M. 
 
 
 
 ~«sf-SisrKiBBKas:'='i Fn?- .-* - -^ .
 
 L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 W572Ky\ 
 
 V.I
 
 MEADOW SWEET 
 
 OR 
 
 THE WOOING OF IPHIS 
 
 A PASTORAL 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWIN WHELPTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'A LIXCOLXSHIRE HEROINE* ETC. 
 
 'A daughter of our meadows, yet not coarse; 
 Straight, but as lissom as a hazel wand' 
 
 Texnysox 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 1-5 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 ^ 1884 
 
 [All riohtf feserved]
 
 :,' CONTENTS 
 
 ^ OF 
 
 S THE FIEST VOLUME. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A HAYFIELD 1 
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER . . . . . . 35 
 
 DAWN OF LOVE ...... 54 
 
 GRACE 79 
 
 CANVASSED 103 
 
 POLICY IIB 
 
 A LOVE FEAST 138 
 
 HARVEST 473 
 
 A SPY ESPIED 192 
 
 A BLUE JACKET . . . . • . . 216 
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND 244 
 
 COQUETTING ^59 
 
 EXPATRIATION .....•• 2-9- 
 
 •^
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/meadowsweetorwoo01whel
 
 t^ 
 
 MEADOW SWEET, 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 A HATFIELD. 
 
 Moist is tlie scent of the fallen meadow grass, 
 the mower ' draws in his last breed/ and the 
 heavy-headed grass-bents lie prostrate. A 
 sigh of satisfaction and relief escapes the toiler 
 as he takes up a handful of the wet grass and 
 wipes the bright edge of his scythe. From 
 four o'clock in the morning he has been swing- 
 ing it, leading off with two men behind him, 
 scarcely giving himself time to look round, for 
 his reputation is dear to him. His two com- 
 rades have left him to finish out the corner, 
 departing to other expanses, not exactly of 
 brifjht f^reen, but of dull red bronze. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 "J MEADOW SWEET. . 
 
 ^A heavy swaitlie/ mutters the mower. 
 His face is dark with freckles, with sunburn, 
 dirt, and sweat. His brawny arms carry no 
 superfluous flesh ; they are as freckled as his 
 face, as sunburnt, and as dirty. His wife 
 stands at his elbow — a comely woman if 
 weather-worn, on her arm a basket, covered 
 with a clean, white napkin. There is some- 
 thing substantial under for the inner man. In 
 the hand of the other arm a huge stone jug 
 pendent, yeasty at the nose. 
 
 ^ Heigh ! ' ejaculates she, commiseration 
 and assent m the tone of her voice, also wifely 
 love and consideration for her bread and bacon 
 winner, ' where wilt ee be ? ' 
 
 ^ By the beck, Ninphia ; 'tis cool there.' 
 
 They descend, until from where they stood 
 one sees the man's legs no longer, then only 
 his head and shoulders continue visible ; his 
 wife lost to view. They then emerge ; ascend 
 again until they reach a bank sloping to a 
 swift, running brook, which holds forth the 
 attraction of a delicious coolness to the toiler.
 
 A HATFIELD. 3 
 
 As lie casts himself down, a vapour of chill 
 refresliing air seems to him to arise from the 
 dark water. The willow-leaved dropwort 
 grows luxuriantly withm reach, the deep pink 
 flower with the eye of crimson in a happy 
 surprise of contrast to the retiring gi^een of its 
 foliage. Here and there a tuft of marsh mari- 
 gold, the lavish flower yellow through. Black 
 spiders dart in and out along the edges of the 
 stream with the nonchalance of experienced 
 skaters at their ease, avoiding the sunlight — 
 fellows too wideawake to disport themselves 
 elsewhere than in cool shadows. He does not 
 fail to note that which lies about him ; he sees 
 the tiny fish bolt and double in the shallows. 
 After such toil his mind is open to regard 
 Nature's smallest wonders. His heavy boots 
 hang but a few inches from the water ; his 
 wife has taken her place beside him, but a little 
 above him, and he takes from her the gallon jug, 
 and slowly but dexterously reverses its posi- 
 tion. One * sleeks ' better out of jug or bottle 
 than out of mug or glass. Silence is golden.
 
 4 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 His wife above him liears nothing, but from 
 her coign of vantage the steady flow is sug- 
 gested to her by the rising of the apple in lier 
 husband's throat. There is some little tact in 
 drinking from a bottle. It is a long time 
 before the jug is withdrawn from his lips, and 
 then breathlessly he gasps, ^ Ah m ! ' 
 
 Silently he takes from his wife's hands the 
 extended food, for he has not yet sufficiently 
 recovered himself to venture upon conversa- 
 tion. In her eyes the sympathy still con- 
 tinues, the work is hard and toilsome, the 
 money is well and honourably earned. 
 
 Kindly though he is to her in look and 
 gesture when it is impossible for him to con- 
 vey to her his affectionate regard for her verb- 
 ally, the mower's mind i?- rather soured. Of 
 his two comrades, one has been disposed to 
 act unfairly, and not do his share of the 
 ' tek.' Himself and the other always found 
 idle Jack far behind, requiring some help if all 
 were to start fair again. He was senselessly 
 idle, slow, or incapable.
 
 A HAYFIELD. 5 
 
 But Farmer Cowlamb, on his white cob, 
 coming up to view progress, soon observed 
 the state of affairs. Farmer Cowlamb had 
 an eagle eye, a quick brain, and a sardonic 
 mind. 
 
 ' Put him in't middle, lads ; he'll move 
 then, a scythe behind him — and lead on, lad,' 
 shouted the farmer, wrothly and somewhat 
 sinisterly. 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb came into ' this part * 
 with a terrible character, but no one ever said 
 he was other than straight with a straight 
 fellow. Willowby labourers fomid out that 
 his eyes were always upon them, that he was 
 always after them, but he paid to the last 
 farthing, and never ' caffled.' 
 
 The farmer's pohcy was shrewd. It was 
 acted upon, and idle Jack moved along, like 
 any other scoundrel, abjectly nervous when 
 found out. Moreover, the one behind him 
 thus enlightened and encouraged by the 
 farmer, in no choice or measured terms con- 
 tinually kept on admonishing the culprit.
 
 6 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' I'll be mawin' thy legs off, Jack, if ta 
 doesn't look alive.' 
 
 And Adam Pant's chin being underhung, 
 and his reputation for doggedness as unchal- 
 lengeable as idle Jack's bravery was impeach- 
 able, idle Jack at length proved that capacity 
 was in him, if it lingered. 
 
 Before the repast was over, into the field 
 came the haymakers, five women and one old 
 man. 
 
 ^ Here they be,' said the mower's wife. 
 
 ^ Ay, suer,' assented he. 
 
 She was an easily distmguishable object ; 
 his battered straw hat only at hitervals 
 gleamed in the sun. By-and-by she ob- 
 served the old man making for them. 
 
 ^ Decimus mun hev a pari.' 
 
 ' Ay, suer,' replied he, the tone different 
 only because his mouth was full. 
 
 Eager desire in his face, the eager garrulity 
 of old age, Decimus was now nearing them. 
 
 ' Warm to-day, maister,' cried Decimus, 
 in a thin voice.
 
 A HAYFIELD. 7 
 
 ^ Ay, suer,' said tlie mower, unconscious 
 of his habit of repeating himself. 
 
 ' I thowt we should ha' hed some showers 
 to-day, it's been so gleamy.' 
 
 ' The wrack's hio;]!,' observed the mower, 
 glancing up at the clouds, high in the sky, 
 saiHng across the sun. 
 
 ' Ay, true. Ya be gomg to yar mates 
 then next,' assumed Decimus confidently, his 
 hayfork stuck in the ground at such a con- 
 venient angle that it was comforting to feel 
 one had no anxiety about one's weight. 
 
 ' I mun be off now, or happen they'll think 
 me long a coming,' said the mower. 
 
 ' An' I mun go to my mates,' observed the 
 haymaker, with a chuckle meant only for 
 himself, but showing yet no hurry, ' or t' owd 
 man '11 be efter me soon. He! he! he! I 
 took a Bible oath forty year gone I'd be a 
 slave to no man.' 
 
 ' He ant scar'd o' hearing hissen speak.' 
 
 ^ ^y goms he ant,' said Decimus, quickly. 
 
 ^ Ya got a bit o' gress land yoursen.
 
 » MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Kalph ? ' continued Decimus ; ' is it good 
 land that o' yours, or nobbut middlin' ? ' 
 ' It's t'one'r.' (One or the other.) 
 ' Oah. Ha' ye got it down yit ? ' 
 * JSloa, it's fast by the roots yit.' 
 ' I wodn't hurry if I was thou. Lard, 
 what a hurry they're in nowadays to git their 
 bit o' hay. No man i' th' township got his 
 hay better nor my faither, and he didn't hurry 
 it. He'd let it stop spreed out for long enow, 
 and i' win'rows ; he'd ted it ower and ower 
 agean, and let it stop i' cock for days and 
 days till it was a'most white. He'd go in a 
 morning and shove his hand intil it, and say 
 — Bon it, it isn't hay yet : it's weet, it doesn't 
 smell like hay, and of a neet he'd remble ^ the 
 owd cocks — wemble ^ 'em ower. Ya'd betther 
 let your hay spoil in the close than spoil in 
 the stack. If ya lead afore it's fit, nowt '11 
 eat it ; it '11 heat and stink, and get fusty and 
 mouldy, if it doesn't get rotten, eh ? ' 
 ' I like to mak suer on't.' 
 ' I doubt it'll be weet,' said Decimus, 
 
 ^ Kemove. ^ Upset.
 
 A HAYFIELD. 9 
 
 peering upward in sheer hopelessness ; then, 
 looking down, ' the frogs sithee are dark/ he 
 reasoned, turning one over with his fork, 
 * they're yalla i' fine weather.' 
 
 ' What ha' ye done with the baens, missis ? ' 
 asked the mower of his wife. 
 
 ' They're pulling heead- aches in a corn- 
 field.' 
 
 The mower rose to his feet stiffly. ' I 
 think I'm a'most harried out, and a dele of 
 the day to look forrad to. The sun's hed a 
 dele of power the day.' 
 
 ' A day's mawin' goes far to tire a man,' 
 said Decimus, sympathetically. 
 
 ' He was up betimes,' said the woman. 
 
 ^ Hes t' many taties ? ' inquired the in- 
 quisitive haymaker. He meant much land set 
 with potatoes. 
 
 ^ A nice few,' said the mower, moving away. 
 
 ' It's a nice thing a bit o' land to a cottage 
 if 'tis nobbut a bit, it all rhymes up.' In 
 Decimus's opinion Ralph was of the fortunate 
 ones to possess a cottage with the bit o' land.
 
 10 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ Heigh, maister ! maister ! ' came a shrill 
 voice from the other end of the field. 
 
 ' Heigh, heigh, lass ! ' answered Decimns, 
 only loud enough, though, for himself to hear, 
 and leisurely extractmg his hayfork. ' It's 
 that long-waisted Polly ; she can't abide to 
 see other folks having a pari if she's not in it. 
 Good morning to ye, maister. / mun buckle 
 to now.' 
 
 The sun gleamed again overhead, clouds 
 drifted under it, gloomy and dark, but tipped 
 with silver and gold. In the south, from the 
 horizon upward, the sky was densely blue, 
 and in the air was that overpowermg heat that 
 is felt when a change in the atmosphere may 
 be expected. 
 
 ' Xow then,' said Decimus, reaching the 
 women, ' here I be. Lard, what a stew ye 
 make to hev a man among ye.' 
 
 ^ ^ay, not we ; thou owd stick i' th' mud, 
 let's ha' none o' thy softness. We s'll have 
 owd Sammy here by-'m-by.' 
 
 ^I'll be bound it'll rain,' said another
 
 A HATFIELD. 11 
 
 of the women, a Job's comforter in all 
 weathers. 
 
 ^ Ay, 'tis so,' agreed another. ^ One gets 
 it into fine fettle, then there comes a shower. 
 I thowt if we nobbut got it into win'rows it 
 ud take no payment. Some folks reckon it's 
 better for a drop o' ram, but I hadn't o' that 
 opinion my sen.' 
 
 ' Xor me,' agreed another, who, relating 
 the history of a hayfork to her next neighbour, 
 broke off to coincide with the philosopher in 
 petticoats. She returned to her story. ' I 
 bowt it o' owd Bellamy, poor thmg ; it was a 
 real steel-tined un, and this is nobbut iron. 
 As pritty a little fork as ever ya seed, and 
 now one has to ffo a-borrowin'.' 
 
 ' Heigh,' observed another resignedly, ^ if 
 ye gits owt uncommon ye're suer to lose it.' 
 
 ^ There's alius another as good i' ivery- 
 think,' remarked Decimus, as if out of temper 
 with such invidiousness ; ' I remember well a 
 farmer he'd a farmin' man as was a-o-oinc; to 
 leave him. He'd got it into his addle-heead
 
 12 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 maister couldn't do beout him. '' I'll put tliee 
 ill the bury-hole, and then we'll see if we can't 
 do beout thee," ' says farmer. 
 
 ' Aye, that was true enow ; folks is forced 
 to do beout 'em then.' 
 
 All ceased gossiping. Two huge loads 
 of hay passing in a narrow lane below attracted 
 the haymakers ' attention . The waggons swayed 
 in the ruts, so that the top-heavy loads seemed 
 to almost get out of the perpendicular. The 
 air was so still, they could hear the jolts and 
 lurches of the wheels on the axletrees, the 
 energetic exertions of the horses, the sound 
 of then' forehoofs on the sand. ' They mean 
 to niak' suer o' theirs,' said one woman at 
 last. 
 
 The small farmer to whom they belonged 
 left his horses, clomb the steep bank, holding 
 himself up by some rails in the wild-grown 
 hedge. * Now,' shouted he jocularly, ' how 
 does that man treat you poor women ? ' 
 
 The sun blazed out again from the obscur- 
 ing clouds, lighting up his red face, revealing
 
 k HAYFIELD. 13 
 
 the beads of sweat standing thereon. He was 
 stripped to his shirt. The sweat the Almighty 
 decreed was standing on many human brows. 
 
 * I think 'tis t'other way, maistsr,' ventured 
 the aggrieved male. 
 
 ' Heigh? Well, then, I moant say no 
 more,' returned the joker, slipping down the 
 bank, his huge body swaying from side to side 
 as he hurried with the awkward gait of a true 
 son of the soil to regain his horses. 
 
 Until noon the five haymakers went up and 
 down the length of the meadow, turning the 
 swathes of grass, sometimes silent, sometimes 
 objects on the road or in the distance suggesting 
 gossip. They had a distinct view of the high 
 road, for it and the sandy lane ran parallel. This 
 day was one of extra bustle on the highway. 
 It was market-day at the small town, but little 
 more than a mile away. The haymakers 
 could on the brook side catch a glimpse of the 
 steeple of the town church, and behind it, the 
 range of the wolds with the farmers' houses 
 dotting the slope, the grey churches, the dark
 
 14 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 patches of wood and copse, the huge fields of 
 green swaying corn, the ehns and oaks on the 
 rid2:e skirtmo; the old Eoman road. Some- 
 times the hill side was brilliant in sunlight — 
 minute objects discernible, the window-panes 
 of the farmhouses of a ruby-red, trying to the 
 eyesight ; at another moment draped in sombre 
 shadow. 
 
 People going to market — the farmers but 
 sparsely, owing to the time of the year. 
 Quamt bodies stopping to open out their 
 budo:et, to deliver themselves of bucolic 
 aphorisms, their own wit or their progenitors. 
 Teams horsed with four fine animals, wag- 
 goner with whip under arm, his eyes blink- 
 ing, his walk measured and slow. Sleepy 
 the horses' gait, yet dignified with sober 
 gravity, the fore horse proudly conscious of 
 his position, his neck arched, his nose at his 
 knees, the steady old mare, his mother, in the 
 shafts. Waggoner first, second horseman 
 next, next plough lad. Oh, what indignity, 
 if the waggoner's right of precedence, leav-
 
 A HAYFIELD. lo 
 
 ing the farmyard, comes to be ignored. The 
 carrier's cart after a time, jolt, jolt, jolt, up 
 and down on the dusty road. To those 
 inside, the sameness, the slow progress, ac- 
 cepted with meekest patience. Butter and egg 
 baskets piled on the tilt top, pigs under a net 
 behind, a rascally lad swinging under, taking 
 advantage of the oblivious driver's eyes being 
 strained forward. What tedious progress — 
 there were the certain evidences of stoneheaps 
 being passed like the hours by the minute- 
 hand on a clock face. 
 
 Decimus looked up. 
 
 ' They don't go ower fast to-day. I think 
 them bosses ud trot an hour on a cabbage 
 leaf.' 
 
 ^ Forget me not,' said a woman, reading 
 the carrier's motto. 
 
 ' One isn't likely,' said Decimus, cynically. 
 
 The meridian passed, the heat seemed to 
 have increased. The doo; roses on the hedg-es 
 seemed to be having a mazy dance, and even 
 the tender brown-tipped sprays of tl;c Vjuick '
 
 16 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 (hawthorn). Nor did this escape the eye of 
 Decimus. 
 
 ' Sithee,' said he to a woman at his elbow, 
 * Kobin Hood and his little men.' 
 
 But below, on the banks, the star-like 
 bramble flowers remained a solace and rest 
 for the eyes. Here and there the Psyches of 
 honey-hnnters, the improvident sippers of 
 nectar, with closed wings, reposed or gorged 
 themselves on the petals. It strained the 
 eyes, looking earnestly ; the haymakers' eyes 
 were easier, fixed on the dying grass at 
 their feet — an overpowering drought causing 
 one, then another, to look up towards the 
 road with wistful eyes of anticipation — the 
 women with their hands shading their eyes, 
 the man not taking that trouble. The 
 expression on his face not a sanguine one, 
 who would hurry to administer to his crea- 
 ture comforts? At last a figure of Indian 
 red, with light-hued head gear, was descried, 
 and expectation soared high. At first there 
 was some difiiculty in determining whether
 
 A HATFIELD. 17 
 
 the figure was advancing or receding, but by 
 noting certain fixed objects a decision was 
 arrived at. 
 
 ' I swe-at like a brock,' said Decimus, 
 carrying his finger round his shirt collar. 
 
 But hopefulness had asserted itself. More 
 briskly the swathes rolled over ; but on com- 
 ing up again it was discovered to be a child 
 in a crimson and black- check frock, a tiny 
 yellow straw hat with blue ribbon. Then 
 came heavy disappointment, Decimus chuck- 
 ling at his superior wit and penetration. 
 
 ' Who teld ye they'd bring us some sleek ? ' 
 he queried incredulously. 
 
 ' I thowt it mud be th' dowter,' humbly 
 and moodily apologised the woman who had 
 raised the hopes of the other four. She was 
 the woman known by the pseudonym of 
 ' long-waisted Polly.' Her voice was quite 
 out of character with her muscular develop- 
 ment. She had the limbs and height of an 
 Amazon, and her voice might have been 
 given to her by a ventriloquist, it sounded as 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 if it Lad travelled some distance before it 
 reached her, and had become wheezy, squeaky, 
 and thin. 
 
 ' I dar'say,' observed Decimns sneeringly. 
 
 One is led to be curious to learn who the 
 person so anxiously looked for might be. It 
 was none other than Farmer Cowlamb's 
 dauo'hter. Farmer Cowlamb was not noted 
 for a lavish style of living, nor a free ale 
 barrel. But as it was the rule for ale to be 
 sent into the hay or harvest-field, custom was 
 bowed to. The farmer's daughter at that 
 moment was making her way to them. The 
 large stone jug she carried was a trial on so 
 hot a day, but her organisation, although 
 physically she felt it toil, would not sulFer 
 her to look upon her self-imposed task as a 
 hardship. The hayfield was some distance 
 from the farmhouse, although from the upper 
 windows the field could be seen. Indeed, the 
 house, standing on a hill, commanded every 
 field on the farm. The labourers knew that 
 CoAvlamb had a glass in his bedroom, and
 
 A HAYFIELD. 19 
 
 could tell without stirring from tlie house 
 when they were or were not doing their duty. 
 It was almost impossible to skulk behind 
 hedges, for he had them all cut low, and trees 
 were an abomination in the ao;riculturist's 
 eyes^ for they shadowed too much soil. The 
 ditcher was the only happy fellow who could 
 cheat him, and then it was a poor satisfaction, 
 stooping ankle deep in water and loam, for 
 the privilege of taking things easy. Farmer 
 Cowlamb had a habit of prowling round and 
 surprising his men. True, when he so 
 suddenly showed himself he had a smile on 
 his face, but it was one so sardonically 
 shrewd, it did not add to the comfort of a 
 man's mind if he had been remiss. Ever on 
 tenter-hooks, the labourers felt themselves 
 bound to be ever stirring. And yet they had 
 all a good as well as a hard word for tlic 
 ' maister.' If they did their duty he was no 
 grumbler, if they shirked their work he was 
 not chary of his tongue ; and althougli lie 
 counted out his money, he surrendered it as 
 
 c 2
 
 20 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 if tliey had a right to it. Abuse them as he 
 would, he never swore, being a professing 
 Christian, a zealous Dissenter, and a class 
 leader. 
 
 Down a long green lane Iphis Cowlamb 
 hurried. The descent was easy, and to a 
 certain extent exhilaratinof, for a slio;lit breeze 
 caught her and wafted the scent of the wheat 
 flower into her nostrils — a scent that gives 
 one a faint sense of suffocation, for all the 
 world the same, only balmier, as that which 
 greets one's nose in an ancient dusty flour 
 mill. It was scarcely a flower, so insignificant 
 and frail — a sharp wind and it was gone ; but 
 no, it held on tenaciously — it only feared hail 
 and an excessive blast. 
 
 ' In about six weeks we'll be into harvest,' 
 had said Farmer Cowlamb at breakfast, ' wheat's 
 looking well and heavy i' th' heead, forrad ; 
 hope nowt '11 hurt the flower now.' 
 
 Iphis, remembering her father's remark, 
 looked over the hedge into the waving green. 
 She was not one to regard the beauty of vege-
 
 A HATFIELD. 21 
 
 tation sentimentally, she came of far too hard- 
 headed a sire. Her conjecture ^as on the 
 yield there might be. Her father thought 
 there would be six quarters to the acre. Like 
 him she was engrossed with speculations, 
 speculations on her own futurity, if she had 
 luck. Had she not her ' caid ' lambs, her own 
 broods of chickens and ducklings, her odd 
 calf. But although her determined old father 
 cropped his hedges, he did not eradicate the 
 honeysuckle and the dog-rose, the vetches and 
 the snapdragon, and the bindweed hated most 
 of all showed the white gauntlet of defiance. 
 They straggled over the hedge and through 
 it, intertwined themselves with the bramble 
 and the persistent ash growth. All were in 
 flower now, vetches yellow and lilac, white 
 combine, little pink heads of pimpernoles, 
 blue harebells and juicy- stalked dandelions on 
 the bank below, charming the eye with colour, 
 soothing the senses with enduring fragrance. 
 In spite of her matter-of-fact way of looking 
 at things, the result of her training, the girl
 
 22 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 was not insensible to this prodigal display. 
 Her nature was truly feminine. The country 
 life and country air were her life. She had 
 known what it was to be away from unfettered 
 sylvan sights, had sighed for them, had lived 
 her prolonged season at a finishing school, 
 possessed with a hungry craving for freedom, 
 and returning, had stood out in the open with 
 a voracious desire to take in deep draughts of 
 native air, of native scent, and to sight at one 
 comprehensive glance familiar objects and 
 landmarks. To grasp again that sense which 
 is so inexpressible, so indefinable, yet so real 
 because it has grown up with us, and which 
 a stultified air, a confined area, seems to crush 
 out of us. The cows, the horses, the sheep, 
 seemed to emit in the air a healthfulness she 
 was glad to breathe. She had an intense love 
 of her life, like her old father up early and 
 a-bed early. She possessed no idle tempera- 
 ment, and her active mind was allayed with 
 daily duties. She milked and made up butter, 
 she fed calves and the motherless lambs, she
 
 A HATFIELD. 23 
 
 hunted up the eggs, and her butter, she be- 
 lieved, was sweeter than her neighbours, her 
 eggs more spotless. As the old cock crows 
 the young one learns. Farmer Cowlamb be- 
 lieved himself equal to any man in farming, 
 and perhaps he was, and his daughter Iphis 
 believed herself the equal of any woman in 
 the dairy, not even age and experience to be 
 considered. The mother had excited emula- 
 tion in Iphis in such pursuits from her earliest 
 years. Mrs. Cowlamb now had to rest some- 
 what on her laurels, her precocious daughter 
 stoutly resisting encroachment on what she 
 now considered her own domain. 
 
 Iphis's face was red, perspiration stood 
 under her eyes when she reached the hayfield. 
 Even the slight breeze which had arisen was 
 not sufficient to cool her. Her appearance 
 was the signal for inaction. This she noted 
 with an inward humour. Pier father's own 
 ' baen,' she had a keen insight for salient 
 points of advantage takers. Hayforks were 
 stuck upright in the ground, like so many
 
 24 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 sentinels closed in, retaining their positions. 
 Only Decimus carried his, which he extended 
 at his favourite angle, both hands at the end 
 and his chest on his hands. 
 
 ^ I should ha' come afore,' said the minis - 
 trant, simply ; ' but I been to market and seld 
 my butter and eggs. I made haste home an' 
 all, I knew you'd want some drink.' 
 
 The voice was weak and thin — the voice 
 of a child, while the figure was that of a 
 maturing maiden. 
 
 ' I'm all of a lily-low,' said Polly of the 
 long waist, in wheezy call for pity and first 
 turn. 
 
 ' A nice lass she is to bring us some drink 
 to us dinners,' said Decimus, with the ob- 
 sequiousness of a flatterer. 
 
 Their encomiums, it was plain to see, were 
 taken at their worth. No yielding or simper- 
 ing was there in the sharp, clear face. A 
 Circe in a hayfield. She did look round criti- 
 cally at their work, but without depreciating 
 it, or giving them reason to believe that she
 
 A HAYFIELD. ZO 
 
 undervalued it. It was a second nature witli 
 her to take an estimate ; had it been neces- 
 sary, she Tvas qualified to take the farm in 
 hand. 
 
 ' Aye/ muttered long-waisted Polly, ' she's 
 a chip o' th' owd block ; ya don't gammon owd 
 Cowlamb easy, nor her a nayther.' 
 
 The women threw themselves down where 
 the dying grass was thickest, and then Deci- 
 mus essayed to settle do^Ti into the same 
 position, but being stifi'er in his joints witli 
 him it was a work of time. 
 
 ' Thou hadn't eppen at getting down, 
 Dccimus,' said Polly, mischievously. 
 
 ' Maybe thou weant be when t' gits thotty 
 more year o' thy back. Thou's a knack o' 
 saying nasty things. Poll.' 
 
 ^ And thou'rt such, an' a whimmy whammy 
 man,' said Polly's bosom friend. 
 
 ' What call was there now to put thy 
 vardy in? ' said Decimus hotly. 
 
 'If ye can't joke wi' them ye know, who 
 are ye to joke wi' ? ' retorted Polly.
 
 26 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ As if I was tliat ken- specked for ye all to 
 set o' me.' 
 
 ' Here, take tlie jug, Decimus, and pour 
 up/ 
 
 ^ Glad I be. Aye,' cried he, in servile sur- 
 prise, and groaning at the jug's weight, ' thou 
 carried this ? thou's as strong as a gelly-boy.' 
 
 Decimus poured into the pot mug, the jug- 
 resting on the ground, and drank off first him- 
 self. There was a chorus of deprecation which 
 did not effect Decimus 's steady drinkmg. But 
 when, breathless, he took the mug from his 
 lips, too exhausted to speak, his face was for a 
 moment the incarnation of surprise. Then 
 he relaxed into stony apathy, mulish obstinacy, 
 and thick utterance. 
 
