of the swallows were perched on the housetop. The farewell-summers in the border were coming out finely. The sun fell warm and bright upon Jakey. He felt stronger, but was worried at the loss of the blackberry-picking and with the fear of being too late for the trade in sloes. 4 2o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Then Baker Heath, a basket of loaves on each arm, came to the door. " Hullo, Jacob Barton ! glad to see you about again. They be a-doing up your cot- tage, so 'tis said. By the same token, they were a-pulling off the thatch as I drove by." "Eh? Pulling off the thatch ? Let me go. Let me go, I say. They'll take all I've a-got. I be no pauper. I'll pay for my keep here. The house can't keep a man against his will, if he'll pay. Let me go." With an effort he struggled to his feet and tried to stagger down the garden path. Baker Heath put him back in his chair. " The poor fellow is off his head again," said he. The reports that had solaced Jakey, al- though not in exact agreement with fact, were based on a fairly sound foundation. Mr. William Purchase had blamed himself a great deal. He said the accident was all his fault. He ought to have stood firm and turned the poor man out on the very first day that it was legally possible. To be weak from kindness MY PROPERTY! 421 of heart is the worst folly in the world, and always proves the greatest unkindness in the end. Yet Mr. William Purchase did make the place weather-tight in what he called "a temporary manner," and thus took the greatest care of Barton's furniture, including the little cart. To be sure, freedom is sweet, and since the wretched man could manage to pick up a living, let him do so by all means. Mr. William Purchase determined that Barton should have the cottage by the wood rent free to make a shift until something- more convenient could be found. Therefore a week or two elapsed before anything was done. To be sure, there could be no good in wasting a winter in the matter of throwing the hedge and planting the young apple trees. So at the end of the autumn, Mr. William Purchase began to consider what labourers he could spare to work at getting things ready for the improvement. And all went at a fine rate. The apple trees were ordered. The old house was condemned to be demolished. " La ! Master, I should never pull down the old place if it did belong to me. How 422 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE thick the walls be — an' so dry as hay. An' the joistes be good too, all but one here an' there. I'd sooner go to the expense of some sort of a roof. It 'ud make a wonderful use- ful lock-up place. My wig ! What teddies a man could store away there ! What a place for my cake!" The voice of Isaac Jeans quite quavered with emotion, as his imagina- tion pictured a vision of unlimited potatoes and cake. "A good idea, Isaac," cried Mr. William Purchase. " Tell the mason to see me. I could put on an iron roof. Or thatch it again, for that matter. Get thatcher to see me. The more closely looked at, the better the plan appeared ; so, Barton's furniture having been carefully stored in the Abbey barn, the restoration of the fallen wall was hurried on at a fine pace. The thatcher came to look at the job, and climbed up on the roof. Mr. William Purchase stood below explaining in detail how he would have the work done. " There is no more nature in it than in so much burnt paper," cried the thatcher, as he MY PROPERTY! 423 pulled off the brittle old thatch, which filled the air with a damp earthy smell. " Massy 'pon us ! What's this then ? " From- behind one of the joists he dragged a little bundle in a dirty cloth. It proved to be an old handkerchief much discoloured and tied into many knots. " 'Tis pretty heavy, too," cried he, holding it up. He pitched it down for Mr. William Pur- chase to look at, and it fell with a clinking noise upon the doorstep. Mr. William Pur- chase turned it over with his stick and detected unmistakably within the rag the circular shapes of many coins. " Money ! " ejaculated he. Curiosity overcame his repugnance. He respectfully picked up the filthy little parcel and quickly untied the knots. " It must belong to Barton. Here is a sovereign coined last year." The thatcher descended his ladder. The labourers came from grubbing" the hedo;e and crowded to stare at the secret hoard of old " Man an' man." It was wonderful — and yet, 424 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE to be sure, with groundsel a penny a bunch, and none but himself to keep Unnoticed, while they were so intent upon the money, a strange figure had come round the bend of the highway. It hurried along with a shuffling gait, and was already quite close when one shouted, "Massy 'pon us! Here is old ' Man an' man ' ! " And they recognised Jacob Barton — but Jacob Barton transfigured — Jacob Barton scrubbed and cleaned, his hair cut and his long beard trimmed. His eyes glared upon them out of a face white and yet pink from a bed of sick- ness. " 'Tis my money," he shrieked, and snatched it away with his long lean fingers. " You can take the roof from my head, but you can't rob me o' that. 