 ' Thou's used thy time badly — all on ye — 
 if ya aint got to know yit, the drawer alius 
 hes first and last. I don't feel so bad mysen 
 now,' said he gravely. 
 
 ' It braids o' me thou'rt like the owd 
 woman. " I'll go home and hot some ale to 
 warm us," she said. Efter she'd got home
 
 A HAYFIELD. 27 
 
 and warmed hersen by the fire, and drunk a 
 lot of tlie hot ale, she said to hersen as she 
 went back to 'em, " I don't feel a bit cowd 
 mysen, they'll want no hot ale." ' 
 
 When one's own need is over, one sympa- 
 thises less with the needs of one's neighbours. 
 Decimus cackled loudly — 
 
 ' Human natur, human natur,' said he. 
 
 A decrepit man on the footpath looking over 
 the hedge eyed the recumbent party hungrily. 
 The old man in the field had the advantage of 
 him ; Decimus was not yet past work. With 
 the aid of his stick, but with feet scarcely re- 
 sponsive to his eagerness, he reached the gate. 
 Seeing he was not viewed unfavourably, he 
 ventured to draw back the catch and push the 
 gate open, and totter into the field, proceeding 
 carefully because of his more uncertain foot- 
 hold on the grass. 
 
 ' Hello ! here's Mister Tritt,' said one, as he 
 crept up to the party, his face expectant yet 
 submissive, showing a willingness for gossip, 
 a faint hope for alms.
 
 28 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ Billy Tritt,' corrected lie deferentially, the 
 queerness and quaintness of his voice affording 
 some mirth even for them. ' I doant like folks 
 to call me mister.' 
 
 'Well-a-day, you was such an a gentle- 
 manlike man, dressed up, and wi' a long hat 
 on, I couldn't speak to ye another way.' 
 
 ' It was a hat, Mrs. Hazelby, as was gen 
 to me, or I couldn't make so bold as to 
 wear it.' 
 
 ' That's very well, Mr. Tritt, bud we know 
 you seen better days.' 
 
 ' Yis, Mrs. Hazelby, that's reight enow. 
 I been unlucky all my life. Some folks starts 
 well and ends wi' nowt, and some starts wi' 
 nowt and ends wi' rucks o' money.' 
 
 ' 'Tis strange, Mr. Tritt, thou made so bad 
 a out, and got no relations to look efter you.' 
 
 * No. I'd nobbut one brother, Mrs. Towse, 
 and he behaved real bad to me — he did. He 
 got out of a place, and so I teld him he mud 
 come to my lodge and live wi' me till he did 
 get something. And he wore my clothes, and
 
 A HATFIELD. 29 
 
 I got liim some sliirts, and found him in Hs 
 living. And one morning when I was going 
 out, I says to him, " Robin, thou'll not go to 
 Moortown Stattus?" and he says, '' Xo, not 
 I ; there'll be no good i' me gomg there 
 spending money." And he went out wi' me. 
 Be dal'd if he didn't go back to the lodge, and 
 git my best clothes on, and go off to Stattus, 
 and I've niver seed him fra that day to this.' 
 * That's a long while since, Mr. Tritt.' 
 ^A vast o' years, Mrs. Towse. Old 
 Corbutt was parson here, then ; and alius 
 maister-beast he would be ; and I remember 
 the next day he shouted after me — "Hi! 
 Tritt! " and I turned round and seed who it 
 was ; so I made a bow ; and the parson shouts 
 — " So the butterfly's gone ! " "I don't 
 know what you mean, sir," says I puzzled 
 like; and says I — "I don't know what ya 
 mean ! What d'ya mean? " " Why, Robin's 
 gone!" says he. "Eh, joy and tuppence go 
 wi' him," says I. "I hear he's done you out 
 of about ten pound," says he. " That's about
 
 30 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 the figure, I do believe, sir, your reverence," 
 says I. '' Well, Tritt," says he, '' if you'll 
 come up to my house I'd gie you a sarch- 
 warrant," says he. AVell, now, I couldn't 
 stand that nohow. Lor', I couldn't ha' 
 gone up agean him, and hed him locked up, 
 nor no man. If he took all ee hed, nobbut 
 keep out o' the road, I wouldn't meddle wi' 
 him. So I says to him, " That I shan't, then; 
 I want no sarch -warrants ; let him go, the 
 jumped up haymaker." And the parson he 
 stared at me, and says he, " Why, Tritt, 
 you've a better prmciple nor me. If it had 
 been my brother I should ha' hed him up." 
 *' Heigh, bud I'm 7iot going to hevhim up," 
 says I, and I moved mysen oiF. He was 
 such an owd maister-beast i' th' parish, I 
 thowt nowt mud do, but if I stopped cafflin 
 wi' him he'd make me liev Eobin up.' 
 
 The farmer's daughter, the flower of the 
 field, the true queen of the meadow, and 
 standing, had listened to the old man's story 
 with kindly interest. Feminine pity about
 
 A HAYEIELD. 31 
 
 her moutli, seeing even a ne'er-do-well accept- 
 ing the whirlwind of his life. His spirit, so 
 abject and cringing, did not excite in her a 
 feeling of contempt, but a soreness of heart. 
 Billy Tritt was old and tottering, his face was 
 colourless and fleshless, his eyes lacked lustre, 
 and his hair was thm and dead. Was life 
 now of any value to hun? 
 
 One woman, with the true instinct of 
 charity, proffered a huge piece of bread with a 
 flat slice of bacon resting thereon. Another 
 woman at her feet handed him a table-knife, 
 wherewith on the bread he could cut the bacon. 
 He ate ravenously. 
 
 ^ I'm afread, Billy, thou don't git ower 
 much to eat,' said the charitable one, with 
 some feeling. 
 
 ' True it is, missis. One can't do much 
 to help one's sen, and parish pay weant go 
 very far.' 
 
 The farmer's daughter took the jug and 
 poured out some ale into the mug which 
 Decimus held. She placed the jug on the
 
 32 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ground, took the mug out of Decimus's hand, 
 and advanced to Mister Tritt. 
 ' Here, sithee, drink ! ' 
 
 * Nay, missis, I darsn't hardlins ; it ud git 
 into my heead maybe/ 
 
 ^ Drink,' repeated she, laconically. 
 
 ' Heio:h ! ' encourao:ed the women and 
 Decimus, ^ drink a sup on it, it'll put heart 
 into thee.' 
 
 ^ I'm suer it'll stand me i' th' steead of a 
 dinner th' day,' said Mr. Tritt, unctuously, 
 returning the mug to Iphis. 
 
 ' She's like the old man,' commented the 
 haymakers one among another, ' she'd hev her 
 pennorth, and them as didn't suit her ud hev 
 a time like a toad under a harrow, but she'd 
 be crood enow wi' them as did fair, eh? ' 
 
 * Better be like t' owd man than t' owd 
 woman.' 
 
 * She'd rob a workhouse baen of his break- 
 fast.' 
 
 A clatter of horse's heels, first on the foot- 
 path, then on the road, and now mufiled
 
 A HAYFIELD. 33 
 
 somewhat on the grassy wayside, caused all 
 of them to strain their eyes towards the high 
 road. A young chesnut colt at break-neck 
 speed was coming, a bare-back rider, holding 
 on with but simply a halter, a ^ cule ' only in 
 the horse's mouth. The horse carried its 
 head well, its neck finely arched ; it had 
 splendid shoulders, and that action of the 
 knees which is only seen in chargers or in the 
 draught horse. It was a half-bred, possessing 
 the mettle of the sire, some of his fineness, the 
 mare's bulk and action and shas^Q-iness of mane 
 and tail and fetlocks. 
 
 ' That be your young boss,' said Decimus 
 indignantly to the girl ; ' Maister ud be fine 
 and mad to see him galloped a' day like this. 
 He's making him up, an' all, for Herecastle 
 Fair.' 
 
 The farmer's daughter did not answer 
 Decimus, her eye though following the rider, 
 who was leaning back taking his situation as 
 something highly exhilarating and enjoyable, 
 because there was a spice of danger in it. His 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 liair was flying, tis sliirt fluttering with the 
 slight breeze he met. 
 
 • That blacksmith lad '11 ride owt. That 
 colt ant brokken a nayther.' 
 
 Still she ansY>'ered not, but a smile tra- 
 versed her face. She could see him branch off 
 the turnpike road and turn up the lane. Pro- 
 ceeding up the hill his pace somewhat mode- 
 rated, liis hair still fluttering in the breeze, an 
 atom of the blue shirt now and again distin- 
 guishable above the hedge. 
 
 ' He's ofl" the ramper now,' said Decimus, 
 ' he'll ha' to guide hissen, or maister '11 have 
 summuts to say.' 
 
 Still Iphis answered not. 
 
 ' I think yon chap teks her eye,' whispered 
 a woman. 
 
 ' I've heerd,' whispered another, ' he mud 
 hev for the axin ; eh, Mrs. Towse? ' 
 
 ' Nay, niver,' muttered she, ^ 'tis not for 
 such as he.'
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER 2. 
 
 A NORTHERX FARMER. 
 
 Far:mer CowLA:\rB was of recent settlement in 
 Willowby, but lie liad been long enough in 
 tbe village to gain the reputation of a man en- 
 dowed with high and sterling common sense. 
 His character was discovered to be unimpeach- 
 able, his rectitude undeniable. He was a man 
 who compelled deference and respect. He 
 was popular because he had no one but him- 
 self and a kind Providence to tliank for his 
 social uprising. It was no shame to him that 
 he had begun life as a bettermost khid of a 
 day labourer. Looking back, it was some 
 satisfaction to him that his intellio'ence and 
 shrewdness commanded a master's confidence. 
 He had not to live under a man long, his 
 
 D 2
 
 Ob MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 cleverness undiscovered. When he married, 
 some people considered the woman who had 
 accepted him had not looked high. She did 
 not bring him any dowry other than her sweet 
 face, good character, and gentle manners, but 
 the young man idolised her, and exerted him- 
 self to the utmost to make home happy. She 
 had been brought up comfortably — her father 
 a small shopkeeper — she had received a fair 
 education and was somewhat more refined 
 than the girls about her. When Cowlamb 
 found himself with such a pearl of a wife he 
 began to think — to deem it unsatisfactory that 
 his intelligence, which was worth so much to 
 a master, should not be brought into play for 
 his own profit. He had ever been minutely 
 careful with his money. 
 
 Ten years he laboriously gave his best 
 energies to a small farm. At that time science 
 in farming was a thing undreamed of; Cow- 
 lamb was far in advance of his day. The 
 tenant before him had been mmus a backbone, 
 alwavs backward with his rent, in some vears
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 37 
 
 had been ' forgiven ' it, as they say ; the land, 
 he averred piteously each rent- lay, ^vas 'bitter 
 bad, ringing clay,' conducive to foot-rot in 
 sheep, and unmanageable. In after years, 
 when he could freely talk, Cowlamb declared 
 that he had averaged a hundred a-year clear sav- 
 ings off this small farm, and gave it up in fine 
 ' fettle.' He was enabled to take a larger and 
 better farm. He had no difficulty in finding 
 a ' friend ' to advance him monev. But here 
 the wife of his youth left him with two boys. 
 He had not had the best helpmate in her. 
 Pier early education had not fitted her to work 
 with such a plodder. But he never com- 
 plained. She gave of her best ungrudgingly, 
 to herself confessing her deficiencies. He 
 never complained. Without a word or 
 thought against her, he strove to balance any 
 slips in economy she might make by extra 
 exertion on his own part. He begrudged her 
 nothing, but he treated himself as a slave, and 
 he had a vigilant eye over those wlium he 
 employed .
 
 38 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 The wife should have lived. When success 
 had crowned his efforts she would have graced 
 his home. Her gentle influence would have 
 done much to soften the asperity of Cowlamb's 
 character, which increased strikingly after he 
 had passed his meridian. 
 
 For near upon a score of years Farmer 
 Cowlamb remained a widower. He had loved 
 his wife, but he had his time too much occupied 
 to sit repining ; only for a long season he 
 missed her cheerful and sweet presence. At 
 meal-times he sat down with an ache at his 
 heart — the presence of her two boys brought 
 her forcibly to his mind ; in the evenings he 
 brooded, and was much preoccupied. On 
 Sabbath mornmofs he missed her — missed her 
 as he walked down to chapel, his eye roving 
 over his own crops or those of his neighbours. 
 She was not by his side to listen and pay 
 attention to what he said. She had always 
 evinced interest. He missed her at his side 
 in the long narrow pew in which he had such 
 scant space for his knees. He did not now
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 39 
 
 regard the greater plenitude of space with 
 satisfaction. He missed her when the 
 minister and his wife paid their quarterly 
 visit of ceremony, staying tea and supper. 
 She made tea for them in her best gown, 
 in their honour wore the brooch and bracelets 
 he had squandered money over at a feast as a 
 fah'ing for her years ago. It only made him 
 sad when he looked at the oil picture he had 
 of her. It was an extraordinary picture, too, 
 but in his judgment most faithful ; the 
 brooch and the bracelets were beyond 
 criticism. Xeither of the two lads had her 
 face, neither of them her character or tem- 
 perament, and that he regretted. They were 
 clever boys, and he had a fancy that she 
 would be pleased if she could only know how 
 well he was having them educated, a defi- 
 ciency in himself he had ever deplored 
 They should learn also the practical part of 
 farming as well as the theoretical ; they should 
 stand in the front rank of ai>:riculturists. 
 Nlliil est melius agricidtura. They should
 
 40 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 grow up good farmers and well-informed men. 
 He could read and write, and lie could talk 
 fluently if the staple of conversation was 
 confined to his own pursuits, but in company 
 where other topics were pre-eminent, he found 
 his stock of ideas most meagre. He couldn't 
 talk to Mrs. Robinson or the other ministers' 
 wives. The minister's wife sat where his 
 own dear wife used to sit, rustling in silk, 
 superior, feeling herself superior. They were 
 suave, his contributions were liberal, but he 
 could not rid himself of the idea tliat they 
 made talk for him, that the minister prided 
 himself on accommodating his language to 
 a person of Mr. Cowlamb's acquirements. 
 For some time, unless he was going to 
 market, Cowlamb felt uncomfortable in his 
 Sunday clothes, if he donned them on a week 
 da3^ When he looked at his grey knees they 
 looked unnatural. The minister knew that 
 he wore his Sunday clothes in honour of the 
 company who favoured him with their sleek 
 and urbane presence. Cowlamb was respect-
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 41 
 
 ful, but lie felt the affected patter of the 
 minister's 'good lady' was contemptible, and be 
 had wit enough to believe himself at the bottom 
 A\-orth a hundred of the ministers as far as the 
 stamp of man went. He was beyond them 
 all in shrewdness, talent, and capability. 
 
 So passed the years, and the two lads 
 were reaching manhood, tall as himself, and 
 likely to be as broad-shouldered. He ' fixed ' 
 one, the other staying with him a little 
 longer, but only biding his time. A year or two 
 passed, and a farm was found for him. Bear 
 it in mind, Cowlamb had changed from form 
 to farm. He Avas now a person of some 
 weight. He had one of the largest and best 
 farms in the county, and his elder son esta- 
 blished in the farm he had last vacated, the 
 younger, though little over twent}^, already 
 proving himself excellent among stock, and 
 thriving as a grazier. 
 
 And now Farmer Cowlamb was alone. 
 He startled the neighbourhood, however, by 
 marrying again. No one had the faintest
 
 4.2 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 conception of the widower contemplating 
 matrimony. He was married before any one 
 suspected his intention. This time his choice 
 fell upon his own servant girl. What busi- 
 ness was it of any one's who he married, or 
 for people to cavil at his choice? The wonder 
 was a nine days' one. The sons did not ride 
 the high horse, show or express dissatisfac- 
 tion, so Cowlamb's neighbours, perhaps, felt 
 a little ashamed of themselves. Farmer 
 Cowlamb was a man who had never relegated 
 a whit of his authority. His two sons still 
 looked up to him ; he left them to themselves 
 to give them confidence, but they felt him at 
 their back. There was no fear in them that 
 he would be biassed unduly — they knew it 
 was almost a thing impossible for any one to 
 lead him by the nose. The servant ghi 
 Avas a staid woman to them — it was the 
 neighbours' spleen terming her a girl, they 
 considered. She had been six or seven years 
 in Cowlamb's service, a kind of working house- 
 keeper, diligent, exact, most scrupulous, of
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 4:6 
 
 few words, her very person, as lier towels and 
 linen and the otlier household gods, the 
 perfection of sweetness and cleanliness. She 
 possessed some good looks, but she certainly 
 was not a woman to spend her time 
 before a mirror. It was very possible it had 
 never crossed her mind that personal appear- 
 ance beyond cleanliness was anything m this 
 world. Moreover, she was a devout Wesley an, 
 and as strait-laced as the most arrant Puritan 
 could desire. 
 
 Cowlamb's second wife bore to him a 
 daughter — our heroine. And after the birth 
 of this child, Mrs. Cowlamb the second, from 
 careful began to be noted as stingy, grasping, 
 and full of endeavour to cut down expenses. 
 She was so rigid, even Cowlamb himself 
 chafed, and at last came to open rebellion, the 
 element of discord arising from the periodical 
 supplies of plumcake being cut off, Mrs. Cow- 
 lamb considering that currants and raisins 
 and lemon peel encroached too much on her 
 egg and butter and poultry money. However,
 
 44 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 their own table was better supplied ever after, 
 if the same parsimony still held among the 
 men and maids. 
 
 So ten or twelve years passed, until Farmer 
 Cowlamb began to feel his knees stiffening, a 
 desire for rest, a wish to see Sam in the great 
 farm, and himself in a lesser one. Tom could 
 have Sam's farm and retain the land he held 
 as well, then either lad would have nothing to 
 complain of. Cowlamb' s desire was to have 
 a snuo^ little farm to exercise his wits on and 
 keep his mind occupied — a few hundred acres 
 to farm to a wonder. 
 
 Mrs. Cowlamb at first resented the plan ; 
 but this was only one way of making her 
 husband more obstinate and stubborn. He 
 was three or four years, though, before he 
 found the farm to his mind. Many landlords 
 gave him the refusal when they heard of his 
 intention ; it was even looked upon as a 
 feather in the cap to have such a man as 
 Cowlamb for tenant. 
 
 The farm was at last found and taken, and 
 a new house was built upon it, and Cowlamb's
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 45 
 
 wishes consulted in tlie erection. His pre- 
 decessor's farming having been somewhat lax, 
 Cowlamb obtained many concessions from the 
 landlord. 
 
 Iphis, the farmer's daughter, did, indeed, 
 reo'ret leavino; Snailhorn, thoug^h her re^Tets, 
 not knowing scarcely how to justify them, 
 she kept to herself. Not even the brand-new 
 house reconciled her. There could be no 
 house so comfortable as the quaint one at 
 Snailhorn. In old times it had been the inn. 
 The coach had changed horses there, and a 
 tremendous business had been carried on, 
 although there was no village to speak of, and 
 it lay remote from any town. The old farm 
 buildings had been something wonderful in 
 their day ; inscriptions in a tongue unknown 
 to her were still legible, and tliey had often 
 exercised her mind, even after Mr. Gerlimore, 
 the parson, had given her the English of them. 
 She had once climbed a ladder to observe 
 more closely the coat of arms at the end of 
 the barn, and lingered over the inscription 
 below it.
 
 46 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Hjlc Doiivs Dat Amat Pynit 
 
 COXSERYAT HOXOEAT EQYITIAM 
 
 Pace^i CRiiiixA Iyra Boxos. 
 1620. 
 
 The almshouses carried a tablet — ' Deo 
 et Divitibiis. Ao.Do., 1620.' According to 
 tradition, all Snailhorn had once been charity 
 land, rapaciously encroached upon, until only 
 a few paddocks remained to support the two 
 decrepit almsmen, who could remember the day 
 when there were many participants ; but the 
 old men were almost afraid to open their lips, 
 afraid lest the charity should not last out 
 their day. 
 
 She was told to leave the roomy old house, 
 its deep embayed windows looking out upon 
 verdant pastures, shaded with prodigious 
 elms. She had completed her schooling, and 
 set herself steadfastly to walk and do her duty 
 in that state of life unto which she believed 
 it had 23leased God to call her. She did not 
 desire any other life. She had her day- 
 dreams. She hoped, she did urgently hope.
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 47 
 
 that she should get a husband, and they woukl 
 live on a farm as her father and mother had 
 done, and make money, and be great folks, 
 and be highly respected, so that her tombstone 
 should carry an inscription similar to the one 
 on ]\rrs. Sarah Horsnayle's in Snailhorn 
 Churchyard : — 
 
 She was a Dutiful Daughter, ax Affectioxate Wife, 
 
 A TEXDER PaREXT, A KlXD AXD BeXEYOLEXT FrIEXD. 
 
 Her plaix, hoxest, and uxadorxed Virtues were ax 
 
 OrXAMEXT to the PtAXK WHICH SHE HELD IX SOCIETT. 
 
 There Tras a defect in the lines, in that 
 they did not rhyme, but the sentiment was 
 ever}^thing that could be desired. The last 
 line to Iphis's mind was very impressive. 
 
 And to leave vSnailhorn! But there was 
 no help for it. Sam had a wife, if he and she 
 were not always on the best terms with each 
 other. Anyhow, Sam could not do with liis 
 sister there. 
 
 She hated the new house, with its tliin 
 brick walls and light doors and gingerbread 
 woodwork, but she was fain to submit.
 
 48 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Cowlamb jokingly endeavoured to soften 
 the blow by telling her that she would find a 
 sweetheart there roaybe. Had Sam been a 
 bachelor Cowlamb would not have left his 
 Iphis behind him. She was the solace and 
 joy of his declining years. Great rejoicings 
 take place in a family when the boy comes ; 
 Cowlamb was as full of delight with a girl 
 after his boys. Her education in the essentials 
 of farmhouse life had almost been complete 
 before she went to boarding-school. AVhen a 
 wee toddler, the mother by precept was teach- 
 ing her child, and by example. The quondam 
 servant, thrifty, had become the thriftier wife, 
 and saw no higher or more enviable rank than 
 the one in which she was placed, superintending 
 her house, careless of any relaxation, abhorring 
 dressy people — ' fine folks ' — her eye resolutely 
 set upon the uttermost farthing. Mrs. Cow- 
 lamb used to rehearse her sparse oj^inions to 
 Iphis until Iphis was inoculated with the 
 same prejudices, imbued with the same inte- 
 rests — ready to look upon those people with
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 49 
 
 contempt who were careful of their hands. 
 It was one of Cowlamb's proudest boasts that 
 his girl had the light hand for butter, and was 
 second to none when her sleeves were rolled up. 
 Between father and daughter a great 
 affection subsisted. She liked her father best, 
 had always liked him best. The mother's 
 temper was sour and cross, the whine of her 
 voice was harassing. When her father was 
 absent, a chill seemed to rest upon the house, 
 and all underlouts found it almost unendurable. 
 The mother was unsympathetic ; there seemed 
 to be something in the house dashing to a 
 young buoyant spirit. Ij)his had been preco- 
 cious^ and was treated more like an elderly 
 person than a young girl. She had the best 
 of clothes if they were quiet in hue ; Iphis 
 followed the fashion only as near as Mrs. Cow- 
 lamb's sense of decorum would admit that 
 fashion was to be followed. When taken to 
 market she had no lack of money where witL 
 to indulge her girlish whims, but at the same 
 time, daily, from morning until night, homilies 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 were dinned into lier ears of its value. She 
 did not absolutely weary of tliem ; but she 
 came to regard the hard set people who might 
 cross her path as in some way responsible for 
 their sorry condition. The mother had her 
 maternal solicitude for the girl ; but hers was 
 never the bosom to invite exuberant affection. 
 Iphis never confided in her mother, but be- 
 came self-contained, preferrmg men's company. 
 Sometimes she had extraordinary fits of wilful- 
 ness, for which the mother had cold, complain- 
 ing censure, soon to fall upon ears careless of 
 such reproof. But tojier father these wilful- 
 nesses were food for mirth, for admiration. 
 In them he saw a high spirit — his own. She 
 favoured him in character and temperament, in 
 looks ; everyone told him so. His pride in 
 his fine stalwart lass was only equalled by his 
 aifection. 
 
 ' She's a stomach for work,' boasted he 
 proudly ; ^ she'll not go far away.' 
 
 She had abundant health, the common ail- 
 ments of childhood had scarcely reached her.
 
 A NORTHERN FARMER. 51 
 
 Once only had blanched cheeks given cause 
 for alarm, causing advice to be sought. She 
 would never be better, the wise man said, un- 
 less she milked a red cow. But her constitution 
 being robust, she tided over this defection from 
 health, the morning air acting like a tonic, the 
 healthful smell of the cattle, no doubt, working 
 wonders. That was lono' before she was in her 
 teens ; it was her initiation into the secrets of 
 the dairy. From her infancy she had been a 
 dilio-ent and successful searcher after eo'srs. 
 
 How happy was the day when she whis- 
 pered to herself ' no more school I ' Her flither 
 — she preferred his world-wise experience to all 
 the cleverness and polish of the acquaintances 
 she made at Tremmster. Her country blunt- 
 ness and longing for home had always been a 
 standing joke against her. She never took 
 kindly to the finishing school ; school fare 
 was not like farmhouse fare. And those who 
 ridiculed her sometimes regretted their spleen, 
 for Iphis, like her father, was keen and subtle 
 in retort. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSIT/ OF ^tU^r
 
 52 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 When she reached home it was seen that 
 she had matured. Even to the untutored 
 eyes of her parents, besides an accession of 
 physique there was abundant promise of all 
 those feminine attributes which call forth ad- 
 miration. She was lithesome and tall, her 
 figure was excellently proportioned, her step 
 elastic, one could fancy every muscle was 
 nervous when she stirred. But it was the 
 same sweet, homely face, the same eager, clear 
 gaze ; there was the old wilfulness, but an m- 
 crease of the latent mischief lurkino- in her 
 eyes and about her mouth. It had been 
 dormant, now it was waking, was waiting, for 
 what? 
 
 ' She's as gallus as iver I ' the farmer 
 shouted fondly and boisterously. 
 
 And yet she could look very cross and 
 severe when out of temper. In her ordinary 
 mood her face canned an mterested, ready ex- 
 pression. There was good-nature and frank- 
 ness. 
 
 But her eyes as she sprang out of the
 
 A ^'ORTIIERX FARMER. 53 
 
 trap were full of honest fun, with a spice of 
 some added element. The old farmer chuckled ; 
 she would make mischief amonix the fellows. 
 There would be a fine scramble for her, and 
 Cowlamb rubbed his hands m great glee. 
 
 'When a young fellow comes round there'll 
 be a mean-mischief invitation to come to closer 
 quarters,' commented he to his wife. ' She'll 
 dare a fellow to make a fool o' liissen, an' want 
 to git his ames round her.' 
 
 ' If I see her behavin' like tliat ' 
 
 'Bah! get on wi' thy starchin',' said Cow- 
 lamb, giving his wife an impatient push.
 
 54 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 CHAPTER 3. 
 
 DAWN or LOVE. 
 