'Tis my own money honest- earned as between man an' man. I earned it, I tell 'ee. You that be so straight and strong — have ee done better yourselves ? I had no use for it. Poor crooked mortal that I be ! I saved it to prove to my own self that I was so good a man as the rest. Speak out the truth then — between man an' man — I do MY PROPERTY! 425 call upon 'ee to. Did any one o' ee ever see Jakey Barton drunk ? You fools, that do turn to look how he do hobble by. You that do lay your heads together an' say that he did ought to be made to go into the House. Devils ! Did ee ever see un lie down in the heat o' the day ? You that be so fine made. Was he ever behind with his rents ? 'Tis you that'll go into the house, when you be old wi' nothen a-put by, and your strength do fail. An' you, William Purchase — so wise, wi' your ' not put up in 'cordance wi' the regulations.' 'Twas a serviceable house, I tell ee. An' I — a serviceable man — I, my- self, was never built 'cording to the regu " His strength failed. He staggered forward and fell upon the ground — raised himself on his elbow and gasped. " 'Tis my own — honest-earned as between man an' " His chin dropped upon his chest. The little hoard that had been of no use, except to solace his loneliness with the secret thought that he was as good as the rest, fell from his fingers. 426 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE " He's off in a faint," said the thatcher. " Lay the poor man straight there on the grass — so straight as can," said Isaac Jeans. Jakey opened his eyes. " It's all right, Jakey," cried Mr. William Purchase in his ear. " Your money is all safe. I am going to do up the house. Stop the walls — new joists — good sound roof — do you hear ? " Jakey raised his head. " I ought to put up the rent now you're a millionaire. But I shan't. Shilling a week. So long as you live. Do you hear, Jakey ? Shilling a week." CHAPTER XXXV SHEPHERD'S HUT After the harvest supper and the ploughing of the first stubble, signs of the ageing of the year followed each other in rapid succession. There came three weeks of bright sunshine, of clear skies and glowing landscape. The heads of the tall elms around the newly ploughed field grew yellow upon an expanse of cloud- less blue, and the late honeysuckles in the hedgerows below, refusing to be picked, shed their petals at a touch. The blackthorn by the gate was purple-blue with its thousands of sloes covered with a delicate bloom, as yet unwashed by rain. Its dull-hued neighbour, the maple bush, under the alchemy of autumn, was transmuted to gold. The paler hazel, scanty of leaf and robbed of its cluster- ing nuts, with broken boughs, no longer erect, 428 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE hungover the blackberry-sprinkled ditch. The hips turned to crimson, the haws to a still deeper red. The long wood-vine, that climbed so far amongst the tangle of the hedge, ripened its oreen berries to orange and to red amidst the grey masses of the wild clematis. The guelder-rose, the dog-wood, and the spindle- tree all decked themselves with gems. And gossamer covered the straight brown furrows in a web so fine that in the light it shone like satin. Everybody went about smiling and spoke of Indian summer. But the brightness of Indian summer bears the same relation to the autumn as the glory of sunset to the afternoon. These fine days made Sutton busy. There were potatoes to get in, and old Abe was in his garden from morning to night, digging and sorting, some for eating, some for seed, and the little ones for the pigs. He could not wish for a better time. For a "teddy" should be put away dry. "'Tis in the natchur of a teddy, an' to year a man have a-got no call to put un away other- ways." SHEPHERD'S HUT 429 There was apple-picking in the orchard be- hind Jakey's house. You could smell the fruit and see it in large heaps of red and yellow- under the trees, as you passed