 Life at Willowby was not the same full life 
 as at Snailhorn. Iphis liad less occupation. 
 Cowlamb felt it at first. A little country 
 town was near, but Iphis did not trouble it 
 much. On market days she carried thither 
 farm produce ; sometimes on a Sabbath even- 
 ing she went to the pretentious chapel. There 
 were seasons when her time hung heavy upon 
 her hands, and then she would wander out 
 into the lane ; but more often her steps were 
 directed towards the faroi- buildings. The old 
 farmhouse was subdivided, and under its roof 
 a labourer and the garthman lived, both men 
 having elected to come from Snailhorn with 
 the farmer. Cowlamb often looked upon the 
 old house ruefully, half regretting he had not
 
 DAWX OF LOVE. 00 
 
 made shift witli it. A farmer likes to look out 
 of his window upon the crew-yard. Iphis was 
 often there. The garthman had a numerous 
 brood of children, and Iphis was good among 
 them, her appearance always being hailed with 
 uproarious tokens of good will. Homely her- 
 self and companionable, here indeed was a life 
 full of charm for her, homeliness to a degree, 
 and a flavour of sweet domestic concord. Her 
 unpretentious ways with the grown-up people 
 had long ago gained over their hearts. In and 
 out the cottages she went without ceremony, 
 no ill-look or subdued resentment to intimate 
 they only bent under pressure. Iphis was as 
 familiar to them as their own children. In 
 their eyes, with her position, the money that 
 had been spent over her, her winsome looks 
 and her clever housewifely notions, Iphis 
 Cowlamb was the beau ideal of what a maiden 
 should be. Daughters of their own just as 
 fresh and fair to look upon they could not 
 rank with her. It would have almost been a 
 profanity to have harboured in their placid 
 bosoms such a pretentious thought.
 
 56 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 O 
 
 To Iphis the house filled with children, 
 namely the garthman's, was more generally- 
 favoured by her. The day following her walk 
 down to the hay field she wandered up to the 
 garthman's cottage. Dinner was over with 
 them, excepting for one, a little fellow who 
 had been missing at the proper hour. But 
 while the child was eating, the mother was 
 not losing time. With ten children the mother 
 had to look sharp about her. 
 
 ' Drat the stockings ! ' the good wife cried, 
 with resigned but cheerful impatience as she 
 took up the eleventh pair, and, weary of her 
 seemingly endless task, surveyed the dilapida- 
 tions ; ' they've as many holes in 'em as days 
 in a week.' 
 
 ' You've no time to sit still,' said Iphis, 
 sympathetically ; ' let me help you. And 
 there's Joel going to sleep over his dinner.' 
 
 The little fierce fellow, weary with his 
 morning's run upon his young legs, could 
 scarcely keep his eyes open. He fairly nodded 
 over his pudding. His hair, with the rough
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 57 
 
 administration of cap -replacing by rongli 
 plough-lads, stood upright. The urchin had 
 a pugnacious prciile, a defiant curl of the lip, 
 and a sturdy little nose. A child to admire, 
 chubby and intelligent, alive to every move- 
 ment of those about him, having a ready con- 
 struction upon every one's intentions and cha- 
 racter. Fierceness was outrageously manifest 
 in every gesture. 
 
 ^ Wacken up, wacken up, Joel, and eat his 
 dinner. I'm suer,' declared the mother, turn- 
 ing to Iphis, ' in his way he works harder 'n 
 any man on the farm. He's alius on the land 
 or efter their heels. He'll be a man,' said she, 
 with fond pride, and in a louder key, to attract 
 the drowsy child's attention. ^ Joel, wacken 
 up, and efter dinner thou s'll go i' the granary 
 to Eli to help break cake. Eat up his puddin', 
 then he s'll ha' meat. No puddin', no meat — 
 not that th' baen's dainty,' the mother de- 
 fended. 
 
 But the weary Joel seemed more inclined 
 to weep drowsily, and to himself causelessly.
 
 58 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 * He is cross, lie does liing his lip/ said 
 Iphis, her light laugh doing more to compose 
 the infantile mind of the impressionable Joel. 
 ' Ah, ah,' cried Iphis, clapping her hands, ' if 
 he doesn't eat his puddin' he'll niver be a man 
 to 2:0 wi' me to the land o' o-reen srino-er, where 
 houses are thatched wi' pancakes and haystacks 
 buttered wi' wool.' 
 
 Joel struggled to regain complete con- 
 sciousness. He so far succeeded as to look 
 into his mother's eyes comprehendingly, im- 
 pressed with the gravity that lay there, con- 
 tent with the affection beaming m them. 
 Then he turned to Iphis, concerned that she 
 should not lose faith in him ; it was his desire 
 to be her henchman. He regarded her very 
 gravely, and after a moment or two's thought, 
 his spoon halfway in his mouth, mquired, 
 with abrupt seriousness — 
 
 ^ How owd art thou, Iphis Cowlamb ? ' 
 
 ' As owd as my tongue and a bit owder 
 than my teeth, Joel,' answered Iphis. 
 
 Joel was vaguely conscious of having been
 
 DAAVX OF LOVE. 59 
 
 answered with tlie same enigmatical reply on 
 some pre\doas occasion when his inquiring 
 mind had been on the same track. 
 
 ' Tush, baen,' said Mrs. Towse, reprovingly, 
 ' to ax sich questions. Eat his puddin'.' 
 
 Joel seemed desirous to inquire further, 
 but the mother again interposed with uplifted 
 finger. 
 
 * Ssh ; hear, see, and say nothing,' which 
 to Joel was another axiom difficult to grasj) ; 
 so Joel occupied his mind with his pudding, 
 and at length, the platter being clean, Joel 
 uplifted it in his chubby hands and commenced 
 to frugally polish it with his tongue. Mrs. 
 Towse, occupied with her darning, was for a 
 few moments forgetful of Joel and his idio- 
 syncrasies. Her eyes at last were raised to 
 Iphis, when she caught a glimpse of her boy. 
 ' Joel ! Joel ! Joel ! ' cried she in consternation 
 and shame. ' Joel, put down that plate. ! 
 'tis naughty to lick your plate like that.' 
 
 Joel showed as much surprise as his mother 
 consternation. He obeyed her, opening wide
 
 60 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 his eyes, and, partly in fright and partly re- 
 bellious, posed her. 
 
 * Why doant ee do so other days ? ' 
 Between peals of laughter from Iphis were 
 protestations from Mrs. Towse. Then she, 
 seized with the humour of the thing, joined in 
 with Iphis, until Joel's wonder increased to 
 such an extent he did not know for certain 
 who was the craziest of the trio. 
 
 ' I think nobody iver hed sich an a cretur,' 
 at last said Mrs. Towse, when calm enough. 
 But it was some time before she could return 
 to the subjects which she was always ex- 
 pounding to Iphis and those who would listen 
 to her — namely, Towse's anxiety about the 
 stock, her family cares, her poultry cares. 
 Iphis was not garrulous herself, but she would 
 listen attentively. If people answered for her, 
 she was not one to raise objection with occa- 
 sional wilfulness ; she ATas satisfied with not 
 having any say, verbally. But often Iphis 
 was thinking, contemplating, when apparently 
 listening to Mrs. Towse's perorations. She
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. Gl 
 
 had not observed Joel until the horrified look 
 on the mother s face warned her that some- 
 thing^ was o^oino; wrono'. And now Mrs. 
 Towse had taken up the thread again. 
 
 ' As I said, we didn't want that owd goose 
 to sit ; we kicked her owd nest ower times 
 and times, but 'twas no use, Ave couldn't git 
 no eggs. But I rnun be handy,' said she, with 
 a complete change of voice, ' that lad 'ill be in 
 for his things. He said he'd take 'em back 
 wi' him. You see, poor lad, they do his 
 weshin'; bud law, there's a lot o' jobs a man 
 can't do for hissen, and I teld him if he wanted 
 a bit o' mendin' doin' he mun brino' it dovrn 
 to me. I plenty to do, bud he was my hafe 
 sister's baen. His faither married agean, and 
 there's a lot on 'em by the second womau. and 
 I don't think she looks ower kindly on 
 Ephraim. One can't blame Epliraim's father 
 — 'twas a queer fix for liim to be in, left i' 
 that way. I'm suer he did well to })nt her 
 lad 'prentice.' 
 
 ' We were all treated alike,' said Ij)his ; ' I
 
 62 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 was a long while before I could understand 
 that Sam's mother wasn't mine.' 
 
 ' There was two on 'em. T' owdest was 
 in good sarvice, but silly lad got reading 
 Captain Cook, such lies they put i' print, and 
 he niver settled no more.' 
 
 ' What became of him, then, Mrs. Towse? ' 
 
 ' He went to sea. Ephraim says he sarves 
 the Queen. She doesn't pay 'em ower well a 
 nayther, if she gies 'em fine clo's. Bud if he'd 
 hed his poor mother to think on, he'd niver 
 ha' goan. Poor thing, she'd niver ha' slep o' 
 nights, for fear he'd be drownded.' 
 
 ' Mother alius made Sam and Tom com- 
 fortable,' said Iphis with great confidence. 
 
 ^ There's such a difference i' women,' the 
 garthman's wife remarked, her voice carefully 
 under control. ' A sight o' difterence,' she 
 repeated, hurriedly collecting clothes and linen 
 and tying them up in a crimson cotton hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 ' I weshed his handkercher, and a piltripely 
 thing it is, and his shirts — I put' 'em through
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 63 
 
 some fresh water, they was such a bad colour, 
 laws-a-me. I tell Ephraim as soon as he feels 
 hissen on his legs efter he's lowse, he mun 
 pick up wi' some likely lass. It'll niver do 
 for him to be behowden to this body and 
 t'other body. They tell me i' towns a man 
 can't get so much as a button set on ; they're 
 ower nice to be wise.' 
 
 ' Where's thy mother ? ' asked a voice out- 
 side. 
 
 ' Here he be, a'most afore I've done. 
 Come in wi' thee,' shouted sj'he. 
 
 The door was pushed open wider, but the 
 incomer seeing some one else beside his aunt 
 in the kitchen, hung back shyly. 
 
 ^ He ! ' cried his aunt, derisively, ' come in 
 wi' thee. What's tha got to be scar'd on I ' 
 
 ' He needn't be scar'd o' me,' said Iphis, 
 simply. 
 
 It was the blacksmith's apprentice. Iphis 
 Cowlamb might speak with apparent self- 
 possession, but a flush of colour suffused her 
 face, and some interest shone in her eyes. As
 
 64 MEADOW S^YEET. 
 
 for liim, lie scarcely had courage to meet those 
 wide open eyes with his own. But he did 
 not know how his garrulous aunt had been 
 exciting interest for him in the breast of the 
 farmer's daughter. 
 
 ' Here, sithee,' cried the hospitable Mrs. 
 Towse, affection for her departed sister stimu- 
 lating her. She pushed a plate towards him, 
 on which reposed a huge curd cheesecake, 
 currants studding it, as many black eyes in 
 its lemon face as Argus had. Mrs. Towse 
 had a serious notion that the lad never got 
 anything nice and toothsome, and the pastry 
 would have given a dyspeptic the horrors. 
 
 ' I arn't hungiy,' said he, shamefacedly. 
 
 ' Boo, eat it up, or thou needn't bring 
 me any o' thy duds to fettle up. Here is a 
 sup o' beer left i' th' pitcher to wesh it down 
 wi'.' 
 
 The beer was of the palest tint, home- 
 brewed, sweet, and washy; not anything like 
 the sharp ales of the reader's imagination. 
 The garthman kept two of the lads in the
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 65 
 
 house; lie had so much bacon a year, so many 
 stone of potatoes, and he had his modicum of 
 malt ; but the brewing was not conducted 
 on scientific principles. As Towse remarked 
 sometimes, ' A fellow might burst but he'd 
 niver git drunk on their beer.' 
 
 ' Joel's knocked ower,' said Ephraim, find- 
 ing his voice. 
 
 'He's weared his sen out,' said Mrs. 
 Towse. 
 
 ' It's dirty work — blacksmith's,' said 
 l23his. 
 
 • Yis, 'm,' said Ephraim, deferentially. 
 
 Iphis was fain to .laugh, not at Ephraim's 
 deference, but at being dubbed ' 'm.' 
 
 ' I mun be coino^, Mrs. Towse,' said she. 
 
 ' I mun go an' all,' said Ephraim, but 
 without the slightest intention of being bold. 
 Iphis Cowlamb went out of the house first, 
 Ephraim hard after her, but he kept behind 
 her. At a gate they were about to take 
 separate paths. Iphis turned and spoke. 
 
 ' Which way were you going, Ephraim? ' 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 66 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Top o' th' wheat close.' 
 
 ' There's no pad.' 
 
 ' N"o, but it's a near cut 
 
 ' Thou moant let faither catch thee. 
 Thou'll ha' to git ower a hedge, and he is 
 particular about his hedges.' 
 
 ^ Maybe I'd better go round.' 
 
 ' Maybe thou hed.' 
 
 A mischievous twinkle lit up her face, but 
 he took her warning seriously. She came 
 to a stand and looked at him ; the expression 
 on his face was solemn and concerned. He 
 thouo:ht she would doubtless believe that he 
 made a practice of trespassing over wheat and 
 forbidden fields ; he was not aware of Cow- 
 lamb's strictness. While she was speaking 
 she scanned his face closely. Actually he had 
 dimples ; they were not manifest when he was 
 speaking, but only when his lips were closed. 
 But under all this solemnity of visage there 
 lurked a dash of something that made her 
 heart jump. If she could only tantalise him 
 until he overstepped his shyness and fear of
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 67 
 
 her ! It was her father bemg so well off that 
 overawed him, she thought. She trembled 
 lest her position should frighten wooers away. 
 She wanted a sweetheart she could like, not 
 some hard-headed suitor with his mind a- 
 wonderino^ what Father Cowlamb would g;ive 
 her. The best fellows would be frio;htened of 
 her dreadful matter-of-fact father. But she 
 would have a sweetlieart if she defied every- 
 body. She was getting old enough. She 
 wondered if Ephraim would ever find courage 
 to kiss her. She trembled at the very 
 thought, but there was a tremulous pleasure 
 in the thought. Xo, she could scarcely suffer 
 him to go so far on so short an acquaintance. 
 But Ephraim was a shy fellow. Her grand- 
 father was. She had heard her grandmother 
 say that her sweetheart had never ventured to 
 kiss her all the years they were courting, and 
 then very timidly after they were wed. 
 
 * He's a gallas 'un,' Iphis decided to her- 
 self ; 'them shy fellows are alius the worst.' 
 
 He was now in advance of her, looking 
 
 F 2
 
 68 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 neitlier to tlie riglit nor to the left nor behind 
 hmi, but starmg straight ahead, feeling him- 
 self out of place and awkward. "Where she 
 was bold, he was most shamefaced. 
 
 Even when couples have decided to walk 
 out together, the lad walks a few paces in ad- 
 vance, his hands carefully stowed in his coat 
 pockets. He rolls from side to side, content 
 to hear the lass hurrying behind, with maybe 
 her bonnet awry or at the back of her head. 
 Little conversation can be carried on, and all 
 the female has to think about is not to let the 
 distance between them increase. The desire 
 to keep company is mutual and understood. 
 By-and-by he will have courage to meet her 
 eyes, and bear witli her elbow in his ribs. 
 Ephraim was most constrained ; he would have 
 wished to step out, only it seemed a discour- 
 tesy. It seemed to him, too, that he had been 
 a terrible time absent from the shop ; not that 
 that troubled him much — only it was as well 
 to keep clear of ^ blowings up.' 
 
 They reached the field gate, and by the
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. G9 
 
 side of it was a stile. Generally Farmer Cow- 
 lamb kept this gate padlocked, but this year 
 the field was fallow. While Ephraim was iin- 
 hasping the gate she climbed the stile and sat 
 upon the rail. Ephraim stood with a three- 
 quarters aspect to the girl. He did not 
 exactly turn his back upon her, but looked at 
 her over his shoulder. He had scarcely the 
 courage to look her in the face. He could not 
 get over her parentage and position. 
 
 ' What a shy owd lad I ' exclaimed she, 
 maliciously. 
 
 Her sally brought no response, only the rich 
 blood mounted under Ephraim' s ruddy skin. 
 
 Her eyes were full of laughter ; bright 
 sparks seemed to dance in the pupils ; her lips 
 curved with innocent malice. She moved her 
 position, and Ephraim somehow seemed to 
 realise that she was nearer to him. 
 
 * If ye don't speak, I'll pull 3^our hair.' 
 
 Was ever such a backward swain ! She 
 straightened herself, and looked as if she 
 meant what she said, and fnrtlicr mischief.
 
 70 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Ephraim's diffidence gradually melted away ; 
 a faint smile crept into his face — he was not 
 afraid of feminine vengeance. It was a caprice 
 of the farmer's daughter. She would never 
 look at him. 
 
 There was silence a moment longer. Their 
 eyes met and as suddenly fell. It was as if 
 some tacit understanding was arrived at. He 
 became bolder; a new hope stuTed in him; he 
 could feel his heart beat pit-a-pat, thickening 
 the utterance of his tongue. To her it was 
 full of the music of first love and fancy. 
 
 ' I seed you yesterday ! ' 
 
 * I seed you yesterday ! ' echoed she. 
 
 * When you was milking.' 
 
 ' No, afore ; galloping our young horse.' 
 'It was fresh. I could hardlins hold him.' 
 ' Let father nobbut see you galloping it.' 
 ' Shall you go milkin' to-night — by your- 
 
 sen ? ' mquired he, huskily, a little appalled 
 
 with his own darinor. 
 
 'What's that got to do wi' you, Ephraim ?' 
 
 said she, sternly.
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 71 
 
 ' I'd knaw,' apologised he, awkwardly 
 balancing himself on his heels, with the gate 
 for his firm friend. He coughed to clear him- 
 self and to explain. ' I mud be there, if thou 
 went by thy sen.' 
 
 ' We'll see.' It was ambiguous, but its 
 meanmg was plain enough to him. He had 
 become so bold, he had rolled himself alono- 
 on his heels until he was so near she became 
 apprehensive. 
 
 ' Get away,' she cried, making great feint 
 of struggling away. He withdrew his arm 
 and retreated a little, somewhat disconcerted. 
 He felt that he had been bold. He had made 
 a fool of himself. The farmer would hear how 
 he had been ' going on.' She would tell him, 
 maybe. He stood looking very crestfallen 
 indeed. 
 
 ' I hadn't going to let tliou kiss me> thou 
 needn't think ; ' indignation ruling to the 
 comma, relenting to the semicolon. She was 
 deeply regretting that he had not succeeded 
 after all, that she was so strong and lusty as
 
 72 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 to be able to bold ber own. Sbe felt hiclignant 
 witb bim, because be was so easily rebuffed. 
 * Off ye go, Epbraim.' 
 
 Epbrami opened tbe gate, obediently. He 
 bad not proceeded many steps wben sbe cried 
 after bim — ' I say ! ' 
 
 Epbraim stopped and turned. 
 
 ' Never mind. Xotbing.' 
 
 She sat on ber percb and watcbed bim 
 descend tbe bill. Sbe laiigbed to berself most 
 wbimsically. Sbe laugbed to tbink bow easy 
 after all it was to be able to obtain a sweet- 
 heart. He bad meant to kiss ber. If be 
 badn't ventured on sucb a tbing so soon — 
 tbe colour rose on ber face. Sbe came into 
 tbe lane, ber eyes following tbe bead and 
 shoulders of tbe descending figure. Epbraim 
 turned to look back, but, seemg bis movement 
 was observed, quickly recovered himself. She 
 stood a moment, then turned in at the green 
 gate which opened towards her father's house. 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb and his wife were at 
 dinner. Christopher Swallow, a Willowby
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 73 
 
 jobber, had come up to bargain, and was the 
 farmer's guest. 
 
 ' Will you have a bit o' meat now, Mister 
 Swallow? ' asked Mrs. Cowlan^b. 
 
 ' Howd on, missis ; maybe Mester Swallov; 
 '11 have this bit o' puddmg. If he doesn't, 
 awiver, I will.' 
 
 Mr. Swallow no doubt felt that he could 
 not express a wish for more pudding after the 
 farmer had thus signified unsatiated predilec- 
 t"on. Mr. Swallow, with downcast eyes, licld 
 his lAatQ at an angle Avith one hand and in- 
 dustriously scraped it with the other, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Cowlamb watching him with some in- 
 terest. 
 
 ' Xow, then, mester, will ye lia' this bit ? ' 
 
 ' Xo, thankee,' said Mr. Swallow, A^'ith 
 cheerful decision. 
 
 'Then I will,' said the farmer, jocularly. 
 * I mun as well take the dish, missis, and 
 scrape it out. Wilful waste makes woful 
 want, eh. Swallow ? ' The farmer chuckled 
 as he took the dish on liis plate.
 
 74 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Hearing a foot the farmer looked beliind 
 him, and, seeing Iphis, spoke ^ith some con- 
 cern. 
 
 * Heigh, missis, is there ony for her? ' 
 
 ^ I put a bit in the oven for her,' replied 
 Mrs. Cowlamb, quietly. 
 
 ' That'll do,' said the farmer, reassured. 
 
 ' Wherever lies t' been, not to git home by 
 dinner?' inquired Mrs. Cowlamb, complain- 
 ing]y. 
 
 ' At Towse's.' 
 
 * Thou's strange and fond o' Towse's,' said 
 Mrs. Cowlamb, disparagingly, her voice thin 
 and cracked. 
 
 ' AYhy, ye see, Mrs. Cowlamb,' interposed 
 Mr. SwalloAY, unctuously, ' there's lots o' 
 baens. I'll uphold it she's fond o' company.' 
 
 * Who's that thou wast talking to in the 
 lane ? ' asked Mrs. Cowlamb, still detractmgly. 
 
 It was unusual for her to look at husband 
 or daughter when talking to them. Only to 
 strangers did she accord this courtesy. 
 Hectoring the servant, which she was mostly
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 75 
 
 eno^ao;ed in, was never carried on at close 
 quarters. Mrs. Cowlamb generally stood in 
 the pantry or in the kitchen when the girl 
 was in the scullery, and vice versa, at such 
 time raising her voice, modulating it when 
 she wished to pursue the commentary thereon. 
 
 Her mother's question did not disconcert 
 Iphis. 
 
 ' A chap ! ' said Iphis, laconically. 
 
 ^ A chap ! What chap? ' asked the farmer, 
 with a mouthful. 
 
 ' Ephraim ! ' replied Iphis, impatiently, 
 knowing that her face was now red, her father 
 having become interested. 
 
 ^ Oh, Ephraim ! Mister Ephraim would 
 look better getting on with his work.' 
 
 ' He'd done.' 
 
 *Done! Then he ought to make haste 
 back. He's not good to much, I warrant 
 him.' 
 
 Iphis would have retorted had not ^Ir. 
 Swallow been there. She did not want Mr. 
 Swallow to speak for her again. He might
 
 76 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 tlioiio'li be on the adverse side, knowino; that 
 Ephraim was not of much weight. Iphis in 
 her mind had now a supreme pity for 
 Ephraim' s poverty, his dearth of friends in 
 his neo23hancy. 
 
 ' Now, Mister Cowlamb, am ee to hev 
 them gimbers ? ' said Swallow rising, taking 
 his hat and stick. 
 
 * At my figure.' 
 
 ' iSTay, I can't ; I really can't do it.' 
 ^ Fetch the gin, missis.' 
 ^ Nay, nay, don't, Mrs. Cowlamb ; I can't 
 stop ; I mun be on — now, Mr. Cowlamb ? ' 
 ' Sixty-three ! ' 
 ' And what luck ? ' 
 ' Luck ? ' 
 
 * Say a fi'-pun note,' suggested the jobber, 
 holdino^ out his hand to strike baro-ain. 
 
 ' Xay, my lad ; thou'd nearly hev 'em at 
 thy awn price.' 
 
 ' I'm sorry we can't bargain,' said the j ob- 
 iter resignedly, his arm falling and getting 
 nearer the door.
 
 DAWN OF LOVE. 7i 
 
 ' Xow, Mister Cowlamb ? ' persuasive and 
 •wdth fresh vigour. 
 
 The farmer shook his head. 
 
 The jobber passed through the door, then 
 returned, but without showing himself, cried 
 loudly, ' I'll take them culls ^ on ye at your 
 awn price.' 
 
 ' I'll consither on it ; I'll see to-morroAv 
 how things are going.' 
 
 ' They'll be down to-morrow, Mr. Cow- 
 lamb.' 
 
 ' Thou s'll ha' first chance. Awiver I 
 weant bargain to-day.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Mister Cowlamb. Good-day.' 
 
 ' Swallow ! ' shouted the flirmer. The 
 joljber again put his head in at the outer door, 
 replying eagerly, 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' Thou can ha' th' culls.' 
 
 ' Nay-a, I shan't wi'out t'others.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well,' returned CoAvlamb, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 ^ Inferior ones.
 
 78 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 The jobber stood a few moments, but, 
 hearinof nothino; more encouraD-inof, took his 
 departure, in his soul much incensed to think 
 that lie had not got the better of Farmer 
 Cowlamb. 
 
 ' So thou wast sweetheartin',' said the 
 farmer to his girl, mischievously. 
 
 ' Nay, I wasn't,' said Iphis, strenuously ; 
 which meant ' Yes, I was,' if he liked to take 
 it so. 
 
 ' Get out wi' thee. What dost ee want to 
 be talking to chaps for? ' 
 
 ' I s'll ha' to hev a sweetheart some day.' 
 
 Iphis spoke aggrievedly. 
 
 ' Heigh, heigh, I'll find thee one,' said her 
 father, with cheerful confidence, ' an' not a 
 bumjugs like that blacksmith's lad. I'll find 
 thee a sweetheart, niver fear.' 
 
 But somehow Iphis did not respond cheer- 
 fully to such an assurance.
 
 79 
 
 CHAPTER 4. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Iphis Coaat^a^ib was a singer in the ugly 
 little Dissenting Cliapel at Willowby. She 
 sat with other young girls in the ' singing loft,' 
 a gallery just behind the pulpit. They occu- 
 pied a very prominent position, and faced the 
 whole of the congregation. Iphis was some- 
 times mischievous, exciting her neighbours 
 to laughter, making peculiar remarks on the 
 head of the j)reacher below. If he happened 
 to be a local, familiarity with his person and 
 traits perhaps fostered more fun and liberty. 
 A bald patch was sure to excite risibilities. 
 As their fancy chose to take it, it was a face 
 without features and expression. Sometimes
 
 80 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 the conoTe2:ation were scandalised with the 
 singers' behaviour. Farmer Cowlamb would 
 look reprovingly across at Iphis, but he never 
 had the heart to scold her. ' They're young,' 
 he would say ; ' they'll be steadier when they 
 get owder.' But had not Iphis been among 
 them he would have had something caustic 
 for the jades, and he would have stayed 
 waiting outside to deliver it. Farmer Cow- 
 lamb had soon got to be an important 
 personage in ' society,' as represented in 
 Willowby. 
 
 The young preachers had peculiar and 
 gracious smiles for the country belles above 
 them. Mounting the pulpit steps their faces 
 were directed towards the singers ; it was their 
 only opportunity. But their unctuous smiles 
 and tender glances were principally aimed at 
 Iphis Cowlamb. She was, indeed, worth 
 looking after. But, as yet, she was little 
 impressed with any one of them. Else it was 
 not considered a bad step socially, marrying a 
 travelling preacher. Some of the other girls
 
 GRACE. 81 
 
 ^vere diiiio'liters of small farmers iii a comfort- 
 able way, but Iphis was generally regarded as 
 one for whom there would be a fortune. One 
 swain, finding Iphis cold, turned to another, 
 a well-favoured lass with a j^arent considered 
 ' warm.' He was reo'arded with some fovour, 
 but papa, one of the elders, so far forgot his 
 principles and his religion as to chase his 
 would-be son-in-law from his house with the 
 carving-knife when he discovered the minister's 
 true drift. The young girls were not the 
 only occupants of the gallery. Some staid 
 men sat at one end, behind were rang^ed 
 musicians with clarionets, fiddles, deep bass, 
 and a horn ; on forms by the wall the more 
 promising of the Sunday scholars. As all 
 sang in the chapel, following the girls' voices 
 and the instrumental music, there was a toler- 
 able volume of sound surging Avithin the four 
 walls. When the single door was opened it 
 came out into the open air with fervid abrupt- 
 ness, as when one removes a fino;er from a 
 closed ear. In summer, when the windows 
 
 VOL. T. G
 
 82 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 were open, out in the fields the effect was 
 most pleasant and suggestive. 
 
 Now, a great exertion was being made to 
 bring more professing members into the body. 
 Week-day revival services were being held. 
 Laughter was mmgied with tears, tears 
 led to astonishing outbreaks, prostration, 
 appeal. One man alone was able to console 
 and bind, that was the exhorter, and at the 
 penitent form. His auxiliaries paced up and 
 down the length of the pews, keenly scrutinis- 
 ing every face, urging submission and repent- 
 ance in low and earnest tones. Indeed, Farmer 
 Cowlamb took his turn ; he had been a 
 leading member of the body here and at 
 Snailhorn for so many years that he occupied 
 this position almost by courtesy. 
 
 The Reverend Peter Macwhortle, whose 
 name betokened nativity in the North, was 
 here in Willowby by special invitation. He 
 was a man of the peoj^le, some said a collier 
 when he was young. Peter's discourse 
 at its earliest stage was enlivened with
 
 GRACE. 8 
 
 the broadest anecdote and the broadest appli- 
 cation. It went beyond humour, although 
 his speech and his manner gave all he said 
 that character in the ears of his auditors. He 
 strove to create mirth, he waited for the broad 
 grins on his hearers' faces, their hearty- 
 laughter, then the transition to the antithesis 
 was more quickly reached. 
 
 Xightly Farmer Cowlamb, with wife and 
 daughter, attended the little chapel. 2 So^ie 
 exultation that success crowned Peter's efforts 
 was felt by the former. But a greater thank- 
 fulness took its place in Cowlamb' s bosom 
 when he saw his own daughter tearfully rise 
 in the gallery to appear in the body of the 
 chapel. Xo hesitation marked her progress, 
 no fear of public comment ; she cast herself 
 upon her knees by the side of those who had 
 already responded to Mr. Macwhortle's thun- 
 derous appeal. 
 
 It seemed as if her response was tlie signal 
 for successive penitents, hitherto wavering, 
 and all young. Mr. Macwhortle knew the
 
 84 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 condition of I lie fair penitent. He had 
 accepted tlie hospitality of Farmer Cowlamb, 
 and was a guest at the farmhouse. He had 
 expressed a wish that Iphis should get religion 
 under him. It was at evening prayer, and 
 the admission startled Iphis then, as also her 
 father's fervent ' Amen.' 'Mr. Macwhortle 
 observed her submission with some satisfac- 
 tion. Plis eyes ranged over the young heads, 
 and he did not forget to improve the occasion. 
 Amidst the group v^dio were weeping and cry- 
 ing out in their frenzied excitement was one 
 vrhose figure and head seemed familiar to the 
 farmer. Cowlamb vras some few moments 
 before he could reconcile his knowledge to 
 the traits and carriage which arrested his 
 attention. At length the head was raised, 
 and by the dark-brovrn- curls the farmer 
 discovered it to be that of the blacksmith's 
 apprentice, Ephraim SparroAV. 
 
 A certain consternation seemed to take 
 possession of the farmer, but he overcame it 
 wlien something from the pulpit called for
 
 GRACE. 85 
 
 deep attention from all. CoTrlamb reached 
 liis pew, and sat with a serious face, assenting 
 with implicit faith to Mr. Macwhortle's views 
 and theories of futurity, his stern realities and 
 tender mercies, his literal renderings of sacred 
 writ. But the farmer was only human, he 
 could not help his mind from being concerned 
 with things mundane, nor his eyes from roving 
 towards the end of the penitent form, but 
 some one now blocked Ephraim Sparrow from 
 his view, and he could see only a portion of 
 Iphis's head. He did not connect the two, 
 but he felt vaguely perplexed. 
 
 Had these two observed each other? 
 
 Not until the brown locks revealed their 
 possessor to Iphis's father did Iphis discover 
 that Ephraim had followed his idol. When 
 she looked up she detected him regarding her 
 furtively. Her eyes were tear-stained, de- 
 tracting from her good looks she knew; but 
 the lad's face, with no tears to mar it, from 
 a half-ashamed seriousness changed, a couiic 
 light danced in his eyes, and she could not
 
 SG MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 maintain the gravity of her own demeanour ; 
 her lips parted with a smile. Then, recollect- 
 ing herself, she bent her face down, forced a 
 frown upon it, as some remonstrance and self- 
 reproach against such levity at such a time ; 
 but, to her confusion — horrible it seemed to 
 her — all her religion seemed to have as sud- 
 denly gone out of her. Was Ephraim a 
 hypocrite, taking his cue from her? She 
 began to make sundry comparisons, not 
 favourable to the preacher, on his voice, on 
 his attitude. She even went so far as to 
 believe that ^Ir. Macwhortle was only giving 
 his best work for good money. Her father 
 said the labourer wasn't worth his hu-e if he 
 didn't ' addle ' it. Mr. Macwhortle was con- 
 scientious ; if his work was irksome to him, 
 he was doing it honestly. Perhaps it 
 had e'ot to be like an old song; with him. 
 Iphis thought he did not look as if he really 
 felt all he said himself. He was fat; his thm 
 locks encircled a ruddy, oily face ; he had a 
 short neck and a scratchy beard, his voice was
 
 GRACE. 87 
 
 coarse, his clothes ill-fitting and sniifF- 
 besprmkled and flavoured. She began to feel 
 ashamed that she had been so impulsive — she 
 had made herself quite conspicuous. How- 
 ever, she could not run back now. She began 
 to be impatient — she sighed for the close of 
 Mr. Macwhortle's threats and promises. At 
 last he read two lines of the hymn — • 
 
 God, the offended God Most Higli, 
 Ambassadors to rebels sends. 
 
 Oh ! the interminable handshaking: at the 
 
 o 
 
 chapel door after all was over. The entreaty 
 to those who sliowed sims of o-oino; to stav 
 prayer-meeting. Such hearts of flint had to 
 face eyes of reproach, hands relaxed ; there 
 was less cordiality when determination to 
 breathe freer air, to leave such surcharged 
 excitement, was not to be overcome. The 
 preacher thundered their fate, and the perverse 
 ones retreated like craven curs, believing him, 
 either half re2:rettino: the hour had not come 
 or filled with a spirit of resentful antagonism. 
 Iphis was glad to be relieved. She rose
 
 88 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 from her knees and loade her way to her 
 father's pew. She had won the sympathy of 
 the old people. Her father held the pew door 
 open for her, she, passing Inm, felt herself in- 
 grate, hypocrite, worse. 
 
 Ephraim Sparrow stayed, that she saw. 
 But never once while the exciting half- hour 
 lasted did she detect him other than grave 
 and downcast. Her father almost expected 
 . some outspoken manifestation from her. 
 Some of the converts were vociferous. But 
 I phis' s lips continued closed. His own were 
 free in ejaculation. At a teljmg sentence Mr. 
 Macwhortle paused for the antistrophe ; some- 
 times it came from fervent lips with bewilder- 
 ing contradiction. But then the hypercritical 
 were conspicuous by their absence. 
 
 There was a press at the chapel door. 
 Those who had succeeded in o-ettino; out still 
 hung around like moths at a candle, waiting 
 for those who had had sufficient grace to stay. 
 The young must be encouraged with sympathy 
 and the outspread palms of the elders. With
 
 GRACE. 89 
 
 others, Ephraim Sparrow was surrounded, his 
 hand grasped over and over again. Perhaps 
 Ephraim was overwhehiied when the Reverend 
 Mr. Macwhortle extended his chubby hand. 
 Indeed Ephraim was so abashed and confused 
 he found himself the next moment grasping 
 the hand of Farmer Cowlamb, and the former's 
 face an inexplicable enigma to him. Then 
 Mr. Macwhortle took the side of Mrs. Cow- 
 lamb, and, with the farmer on the other, Iphis 
 was pushed aside or had to give way. Look- 
 ing round, Farmer Cowlamb was astounded 
 to behold the blacksmith's ajoprentice, Ephraim 
 Sj^arrow, in the act of taking Iphis's hand. 
 Farmer Cowlamb was never nearer making 
 the exclamation which stood with him in the 
 place of an imprecation. No doubt he was 
 restrained by the presence of Mr. Macwhortle, 
 the knowledge that the lad was now of the 
 elect ; still, Ephraim should keep his place. 
 But the farmer's movement had also caused 
 ^Ir. Macwhortle to turn too. He regarded 
 the youth and maiden with bombastic approval
 
 90 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 — ignorant of tlie status of Ephraim — and 
 rolled out tlie phrase, ' Young men and 
 maidens 23raising the Lord.' 
 
 The farmer groaned inwardly, and turned 
 of a 'goosecoat,' as he mentally put it. It 
 was an encouragement. Mr. Macwhortle erred 
 no doubt throus^h icrnorance. The farmer 
 could not well complain, but he felt very much 
 disturbed. All Willowby would be agog ; the 
 village would champ over Ephraim' s sudden 
 conversion and equally sudden acquired arro- 
 gance ; and he. Farmer Cowlamb, would come 
 in for a share 'of foolish conjecture. 
 
 Cowlamb could not refrain from occasional 
 glimpses over his shoulder. The farmer's 
 body swayed to each foot, at once indicating 
 that he had followed the plough, and this trait 
 was more noticeable when he was weary or 
 bothered. He saw that Ephraim Sparrow was 
 still with Iphis. Both had serious faces. He 
 would have liked to overhear their con- 
 versation, and thus have satisfied himself that
 
 GRACE. 9 1 
 
 Ephraim was confining himself to topics not 
 secular. 
 
 Mr. Macwhortle continued rollino; out his 
 platitudes with undiminished fervour, until 
 Cowlamb felt in a state of exasperation. 
 
 * Labourers are alius sca'ce at this time o' 
 year,' said Mrs. Cowlamb. 
 
 ' There are labourers always wanted for 
 the Lord's vineyard,' said Mr. Macwhortle. 
 
 ^ AYe've had a fine owd smouthering,' said 
 Cowlamb, referring to the full chapel ; ' but 
 there's a many more mud ha' been there.' 
 
 ^ Ah,' sighed the preacher, ' a cold heart 
 and a warm fireside keeps a many away from 
 chapel.' 
 
 This was Mr. ]\Lacwhortle's pet phrase. 
 But Cowlamb could not rid himself of his 
 torture. What, with his uncertain walk — to 
 which though his wife was accustomed, accom- 
 modating her walk to his — his futile attempts 
 to look behind him, to listen, and his inatten- 
 tive mind, he jolted so extraordinarily against
 
 92 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 his wife that now and again she forced ^Ir. 
 yilacwhortle off the path. 
 
 ' ]Mr. Macwhortle knows the young man 
 whose name is on the plan, that's coming m 
 pL^ce of Mr. Greenwood at Moortown,' mur- 
 mured Mrs. Cowlamb. 
 
 ' His mother is a Moortown person.' said 
 j\[r. Macwhortle ; ' a pious woman. Her hus- 
 band was in the ministry. After a powerful 
 meetino' and o-atherino; in of souls the Lord 
 took him. Poor man, he was walking home, 
 a long distance, a lonely road, and he was not 
 found for some time. Visitation of God — 
 indeed, it was, my dear m'em. A man 
 worthy of the vocation unto which he was 
 called.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' assented the farmer, curtly, the 
 balance of his mind overthrown. 
 
 ' His wife is a Dorcas of our body. It is 
 her faith that she has seen her husband in the 
 spirit mair than once ; tliat he directs her in 
 the way of salvation.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said Mrs. Cowlamb in a lachry-
 
 GKACE. \Jo 
 
 mose key ; ' poor woman, it must ha' been a 
 trial to her. Her son's a young man ? ' 
 
 ' Young in years and ministry, but, like 
 Saul, full of zeal and fervour. lie would have 
 gone out a missionary ; it was revealed to him 
 that his mother was aged, he could not leave 
 her. '\\ ith her husband, indeed, it vras ''the 
 zeal of thine house hath eaten me up." The 
 widow receives sustenance from the super- 
 annuation fund. Her husband was an old 
 and faithful minister of the Word.' 
 
 ' Next Sunday '11 be the first time the 
 young man preaches in the circuit,' Farmer 
 Cowlamb at last found opportunity to say. 
 
 ' You are right, my dear sir. I hope he 
 will carry on the good work already bcgiui 
 under my poor superintendence.' Mr. Mac- 
 whortle's eyes turned upwards with pious 
 modesty. 
 
 Here the farmer had to look behind liim 
 again. Ephraim Sparrow was still walking 
 at iphis's side. They were laughing. Tliat 
 was horrible. But Ephraim Sparrow, quick
 
 OJ: MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 to note the movements of the trio before them, 
 had observed the farmer turn his head. 
 Ephraim's face became grave, he met Cow- 
 Lamb's critical eye with assurant seriousness 
 which abnost maddened the enduring farmer. 
 CowL^mb wondered what the youthful couple 
 behind ^^ere laughmg at. Perhaps he would 
 not have lauofhed with them had he known. 
 
 Iphis saw her father's head repeatedly turn, 
 but not the slio-htest idea entered into hers 
 that walking thus with Ephraim Sparrow was 
 in any way reprehensible. Ephraim had a 
 p'ood-lookino' face, had a fair suit of clothes on 
 his back ; in his work-a-day suit no one could 
 say he was ugly, and smoke and grime, one 
 knows, are never conducive to appearance. 
 
 She had been a little surprised at Epkraim 
 shaking hands with her father and Mr. Mac- 
 whortle ; her hand went out almost unconsci- 
 ously, and then she dragged it from him 
 saucily. But Ephraim did not look vexed or 
 perturbed ; he seemed to have acquired a grave 
 confidence. She did not feel surprised to
 
 GRACE. 95 
 
 find liim walking by her side for a few mo- 
 inents. Then she looked at hiin with some 
 pertness, and he spoke, as if ignormg what 
 he knew was the tenor of her thoughts. 
 
 ^ Mr. Macwhortle preached a fine sermon, 
 didn't he?' 
 
 ' Maybe he did,' she retorted. There was 
 a tinge of suspicion in voice and look. ' You 
 was brought in.' 
 
 ^ And you was an' all, wasn't you ? ' 
 questioned he. She fancied there was that in 
 his voice to imply that if she said she wasn't 
 he would not be so sure of himself. 
 
 ' I don't know,' she replied. ' I wished 
 efter I hadn't gone up. I don't know what I 
 shall do. I don't feel somehow as if I hed 
 got religion efter all. What would you do, 
 Ephraim, if you was me ? ' 
 
 * Keep going while ee did git it.' 
 
 Iphis looked at him incredulously. 
 
 ' No. If you felt so just now, should you 
 wish you hedn't gone up? ' 
 
 'No.'
 
 96 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' Because I shouldn't ha' gone up if you 
 hedn't.' 
 
 * Ephraim I ' She gave a cry of horrified 
 surprise, but for all that was a little taken 
 with such devotion. 
 
 ^ Then you're no more converted than I 
 am? ' Her eyes opened wide as she came to 
 this startlmg conviction. 
 
 ' I don't thmk I am,' he acknowledged. 
 
 ' Whativer would father and Mr. Mac- 
 whortle say ? ' pondered she with great sim- 
 plicity, but with some secret satisfaction. 
 They would be horrified. Her thin voice 
 gave her question the character of that of a 
 child's. She looked into Ephraim' s face 
 almost breathless. But in his eyes there was 
 only the look an animal may have, say an in- 
 telhgent dog, in whom some comical rascality 
 has been seen through, and he knows you 
 know his depravity. 
 
 ' What made you think of going up, 
 Ephraim? Xow speak the truth,' demanded
 
 GRACE. 97 
 
 she, with a gesture of command that was far 
 from haughty. 
 
 ' Why — I thowt I couldn't be far wrong if 
 I did just exactly as you did.' 
 
 He laughed wickedly, and she laughed 
 too. Just then Farmer Cowlamb turned his 
 head and caught them before the fit was over. 
 They became grave again. 
 
 * I wouldn't ha' father and Mr. Macwhortle 
 know for all the world. What '11 folk think 
 to you, Ephraim ? ' 
 
 * I s'll keep on. It's a dele better being 
 religious than not. I fon that out already. 
 I niver shook hands wi' so many folks i' my 
 life afore as I done to-day. Xobody bud my 
 faither iver shook hands wi' me as I can re- 
 member. Nobody ud iver do me a turn but 
 her at the farm up yonder, and they so many 
 baens I feel ashamed to take owt up to her. 
 Blamed if I don't think iverybody was dcead 
 agean me, and I'm no worse than the rest o' 
 folks that I knows on.' 
 
 There had come to her a hazy impression 
 
 VOL. T. II
 
 98 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 that after all Epliraim Sparrow was not tlie 
 innocent liobbledelioy liis bearing towards 
 her durino; their first interview had led her 
 to believe. He had tried to snatch a kiss. 
 But a woman is always attracted by a ras- 
 cally man. She is fascinated with his con- 
 tempt for beaten paths. A woman counts 
 much upon her power. If a rascal tells her 
 that under her guidance he will mend his 
 ways, what sacrifice is there she will not 
 make for him? Ephraim was placing him- 
 self in her hands to be moulded and invested 
 with some social rank. He had been left to 
 his own devices, with no one to direct him. 
 There was abundant excuse for him. It 
 showed how frank he was, making no scruple 
 of avowing the impulse which moved him to 
 make a public exhibition of himself, all be- 
 cause she had done so. But his unvarnished 
 statement of his friendlessness won her more 
 than all besides. Iphis's nature was pre- 
 eminently generous. He was a waif and 
 friendless, and fast sinking into a slough of
 
 GRACE. 99 
 
 despond, crediting every one witli a stony and 
 inaccessible heart. 
 
 ^I would do yon a bit o' mendin' afore 
 you should be be't.' She stammered and 
 blushed, placing herself a little further apart 
 from him, and looking at him from under her 
 parasol with modest, diffident looks. ' I — I 
 mended a pair o' your stockings that day you 
 was at the garthman's.* 
 
 Ephraim stood stock still for a moment 
 and did not spfeak. Xo, he could not speak 
 for surprise. Did he hear aright? Was he 
 dreaming? She stopped too and lauglied — 
 not an over-confident laugh. His heart rose, 
 it was laden with an amount of grateful feeling 
 he could not find expression for ; greater he 
 knew than the occasion demanded, but it was 
 more because she had expressed herself willing 
 to repeat the service. He looked so serious 
 the laughter went out of her face. She bea'an 
 to be afraid that her conduct had been repre- 
 hensible. 
 
 ' Pshoo,' excused she, ' it was nowt. 
 
 n -2
 
 100 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Thou'd do as much i' thy way for me. Bud 
 I didn't do it for thee altogether ; I did it for 
 Mrs. Towse, she seemed so hard Laid on. I 
 an't nayther sick nor sorry.' 
 
 ' I couldn't do as much for thee,' said he, 
 earnestly. ' I'd know how I'd set about it.' 
 There was more thought and honesty in 
 Ephraim from this moment. She detected 
 the ring. 
 
 ' I moant stop,' said IjdMs, looking ahead ; 
 ' sithee, they're at the town end.' 
 
 ^ Nay, I'll go no further.' 
 
 * Well, say " Good efternoon," ' said she 
 with a little gesture of fond reproof 
 
 ' Good efternoon,' answered he, absently. 
 
 He did not move from the position in which 
 she left him. Ephraim was not one given to 
 thought ; his hands sank deep in his pockets ; 
 he seemed as if he could scarcely keep his 
 balance. So profound was his rumination, he 
 at last found himself in the hedge, and was 
 brought round by some girding thorns. 
 
 He began to realise that he was placing
 
 GRACE. 101 
 
 himself in a position open to criticism. What 
 other fellow in the village had dared to look 
 at her ? The wheelwright's apprentice — his 
 father was in a two-horse farm ; the shoe- 
 maker's — his father had promised to give him 
 twenty pounds to start for himself. It had only 
 been fun and frolic on his part, a natural se- 
 quence after the meeting with Iphis at Towse's. 
 His march to the penitent form was a sudden 
 impulse he could now scarcely account for. 
 He began to think that he must be in earnest, 
 but felt a little alarmed at the prospect of 
 having to keep up the hand-shakmg. He was 
 scarcely confident whether his profession was 
 strong enough to carry him through ; whether 
 this profession of grace went hand in hand 
 with courtship ; whether Farmer Cowlamb 
 would consider such profession privileging 
 him to sweetheart his daughter. Then there 
 were his old companions ; he rather winced — ■ 
 he had been accustomed to retort and go 
 further, at any taunt or jeer. But then they 
 would gape to see him walking Iphis Co\vlamb
 
 102 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 out after cliapel. She had never given them 
 so much as a glance, they all felt at arm's 
 length. He set off at last in the way Iphis 
 Cowlamb had o'one, but she and her friends 
 were now well out of sight. Three roads 
 metj and at the angle of intersection stood the 
 old thatched smithy where he worked. A 
 knot of his old companions stood there, but 
 they had not a word for him ; yet he fancied 
 they eyed him with some respect. Evidently 
 they had been discussing the day's doings. He 
 went on. He would have liked to join them, 
 but was scarcely determined whether consort- 
 ing with those long exhorted, but still remiss, 
 was consonant with his new profession.
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTER 5. 
 
 CANVASSED. 
 
 The farmer had waited for Tphis at the mter- 
 sectmg roads. She could tell by her father's 
 expression that he was not over well pleased 
 with her. As soon as she showed signs of 
 coming uj) with them he led his party on 
 again. But when she reached them he never 
 turned his head to speak to her. He did not 
 know what to say to her, how to couch re- 
 proof ; language with him was not a medium 
 for varnishmo; his thouo;hts. Had she been a 
 lad there would have been no difficulty. But 
 she was a girl, and he had never thwarted her, 
 never been stern with her. He had always so 
 impressed his boys and led them that they had 
 come with him to regard her as a delicate doll
 
 104 MEADOW SWEET, 
 
 to be carefully considered. Cowlamb was 
 thoroughl}^ out of his depth. He felt that he 
 could not entrust any delicate mission to his 
 wife, he had long ago discerned that mother and 
 daughter were far from being one in sympathy ; 
 his wife would ' nag,' and that would perhaps 
 precipitate matters. Opposition Cowlamb was 
 shrewd enough to know was one of the worst 
 tactics to employ agamst a woman. He cogi- 
 tated whether, ignoring what had passed, 
 closing his eyes would not be the surer policy. 
 The lad would have his day and the affair 
 blow over. It could not have gone so very far, 
 but he could not forget that Ephraim was the 
 ' chap ' Iphis was talking to in the lane a week 
 ago. This was not reassuring. 
 
 Iphis noted her father's disturbance, not 
 so Mr. Macwhortle. Cowlamb was not very 
 attentive to his guest, the canny north country 
 man. There was a nervous quiver about the 
 farmer's lower lip, which protruded more than 
 usual. It was temper. There was some 
 viciousness in the expression of his eyes. He
 
 CANVASSED. 105 
 
 walked on eyeing things obliquely. Mr. Mac- 
 wliortle was quite imconscioiis of any such 
 turmoil ; but that is not to say he had not 
 observed peculiarities of temperament in the 
 bucolic mind, and oddities in Farmer Cow- 
 lamb. Mr. Macwhortle reasoned to himself 
 that the farmer's absent mind and wandering 
 thoughts were but new phases, and, naturally 
 a bon vivanf, he was lookmg forward to the 
 well-spread table, the singing of the kettle, the 
 fragrance of the steam from the tea- cups, the 
 luscious cream and sparkling lump sugar. 
 The comforts of an assured possession of 
 future bliss may be a theme worthy for an 
 apostle to extemporise upon, but to latter-day 
 saints creature comforts are not contemptible 
 — indeed, pioneers find wholesome quarters 
 after their toil is over. Mr. Macwhortle took 
 his pleasant places as natural appendices to his 
 apologues. 
 
 I2:)his, though not afraid, nor disconcerted 
 at her reception, awaited with a shade of con- 
 cern the explanation that must come after her
 
 106 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 father's show of compressed and confined 
 temper. But it did not come that night. 
 Cowlamb's attitude puzzled wife and daughter, 
 and even Mr. Macwhortle. Cowlamb was 
 jerk}^, and loud, and emphatic. It at last 
 dawned on Mr. Macwhortle's mind that the 
 farmer's mind was unaccountably askew. Mr. 
 Macwhortle was rather crest-fallen the follow- 
 ing morning at the farmer's fuss and exhilara- 
 tion. It almost seemed as if Brother Cow- 
 lamb wished to get him off. Indeed, it was so. 
 It was with grim satisfaction this odd-mooded 
 man beheld Hosea bringing up horse and trap 
 to convey Mr. Macwhortle to Moortown railway 
 station. The women felt it a rehef. They 
 could divest themselves of company manners 
 and aj)parel, and, untrammelled, get to their 
 household duties. The servant girl had 
 churned the butter an hour ago ; it lay in the 
 cold water ready for makmg up, yellow and 
 firm and sweet. There was a scent of butter- 
 milk in the kitchen, of triturated carrots ; the 
 utensils were there all ready for Iphis's hands.
 
 CANVASSED. 107 
 
 and Ipliis was impatient at being so delayed. 
 As soon as the wheels of the trap moved on 
 Iphis retreated indoors, leaving her parents to 
 wave Mr. Macwhortle parting adieus. Then 
 began Iphis's attention to her business ; tuck- 
 ing up her sleeves she commenced to work up 
 her butter. How nice she was in her judgment 
 of salt, how deft in her method of weighing, 
 working the butter into rolls, laying it in pounds 
 on a second board ! The patterned roller 
 left in relief a design not Pompeian, nor Louis 
 Quatorze, but a curious compound of the 
 vagaries of old potters and the rude talent of 
 a savage. Anyhow it was quite in character. 
 She contemplated the array for a moment with 
 some satisfaction, finally carrying off each 
 successive board into the cool dairy, there to 
 repose on the cold brick gantry. 
 
 When Farmer Cowlamb re-entered the 
 house his manner was taciturn and ungra- 
 cious. He sat by the fireside in the best 
 kitchen, replying monosyllabically to his 
 wife's platitudes on Mr. Macwhortle. She
 
 108 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 was full of pride in having had so distin- 
 guished a person as a guest. She was brim- 
 ful of his sayings and thoughts, of her impres- 
 sions of him, of echoes of his hon mots. What 
 with the depressing sameness of her voice and 
 the J) at of Iphis's utensils, he soon became 
 wearied of it all. If Cowlamb had been a 
 rational man he would have solaced himself 
 with a pipe of tobacco. But he was not a 
 great smoker. In his young days he had 
 been abstemious with luxuries. Xow he was 
 better off he kept a box of cigars in the house 
 for company, but he had not the jaunty style 
 of one accustomed to a Havana when he 
 attempted to smoke one. Cowlamb at last 
 remembered that he had to go mto the village 
 to see the wheelwright, a man who was 
 necessary to him, a good worker, but for 
 whom Cowlamb had often much sarcasm, 
 because he was not good like himself at early 
 rising. 
 
 It was a morning in August, a dense but 
 genial fog having risen from or settled down
 
 CANVASSED. 109 
 
 upon the earth, so completely defying the 
 warm summer air as to give one the idea of 
 an October or November morning slipped in 
 by mistake, but eventually to succumb to the 
 fierce rays of an irresistible sun. A morning 
 that brings the corn to the ripening, and the 
 farmer to the conclusion that he must think of 
 bestirring himself, or have his corn shake in 
 the ear before it is cut. Farmer Cowlamb 
 paused to look at one of his own fields chang- 
 ing to a glorious russet yellow, stalks bowed 
 down with heavy heads and SAvaying slightly 
 without wind. His eyes ranged further ; a 
 field of a neighbour's, exciting some sardonic 
 humour in his mind — a field of pulse crimson 
 with poppies, here and there though invaded 
 with patches of yellow, from liis point of view 
 equally disgraceful, great lank ' ketlocks.' It 
 had no beauty for him ; it was a crying testi- 
 mony against a slovenly farmer. 
 