along the road. You could smell the cider-making also as you passed the Manor Farm. But the mangold field was for the time the busiest place on the farm, for that crop must be saved before the coming of heavy frost. Everybody that Mr. William Purchase could send was there, pull- ing and laying in rows, or topping off the green leaves, or loading into the carts that travelled to and fro to the "caves," as they call the mounds under which the roots are stowed away against winter. Yet, although John Peters was busy enough, the straws clinging to the hedgerows of the lane up the hillside bore evidence that a good load had passed that way. One morning I met him hauling the shepherd's wooden hut to the high grass field where the lapwings came in the spring. All too soon the Indian summer passed. Frosts came. The flowers that had made the cottage gardens gay were cut off in one night. 43Q ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE Only the farewell-summers remained, and the pearly discs of the " money in both pockets " which had dropped its seed. Everywhere dead leaves fell fluttering from the trees, and the woods that had been so bright became dark and bare. Then came Mr. Peter Badgery with his guns and his beaters and his stops tapping with their sticks to frighten per- verse pheasants from running back across the ride to escape destruction. Sutton heard the sound of his guns. Selina Jane Edwards, hanging a few clothes on the line to dry in the wind, shouted to the Widow Teape, " Sure then, the shooters must be meeting wi' good sport. " And Widow Teape, spreading an old sack on the top of a bee-butt, piped back, " They be." So the weeks passed until a few days before Christmas and departure. I took a last walk by the road and the lane and around the hill- side. Half-way up the hill, below the patches of gorse, and sheltered from the north wind, stand some sheds, and here the shepherd had made a lambing-yard for the early ewes. It was enclosed with hurdles thatched against an SHEPHERD'S HUT 431 east wind with straw, with his wooden hut drawn up alongside and the smoke rising from its little chimney. The short winter afternoon was drawingnear to sunset. There had been a threatening sky all day, but now, just over the horizon, opened a long rift through which the light shone and tinged the clouds with red. Shepherd came out of the yard towards his hut. "Well, Isaac, what do you think of it? Snow ? " He shaded his grey eyes with his brown hand, and looked towards the west. Sutton folk when they feel anxiety about the weather always consult Shepherd. They say he is never wrong. " I don't look for no fallings this time. I do allow 'tis breaking. Shall have star- light an' a sharp frost afore morning now." He stirred the fire in his little stove and put water to boil to make a warm gruel for a weak ewe. "There's thousands o' peewits," he con- tinued, " down in the fallow. They've a-been 432 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE about there days. If snow was a-coming, I do count they would ha' went on. No. I do look for clear weather." " So much the better." "Ay. I'd soonest have it dry," said he, and stirred his pan. " You must have an anxious time ? " " A busy time, no doubt. An' a hardish time, too, in bad weather. But I don't know about such a very anxious time. No. Summer is the anxious time for a shepherd. What wi' the fly, an' the scab — he've a-got his worrits, I tell ee, in summer. You can't be 'ware o' it. But the ewes do yeany well enough. He mus' watch 'em, but a good shepherd don't meddle without he must. I han't a-lost a lamb to year as yet " He broke off suddenly, and then added, " But I mustn' say too much or the luck'll change." The posset was ready. He lighted his lantern, for it was getting dark. We went into the lambing-yard and under the shed. But his boasting had not brought bad luck and the ewe was comforted. He held up the light and glanced around at the woolly ewes SHEPHERD'S HUT 433 and lambs that were nearly all legs. All was well, and we went back to the hut. "You think it unlucky to mention good luck ?" said I. "'Tis asking for trouble, you mid depend. The old folk always said so. An' more 'an that, the Almighty do punish pride. There's more in what folk used to say 'an what some folk do think. I've a-proved some things my own self." The lantern did not shine full upon his face, but I saw him gravely shake his head, and for a full minute he remained silent. "I've a-heard the wisht-hounds," said he solemnly. "Folk 'ud laugh nowadays to hear a man say so. But 'tis true. I never saw 'em. 