 At the wheelwright's there was some con- 
 versation beino^ carried on — the Avheelwrisrht 
 at his chamber window, the blacksmith below.
 
 110 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Everything was askew this morning. There 
 was the skiggarcl but just rising. Early 
 birds had partaken of their worms already. 
 Cowlamb thought it was no wonder some 
 people found it difficult to make any headway 
 in the world. 
 
 'Did ye hear Peter, then?' the black- 
 smith was shouting. The blacksmith, whose 
 surname was abbreviated to Brad and Braddy, 
 was seated on his haunches under the shade of 
 an elder tree hanging over some white palings. 
 
 ' Heio'h, he's a rum owd fellow,' re- 
 sponded the wheelwright — who was Searb 
 familiarly — now visible to Cowlamb, in his 
 shirt. 
 
 ' What a mind he lies ! ' said Brad, the 
 blacksmith. He drew a heavy breath, over- 
 powered with the conviction ; ' he does Hp it 
 out.' 
 
 ' Law, how melcli it is I ' put in the wheel- 
 wriofht's wife, in and out the house with her 
 ashpan, cleaning up the fireside after fire- 
 lighting.
 
 CANVASSED. Ill 
 
 ^ It's beautiful,' said Brad, ecstatically. 
 
 * I know ; ya and Searb wouldn't be ower 
 hot in a brick oven/ she declared, irately. 
 
 ^ Not if door warn't shut,' said the incor- 
 rigible Brad. ' Law, liow ya folks lig i' bed,' 
 he observed, looking up at tlie chamber 
 window. 
 
 ' I was at work till half-past twelve,' said 
 Mrs. Searb, excusing herself 
 
 ^ Heigh,' criticised the blacksmith, ' some 
 folks niver can set to to do owt by daylight, 
 they mun liev a lamp or a can'le lit. Ya 
 could git up i' th' morning and do it, couldn't 
 ye?' 
 
 ' Bud I was ironin' and one can't fesscn 
 on work o' that sort till the baens are safe i' 
 bed.' 
 
 ^ Bed ! heigh, bed ! Somefolks git a dele 
 ower much on't ; natur nobbut wants five 
 hours, wickedness ten.' 
 
 ' Well, we've hed eleven ofFens,' declared 
 she, recklessly. 
 
 ' Oh law, ya're bad, ya're worse than I
 
 112 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 took you to be. Will that sweetheart o' 
 thine do me this little job afore he gits his 
 break' as t.' 
 
 Happier the farmer would have been had 
 he at that moment showed himself. But he 
 stayed playing the part of eavesdropper. Hear- 
 ing their appreciation of Mr. Macwhortle's 
 labours, he had begun to feel better satisfied 
 with his part in the work, namely, furthering 
 the cause by having Mr. Macwhortle at his 
 house. He had almost forgotten that his 
 temper had been tried. 
 
 ' Why, Ephraim's turned religious I ' said 
 the blacksmith. 
 
 'D'ye think he'll stand?' 
 
 ' Nay, I'd knaw. Him and me are o' two 
 sides at times. He's a shy lad till he gits 
 used to folks, then there isn't a more mis- 
 chievous.' 
 
 ' Well, it's to be hoped he'Jl keep it. Bud 
 they tell me he walked off wi' owd Cowlamb's 
 dowter. Tst! it a'most takes one's breath 
 away. That's a feather in his cap. What'll
 
 CANVASSED. 113 
 
 the owd woman make on him? I seed liim 
 shak hands, and wi' the owd man an' all, and 
 Ephrahn was feart enow. Law, one would 
 a'most think the worrld was commg to an 
 end.' 
 
 ' Make haste down wi' thee,' shouted the 
 blacksmith, somewhat nettled at the fulsome 
 admiration the wheel wrio'ht was exhibiting: 
 for Ephraim ; ' I can't be standing here all 
 day blathering wi' thee. Oh, here's Mester 
 Cowlamb,' added the blacksmith, Avith cheer- 
 ful humility, ' how are ye, sir? ' 
 
 ^ As A7ell i' health as temper,' retorted 
 Cowlamb, thus showing to the blacksmith 
 that he had heard their nonsense with but 
 little pleasure. ' Hasn't carpenter got his 
 first sleep ower?' added he, sourly. 
 
 * He's down, I think, Mester Cowlamb. 
 They be strange folks to lig i' bed.' 
 
 ' I wonder their eyes don't git bunged up.' 
 
 The farmer rode his white cob into the 
 yard among tlie timber, the impotent farm 
 implements, the chips, and other refuse. A 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 devious route lie had to take. He shouted 
 out impatiently — 
 
 ^ Searb ! ' and louder, ^ Searb ! ' 
 
 The wheel wrio'ht was heard shufflino- into 
 his boots, his wife's voice, not in an un- 
 dertone, urging expedition. Presently he 
 emerged, and the farmer, twitting the somno- 
 lent wheelwright with some asperity, broached 
 his business, and turned his cob's head. 
 Both men wished him good morning, to 
 which he responded most ungraciously. He 
 was filled with greater annoyance. Iphis's 
 name was already bandied about the village, 
 linked too, with that of a ne'er-do-weel. He 
 had alwaj^s reckoned on his girl marrying a 
 young fellow with a farm and substantial 
 prospects. Her conduct was not likely to 
 enhance her chances. He did not know how 
 to nip the aifair in the bud, but tliat it should 
 be stopped before it went further he was 
 determined. Before he would be beaten he 
 would pack her off bag and baggage to Sam's. 
 Then the farmer groaned. Lately he had
 
 CANVASSED. 115 
 
 been much troubled in liis mind about Sam. 
 Sam had shown si^s of turning out unsteady. 
 Sam had quarrelled with his wife, and now 
 they were living apart. Sam had gone in for 
 a fine dashing woman. But Sam's dashing 
 wife had exasperated him. She was net 
 prepared to take things in the same way as 
 he had been used to see the women of his own 
 family take them. She had tastes the matter- 
 of-fact Sam did not appreciate, his temper 
 culminated in some brutality — an attempt to 
 crush her between the door and the jamb-^and 
 the terrified woman souo:ht shelter at a neinh- 
 boar's and originated scandal. Sam was 
 prepared to eat liumble pie, beg pardon, pro- 
 mise no more of such brutality. He was 
 humiliated when he came to himself, cursed 
 the drink which had excited him, her tongue 
 which had incensed him ; but for all that 
 felt himself vile. Farmer Cowlamb professed 
 never to believe that Sam had been so im- 
 raanly, Ijoth his lads had always been so good 
 and kind and afiectionate with Iphis. T>ut
 
 116 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Cowlamb could perceive the heavy nature lay 
 in both, if unroused and dormant. He could 
 not hide it from himself now, that there had 
 been occasions when he had had his misgiv- 
 ings about his lads. Their temper was stub- 
 born and fierce as his own. Now Sam was 
 drinking and the talk of the countryside, 
 Snailhorn way. Cowlamb had gone over, but 
 had only succeeded in checking Sam while he 
 remamed there. Then had come to him in 
 some mysterious way after he had returned 
 home, reports that Sam had broken loose 
 again. Worse tales reached him, and Cow- 
 lamb was near on desperation. However 
 highly Cowlamb might regard the efficacy of 
 the work of such men as Mr. Macwhortle, there 
 was no Macwhortle who could arrest Sam, he 
 feared. Iphis might be his redemption, but 
 Cowlamb hesitated sending her there, she never 
 had had to contend with vice or weakness of 
 that shape. Sam must take his chance, if 
 Iphis would ou\.y behave herself at home. 
 Of her two brothers the younger was
 
 CA^'VASSED. 117 
 
 Iphis's favourite. He was unmarried. She 
 would have gone to him gladly. It had been 
 discussed. She would have gone, but for her 
 father's heart-hunger. But Sam — Iphis had 
 thought very much of him, had a sisterly love 
 for liim, but the farmer could not keep all the 
 evils tales from her. The mother was prone 
 in her * nattering ' moods to dilate on Sam's 
 evil courses. His housekeepers were not 
 immaculate, or they left him in disgust. But 
 if Cowlamb determined to send Iphis to Snail- 
 horn, Mrs. Cowlamb would as soon think 
 of flying as of opposing him. 
 
 So the farmer, as those who hope against 
 the worst, waited. If matters got no further 
 advanced, there was still room to hope that 
 Iphis would think better of her giddiness and 
 mend her ways.
 
 118 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 CHAPTER 6. 
 
 POLICY. 
 
 Alas for tlie congregations wlio sat under Mr. 
 Macwhortle's successor! Alas for the poor 
 woQ^.an wlio called Mr. Macwhortle's succes- 
 sor, son ! Her boy, who was to tread m the 
 footsteps of her husband, whose unpretentious 
 memory still upheld her, a comfort to her, 
 showed only too glaringly traces of the old 
 Adam, carins: too much for the vanities of the 
 world, the raiment he should wear, what he 
 ate, what he drank. What Mr. Macwhortle 
 had planted he was to water. But the young 
 minister was not a transcript of Paul's ApoUos, 
 no one could believe it, rather a ' giddy- 
 Avhiffles,' possessed with desire to emulate a 
 heathen character of similar name. He had
 
 POLICY. Ill) 
 
 the afflatus, but his ardour and zeal could 
 scarcely be confined by the elders within due 
 bounds. He was so impetuous — he wished 
 to enter strongholds before carrying the out- 
 works. His first movement in a villa sre was 
 to orp-anise his cono:re":ation into a battalion 
 and storm it, singing through and back again 
 to the square, ugly chapel. Pleasant to the 
 ear came the hymns, sung with zest if not 
 with excessive harmony and concord. Reso- 
 lute, he pushed his nose the farthest forward 
 in tlie line, singing louder than any, raising 
 his liymn-book high, swaying it up and down 
 with impressive sanctimoniousness. He wore 
 spectacles, which quickly in invidious AYil- 
 lowby was set down to pride, and first gave 
 the cue to an outlook for other traits of 
 imperfections. His clothes were much too 
 glossy, and their cut aped too much the Estab- 
 lishment — in old-world folks' eyes. Scandal 
 at length got busy with him. It was com- 
 monly talked that his mother had remonstrated 
 witli him, would no longer tolerate liim
 
 120 ' MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 because he would not discard rings. Why did 
 he wear patent shoes, and walk on his tiptoes, 
 if he were not vain of his white stockings ? 
 
 But the young ladies of his congregation 
 were scarcely so severe. The neat white tie, 
 the spotlessness of his linen as contrasted with 
 their brothers' and sweethearts' rough and 
 tumbled dickies, made him a carled darling in 
 their eyes, if they did sometimes irreverently 
 poke fun at him. Unfortunately for him they 
 had known him long before he entered the 
 ministry, long before he had even ' got ' 
 religion. The body taking an interest in 
 him, his indentures of aj^prenticeship had 
 been cancelled, and he was lost to St. Crispin. 
 Some, more bold than nice, did not hesitate 
 to tease him about an old flame, cook in a 
 gentleman's house ; but he did not wince. 
 
 ^ Yes,' said he, ' with that girl it was like 
 walking in paradise ; her conversation was 
 imbued with piety.' 
 
 If he was offended he did not show it, and 
 was quite ready to accompany his teaser home.
 
 POLICY. 121 
 
 and after tea return Trith her to the square 
 chapeL 
 
 He preached there the first two Sundays ; 
 afterwards he was to take his turn with the 
 other ministers located at Moortown, local 
 brethren filling up. Criticism did not meet 
 him sharply at first ; people thought his 
 prayers beautiful, only rather long. In course 
 of time they palled. 
 
 ' Pray short, pray quick, and to the point 
 when people want to go home,' remonstrated 
 a deaf local brother not unduly irritated, but 
 without a thought of irreverence. 
 
 Once let a community be stirred with the 
 faintest whisper of disapproval, it is like a 
 fuse. First one shook his head without 
 speaking, then another shook his and was 
 sorrowful. So the train was laid. But no 
 one had heard Farmer Cowlamb's animad- 
 versions. Every one knew what a hatred 
 Cowlamb had for pretentious people — dandi- 
 fied, fine gentlemen, people spending their 
 entire income. There be^fan to be wonder
 
 122 :\IEAD()W SWEET. 
 
 that Cowlamb should encourage the young 
 man as he did. He was often at the farm- 
 house. But it was not Farmer Cowlamb who 
 encouraged the young travelling preacher, but 
 Mrs. Cowlamb. If Mrs. Cowlamb was an 
 obedient wife, professing the sanie contempt for 
 fine folks as her husband as in duty bound, if 
 she herself had no hankering after the flesh- 
 pots of Egypt, she was mightily impressed 
 and flattered if fine folks made talk or paid 
 court to her. She was in raptures with the 
 new minister, continually singing his praises 
 to Iphis, continually insinuating how well she 
 and the young man looked together walking 
 up the lane — her* father had said it. But 
 Iphis grew weary of such repetition, although 
 as yet she showed no aversion to walking with 
 him. Cowlamb chuckled. He saw his wife 
 playing into his hands. He said nothing. 
 Iphis would be distracted from that scape- 
 grace. Women were like a steer diverted with 
 a bit of red rag. If the young man got too 
 forward, Iphis supple, Farmer Cowlamb was
 
 POLICY. 123 
 
 not Avitliout weiu'lit in tlie connexion, comino; 
 out liberally as he did in money and kind, 
 sewino' meetino's, &c. He was also alive to 
 the fact that other elders were already re- 
 garding the young man gravely. A word 
 from him, then would come the explosion ; not 
 loudly, no, the young man would easily be re- 
 moved and get quiet words of counsel and 
 admonition at parting. So it is easily seen 
 that Farmer Cowlamb was not at all smitten 
 with the prospect of a mmister for his son-in- 
 law. 
 
 But at last Mrs. Cowlamb's iterations of 
 perfections to be found in the young mmister 
 sickened Iphis. Mrs. Cowlamb had not the 
 discretion to stay and let a well-chosen word 
 work its way. As fast as she discovered 
 perfections Iphis found flaws ; she began to 
 curl her lip whenever her mother brought 
 forward her j)rote(j(?s name. ]\Irs. Cowlaml) 
 became more and more enraptured with ^Ir. 
 Macwhortle's successor, continuing blind to 
 Iphis' s increasing antipathy to such a lover.
 
 124 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Ipliis had submitted to his attentions good- 
 naturedly. Her mother's eulogies were be- 
 coming so extravagant the girl could see 
 plainly that nothing would please her mother 
 so much as accepting his suit when he offered 
 himself. The mother felt it was coming and 
 Iphis began to realise it, and was quite deter- 
 mined to act decisively — to resolutely pull him 
 up and send him to the right-about. In 
 Mrs. Cowlamb's mind a minister's wife was a 
 notable personage, the glory of the minister 
 scintillatmg on his helpmeet. How they were 
 ^ made on,' such a couple, wherever they went ! 
 True, ministers' salaries were not large, but 
 then every increase was considered, and 
 Iphis' s father would be no churl, he would 
 never stand in the background, his hand on 
 his j)o<"'ket. Ah ! poor woman, she soared 
 too high, her ignoble offspring was captivated 
 with no dream of social dignity. She had 
 rather a contempt for junketing preachers 
 and their wives. A mild suggestion of Mrs. 
 Cowlamb's, that there were women who would
 
 POLICY. 125 
 
 jump to be ministers' wives, was flouted by 
 IjDliis. 
 
 ' I wouldn't,' declared Iphis in unqualified 
 contradiction, ' and I wouldn't liave that fini- 
 kin fellow that's alius a coming here. I'd 
 raither hev a joskin fra the plough-tail. 
 He would addle me a livino; as a man 
 should. His face is like a cow's ilder. Poor 
 creatur ! ' 
 
 And Iphis's nostrils expanded with dis- 
 dain. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Cowlamb, she may be excused 
 if she was dumb for a reply; if she went after- 
 wards and rasped at the servant girl until the 
 girl's bed relieved her from her ' missis's ' 
 nattering tongue. 
 
 Iphis's retort was more a sudden explo- 
 sion. The remembrance of it did not rankle 
 in her mind. After, when she thouo'ht of it, 
 no twinge of penitence disturbed her ; she had 
 but resented coercion. 
 
 Cowlamb was not slow to perceive the 
 marked coolness now sprung up between Iphis
 
 126 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 and lier mother, or ratlier the hurt silence 
 mamtained 'by his wife. Cowhimb believed 
 that his wife had overdone her part, and that 
 her favourite was nowhere ; he was not sorry 
 that it was so. He was rather proud to find 
 that Iphis had nothing but contempt for such 
 a man. He had only desired a diversion, a 
 suitor to banish from her mind the reprehen- 
 sible Ephraim, who continued a fervent mem- 
 ber of the congregation. But Mrs. Cowlamb 
 was too much in awe of her husband to give 
 him the true merits of her repulse, and Iphis 
 did not deem any appeal to him necessary. 
 Cowlamb had only to go by his own percep- 
 tions. A walk down to ]\Ioortown one even- 
 ing with the young minister came opportunely. 
 The young minister was sentimental, showing 
 a disposition to gather in kno^t^ledge of farm- 
 ing. He asked many questions on corn and 
 cultivation which pleased the farmer. Some- 
 times his questions and remarks were silly 
 enough, causing Cowlamb to wonder what a 
 man country bred did with his eyes. Un-
 
 POLICY. 127 
 
 luckily correcting Farmer Cowlamb's nomen- 
 clature of a tree, the minister blundered. 
 
 ' Hesh,' said Farmer Cowlamb. 
 
 ^Asli, Mr. Cowlamb, ash,' corrected Lis 
 companion. 
 
 'I said "liesh,"' maintained the farmer, 
 doggedly. 
 
 They walked on silently for some time, 
 until the younger man began to think that 
 perhaps the farmer had really taken less 
 offence than his tone implied. It Avas a sign 
 to him that he had judged correctly by the 
 farmer resuming conversation. 
 
 'A clever young man like you, one 'ud 
 think, would marry i' good time,' said the 
 farmer, smoothly. ' Thou wast clever enough 
 to tell me the name o' the tree though thou 
 didn't know the tree by bole or bark nor leaf ; 
 has t' begun to think o' marrying ? ' 
 
 Clever as the young minister might be, he 
 jumped to the conclusion that the f\xrmer de- 
 scried in him a son-in-law. He could not see 
 through old Cowlamb's sardonic humour —
 
 128 MEADOW SAYEET. 
 
 that the farmer was bent on leading: him 
 out. 
 
 ' Well,' said the minister, his eyes bright 
 with hopeful feeling, prepared to accept good- 
 naturedly all such quaint reproof, and dis- 
 posed to make a complete breast of his senti- 
 ments, 'I for some time wished to broach such 
 a matter to you. I — ah — ahem — I hoped I 
 had made a favourable impression upon the 
 mind of Iphis, but I always thought the best 
 course for me would be to ask you first if this 
 was agreeable to you.' 
 
 ' That's reight, young man,' said the 
 farmer, approvingly; but with an acute glitter 
 in his eyes the young man was not quick 
 enough to comprehend. ' But what does 
 Iphis say ? ' 
 
 ' Well — ah, I scarcely know yet. I haven't 
 
 really asked her ; and Mrs. Cowlamb, she ' 
 
 stammered the young man. 'I think she is on 
 my side.' 
 
 ' Oh, thou deep dog, thou's been at the 
 owd woman, then — sweethearting her a bit,
 
 POLICY. 129 
 
 has ta ? All, well, I knowecl from the first 
 thou wast a pawky chap.' 
 
 Cowlamb's banter caused the young man 
 to blush, but yet to feel hmiself more and 
 more self-satisfied. 
 
 ^Then, Mr. Cowlamb,' said he boldly, 'you 
 don't object ? ' 
 
 'Object ? No, not I, if thou thinks tliou's 
 a chanch ; but stop abit, lad, I had forgot, thou 
 has to travel a sartain time. Unless thou 
 thought o' giving up the preaching ? Has 
 ta ? ' 
 
 ' I can't say I ha\e contemplated that.' 
 
 ' Well, don't my lad, stick to thy preach- 
 ing ; the man that's got hold on the plough 
 hails 's not to look back. Efter tliou's seen 
 Iphis we'll see about it.' 
 
 ' It will be some years ' 
 
 ' It will, and she's changeable thou thinks. 
 But look what a while owd Jacob waited, and 
 then they palmed another imto him. It was 
 a mucky trick, and if it had been this time 
 o' day, he'd have had to put up with her. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 There's no letting 'em lia' two. I can't say I 
 mncli opinion o' women ; some change about, 
 and I known 'em stick to a fellow like 
 cobbler's wax.' 
 
 In two ways Cowlamb's simile struck him. 
 He began to chuckle : from former experience 
 of the ' seat ' the young fellow would know 
 what wax was. But if the women were so 
 adhesive, Iphis might still be sticking to 
 Ephraim. The chuckle was strangled. 
 
 ' Me and my first wife,' continued Cow- 
 lamb, without pausing, ' was a courtin' for I 
 don't know how many years — years. We 
 couldn't afford to git married, 'cause there was 
 nobody to git us a house ready to wer hands, 
 and I was determmed I wouldn't git married 
 on trust. Now, when I consithered to git 
 married agean, I pulled the owd woman on 
 my knee, and we made it up in five minutes. 
 She was there in the house — I think she 
 wanted me ; she niver said " Oh ! " and thou 
 sees I'd everything ready then. Xow, what I 
 thinks, ivery man ought to be sartain suer he
 
 POLICY. 131 
 
 can afford it afore he gits married. It'll 
 maybe turn out strange and expensive ; some 
 folks aren't o;ood at makino- ends meet. But 
 for a fellow as goes and gets married afore 
 he's ready wi' means aforehand, my opinion 
 is, aU such it sarves 'em right if they comes to 
 break stones on the ramper.' ^ 
 
 The young man felt so very nervous after 
 a sermon so much more to the point than any 
 he had ever delivered, that he began to have 
 grave doubts whether Farmer Cowlamb's 
 permission to court his daughter was such a 
 grand prerogative. He even went so far as to 
 feel considerably doubtful whether he should 
 have the nerve to ask Iphis to marry him, and 
 wait until he was ready. Still he leaned on 
 the farmer. 
 
 ' You have been a successful man, Mr. 
 Cowlamb.' 
 
 ^ And dost ee know the reason? Because 
 I alius seed my work was done afore I tliowt 
 o' charo-ino; ; alius vallied a thino; afore I 2;ave 
 
 ^ Iliglnvay, from rampart. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 a price. Would ta like to hear bow I made a 
 start?' 
 
 The young man expressed an inclination 
 in polite but awkward deference. There were 
 points and matter-of-fact sense in Farmer 
 Cowlamb be had never before considered. He 
 had hitherto looked upon Cowlamb as a hard- 
 headed old flint, absorbed in farming and the 
 routine of his life, never lookino; beyond it, or 
 thinking of anything else. 
 
 ' When I was thy age,' began Cowlamb, 
 ' I didn't look forrad to gittin' a livin' ^vithout 
 work. And I was main careful o' my spend - 
 ings ; I'd nobody to stand at my back. First 
 time I seemed to make a mark after I got a 
 bit o' land was at Pardney Fair. Me and a 
 man called Butter Hummings made it up to 
 go and speculate. I got all the money scraped 
 together I could, twenty-six pounds, and we 
 went wi' Butter's boss and cart. We had to 
 be up long afore daylight, it was back end o' 
 th' year, and thirty mile afore us ; it was dark 
 a long way on the road. When we got as far
 
 POLICY. 133 
 
 as Linlea AVood I obsarved Butter pull up 
 summut out o' th' cart bottom, and he says 
 to me — 
 
 ' " Is thy money all reight, Cowlamb? " 
 
 '1 says, "It is, my lad." 
 
 i " Where ha' ye got it? " says he. 
 
 ' Says I, "In my pocket, to be suer, in a 
 bag — tAventy-six pounds." 
 
 ' " Mind and take care on it, Cowlamb," 
 says he. 
 
 ' I told him he needn't be alarmed about 
 that, and I says to him, " AVhere's thine, 
 Butter? " 
 
 ' He stopped the ow^d boss and got out o' 
 th' cart. I thowt it was to see if the axle or 
 the springs was all right. Then he got in 
 agean, and he says, " Aye, Cowlamb, mme's 
 safe as houses." 
 
 ' We jogged on and Butter kept that thing 
 in his hand he took oat o' th' cart bottom, 
 and I began to be curious about it, so I says 
 to him, " What has ta got there? " 
 
 ' " A pistil," he says.
 
 134 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' I laughed at him fit to end mysen. 
 " Why," I says to him, " thou surely ant 
 scar'd o' being robbed?" 
 
 ^ " I don't know so much about that ; it's 
 a lonesome owd road," says he. " Onybody 
 mud pop out o' that dark owd wood and rob 
 us." 
 
 ^ I laughed at him. Butter was a timid 
 feller. When it was daylight I wanted bad to 
 let it off, but Butter wouldn't let me. " I 
 wouldn't yit, Cowlamb ; you may let it off as 
 we come home," says he. 
 
 ' We got to Pardney Fair wi'out bemg 
 robbed, and Butter, when we got out, crep 
 undernean the cart, and untied a bag off the 
 axletree, and then after a good deal of unroll- 
 ing, he pulled another little bag out of it, and 
 his money was tied up in that. 
 
 ' " Thou sees, Cowlamb, thou didn't think 
 o' looking theer," says he, that deep. He was 
 a little fellow, with such a little face, and a 
 great high straight -brimmed hat. I can just 
 see him now.
 
 POLICY. 135 
 
 ' •• Thou's been at a vast o' trouble," I 
 says, laughing agean, '• bud now thou's got 
 thy money, let's be gone. Best customer's a 
 morning customer." 
 
 ' We spent wer money well. Beasts 
 wasn't the figure they are now. I had a 
 pound or two left and I thowt Butter 
 hed an' all, so I happened to light on a sweet 
 yalla heifer, and I bowt it. I thowt Butter 
 would lend me the rest, but when I came to ax 
 Butter, he'd nobbut thirteen shillings left, and 
 I was in a mess, I thowt. If it had been now 
 I should ha' gone to the man and told him 
 who I was, and how I was fixed, and taken it 
 away with the rest. And Butter no more 
 dare go ax any o' th' jobbers he knew, and I 
 didn't wonder — we was fresh starters and they 
 would ha' been glad to cut wer throats. 
 Butter went and driv the beasts out fir^t, 
 while I sneaked the hoss out o' th' stable, and 
 driv ofi* without looking round. I just felt as 
 if we'd stolen something, but we was young 
 and soft.
 
 136 mj:adow saveet. 
 
 ^ I would lia' the pistil when we got back 
 agean to Linlea Wood, an owd hoss-pistil wi' 
 flint and steel ; it ga me a black eye ; I 
 thowt it had knocked me out o' th' cart. I 
 teld Butter he'd only to let a robber fire it off 
 liissen to be safe fra being robbed. I rued I 
 missed that yalla heifer ; it was a pretty un. 
 Butter alius comes to me when he wants owt ; 
 he come last week and made me a bid for 
 some yows. I might ha' stickled for a shilling 
 a-head more. We often talk about the yalla 
 heifer, and how well we did do wi' them we 
 did get. I nobbut got two . black eyes in my 
 life ; th' tother was feighting at Rundleby 
 feast. Ya preach at our chapel o' Sunday 
 agean ; ya mun go home with us. If ya 
 mean to ha' my lass ya moant flag. If I'd 
 nobbut stuck to the yalla heifer I should ha 
 gotten it, but I thowt I wasn't man good 
 enough.' 
 
 The crafty fanner thought there were signs 
 that the young man saw too many difficulties 
 before him, was growing disheartened, and
 
 POLICY. 137 
 
 the tendency strong in liim to retire from the 
 field. 
 
 ' Yes, it is my Sunday agam. In fact I 
 preach in the morning too, if you look at the 
 plan.' 
 
 ' Then, I s'll expect you'll go home wi' 
 me and have your dmner with us. We s'll 
 ha' something good, we alius hev on a Sunday. 
 0' Monday we s'll be inta liar'st,' murmured 
 the farmer with worldly satisfaction.
 
 138 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 CHAPTER 7. 
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 
 
 ' There's a smell of a good taste,' said Hosea, 
 the waggoner, to Towse, as leaving chapel 
 they neared the farmhouse, Cowlamb, his wife 
 and daughter and the preacher some score 
 of yards behind them. 
 
 ^ I think that'll be thy share on it, Hosey,' 
 returned Towse, with a dry chuckle. ' Thou 
 s'll hev a bit o' nice fat bacon.' 
 
 ' Xay, now, don't dishearten one. I wish 
 I had been a preacher,' said Hosea, pitying 
 his condition from the bottom of his soul ; ^ I 
 might ha' been made on and gone to eat at 
 houses and been at no cost to my sen.' 
 
 ' Thou'd ha' liked that,' said Towse, can- 
 didly.
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 139 
 
 ' I should that. And married a fine young 
 woman wi' rucks o' money for me to spend I 
 hedn't hed a hand i' addlm'.' 
 
 ' Thou'rt turning softer/ said the garth- 
 man, frankly. 
 
 ' Why he'U hev her, I'll uphold it. Look 
 how the maister makes on him, and the missis 
 almost sweethearts him hersen.' 
 
 ' And how about the wench ? ' interposed 
 Towse ; ^ she doesn't matter him much, it 
 braids o' me.' 
 
 ' Why, how dost thou know, Towse ? ^ 
 
 ' Why ? — Zad. Thou alius ud go thruff 
 the criss-cross row o' questioning. Why, if 
 I was to tell thee all I knowed or guessed at, 
 thy long tongue ud spreed it fra one end o' 
 th' township to the other, and maybe git me 
 into some hobble or other. But I don't know 
 nowt, and, what's more, I don't want to know. 
 Nayther thou nor me's a chanch.' 
 
 Their own dinner was awaiting them, and 
 there was less opportunity for a benign mentor 
 to correct the raw conceptions of an ingenuous
 
 140 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Telemaclius. Domestic topics absorbed Towse 
 — counsels, admonitions, threats. A criticism 
 of the morning's discourse was expected by 
 the wife, which never failed to gain the atten- 
 tion and respect of the lads in the house. 
 Towse was an oracle of common sense in his 
 own domestic circle. He was not devoid of 
 a dry humour, and scarcely ever giving wa}^ 
 to laughter himself, he had the reputation of 
 a quirky fellow. 
 
 Dinner at last was over and the table 
 cleared. Mrs. Towse had removed every- 
 thing. One of the children swept the floor, 
 another was washing up. Xo time was lost, 
 for every Sabbath Mrs. To^vse had her labour 
 of love in getting her children ready for 
 Sunday school. Joel required much atten- 
 tion ; his hair had to be brushed up to a curly 
 ridge after the trying operation of f ace -wash - 
 inof. It was as sunshine after rain when the 
 Sunday coat was held out temptingly for Joel 
 to insert his arms in the sleeves. 
 
 Towse was dozing still, not oblivious, and
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 141 
 
 the two lads regarding Joel with a sleepy 
 good-natured look of mterest on their sleek 
 faces. The room contained yet the aroma of 
 dinner. The investiture of the proud Joel 
 was at last complete. 
 
 ' They tell me he was such an a good boy 
 this morning/ said Mrs. Towse — ' who teached 
 thee, Joel ? ' 
 
 ' Ephraim ! I did as I liked, 'said Joel feeling 
 the advantage it was to have a friend in camp. 
 
 ' I'll uphold it he wodn't say thee nay/ 
 said Mrs. Towse, confidently. ' And,' added 
 she, with mental surprise, ' to think o' Ephraim 
 turning religious and a teacher ! He'll maybe 
 git to be a preacher.' 
 
 ' I can't see,' said Towse with half closed 
 eyes, ' wdiy folks can't be good wi'out giving it 
 out they're religious. A lot o' chaps has to sign 
 a pledge afore they can gie ower gittin' drunk. 
 AYhy, laws-a-me, I could alius make it up in 
 my mind to be teetotal wi'out writing my 
 name and gittin a bit o' tin or card.' 
 
 ' Aye, bud,' said Uvs. Towse, ' they hadn't 
 all like thou, Towse.'
 
 142 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ Some better and some woss,' said he. 
 ' Here's a many on us bound to be bread 
 and butter saints. There was a dele o' 
 Cath'lics about where my faither came fra. 
 He used to call 'em that to hissen, 'cause he 
 could remember their faither s being Prodest- 
 ants till they'd a chanch of a good farm under 
 a Cath'lic landlord, and their baens turned 
 out ranker than the reo:ular sort — bosses and 
 cows hed to be Cath'lic an' all/ added he 
 caustically. 
 
 ' Ye see,' said one of the men, with utter- 
 ance so painfully slow and voice as husky and 
 indistinct, ' they put summuts in the beer. I 
 seen chaps as nobbut had a quart so far gone 
 they couldn't see thruff the rungs of a stee.' 
 Evidently Eli's faculties had only followed 
 Towse as far as the abstinence question. So 
 Towse cried back. 
 
 ' It caps me,' said Towse, ' the many names 
 they hev for a man being drunk, as if saying 
 '' drunk " was as bad as rippmg and swearmg. 
 One says he's tight, and another says he's
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 143 
 
 on thelowse. Same as wlien a man's money's 
 getting low they say he's hard up.' 
 
 ' Now then, Joel,' said Mrs. Towse, briskly, 
 ' show Hosey how tine thou art.' 
 
 Joel eagerly crossed the floor. Hosea, 
 who often teased, was still a great favourite 
 of Joel's. 
 
 ' Bendigo ! ' cried Hosea. 
 
 Joel put out his tiny fists, and these 
 coming in contact with Hosea's unresisting 
 body, Joel came to grief unexpectedly. 
 
 *Hellow,' said Eli a little brisker, ' thou'rt 
 do^TL at thy awn stroke.' 
 
 Hosea bent over and uplifted the prostrate 
 Joel with one powerful hand. 
 
 'Dang it ! I do believe he's brokken a 
 brick ; what a weighty chap it is,' said Hosea, 
 affecting amaze. 
 
 ' Naughty,' said Mrs. Towse reprovingly ; 
 ' no Bendigo o' Sundays for suer.' 
 
 ' Mother,' cried a voice from above, 
 ' Bachel's a hitting me ! ' 
 
 ' Ha done, or I mun bring the strap to ye
 
 144 MEADOAV SWEET. 
 
 both. Come you cloTrn, you bad gells. Xow, 
 Joel is a good boy.' 
 
 Presently two of tlie elder cbildren 
 emerged from the stairs, having dressed 
 themselves, but coming to the mother for a 
 finishino; touch. That oiven, Joel, nothinsc 
 loth, left his friends to accompany them. 
 Mrs. Towse at last had to go upstairs and 
 rout others. Then, when all were despatched, 
 she sat down opposite her husband. 
 
 ' It is a good thing there is Sunday school/ 
 said she, with a sigh of relief. * 
 
 ' There was nowt o' the sort when I was 
 a lad,' said Towse. 
 
 ' Ah, dear, I'd knaw how poor mothers 
 did wi' their torn-down baens,' mused his 
 wife. 
 
 A light step outside Mrs. Towse at once 
 recoo'nised. 
 
 ' It's Iphis,' said she, uplifting a finger. 
 
 ' An' left the preacher ? ' queried Towse, 
 hypocritically. 
 
 ' Heigh,' said Mrs. Towse hurriedly, but
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 145 
 
 with an inflection of impatience at her hus- 
 band's thinly veiled humour, her nose curled 
 in contempt or non- appreciation of preachers. 
 * Hush ! ' admonished she." 
 
 Eli and Hosea had smiles on their fat 
 faces, smiles of mmen- servants, and sat back 
 silently as if attitudes statuesque were the sine 
 qua non of respect and humility before betters. 
 They were all ears, however, when Iphis had 
 entered, and their round eyes never for a 
 moment left her face. 
 
 ^ Begin harvestin' to-morrow then, Iphis ? ' 
 said Mrs. Towse. 
 
 ' Yis,' she returned without interest. 
 
 ' Deead ripe some on it. I wanted to start 
 o' Seturday. It's got fitter this last two 
 days, they been so melch. But tli' maister 
 knows best,' said Towse dutifully, waking up. 
 
 ' Can't ye sit down ? ' asked Mrs. Towse, 
 persuasively. 
 
 ' Heigh, sit down ; it's as cheap sitting as 
 standing,' echoed Towse. 
 
 A look from Mrs. Towse was understood 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 by Eli and Hosea. They rose to their feet, 
 and, taking prodigious strides, left the kitchen. 
 
 ' 'Tisnt wise to let chaps hear iverything,' 
 said Mrs. Towse, affecting mystery ; ^ that's 
 the worst o' not having one's house to one's 
 sen. Bud, poor chaps, they mun ha' shilter.' 
 
 ' A bit o' out- doors weant hurt 'em,' 
 murmured Towse ; ' I'm sure it's better than 
 being cooped up inside. I'm sitting ageanthe 
 fire, but we're letting it go out.' 
 
 ^ Thou's left th' young minister ? ' said 
 Mrs. Towse. 
 
 Iphis moved impatiently in her chair. 
 
 ^ Hes he goan to th' school ? ' 
 
 ' He hedn't when I left. I got away. I 
 thowt he'd want me to go wi' him.' 
 
 ^ Thou doesn't care about being bothered 
 wi' a pack of baens ? ' 
 
 ' I don't care about beino; bothered wi' 
 him. It is my Sunday an' all ; I s'll maybe 
 go down when I think he's nicely on the way. 
 I can git there afore him, by going across th' 
 top o' th' wheat close.'
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 147 
 
 ' Thou hadn't partial to him then ? ' said 
 Mrs. Towse. 
 
 ' I hadn't, I think. I don't know what 
 they want wi' him so much at om' house. I 
 been tired on him along while ; I s'll tell him 
 so soon. They'll ask him to bring his box 
 next.' 
 
 ' What tales they do get up ! ' said Mrs. 
 Towse with a nod of her head implying more. 
 
 ' Who gets 'em up ? I niver would hev 
 
 him, I'd ha' Eli sooner, as is nobbut a 
 
 lad, or soft Hosey. It's all mother ; she's 
 crazed o' preachers and ud give 'em the best 
 i' the house, the best she hed, if she'd to go 
 beofirhis: for the next.' 
 
 ' A fine takin' she's in,' said Mrs. Towse 
 to her husband, as, shading her eyes, the good 
 wife watched the girl's fine figure sweep 
 across the short clover, lier head and shoulders 
 only to be seen as she made her way swiftly 
 down the long corn-field, a golden fringe on 
 either side of her, a stunted hedge hidden 
 from view by taller corn-stalks.
 
 148 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 There was to be a love feast at tlie chapel 
 that afternoon. Iphis was hurrymg on to 
 marshal her class into the square Zion. 
 Towse intended following with his wife. 
 Sunday school commenced at two o'clock, 
 the love feast at three. Iphis passed Hosea 
 and Eli idly sauntering thitherwards, each 
 breaking the stem of a flower into bits as they 
 slowly pursued their way. 
 
 Lookino' behind her when she reached the 
 road, Iphis beheld three figures. She was 
 some distance ahead of them, but she knew 
 them to be her parents and the young 
 preacher, and her temper did not become 
 more equable. Some explanation, perhaps, 
 would be expected of her for taking herself 
 off so unceremoniously. She was in a proper 
 frame of mind to do anything j)erverse, to 
 even ffo as^ainst will or wishes. 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb, looking forward, also 
 recognised her, and to the young man by 
 whose side he was walkins: he said — 
 
 ' Why, yon's our Iphis afore us.'
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 149 
 
 ' She went on to the garthman's/ whmed 
 Mrs. Cowlamb. ' She's strangely taken np 
 wi' 'em ; alius m and out.' 
 
 ' Ah,' commented the farmer to the young 
 man in an undertone, • she's gen thee th' slip. 
 Thou mun look efter her. Thou'll lose her 
 else, like I did the yalla heifer, if ta doesn't be 
 determined.' 
 
 The suitor did not answer him. He felt 
 his difficulty ; he already despaired of winning 
 this wilful girl, of securing himself from the 
 wind's blast and the stomach's needs. He 
 was not to "be pitied ; it was no genuine love 
 prompting him, rather conceit, and the con- 
 viction that it would scarcely be possible for 
 him to marry better. Nevertheless he felt 
 piqued and humbled. Cowlamb had already 
 divined his wife's protege had not the ghost 
 of a chance, and with perversity and malice 
 urged the young man on to greater efforts. 
 
 * Follow 'em up now, then let 'em follow 
 you up.' 
 
 But Cowlamb waxed less aud less urgent ;
 
 150 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 he began to divine that IpMs goaded might 
 make the leap he wished to avert, be deter- 
 mined to hold out for Ephraim Sparrow and 
 none other. 
 
 The children were trooping out of the 
 schoolroom into the chapel as they arrived. 
 Iphis looked flurried and hot, as though she 
 had scarcely recovered from the effects of her 
 hurry. She pretended to be unconscious of 
 her parents' eyes, but gave the young man 
 a quick scornful glance, in which was also 
 repugnance if not hatred, and shot as if she 
 wished him to comprehend as much. The 
 young preacher started with a dim fear. He 
 believed he must have unwittingly wounded 
 the girl. Then he realised the moment after 
 that his suit was ended. He was possessed with 
 some shame ; the girl read his sordid motives, 
 and she had a contempt for his shallowness. 
 Nothing is more humiliating than to have 
 it brought home to one that one's fancied 
 cleverness and superiority is a sham, and that 
 we have furnished food for a grin and mockery. 
 
 iU
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 151 
 
 That look meant that she would have him 
 understand he was never the lover for lier, 
 nor any man who went creepmg up the old 
 folks' sleeves first. It was a horrible after- 
 noon for him. All along he had been buoyed 
 up in spite of doubts. He had recovered 
 himself after the first shock after hearing the 
 story of Pardney Fair. He was naturally a 
 cock-sure person, fancying himself above the 
 ordinary run of mortals, a more stylish per- 
 sonage than the ordinary run of Xoncon- 
 formist ministers. The prize was beyond 
 him, after having, as he had fancied, made 
 everything leading up to it secure. 
 
 His eyes unconsciously travelled up to 
 the singing- loft, for he had not yet occupied 
 the pulpit. A ruddy fellow was sitting there 
 alone, with a grave and serious expression on 
 his face, waiting for others to join him. 
 Eventually Iphis Cowlamb went up tliere 
 too. 
 
 The chapel filled, Hosea and Eli and the 
 Towses came up. Hosea and Eli, with a
 
 152 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 hankering after the square slices of seed-bread 
 — bread flavoured with carraway — Avhich 
 would shortly be handed round on willow- 
 pattern plates, the water, in blue and white 
 pint-mugs, having to partakers a taste some- 
 how different, as if the occasion sanctified it. 
 But every one knew that it was Willowby well 
 water. 
 
 The preacher took his place m the pulpit, 
 and gave out two lines of the hymn : — 
 
 Father, supply my every need ; 
 Sustain the life Thyself hast given. 
 
 He could hear Iphis's voice behmd him 
 distractingly clear. Hosea's mouth and also 
 Eli's watered when he gave the concluding- 
 lines of the verse, the singers stopping in the 
 middle of the tune with abrupt precision : — 
 
 Call for the never-failing bread, 
 
 The manna that comes down from Heaven. 
 
 The preacher did not sing himself, but, 
 holding the hymn-book in his hand, waited 
 attentively. Succeeding two lines were given. 
 He could not resist turnino- to look behind
 
 A LOVE FEAST. lo6 
 
 him, and Ipliis Cowlamb detected liim, al- 
 though from the direction in which her eyes 
 were really straying, he discerned they were 
 resting on the ruddy face of the youth who 
 had been sitting so quietly and patiently in 
 his appointed place when he with Co^iamb 
 and his wife entered the chapel. He withdrew 
 his glance and read : — 
 
 Let me no more iii deep complaint, 
 My leanness, O my leanness, cry. 
 
 With his thoughts it \^'as not comfortable 
 readin«^ out such lines. Even the concludino; 
 ones to liis mind breathed but cold com- 
 fort :— 
 
 But my full soul shall still require 
 A whole eternity of love. 
 
 Perhaps not many people give a high 
 standard to the poesy of the "Wesleys, but it 
 must be admitted that it breathes a pure and 
 true feeling. People's minds go straying 
 even under the best of preachers, and without 
 so much irreverence as one is asked to credit. 
 The minister applied every line where it could
 
 154 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 have an application. Perhaps his mortifica- 
 tion was to be for him a wholesome lesson. 
 Even leaders in religion have their sensibili- 
 ties, their humanity, their errors ; it is only 
 the weak-minded in Establishment or Dissent 
 who look upon their pastor as without spot or 
 blemish. Xo doubt things carnal possess the 
 mind of a preacher when mounted high above 
 his flock expounding things spiritual. The 
 vicar sees a head, and is embittered ; he cannot 
 help thinking of his trumpery tithe. The 
 minister has got into hot water with some 
 cantankerous but influential member of his 
 flock ; he sees the sour face regarding him, 
 and all his fervour seems to him empty and 
 powerless. The young minister was miser- 
 able now, because he felt that the rejected ones 
 in a love suit generally have the laugh against 
 them. He felt that he had been made a fool 
 of, that the time was coming when he would 
 be a subject for mirth. Every one, he believed, 
 had seen him the self-confident lover of Iphis 
 Cowlamb.
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 155 
 
 The minister was at his worst this after- 
 noon. It had been remarked that Mr. Mac- 
 whortle's fire, like Elijah's mantle, seemed to 
 have descended upon his successor. There 
 came the supplication after the hymn, but the 
 minister's heart was not in it. To himself 
 it was a sickening jargon of repetition, to 
 which the aniens and hallelujahs and other 
 antistrophes of the congregation were unencou- 
 raging, because they were more fervent and 
 honest. He felt lukewarm, wounded pride 
 more than wounded love in his heart. 
 
 It was but a short service, consequently 
 soon over. During the closing supplication 
 an elderly man among the singers passed his 
 hymn-book in which he had written with 
 some effort : — ' The singers is ast to stay at 
 the end of the servis.' 
 
 It was only to practise a tune over for the 
 evening. Often the singers stayed behind, 
 regarding the odd half-hour so spent with 
 some pleasure. Every face was grave as if 
 impressed with the importance of the mess-
 
 156 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 age. But as soon as the preacher concluded 
 the service it seemed the signal for disorder. 
 
 The same elderly man who had passed on 
 his hymn-book now held in his hand one of 
 the willow-pattern plates, upon which re- 
 mained a solitary square of bread. Many 
 eyes regarded it. But quick as thought it 
 was snatched by Ephraim Sparrow, and 
 nearly the whole of the crumb bitten out at one 
 bite. A laugh came from Iphis Cowlamb, 
 enjoying the discomfiture of the others. In 
 spite of the elderly man's grave gesture, the 
 disorderliness became general. 
 
 Cowlamb had beheld Ephraim Sparrow 
 up aloft. Had seen Master Ephraim eating 
 his seed-bread with the sanctimoniousness of 
 a long-professmg member. The farmer was 
 convinced in his own mind that this Sparrow 
 was an arrant young hypocrite, as well as a 
 specious and audacious rascal. He would 
 have felt much more comfortable with this 
 blacksmith's lad in the body of the chapel. 
 Who had requested him to become a singer ?
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 157 
 
 What did lie know about siiioinii: ? He 
 would like to find out tlie zany whose offi- 
 ciousness had been so prominent as to ask 
 such a scoundrel to sit up there. 
 
 To Cowlamb everything went contrary. 
 
 He waited for Iphis outside the chapel 
 gates. An old member, surmising the reason 
 why he lingered, acquainted him that the 
 singers were stopping to practise. 
 
 ' I've a good mmd to wait on her,' thought 
 the farmer, and he looked his thoughts to 
 the young minister, adding, warningl3% 
 ' Thou'll ha' to look efter her ? ' 
 
 ' Shall I go back and wait for her ? ' 
 suggested the young man. 
 
 ' Well, if I was thou I should,' said Cow- 
 lamb, raspingly. ' Thou oughtn't to wait o' 
 me telling thee what thou should'st do, Lord 
 bless my soul ! ' 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb did not consider his 
 ejaculation infra dig, for a Christian. He 
 would have argued otherwise. 
 
 The young man went back, clonib the
 
 158 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 narrow staircase. As his head emerged he 
 beheld a curious sight — Miss Cowlamb most 
 undignifiedly struggling with the ruddy-faced 
 fellow for the possession of a crust of bread 
 he was endeavouring to bite, Miss Cowlamb 
 endeavouring to prevent him, all the others 
 laughing. He tried to laugh, but it was not 
 a laugh — his smile even was a sickly one. 
 But they all began to say in meek propitia- 
 tion — 
 
 ' It's Mister Systrick ! ' 
 
 ' You are having a little fun,' commented 
 he, endeavouring to be smooth. He could 
 tell the way their thoughts went — that he 
 was a third wheel to the cart, that he would 
 have been much better away, thus coming 
 to repress all mirth. He met all their faces 
 with an effort, but Iphis Cowlamb's was the 
 worst to meet of them all ; in the bloom 
 suddenly raised there was vexation, defiance, 
 contempt. She still stood by Ephraim, his 
 wrist unrelinquished. And the ruddy-faced 
 fellow was as imperturbable as a statue, his
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 159 
 
 face, though, evidently plastic to the mirth 
 or gravity of Iphis Cowlamb's mood. 
 
 They all made way with some respect for 
 the minister when they saw it was his inten- 
 tion to speak to Iphis. The elderly man at 
 the first blush was framing an excuse for 
 them all, scoring to youth the defection from 
 continence. 
 
 ^ Mr. Cowlamb asked me if I would stay 
 to accompany you home ' — Mr. Cowlamb had 
 really not gone so far as to ask him that — 
 ' will it be agreeable to you ? ' 
 
 ' Xo ! ' returned Iphis, bluntly. ' I can 
 find my road home by mysen, thank you. I 
 have done oifens.' 
 
 Then she turned her back upon him, as 
 if she sought approval from the ruddy face 
 she now hid from him. She still held the 
 fellow's wrist. 
 
 The young minister whispered with some 
 entreaty — 
 
 ' Your father desired me Miss Cow- 
 lamb '
 
 160 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Did lie ? ' muttered she sarcastically. 
 ' Oh, you needn't wait, Mr. Systrick ; you 
 can go.' Then she changed her voice, and in 
 an undertone of sulky recklessness she whis- 
 pered, ' And you'll go tell him. Well, you 
 may. I don't care what you tell him — there.' 
 
 She looked to Ephraim as if looking some- 
 where for an ally ; but Ephraim' s face was 
 opaque. Only in the eyes shone a twinkle. 
 She found it there after a little delay, and 
 something of the sympathy she sought. A 
 word from her and Ephraim' s religion would 
 have gone to the winds ; the pertinent young 
 minister, long and likely as he was, a mark 
 for Ephr aim's prowess. 
 
 But no thought of such violence entered 
 Iphis's mind. She only T\dshed her favoured 
 suitor to declare with his eyes he was with 
 her through thick and thin. 
 
 ' Oh, no ; I shouldn't think of such a 
 thing,* said the young preacher, crestfallen, 
 but with pride. ' I must catch up Mr. Cow- 
 lamb, I suppose.'
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 161 
 
 * Tliey needn't wait o' me, tell 'em — tea, I 
 mean.' 
 
 Epliraim who heard her, and one or two 
 others, were reminded in her voice and temper 
 insensibly of the farmer. She brooked no 
 temporising. Even Ephraim felt a little 
 startled. The young minister needed no 
 other dismissal. 
 
 Once out on the road, he hurried along 
 swiftly to overtake the farmer and his wife. 
 Cowlamb saw him coming, and he stopped in 
 his slow walk and waited for him. Mr. Sys- 
 trick quickened his pace almost into a run. 
 
 ^ Now, then ? ' interrogated the farmer, 
 eyeing him critically. The young man had 
 a jaunty carriage, holding his head high, to 
 Cowlamb his manner suggestive of a small 
 wit. Indeed, the preacher felt there was 
 more conceit in his gait than there ought to 
 be under the circumstances. ' Now, then,' 
 repeated Cowlamb, spitefully, ' weant she lia' 
 thee? ' 
 
 ' She will come alono; alone' 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 'And she didn't thank thee for offering 
 thysen? ' twitted Cowlamb. ' And thou took 
 her at her word. Lord ! when thou's lived as 
 long as me thou'll larn better nor that. If 
 she'd said '' Go " to me, iver so radgy, I 
 should ha' stopped as solid as a judge.' 
 
 ' But you are her father.' 
 
 ' Heigh, but if I was thou, I mean,' said 
 Cowlamb, impatiently ; ' thou comes to me 
 and tells me thou wants her, and then thou 
 can't look efter her. Everybody's seen what's 
 been going on ; thou's making a fool o' me, 
 and that I can't abear.' 
 
 And Cowlamb affected force and indig- 
 nation. He was vexed with Iphis, and he 
 vented his ire on her rejected swain. 
 
 But the young man had a faint suspicion 
 that Cowlamb had been using him, was now 
 laughing at him, though full of displeasure. 
 Cowlamb plodded on silently, a pace or two 
 in advance of his wife, and the minister was 
 fain to walk on undignifiedly behind, neither 
 in a line with Mrs. Cowlamb nor well behind
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 163 
 
 her. He felt like a whipped boy, his influence 
 with her waning, for she was much less 
 gracious. He began to wish he had never 
 returned to the familiar town and so kept clear 
 of this ill-starred village. Xo man was ever 
 a prophet in his own country. He had fancied 
 the hearty welcome he would receive in the 
 town where he was bred, had counted upon 
 the social courtesy he would receive — the dis- 
 tinction which comes to a man who has done 
 credit to the spot which should be dear as 
 famihar to him. The crafty farmer, unchris- 
 tianlike, had a little satisfaction in the thought 
 that he was having a little revenge. The 
 preacher must feel himself a little humiliated. 
 Still Cowlamb was mortified ; lie had meant 
 to use this dandified preacher as a foil to 
 Ephraim Sparrow, but the ' poor creature ' 
 had not enough in him. Cowlamb was not a 
 little content that this young man was not 
 her fancy. He felt that if there had been a 
 sign of the preacher's suit growing into any- 
 thing he would soon have been up in arms. 
 
 ii 2
 
 164 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Eeaching the farmliouse, Cowlamb went 
 upstairs, leaving the minister to himself. 
 There Cowlamb waited patiently, his glass at 
 his eye, or close at his elbow upon the chest 
 of drawers. The young man below, as un- 
 comfortable as he well could be, eaten up with 
 his own thoughts and his discomfiture. He 
 had not even Mrs. Cowlamb to talk to, and, 
 even if he had had her company, he felt that 
 the newsiness he had learned from older men 
 of his cloth, of class, of district meetmgs, the 
 cause, and other topics, would have fallen flat. 
 Mrs. Cowlamb was in no amiable mood, 
 although her face was smooth as her manner 
 to him was polite. She was not so unjust as to 
 hold the young man responsible for Iphis's wil- 
 fulness, or for the servant-girl, a laggard, listen- 
 ino' to the soft nothino^s of her swain, imorino; 
 the after-clap ; but it was trying to the best 
 of tempers having to get tea ready single- 
 handed. She came in and out the room with 
 the tablecloth and her tea-service. On no 
 account would she have suffered a blundering
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 1G5 
 
 lass to touch her sacred china or her glass- 
 ware — even Iphis with some fear and tremb- 
 ling ; but she had had to make the fire up, 
 which was low. All these little things affected 
 her, and her manner to the preacher was icy 
 or distraught. Once she had to set her sugar 
 bowl down hurriedly and hasten back into the 
 kitchen, the kettle boiling over, to the pro- 
 spective sullying of her polished grate and 
 fire-irons and spotless hearthstone. The 
 minister worried her too with putting in his 
 sentences edgeways, as if he felt himself bound 
 to say something. But it was the way of 
 inconsiderate young men. Why couldn't he 
 sit quiet and take up the ' Kecorder ? ' — What 
 was Cowlamb doing uj^stairs ? But she had no 
 time to go and see, only to shout at the stairs 
 foot, ^ Maister ! Maister ! you might come down 
 and sit with Mester Systrick.' ' Heigh ! 
 heigh ! heigh ! ' replied her husband care- 
 lessly. 
 