'Tis the worst o' luck to see 'em. But I heard 'em plain. On this very hill I heard 'em — nine ? nine — no — ten year agone. Aboutnow — or, no,alittle sooner in theseason. 'Twas a clear night, and yet not so over bright — no moon — no wind, but still — still as death, master. I had a-looked round. I had no call to bide and thought to go back home to house, an' I stood there wi' my hand 'pon the hurdle, 28 434 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE as may be, to listen for a sound of anything moving about. 'Tis a habit I've a-got. You can hear for miles of a still night, an' you never heard a night so still. An' they came from over hill, away there from the no'th, but not straight overhead, an' I don't tell you so. I heard 'em like a pack o' foxhounds, high up, an' all full cry, one to another an' all together, never stop. I heard 'em come. I heard 'em go, an' never turn nor waver, right down over Sutton tower an' out o' hearing. First going off I looked up. Any man would. But I couldn' see nothen, an' then I bethought myself. I bend down my head an' hearkened to 'em, an' they went on. 'Tis true, master, for I heard 'em." " 'Twas a flight of wild birds on their travels, IT) saac. " Never," said he shortly. "But they go like that." " I do know they do." "And make strange sounds that you do not hear at other times." Shepherd Jeans raised his hand and waved away the explanation with impatience. Then he laughed it to scorn. SHEPHERD'S HUT 435 "Ha! I've a-heard that tale afore. An' I've a-heard birds afore an' since. But 'tis no good, master. I tell ee, I heard 'em. An' more 'an that — one mus' ha' loitered, for I heard the crack o' the huntsman's whip." CHAPTER XXXVI CHRISTMAS It wanted but one day to Christmas Day, and for some time signs of the approach of that festive season had multiplied in Sutton. Ever since November, twice a week instead of once, had the ringers practised "for Christmas." Ever since the beginning of the month small parties of children had crept quietly into porches or on to doorsteps, hoping to earn a penny by singing carols. There came a shuffling of feet, a little half-suppressed cough, and their voices, both shrill and nasal, burst out : — " Good Keeng Wenceslas looked out On the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about Dee-pan crip-san " By this time the door would open. " Go away, you noisy children you. Kirsmas 436 CHRISTMAS 437 idden here yet." And with this the door would slam and all became silent again for a few minutes, until fainter by distance : — " Good Keeng Wen " " Tormenten little images!" cried Mrs. Josiah Heppell for the twentieth time. " Did really ought to be stopped. To be sure the choir do come round o' Christmas Eve, an' that's well enough. For they don't come till midnight an' then we be all sound asleep. For folk don't bide up to have the singers in, same as they did the mummers an' all when I was a maid at home. In cou'se, there idden no mummers now, an' the carol singers 'ud soonest not come inside. Because why, if they do, they can't find the face to call round day after Christmas with the book." Yet signs of festivity were not altogether absent. Carts laden with red-berried holly passed down the village street on the way to Oldbury. Young John Brook brought the best part of a load for the decoration of Sutton Church ; and Miss Letty Purchase stood out on the causeway and bargained in public 438 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE for "a misseltoe" that Selina Jane Edwards described as " half so big as a house." Pearls were set between its golden-green leaves as thick as stars in the firmament. " Massy 'pon us ! " cried the old Betsy Mogridge. " Why, if you can find a use for all they berries, missie, verily an' truly there won't be none o' ee left — an' can't." For the old notion was that a berry must be picked off for every kiss, and when the berries were gone there was an end to it. Mrs. Josiah Heppell was serving my last evening repast. It was later than usual, because I had loitered with Shepherd. The lamp was lighted. The blinds were drawn. I no lonoer sat in the window, but comfort- ably by the fire, and for the last few weeks this excellent woman had not enjoyed the advantage of a view of the street. But as the blind are said to receive some compensa- tion for their loss of sio;ht in the alertness of their other senses, so, it appeared to me, this deprivation had but made the hearing of Mrs. Josiah Heppell abnormally