 The preacher realised that his reign was 
 over, and that henceforth he would be received
 
 166 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 only on sufferance. Cowlamb judged tliat he 
 had sometliino' else to do but sit T^ith Mr. 
 
 o 
 
 Systrick. The preacher was scarcely worth 
 his salt now in Farmer Cowlamb's estimation. 
 Hospitality henceforward was to be a most 
 ceremonious affair for this poor travelling 
 preacher. 
 
 The farmer was looking over his fields, 
 over the waving vrheat, the nodding barley, 
 the tremulous oats, green and heavy and rank 
 yet, unto the winding road. Xow and again 
 he raised his glass and took a wide range. 
 A few pedestrians were walking along labo- 
 riously, elderly and zealous brethren from the 
 town so near the extremity of the village. 
 They had been delayed interchanging cour- 
 tesies, or sitting for a few minutes in a brother's 
 or sister's house, engrossed with the cause 
 and their own growth in grace. Some were 
 honest, some specious. But no Iphis as yet. 
 He would know her among a thousand, the 
 fine lithe fio-ure of which he had Ions; been so 
 proud, tlie firmly poised head on the even
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 167 
 
 shoulders. Her springy walk he believed had 
 scarcely its equal, in repose there was in her 
 carriage a suggestion of unconscious grace 
 and reserved force. 
 
 Taking the glass from his eye he waited a 
 minute or two. 
 
 ' Mester ! ' shouted Mrs. Cowlamb, ' are we 
 to make a start or wait on her ? I've mashed 
 the tea.' 
 
 ' Wait ! ' shouted Cowlamb back again, 
 wrothly laconic. 
 
 He swept the road. Yes, there she was 
 coming along decorously enough — some one 
 with her. Ah, sure, it was that confounded 
 lad again ! But they came along soberly 
 enough. He felt exasperated to find that she 
 was taller than her companion. 
 
 ' Who'd ha' thowt she'd taken up wi' such 
 a sturtened creatur,' muttered he, his mind 
 returning to the preacher below, who was tall 
 and well built, if he had a pasty, sallow face. 
 How she turned her head to her comj)anion ; 
 she was much too liberal of her favours, Cow-
 
 168 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 lamb thought, where she would bestow them. 
 The pair reached the lane end ; they seemed 
 as if they were about to part. What was the 
 soft lass's megrim ? She stretched out both 
 her arms and touched him with her finger 
 tips, as if pushing him away banteringiy. It 
 was will-he- nill-he work, the farmer thought, 
 with a sardonic grin. It was she, he thought 
 with some indignation, who was doing all the 
 courting. 
 
 ^ I'll sweetheart her,' muttered the farmer, 
 without any definite idea of how he would 
 carry out his threat, for threat it was. 
 
 Cowlamb's eye never left them. The lad 
 evidently was gaining courage, he caught the 
 fingers in his hard hands, held them fast, she 
 struggling to fi-ee them. He as suddenly 
 relinquished them, had his arms around 
 her. Cowlamb gasped with rage and ex- 
 citement. She turned her face away, but the 
 lad was not to be baulked or turned aside. 
 It was a rough scramble, but he at last was 
 successful in accomplishing his object. He
 
 A LOVE FEAST. 169 
 
 had kissed her, and she was as suddenly let 
 
 Cowlamb's exasperation was boundless. 
 The hussy, well might she hang her head ! 
 Then, it could only have been fancy, only a 
 north-east breeze was blowing, and his window 
 was partially oj)en, but he fancied he could 
 hear her laughter. Xo, there was not a jot of 
 evidence to show that she had resented this 
 freedom. They did not separate. Up the 
 lane they came, he with his arm around her 
 waist, her head near upon his ; it could not 
 rest very well on his shoulder, for she was 
 fully as high as he. 
 
 The farmer would have liked to complete 
 the discomfiture of the swain below, but his 
 pride went against such an exhibition of his 
 daughter's disgraceful conduct. Iphis should 
 laugh and dance to a tune of his piping, not 
 to a wild extravaganza of her own, or he 
 would bury her alive somewhere — at Sam's. 
 There, at Snailhorn, she would be well out of 
 the way.
 
 170 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 He would talk to lier ; it was of no use 
 letting this thing go on any longer. If only 
 the miserable cnr below was out of the house, 
 she would have his meaning at once. Only if 
 he went out to meet her and stormed at her, 
 she would make it too apparent when she 
 came in that there had been ^fracas between 
 them, and he did not wish things to look at 
 their worst before their guest. But he would 
 stop at home from chapel and have Iphis to 
 himself, if only for an hour. It had gone far 
 enough. He would go to the blacksmith and 
 threaten him with the loss of his work if he 
 did not talk to and discourage his apprentice, 
 and show him his unparalleled effrontery. 
 And if Ephraim still continued stiff the black- 
 smith must be as peremptory : give him a 
 hard time of it, so that the lad should take 
 himself off gladly. If he once ran away, 
 Cowlamb thought, he would never dare show 
 his face in Willowby again. If every other 
 action failed, then Ipliis must be packed off 
 to her brother^s.
 
 A LOVE TEAST. 171 
 
 Poor Ipliis ! she came in singing, joyous as 
 a lark, proud and conscious of her Sunday 
 bravery. But her song ceased when she saw 
 her father's soured visa^-e and his condemning* 
 eyes. He went into the room without a 
 word to her. She, as soon as she had 
 divested herself of hat and jacket, which she 
 laid neatly on a table in the kitchen, followed 
 him rebelliously, although scarcely realising 
 why she should be out-of-the-way rebellious. 
 It was not a crime refusin2: to allow Mr. 
 Systrick to wait for her. Pier father, if he 
 was cross, must get pleased again. She was 
 not going to show anything but scant favour 
 to the man who she surmised was now in the 
 house. Iphis carried her head jauntily. Her 
 stern old father had never crossed her in his 
 life but he had come to, and always with 
 some sign or token of fondness. He would 
 come to in this. Maybe he had seen Ephraim 
 leave her at the gate. She wasn't going to 
 marry Ephraim straight off. She thought he 
 would court her until he was loose, then her
 
 172 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 father would give in when he saw there was 
 no help for it. Only a few weeks had elapsed 
 since her first rencontre with Ephraim, al- 
 though she had regarded him with interest 
 previously ; but she realised how rapidly love 
 assimilates, conquers, and overthrows ; what 
 a persistent foe it is to fight ; what an un- 
 diplomatic factor it is in human destinies.
 
 173 
 
 CHAPTER 8. 
 
 HARVEST. 
 
 God smiles upon ns in the bountiful harv^est. 
 A tropical sun, a prodigal cornucopia. No 
 other month of the year so profuse, so rich in 
 its gifts. At one time an intensely bright 
 moon shone upon high-piled wains, patient 
 horses, labouring husbandmen. But now the 
 work is done so quickly, the seed sown so 
 much earlier, the true harvest moon comes 
 in too late. Better drainage has forwarded 
 the ripening, improved the soil, and made it 
 less cold and backward. 
 
 Into the towns of this fine farmincr 
 county came bodies of immigrants, upon 
 their shoulders scythes' and gathering rakes, 
 their countenances eacrer and earnest, tlieir
 
 174 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 gestures and their tongue uncouth and bar- 
 barous to those native to the soil. A full 
 measure of contempt and dislike these poor 
 foreign toilers had to contend with. To the 
 English labourer the ways of the Irish, their 
 cooking, the way they slept — in sacks in the 
 farmer's barn, or in a stable — their religion 
 and their observances were repulsive, out- 
 landish, and hoggish. 
 
 ' Talkin' such muck ! ' the English labourer 
 growled, hearing them converse together. To 
 him it was irritating. What might they not 
 be saying about him? 
 
 The Enghsh labourers worked aloof The 
 farmer himself counted the immigrants slip- 
 pery. Perhaps they were, and only to be 
 dealt with at piece-work. But they toiled 
 hard on scanty or coarse fare, walked mile 
 upon mile sweeping the plains, then ascended 
 the wolds where corn was later ripening. 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb had his complement of 
 Irish here as at Snailhorn. They would 
 come, the same Irish, for a couple of years or
 
 HARVEST. 175 
 
 longer, then they would be forestalled by 
 another party, the consequent dispute to be 
 settled with fightmg, the aggrieved party 
 departing with deep curses and maledictions 
 on their lips, sending malevolent glances 
 behind them. The English labourers beheld 
 these skirmishes with some satisfaction; it 
 was all one to them which side got the worst, 
 they would have been equally stolid had both 
 factions been annihilated. 
 
 Sometimes a pitiful farm maid-servant or 
 labourer's wife would cook them their bacon 
 after some Paddy, glib and better-looking 
 than his fellows, had appealed to woman's 
 tender nature. This and bread was their 
 staple food ; one or two days a week they 
 had a feast of vegetables. Sometimes after 
 the day's work was over a parley would be 
 held between the two nationalities — a no- 
 man's land between them — the Irish feeling 
 themselves on sufferance, uttering vociferous 
 blarney, accepting humbly the Englishmen's 
 implied superiority, their dull wit and sar-
 
 176 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 casm. They were savages for whom there 
 was only one or two months' use in the year. 
 Sometimes an Irishman ingratiated himself on 
 a farm and stayed behind, becoming a factotum 
 in the crewyard and about the stables, cut- 
 ting straw for the horses, getting in hay and 
 other fodder, crushing corn, doing work an 
 English labourer would consider of no par- 
 ticular quality. Tim or Michael would be 
 the butt of those native born, but the Irish- 
 man would hold his own. His tongue would 
 curry favour, he would accept his position 
 with great good humour, telling stories of 
 the ways of * ould Ireland ' with much naive 
 drollery. In time he would begin to be con- 
 sidered not only an useful adjunct on the 
 farm, but a jester who was invaluable for 
 keeping all other workers cheerful. 
 
 From Moortown Cowlamb's few Irishmen 
 came up on the Sunday night, received their 
 sacks, and took to their quarters, and the first 
 ' wottle ' day of the week, though so early the 
 sun had not risen, every man was setting out,
 
 HARVEST. 177 
 
 eager to commence the most important func- 
 tion of tlie year — ' har'est.' 
 
 They gathered in small knots before 
 getting out of the old seeds close, waiting 
 for the farmer. Every available man was 
 there. The garthman left his sheep and the 
 cows, the steers had long been sent to Cow- 
 lamb's marsh-feeding land twenty miles away. 
 Towse's eldest boy remained in charge of the 
 farm buildings, ^^ith Iphis in authority over 
 him, garthman to give odd minutes when he 
 could, and start the boy fair, so that all 
 should go well. Hosea and Eli yoked a pair of 
 horses to the reaper, and an extra man or two 
 came out of the village. Mowing round for the 
 reaper — that innovation which has carried the 
 day and brought hand-labour to a minimum 
 — was let to the Irish. Soon the jar of the 
 machine was heard, and men, women, and 
 children were busily occupied following it, 
 the women rakino^ or o:atherin<T, the children 
 making bands, the men gathering and tying. 
 Towse's wife was the only helpmeet who did 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 not go with lier husband ; she had enough to 
 do at home. 
 
 By an ordmary breakfast hour some por- 
 tion of the great field was cut, and sheaves 
 lay irregularly in the wake of the reaper. 
 Perhaps an odd stook would be raised, but 
 under its arch a scarlet-hooded infant lay 
 ensconced on a shawl or petticoat, with a 
 luncheon basket and a stone jug to keep it 
 company. At intervals the mother would 
 seek the stook, fondly call to the infant, and 
 the infant Avould crow to her or cry out jDlain- 
 tively for the breast. But the exigencies of 
 the day forbade her lingering. After hurried 
 caresses the toiling' mother had to lay down 
 her babe again, and follow wearily until the 
 setting of the sun and after. 
 
 In the middle of the morn each man 
 straightened himself and gathered breath, and 
 sought the basket and the jug. jSTow, there 
 was a moment or two for gossip. The Irish- 
 men were mowino; out a corner where the 
 wheat was ' laid.' The men turned, survey-
 
 HARVEST. 179 
 
 ing with an ill eye tlie Irish, who gave them- 
 selves no rest. These people, uncanny in 
 their language, had uncanny ways, seeking to 
 curry favour with so much zeal. 
 
 A labourer from the village wiped the 
 sweat off his brow. 
 
 'We s'll ha' to work a bit harder, my 
 lads, shop things is dearer, so my missis here 
 says. Time o' th' year one doesn't want to 
 hev a light to go to bed wi', thank the 
 A'mighty, still one doesn't like to be weout 
 a bit o' can'le i' th' house when one hes a 
 houseful o' baens, owt happenin' i' th' dark. 
 An' they're dearer. They said at the shop 
 tallow was up.' 
 
 'They's goin' to be war — I'll u2:>hold it,' 
 said a woman. ' When I was a baen, iv'ry- 
 thing got that dear, there was a war on some- 
 where, and for six weeks we'd nowt greasy i' 
 th' house barrin' a tallow can'le, and that we 
 couldn't fessen on nohow thoff wer minds 
 were good enow.' 
 
 ' Heigh, I remember that time. Caroline.
 
 180 IVIEADOW SWEET. 
 
 I remember seein' my faither wi' liis crust o' 
 rye bread. He was soughin', be nobbut got 
 a day or two in a week — i' back end it was. 
 He said he niver hed bed to live o' dry bread, 
 and be never would, so be s walled it about i' 
 til' ditch watter.' 
 
 ^ 'Tis all true for sartin.' 
 
 ^ Them was bad times.' 
 
 ' I think when things a poor man eats gits 
 up, corn and shop things, it's sartin the head 
 men's fallen out.' 
 
 ' Well,' put in Towse soothmgly, ' one can 
 do wi'out can'les this time o' year.' 
 
 ' Why,' said Hosea, in simple amaze- 
 ment, ' are they goin' to feight by can'le- 
 light ? ' 
 
 ' Law, I'd knaw, like as not. They can't 
 kill anew by daylight, and maybe days is 
 short there. They do say when they're long 
 here they're short somewhere and t'one'r way 
 on. 'Here's nobbut so much light for the 
 whole world, and it hes to be shared out. I' 
 summer we gittin' more than wer share, so i'
 
 HARVEST. 181 
 
 winter we lies to do wi' less. Ya can't burn 
 a can'le at both ends.' 
 
 As tlie wiseacre of the neighbourhood, 
 there was no one bold enough to contradict 
 him. Caroline, as if immersed in thought, 
 said gravely — 
 
 ' We s'll ha' to mind and make both ends 
 meet.' 
 
 But Caroline was the last person in the 
 world to rise up as oracle. She did not gain 
 wdsdom by bitter experience. Herself and 
 liege lord were notoriously improvident, liv- 
 ing royally the fore end of the week ; on 
 short commons the remaming days. Treacle 
 and bread is not invioforatino; food for out- 
 door work, toiling hard ; but she and her 
 brood had the good sustenance of opening 
 days to think of. To the thriftier ones Caro- 
 line's conduct was a puzzle. It is a delicate 
 subject speaking to any one for their good, but 
 if a word was said to her she treated it with 
 perfect good humour, cavalierly acknowledg- 
 ing that she was one of the incorrigible sort.
 
 182 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Moreover, Caroline could detect her own 
 faults without outside assistance, but the 
 mischief was, she never commenced her own 
 reformation. 
 
 *Now, if 'twas feightin' by fists,' said the 
 wiseacre from Willowby, ' I think we should 
 maister all comers. We've had some good 
 feighters hereabout, l)ut they gotten out o' 
 practice, 'tisn't so much o' th' go as it used to 
 be. If a fellow starts feightin' he's " drunk 
 and disorderly," and he's soon walked away 
 and locked up. Thou wodn't know owd 
 Adam Baxter, Towse. '' I can feight, I'm a 
 relation o' Aireyman's," he used to swagger 
 when he was hafe drunk, and he hed as 
 pritty a little lass as iver a man's mouth 
 wattered after, and smart and nimble, and 
 they used to call her " Aireyman's pritty little 
 lass." ' 
 
 ' Owd Bess Constable,' said Caroline, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 ' Maybe she is nowt to look at now,' said 
 the male gossip, warmly ; ' bud if I'd nobbut
 
 IIAKVEST. 183 
 
 lia' clapt love to lier ear, I shouldn't lia' Led 
 any occasion to go nioilin' to tlie end o' my 
 days. She saved a thousand pounds out o' 
 dress-makmg and shopkeeping. She'd saved 
 a hundred o-olden sovereio:ns afore she left 
 home, 'cause her faither found her i' clothes 
 and vittles ; and she used to keep her money 
 i' little heaps in her box bottom — and it's the 
 Bible truth, lier brother teld me with his own 
 lips, that once when he was hard up, he took 
 a pound oft' every heap, and she never fon 
 him out.' 
 
 ' And what good did all her money do 
 her ? ' inquired Caroline, liotly. ' They 
 reckon she niver let her man hev a new suit 
 o' clothes fra the day he married her to the 
 day he deed. She killed him wi' hard work 
 an' empty belly. What good did all her 
 money do her, I want to know ? ' 
 
 ' Kep her off th' parish, (Jaroline,' said 
 her antagonist with keen emphasis. 
 
 ' Well, I been on the parish, and I s'U go 
 on again,' said Caroline, recklessly. ' And if
 
 184 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 there's goin' to be a war, we sll be on the 
 parish maybe sooner.' 
 
 ' They hadn't goin' to feight,' said Towse, 
 to quiet the storm. ' My missis hes a nephy 
 — that's Ephraim's brother — and he's some 
 sort of a soldier ; but he's on a ship on watter. 
 And he's comin' ower here to our house : he's 
 no sort of a home.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said the man of the village, ' he'll be 
 suer to know whether it's to be peace and 
 plenty or war and shorts. Ha' they let him 
 come home afore he goes, thmks ta ? They 
 hev such deep ways, them head men ! ' 
 
 * Nay, how should I knaw ? ' answered 
 Towse, somewhat less confident of peace. 
 
 ' It's that owd Xapollyon agean stirrin' 
 up the owd bother,' said Caroline with some 
 decision ; ^ my faither used to talk about him. 
 He took a lot o' leatherin', but they bet him 
 out at last. They was continually 'listin' then. 
 He's at it agean, and must be near a hundred, 
 I'se think. Maybe it's a son ; feightin' runs 
 i' the blood. All the Baxters were feighters ;
 
 HARVEST. 185 
 
 all the Aireymans was an' all they tell me, 
 and was much thowt on. One got to live like 
 a gentleman, just to show great folks how to 
 feight and ha' pitch battles. And all the 
 Baxters about here ud rather drink and feight 
 than go to work.' 
 
 ' Xapollyon,' said Caroline's arraigner, with 
 Bunyan perhaps in his head ; ^ yis, I've heerd 
 tell on him. 'Tis all in the Bible, isn't it ? ' 
 
 ^ No-a,' said Towse, ' there's nowt about 
 him there, I'm thinking.' 
 
 'Bud I'm telling thee,' emphasised the 
 man of the village stubbornly, ' 'tis i' the New 
 Testyment ony road.' 
 
 ' Nay,' said Towse, ' I niver seed it ; man 
 and boy for forty year I've read odd chapters 
 to pass time, I mun ha' gone thrufF it all it 
 braids o' me.' 
 
 ' Thou might ha' missed that.' 
 
 Towse shook his head incredulously, but 
 with some quaver in his mind that he might 
 have missed a portion. 
 
 * There's summuts else tied to the Bible
 
 186 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 then isn't there ? ' questioned the man of the 
 village in desperation. 
 
 ' There used to be, but they've left it out 
 now they tell me. Ask Iphis. They'd some 
 reason for it, I'se think, but it's not for us 
 know-nowts to tell whv. It's the G^reat 
 scholards that's done it.' 
 
 Towse's admission was some comfort to 
 the man of acquired reputation. 
 
 ' Dost ee remember owt about ifc ? ' 
 
 ' It's in owd Bibles,' said Towse. ^ Our 
 owd woman yonder at Burnby hes one that 
 lies it in wi' the Prayer Book, and King 
 Charles, wi' th' tents o' Israel and a lot o' such. 
 A dele more in it then as we uses nowadays. 
 A man could believe a lot more i' them 
 days.' 
 
 ' It was a comfort,' said a woman, 'to think 
 i' them days how full o' religion one could be. 
 Nowadays 'tis such a bit as one hes to believe , 
 there's plenty o' room for other things to git 
 into one's heead besides goodness. One hedn't 
 room afore.'
 
 HARVEST. 187 
 
 ' I'm afread there'll be a many more lost 
 than time years back,' came from a despondent 
 voice, wife of the wiseacre. 
 
 ' Hed they a name for what they left out ? ' 
 asked her husband of Towse, returning to the 
 point which interested him. 
 
 * I niver could tongue it. I didn't read it 
 much ; if 1 did I've forgotten.' 
 
 ' I'll uphold it there VI be all about NapoU- 
 yon there, an' that Ingiand ud be lost an' 
 won i' one day, and not an Ingiishman left to 
 say how it was all properly done^' 
 
 ' I've heerd o' all that afore,' said Towse, 
 agreeing, ' bud I didn't knaw there was owt 
 about it in the Bible, nabour. We mun 
 ast Iphis, she knaws the far end o' sich 
 things.' 
 
 ' Bud nowadays they tell me they nobbut 
 let common folks larn out o' Bibles ; there's 
 grander books for folks to larn out on that can 
 afford to pay.' 
 
 ' Things ha' altered i' thy an' my bit o' 
 time,' said Towse.
 
 188 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' They liev for sartain. Ill uphold it 
 Cowlamb would hev her larn the very best 
 money could pay for, Johnny Wesley as 
 he is/ 
 
 ' An' a creatur an' all,' said a discontented 
 soul, ^ peepin' back o' hedges an' comin' on 
 one unbeknown, to see if a poor labourin' man 
 addles his money.' 
 
 ^ Oh, bless ye,' said Towse, ' he's not all 
 bad ; he's good i' his way, bud he's such an a 
 man for his penn'orth.' 
 
 ' A way that bein' browt up i' the Church 
 respectfully doesn't larn,' said the discontented 
 one, aggrievedly. ' I niver heerd tell on an 
 out-and-out Churchman hevin' sich mucky 
 ways.' 
 
 ' True for ye, Seth,' agreed his companion 
 from the village ; * thou'rt not a man to talk, 
 but thou'rt a devil to think.' 
 
 This was all rank heresy to Hosea and Eli, 
 who stood with open mouths. They perhaps 
 had come under Cowlamb's scathing and 
 energetic criticism at times ; but, confined at
 
 HARVEST. 189 
 
 Towse's, their life seemed to them to be pretty 
 smooth and pleasant. 
 
 ' We comfortable,' said Hosea. 
 
 * Heigh — bud if ya lived i' th' house ya'd 
 be under his thumb a dele more.' 
 
 ' The men was i' th' house at Snailhorn,' 
 said Towse, ' an' they alius stopped till May- 
 day, if they nobbut sattled at the first. Ya 
 should ha' se^n the rhubarb puddings the 
 missis used to make for 'em. I say — we mun 
 be at it agean ; yonder she is.' 
 
 It was Iphis entering the corn-field. ^York 
 was renewed with fresh vigour. It was re- 
 prehensible to be discovered leaning on their 
 tools gossiping at such a time. They had 
 scarcely assurance to meet her eyes. 
 
 * Have you seen father ? ' cried Iphis, before 
 she reached them. 
 
 ' Xot sin' he was i' th' swath close,' replied 
 Towse. 
 
 Great anxiety seemed to them to cloud 
 her face. But they could not interpret the 
 expression. Something urgent in tlie afiairs
 
 190 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 of the farm called for her father's immediate 
 attention, she was in search of him. She re- 
 traced her steps. 
 
 ' She seems in a peck o' troubles/ said the 
 man from the village. 
 
 ^Why, Towse/ whispered Caroline, 
 * Ephraim walks her out.' 
 
 ' What ? ' cried Towse in amaze. 
 
 ' Why didn't thou know ? — Ephraim 
 turned religious and school teacher, an' courts 
 Miss Iphis ? Why, Farmer Cowlamb and 
 Peter shook hands wi' him that Sunday.' 
 
 * Oh law,' groaned Towse, ' I hope the fieal 
 weant mi us into no hobble.' 
 
 A suspicion of Iphis' s cause for agitation 
 now passed through Towse's mind. Her im- 
 prudence had come to her fj^ther's ears. 
 
 ' Why, laws-a-me, Cowlamb's nowt to brag 
 about. When he began he was no better 
 fellow than poor owd Ephraim.' 
 
 ' Heigh ! heigh ! ' groaned Towse, with 
 dull abstraction, drawing with his rake a shock 
 of corn to his boot. He tied up his sheaf and
 
 HARVEST. 191 
 
 turned to look behind liim. * What can the 
 wench be thinkmg about ? ' he muttered ; 
 ^ there's such lies gets about, Caroline/ said he 
 bravely. 
 
 'LiesI ' retorted she, 'it's Bible trutli. I 
 seed 'em thegither mysen.' 
 
 • Oh, well,' returned Towse, resignedly, 
 • he'll soon put a stopper to that.'
 
 192 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 CHAPTER 9. 
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb had made the attempt. 
 He had had his say. He did not stay away 
 from chapel the Sunday evening, and keep 
 Iphis indoors, as he at first thought that he 
 would. The most honest person in the world 
 has to think of appearances. At the last 
 moment the farmer considered that his absence 
 would be noted. He had never missed service 
 since he had come to Willowby. He had 
 never been away from home on a Sunday. 
 When he was at Snailhorn he went once a 
 day to church to keep neighbourly with the 
 parson ; and for another thing, only one Dis- 
 senting service a day was held there. Here 
 at Willowby the rector was an absentee ; it
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 193 
 
 was certain lie could not be in three places at 
 once, and he was a man who had no desire to 
 be. Cowlamb was stern upon j^luralists, upon 
 all people who received money they did not 
 earn. Out of his five hundred a year for 
 Willowby the rector paid his curate one 
 hundred and fifty to preach to empty benches ; 
 for somehow Cowlamb and Willowby had a 
 desperate opinion of the poor curate. It was 
 neither more nor less than pure j)rejudice. 
 
 Cowlamb went to chapel, deferring the 
 hour of remonstrance, of an understandinof. 
 He did not invite the minister to return home 
 with him ; he had had enough of that in- 
 capable young man. As if fearful of being- 
 saddled with him, Cowlamb walked curtlv 
 out of chapel as soon as service was over, 
 never looking behind him. His wife followed 
 him with an undefined remonstrance asfainst 
 herself, against her husband, for being out of 
 chapel first people almost, for not staying to 
 walk with the minister, for not staying to 
 parley with him. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' If the young man wasn't to be made on 
 any more,' reasoned she, ' we ought to cool 
 down by degrees.' 
 