acute. CHRISTMAS 439 "But sure," said she, "we shall miss ee when you be gone, for, as Japheth Pike said to Heppell only last week, though maybe I didn' ought to mention, yet said all in kind- ness too, ' I really do admire how he do go about an' poke his nose into everything.' He really did, though no harm meant or taken, I do hope indeed. Harky then ! There s the rttmble o wheels. Then that's Mrs. Treloar, Baker Heath's wife's mother. A elderly lady an lame o the left foot, though well off, as 'tis said, an very genteel for certain, come every year in a hired conveyance. Yes, there, the fly have a-stopped. She do come from doivn the country, always the day afore, out d the hurry -push d folk fd ced to bide for business. Yes, an' I do hope you'll come to Sutton again one o' these days, an' the room, if not let, always ready, an' pleased we always should be, or any friend, if you should ever be able to recommend. There's the slam d the workshop door. Then carpenter have a-made firm the leg d the tressel for the handbell ringers. An' to be sure we did hope you would bide Christmas. Though Christmas is nothing now but the 44o ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE coming home o' friends, an', I do suppose you do think you must go home so well as the rest. Laukl There s a cackle d fowls then. That 's young John Brook choosing a couple off the roost. He do keep crossed wi the game. Send a coiiple every year in to his sister to Oldbmy. Ah I kill 'em so as to catch the moment to send in unpicked by the Oldbury fly, Til warrant it. Though, if I might make so bold — but maybe I ought not to tell — and yet more convenient to know for certain sure, for what so ill-convenient as to be taken on the hop ? But the handbell ringers, they did think to A11 that's Jap heth. I do know his step. He do hit one heel harder than t'other on the flagstone. He 11 put his head in an hollar to smith, an they 11 be here in ten minutes " " Who will be here, Mrs. Heppell ? " "The handbell ringers. They do go about Sutton at Christmas, an', of course, they must come in with the bells, if you didn't mind. An' the book is for the church ringers " "Of course, they must come in, Mrs. WINTER SCENE From a water-colour drawing by WILFRID FALL, R.E. CHRISTxMAS 441 Heppell. Make haste, my good woman. Run for your life. Scald out the washhand basin. Bring up the soup-ladle. Get glasses. Get spoons Get lemons. Get sugar. Bustle, I tell you, and put on the biggest kettle to your name." "What for?" asked Mrs. Josiah Heppell, in surprise. " Because I am an artist, woman. Because I am a genius at it " "At what?" " At the brewing of punch." "Then my old Aunt Juke's old blue bowl 'ud be better," said she, "an' I'll fetch un up from parlour table to once. Hark ! There they be, then, by the scuffle. An that's the tressels dapped down till Heppell do ope the door. I'd better to run " She ran. The handbell ringers came quietly. They set up their board and tressels and arranged their bells in a subdued whisper. And gradu- ally acquaintances who were not ringers slyly found their way into the room, which was large enough indeed to hold the parish. At last, 442 ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE it seemed that we were all there. For Uncle Dick went driving past and Heppell stopped him, and Dairyman, having an errand into the village, was pulled in by force. Somebody ran to borrow glasses at the Manor Farm and to ask Mr. William Purchase to step across. The Sutton handbell ringers ranor carols on the bells very sweetly and proceeded to " The Mistletoe Bough " and other Christmas ballads. By that time the water boiled. The old room was filled with the fragrance of lemons and, well, of other things. Old Aunt Juke's old blue bowl was a jewel. Likely enough it had seen orgies in its time. Did the unexpected warmth from the biggest kettle revive old memories, I wonder ? At least it brought goodwill to that little company, and an hour of old-fashioned jollity. " Merry Christmas ! " " Merry Christmas ! " We held aloft our glasses, and it was merry Christmas everywhere. Then we got to songs and at last to choruses. All the little trumpery differences of the past year were swept away and CHRISTMAS 443 Heppell even smiled upon young John Brook. And when the bowl was empty it was filled again, until at last it came to " Good-night." " Good-niorht." " Though I am very much afraid," said one, "it must be — good-bye." And so " Good-bye." " Good-bve." DATE AA 001 312 491 2 DEC e IS M OV?, 4 '^Q 3 GAYLORD tMEDINU S