 There was nothmg of that kind about her 
 ungracious husband. Pie never paused to 
 soften his sentence. The young man saw only 
 too palpably that his reign was over. The 
 farmer had horribly neglected him that after- 
 noon, had scowled at every one and no one in 
 particular at the tea-table, and had been 
 grumpy all the way to chapel. 
 
 Again Iphis lingered behind, and the 
 preacher saw that the ruddy-faced, reckless- 
 looking young fellow was close at her elbow. 
 The preacher felt himself a bad second in the 
 race, that the prize had slipped away from 
 him. He walked along in the direction the 
 farmer had taken ; he could see Cowlamb and 
 his wife some distance before him, but he did 
 not attempt to overtake them, feeling crest- 
 fallen. Every now and then he could not 
 refrain from turning to look behind him. It 
 was opening the wound. But soon, measured
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 195 
 
 and slow as was liis pace, the girl and lier 
 favoured lover fell back until he could scarcely 
 discern them. Thev came alono' at a snail's 
 pace, as if haste or briskness were not in the 
 category of their virtues. The poor preacher 
 felt himself now for ever severed from par- 
 ticipation in the history of this rebellious 
 daughter. 
 
 All Ephraim's shyness had gone. He 
 had no hesitation now. When out of the 
 village and out of sight of the inordinately 
 curious or critical, he linked his arm within 
 hers. It was the picture of ' a lover ^nd his 
 lass,' as they walked along the white road, 
 edged with sufficient yellow stars of dande- 
 lions and tufts of ladies' fingers to satisfy any 
 aesthetic pre-Raphaelite. They had all the 
 abandonment of summer lovers. Nor did 
 they exercise their minds for stilted platitudes. 
 Conversation flowed as softly from their lips 
 as ripples in a purling brook. They told each 
 other their respective ages, birthdays, their 
 first itnpressions of one another ; some annals
 
 196 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 of their uneventful lives were provocative of 
 mirtli. There were peals of laughter and not 
 much seriousness at any time. Sometimes 
 Ephraim's cheek rested against Iphis's. It 
 was suffered to remain ; then it was repulsed 
 but not indignantly. He was but an untu- 
 tored fellow, but there was something persua- 
 sive and gentle in his manner. No vicious 
 light shone in his eyes, which were truly 
 amorous lidded, his lips full and red, the eyes' 
 mirth and mischief always seconded there. If 
 anything, she could read him and admire him 
 none the less ; he was disposed to be unstable 
 and easily entrapped into any mad frolic. 
 She inherited from her father an immense 
 amount of penetration ; but a heritage of ex- 
 cessive wilfulness, perhaps from some other 
 progenitor, neutralised the usefulness of such 
 an element in her nature. Her lover, too, 
 was quick in judgment ; he was aware that 
 he had had no difficult task winning her 
 favour, but he also divined that the calm look 
 of her eyes went through and through him,
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 197 
 
 suspecting him of instability and graccless- 
 ness. The pouting lips could be serious, and 
 stern, and resolute, as well as tender, and in- 
 viting, and wilful. Only Ephraim was not 
 one to Imo'er over his thous^hts. 
 
 ^ You'll ha' to come harvesting agean, 
 Ephraim,' said she, with the ecstatic self- 
 complacency that SQch would afford her a 
 glorious opportunity for flh'tmg. ' You came 
 last year to give us a hand. AYhat a strange 
 thing I niver seed you to notice you ! ' Her 
 voice protracted her love-notes like a cooing 
 dove. 
 
 ' I seed you,' said Ephraim, with the 
 accent of a lover who had worshipped his 
 divinity afar off, afraid to prostrate himself too 
 near. 
 
 ' Did you pick or loaden ? ' 
 
 ' Pick,' answered Ephraim, laconically. 
 
 They dawdled up the lane as if summer 
 evenings, bright and cool and breezy, were 
 especially ordained for them, and they were 
 determined to have fidl enjoyment out of
 
 198 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 them. No thought as yet obtruded itself 
 unpleasantly on Ephraim that the farmer 
 would surety object to his suit. The manifest 
 encouragement of the farmer's daughter had 
 emboldened Ephraim to take the first plunge ; 
 taken, he suffered himself to drift into the 
 balmy flood — it was not a whirlpool yet. He 
 had no mercenary views. He had insensibty 
 suffered himself to fall under the spell of a 
 subtle, illusory intoxication, but he was not 
 so earnest as was Iphis. In fact he had not 
 her earnestness, nor even her fickleness. She 
 had reached the point when preference becomes 
 a passion, to reach its height and be sus- 
 tained, or cool down. It was astonishing how 
 eager she would be in her fancies and actions, 
 then seen again, lymphatic and pulseless. 
 The object not to be obtained, her desire to be 
 frustrated, a rebellious discontent and persis- 
 tency ; anything easily attained, a wish or 
 desire unopposed, careless acceptance and 
 quick weariness. 
 
 It had not occurred to her as yet that her
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 190 
 
 father would violently set his face against the 
 lover she would choose. He might be disap- 
 pointed, or declare he had other views for her ; 
 but naturally he would give in, as he always 
 had done. She would not be too bold in 
 acceptmg Ephraim's company even to the 
 house door. Of that even Ephraim was 
 a little rueful. It was tacitly understood 
 between them that they must not be too 
 impetuous. He must leave her in the lane 
 outside the gate. 
 
 The linked arm was withdrawn, his arm 
 passed across her back, so that her shoulder 
 touched against his. She suffered her hand 
 to rest in his on her hip, after a simulated 
 gesture of remonstrance. It was slow pro- 
 gress in such a fashion. It was much easier 
 walking cheek against cheek ; lips met lips 
 oftcner, and with less effort. Here every 
 motion was seconded, and felt if retarded. 
 He could tell that her pulse beat rapidly, his 
 own ran as fast.
 
 200 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Shall we be sweetliearts, Ipliis ? Thou'll 
 be my lass ? ' 
 
 " Sweethearts ? what should I do wi' a 
 sweetheart ? ' murmured she. 
 
 ' What do all do wi' sweethearts when 
 tmie comes — marry 'em.' 
 
 ' You'd see somebody else you'd fancy 
 better.' 
 
 ' Xay, niver. I'd never look at onybody 
 else.' 
 
 ' They alius say so.' 
 
 Ephraim, easily disheartened, loosened his 
 hold, causing in Iphis's breast a flutter of 
 concern. Had she repelled him? Her eyes 
 sought his face, it was troubled and clouded. 
 
 ' Ephraim, would ye be scar'd o' me? ' 
 
 ' Xo,' answered he, dubiously. 
 
 ' And I wodn't be jealous o' thou.' 
 
 Low laughter caused his face to brighten. 
 Her eyes were dancing, a mischievous, 
 tempting, daring look in them was not to be 
 resisted. Quick as thought his arms gathered 
 her in. She did not repel the embrace, her
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 201 
 
 own lips went out to his, every barrier of 
 restraint seemed broken down. 
 
 They stood clasped and oblivious for some 
 few moments, until Ephraim lookmg up, the 
 hedge behind him, Ephraim fancied, stirred. 
 It stirred again, some long thorns hanging 
 over into the ditch still swaying. Ephraim 
 fancied an eavesdropper, Eli or Hosea from 
 the farmyard, but so near the farmhouse, that 
 was scarcely likely. 
 
 ' What's that ? ' whispered he. 
 
 ' What ? ' echoed she in a whisper 
 likewise. 
 
 ' That hedo;e rustlino; ? ' 
 
 ' An owd yow nibblin' it,' she panted 
 timorously, but fearful. 
 
 ' I thowt,' said Ephraim threateningly^, ' it 
 was Hosey or Eli watchin' us.' 
 
 ' Nay, they dursn't,' returned she confi- 
 dently ; ' if it was, I'd give 'em it,' slie added 
 fiercely. 
 
 She disengaged herself, sprang up the 
 bank, holding by twigs, her fingers delicately
 
 202 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 grasping the bramble thorns. She looked 
 over. What was her surprise to be con- 
 fronted with the red, passionate face of her 
 father as he rose from a stooping posture. 
 
 She sprang back as quickly, looking 
 towards Ephraim with some consternation, 
 for very shame not daring to meet her father's 
 gaze. 
 
 *' It's father,' whispered she, in a fright. 
 
 Ephraim at once commenced to move 
 backward. 
 
 The farmer's face was red with rage. 
 Ephraim could see that, for Cowlamb no 
 longer lay concealed. His tall figure towered 
 over the hedge, his expression furious. Cow- 
 lamb had not expected to be caught himself 
 This added to temper that had long been 
 gathermg. He took off his old work-a-day 
 hat which he had donned, and rubbed his 
 bald head with his handkerchief A tall man, 
 and stooping so long in such an uncomfort- 
 able position, his posture had caused the per- 
 spiration to gather in beads on his forehead.
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 203 
 
 Now he knew tlie full extent of his daughter's 
 folly. It was shameful. 
 
 ' Hadn't t' shamed o' thysen ? ' shouted he 
 hoarsely over the hedge to Iphis. ' I'm 
 shamed o' thee — ah — git i' tli' house wi' thee, 
 thou hussy. Thoull come along home with 
 me another Sunday night. E])hraim, off 
 thou goes. I'll sattle thee another day. I'll 
 see thou doesn't init thy foot upo' my place 
 agean. Come along, thou jade! ' 
 
 ' It's not Ephraim's fault,' defended she, 
 passionately ; ' an' I will hev him for a sweet- 
 heart, reason or noan.' 
 
 * Wilt tha ? ' ejaculated the farmer, deter- 
 minedly incredulous, ' we'll see about that. 
 Now, then, my lad, thou'd better be off, or I 
 s'll be efter thee.' 
 
 Ephraim, thus admonished, continued 
 moving backward a few paces at a time, 
 coming to a standstill at every assertion or 
 asseveration the obdurate father made, com- 
 mencing his retreat again as the farmer Avaved 
 his hand commandingly.
 
 204 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Epliraim liad discretion as well as valour. 
 Farmer Cowlamb mis^ht be 2:ettino; on in 
 years, but he would prove an adversary not 
 to be considered lightly. Over six feet high, 
 he was still powerful. Cowlamb believed 
 himself as strons^ now as ever he was in his 
 life. Ephraim was considerably undersized. 
 However valorous a man may feel himself, 
 in the grasp of a giant and lifted off his feet 
 a stroke from the shoulder is then puny and 
 harmless. Moreover Ephraim felt like a 
 poacher. 
 
 The distance between Iphis and her lover 
 was now increasing, Iphis slowly obeying her 
 father's injunction to get into the house — 
 Ephraim discreetly taking the farmer's hints 
 to make himself scarce. But while Ephraim 
 was escaping, Iphis felt that she Avas gomg 
 to meet a further measure of ujDbraiding. 
 
 ' A jawbastin' I shall git,' thought she with 
 philosophical concern. 
 
 The farmer climbed over an iron hurdle 
 and passed through a belt of shrubs and
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 205 
 
 young trees, planted when the house was 
 built, to screen the outbuildmgs a little from 
 the lane. He met her at the gate and opened 
 it for her. The outburst was over, thousfh 
 his face was still heated ; she could see the 
 blue veins standing' out on his forehead. He 
 was a fine old man, looking bolder and 
 grander in his rage. Iphis could not divest 
 herself of her long- standing admiration of 
 his physique. But now he looked sullen, 
 and in his eyes there was some plaintiveness 
 and wounded love. 
 
 ' Come in ; I ant goin' to fall out wi' thee. 
 But I'm not goin' to let thee throw thysen 
 away on such a chap as yon. They tell me 
 he's fuller o' mischief than sense. He's no 
 great shakes a nayther. He'll niver addle 
 thee a livin'.' 
 
 ' Why can't I hev a sweetheart ? ' com- 
 plained she with petulance and childish 
 obstinacy. 
 
 ' Thou may ha' one, if he's nobbut o' the 
 reight sort.'
 
 206 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Why isn't Epbraim o' tlie reiglit sort ? ' 
 persisted slie. 
 
 ^ Ho'd thy noise an' come in, thou 
 bessy.' 
 
 Below this wilfuhiess she had always on 
 hand an extravagant affection for this hard- 
 headed old father. She was obedient from 
 habit, accepting his dicta as authoritative, 
 receiving perversely, but considering wisely. 
 
 She was perverse now. 
 
 ' If I can't hev liim I'll ha' nobody.' ' 
 
 The farmer stared at her mutely ; paus- 
 ing before he ventured to reply. A gleam of 
 sarcastic ire and cunning gleamed in his 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Tliou'll not hev Jiim. I'll see to that.' 
 
 Cowlamb refrained from further recrimina- 
 tion. He was a man of few words invariably, 
 but always emphatic. He was satisfied with 
 himself. His mind was made up. He sat in 
 his Windsor arm-chair by the best" kitchen 
 fire-place, his hand grasping one arm ten- 
 aciously, mentally holding hard his temper
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 207 
 
 and steadying his perturbed mind. He did 
 not look at Iplils any longer, but relieved 
 himself by glowering sourly at his wife. ]\Irs. 
 Cowlamb had become acquainted with Iphis's 
 defection, and although she deplored the fact 
 that the young preacher had not made his 
 mark, and was incensed at the time thereat 
 with Iphis, if anything now, although as she 
 put it to herself, ' she didn't matter this new 
 sprunny,' her sympathies went with Iphis. 
 She had seen Iphis and her lover at the foot 
 of the lane, and she had observed somewhat 
 anxiously her husband sauntering deliberately 
 down the hedge side in the field. She was 
 aware that if Iphis still kept with the ' runa- 
 gate,' Iphis's father must hear their colloquy. 
 And that jarred upon Mrs. Cowlamb's notions 
 of propriety. Lovers ought not to be pestered 
 with spies. When Iphis came in Mrs. Cow- 
 lamb could tell that there had been an ex- 
 plosion, but as she felt that between Iphis 
 and herself there was now no breach, she did 
 not receive her dauo-hter with bitter, re-
 
 208 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 proacliful looks. Yet, when she spoke to 
 Iphis, it was m a most colourlesSj deliberate 
 manner, wholly ignoring her husband's eyes. 
 It intimated to Iphis that the mother's notions 
 of propriety went with her husband's, but 
 that she wished to be neither pillar nor post 
 between them. 
 
 Iphis sat like one condemned, watching 
 her father with the look of an animal which 
 resents the chain. She was not one to tide 
 over her troubles or hide her temper with a 
 book ; sitting there under the dominion of 
 plaintive yet relentless eyes inaction gnawed 
 at her heartstrings. She rose to go out again. 
 She passed into the outer kitchen, her father's 
 eye narrowly scrutinismg her as she passed 
 along. Her hand was upon the outer door 
 when his voice, loud and authoritative, 
 arrested her, so startling Mrs. Cow lamb that 
 she jumped in her chair. 
 
 * Iphis, where art tha goin' now ? ' 
 
 ' Towse's,' replied Iphis, rebelliously. 
 
 ' Thou may stop at home, it's close on
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 209 
 
 bedtime ; and I wean't ha thee going there 
 so much.' 
 
 Iphis, still dutiful, stopped, leaning with 
 her back now against the kitchen door-jamb. 
 A tear dropped on her cheek, which she 
 dashed away angrily. AVhat had the Towses 
 to do with it all ? Had any girl so cruel a 
 parent ? She began to doubt what she had 
 fondly imagined — her father eventually giving 
 way when he saw that her preference for 
 Ephraim was no passing fancy. Milking time 
 occurred between tea and chapel, or she might 
 have had that as an excuse for getting down 
 to Towse's. 
 
 Eventually she exulted. Her father might 
 bar her from encouraging Ephraim to walk 
 home with her, or hinder her from meetino; 
 Ephraim in the lane, or going in to Towse's, 
 but he could not help her meeting Ephraim 
 occasionally. He would always be in the 
 tinging-loft. There would be moments and 
 long minutes. She could give Ejihraim looks 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 and o'lances tliat he would understand. Then 
 she was a little alarmed lest some harsh plan 
 was hatchmg'in her parent's head — he was 
 fell and mexorable if he was religious — of 
 * settling ' Ephraim. 
 
 The night closed in heavily with her. All 
 went to bed early to wake early, for the 
 morrow harvest was to commence. She lay 
 awake thinking a long time. She did not 
 pull down her blind, and the summer night's 
 lio-ht seemed to her comfortless and cheerless. 
 She fell asleep troubled, and woke with an ill 
 dream. The night had come, but there was 
 no real darkness. She could distinguish 
 objects in her room. Everything was so still, 
 but the stillness was oppressive to her. She 
 fell asleep again, and awoke agam with a dim 
 presentiment of evil hanging over her. In 
 the morning her father's manner to her did 
 not dispel the shadow that had crept over 
 her mind. He did speak to her, but it was 
 curtty, unconsolatory, yet disconsolately. 
 Cowlamb was miserable himself The old
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 211 
 
 cob outside was saddled and waiting patiently, 
 its placid eye winking at early- stirring flies, 
 lifting one foot then another with remon- 
 strative energy, some sharper bite reviving 
 some of the old temper, but the faithful animal 
 never for a moment budgmg from the spot 
 where its master had left it. 
 
 Iphis went out and stroked the nag's neck 
 gently, patted it, placed her finger under the 
 bridle and smoothed its mane ; the animal 
 recognising her, raised its nose to her cheek, 
 and returned her caress. She did not repulse 
 it. To her an animal's affection was welcome. 
 The nose was soft as velvet one way if a little 
 harsh the other. 
 
 Her father came out — at any other time it 
 would have pleased him to see Iphis fondling 
 his faithful old cob, but now he paid little 
 heed, and mounting, pressed his knees on the 
 saddle. The nag understanding turned, and 
 Cowlamb gave his daughter a look, scrutin- 
 ising, inflexible, and implying his detennina-
 
 212 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 tion to have his Avay and not be trifled with. 
 Iphis met his gaze with a look of appeal, but 
 her father's expression did not soften, so she 
 turned and went into the house, feeling herself 
 a martyr, and more firmly bent on immolatiog 
 herself. It never crossed her mind to con- 
 sider whether Ephraim was worth all this ; 
 or whether Ephraim so craven or his love all 
 surface, a word from her father to the black- 
 smith would be sufficient to deter him from 
 crossing her path again, even to the extent of 
 his becoming a backslider. 
 
 Iphis 's distress was apparent in the harvest 
 field. Those who connected her trouble with 
 Ephraim as the cause, Farmer Cowlamb as 
 the effect, were not so far to seek, although 
 their surmise might be disturbed with tlie 
 graciousness shown in hand-shaking. Iphis 
 was in some tremor about her father ridino- 
 into the village ; he had not told her what his 
 business was there. She had a little com- 
 punction about meeting her father now, for 
 she had some desperate news for him in an
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 213 
 
 envelope. A letter from Sam's housekeeper. 
 Sam's wheat was almost shaking. Sam's 
 foreman dare not start without the word, 
 Sam's manner of bemg master consisting in 
 not allowing any one on his farm to do any- 
 thing of any importance unless and until he 
 had ordered it to be done. And Sam had not 
 yet returned from Tremmster market, whither 
 he had departed a week ago. He had left no 
 instructions nor sent any. ^Yould the master 
 come over and start all hands ? A barnful 
 of Irishmen were waitinn^. So the letter 
 ran. 
 
 Iphis met her father on the turnpike road, 
 the cob walking briskly, as if intelligent 
 enou^'h to understand that life at such a 
 season was important, and time money. Cow- 
 lamb took the letter with something like a 
 dull thud at his heart. He comprehended 
 that Iphis might be in low spirits, but lier 
 face revealed other concern and agitation. 
 He read the letter slowly, then looked at her 
 bitterly, and said, with heart-broken emphasis,
 
 214 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' I doubt I'm goin' to ha' some bother wi' ye 
 alL' 
 
 There was injustice to her she felt, and 
 still her father was rio-ht. She was near 
 upon casting herself upon the ground and 
 telling him she would be obedient and follow 
 his wishes without any demur. But a tone 
 in his condemnation rankled, her spirit was 
 hot, her pride was great. If she did humble 
 herself he would spxirn her. She felt her 
 heart at a white heat, then icy cold, with fear 
 for Sam, for her father, for herself. 
 
 The farmer rode throuedi the o-ate of the 
 wheat-field she held open for him. 
 
 ^ Towse,' said he hurriedly, 'you mun see 
 to things. I mun go look efter yon creatur'. 
 Iphis, tek^'Tet" up.' 
 
 Towse understood perfectly. 
 
 ^ I shall ha' time to catch the train. I s'U 
 be at Snailhorn sooner than drivin',' con- 
 tinued Cowlamb, still hurriedly. ' Maybe I 
 shan't git home to-night.' 
 
 Iphis stood against the nag's saddle, the
 
 A SPY ESPIED. 215 
 
 reins in her hands, and her father, judging 
 that she meant riding, gave her a lift on the 
 horse, and without another word Cowlamb, 
 with head downcast, walked out of the field 
 into the road again.
 
 216 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 CHAPTER 10. 
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 
 
 Although little more than twenty miles from 
 the sea as the crow flies, Moortown was an ex- 
 tremely inland town, with but little grasp of 
 phases of life beyond the agricultural. There 
 was some petty trade, but that was conducted 
 feebly, the townspeople were prejudiced, and 
 beyond an occasional trijD to the sea they 
 knew little of the life so near to them, the 
 life of seafaring men. They were little less 
 puzzled with those who went down to the sea 
 in ships than the manner in which the way 
 about was known on such a trackless hio-h- 
 way. The advent of a sailor in a tar's uniform 
 of blue, and cap with gold letters thereon,
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 217 
 
 excited no small deo^ree of interest in the 
 town. He was a stranger in tlie land, for he 
 inquu'ed the way to Willowby. 
 
 Ephraim had a horse's hind leg in his lap, 
 and did not look up even when the doorway 
 was filled and his light shadowed. He was 
 accustomed to idlers leaning against the door- 
 jamb, sleepily and silently watching him at 
 his work. He was too intent with hammer 
 and pincers turning the nails he had driven 
 through the horse's hoof to look up. 
 
 ' Ephraim, my lad ! ' 
 
 Something familiar in the voice, something 
 affectionate in the tone, caused Ephraim to 
 drop the horse's foot suddenly, to lean, some- 
 what taken by surprise, on the horse's flank. 
 He could scarcely recover himself for surprise 
 and pleasure. 
 
 Bob! Could this tall, well-built fellow 
 be his brother? 
 
 He remembered him as a stripling very 
 little taller than himself. Moreover, E})hraim's 
 back having been bent, and labouring dili-
 
 218 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 gently, to stand erect suddenly was almost 
 beyond him. 
 
 * Who'd ha' thowt o' seem' thou,' replied 
 Ephraim, pleasurably. ' Hes t' been to 
 Towse's ? ' 
 
 ' Xo,' returned Ephraim' s brother. It 
 was the same voice as Ephraim' s, but brisker 
 and better controlled, sharpened up with 
 discipline. ^ I don't know where they live. 
 Do they live anywhere near ? ' 
 
 ' When I shoed this owd horse maybe 
 maister '11 let me go down wi' thee. We 
 hadn't so out o' way throng.' 
 
 Ephraim went to the bellows and com- 
 menced to blow, turning his back on the fire 
 to be able to regard his brother, whom he had 
 not seen for so many years. He talked, 
 falling in with the motion of his arm up and 
 down and the swaying of his body ; it was 
 the habit of an automaton. His face was 
 black with smithy dust, so that his eyeballs 
 shone out with preternatural ghastliness. 
 
 Ephraim' s brother did not speak much,
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 210 
 
 but listened, for it seemed to liim that 
 Ephraim's tongue was unloosed, and tliat 
 ordinarily Epliraim was silent on compulsion 
 and for want of sympatliy. Epliraira relin- 
 quished the bellows, raked down the fire, 
 throwing on coal and sprinkling on water, 
 then commenced to blow again. Then the 
 shoe was taken out of the fire, a puuch 
 hammered into a nailhole — his brother leach- 
 ing from the sparks — and Ephraim hurried to 
 the horse's other hind leg, which he burnt 
 down to fit the shoe. 
 
 ' AVe have smiths on board,' said the 
 sailor. 
 
 ' I wish I was as high as thou,' said 
 Ephraim. 
 
 ' They like little men best — thou'rt high 
 enough for thy job.' 
 
 * Oh, heigh ! ' said Ephraim, resignedly. 
 
 A semicircle of children, from two feet 
 six downward, had gathered round the door- 
 way. The sailor caught a glimpse of tliem 
 over his shoulder, and gave a spring out of
 
 220 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 the door sideways which dispersed them, a 
 complete rout, to halt again at some distance 
 and survey the new importation with the 
 same fearfulness a flock of sheep may have for 
 a strange or uncouth dog. Warned by such 
 evident fiendish intent they concluded to 
 remain at the safer distance, and those who 
 wished to take off home, having to run the 
 gauntlet of the smithy door, gave it a wide 
 berth, creeping along noiselessly by the hedge 
 until they felt they had gained the moment's 
 advantage when safety might be secured by 
 the celerity of their heels. 
 
 The blacksmith at last came up, smiling 
 unctuously. The smart clothes, the figure 
 and carriage inspired Ephraim's master with 
 respect, but his toadyism was tainted with a 
 little patronage. Fine fellow as the sailor 
 might be, the brother was under his thumb. 
 
 ' I thowt o' astin' leave to go up to Farmer 
 Cowlamb's,' ventured Ephraim, difiidently, 
 not raising his eyes from the horse's frog, 
 ' when I got the owd mare shod.'
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 221 
 
 ' Thou'rt fond o' goin' up to Farmer Cow- 
 lamb's, liadn't tha ? They tell me — sweet- 
 lieartin' ? Ephraim's a droll lad, got convarted, 
 goes a courtin'.' 
 
 Ephraim's brother gave a short, incredu- 
 lous laugh. He was not much impressed with 
 his brother's master. There was artificiality 
 in the man's mirth, as if unaccustomed to 
 mirthfulness with Ephraim, as if now some 
 spleen and jealousy stirred him. 
 
 ' Oh, thou can go,' said Ephraim's master, 
 with an amount of graciousness E23hraim could 
 scarcely credit his ears. ' We hadn't to an 
 hour, an' if we was thou could make it up. 
 We don't kill a pig ivery day.' 
 
 Ephraioi followed up his work briskly, 
 turned the nails, filed the horse's hoofs, and 
 coated them over with a mixture of tar and 
 grease. 
 
 ' Am ee to take the owd mare home ? ' 
 
 ' No, Greenfield '11 call for it hissen. He's 
 at the Nag's Head now.' 
 
 Ephraim had hoped to be free of that.
 
 222 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Thus relieved he rushed through the smithy 
 to seek a pump at the back of the house, soused 
 his face and arms, and, with a drop of Avater 
 at the end of his nose, blundered back again 
 with eyes closed to dry his face with his 
 pocket handkerchief. With but one arm in 
 his jacket, the other to be inserted as they 
 went on their way, he motioned his brother on 
 before him. 
 
 ^ And how do you get on, Eph ? You've 
 niver told me,' asked the brother, with a 
 shrewd surmise that the unctuous master was 
 something of a tyrant. 
 
 ' Oh, fairish,' said Ephraim, cheerfully. 
 ' I s'll be glad when I'm lowse. It's a 
 Imngry job ours. He once teld me I owt to 
 work, I eat finely. I filled my sen out one 
 while out of the tatie heap ; bud,' said Ephraim, 
 laughing, ' one day I cooked ower many on 
 the hot bricks, I heerd him coming, so I just 
 chucked one to the owd cow. I forgot it was 
 hot — law, what a frummety sweat I was m. 
 I thowt I'd killed her for sartin. I pro-
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 223 
 
 mised mysen I'd chuck lier no more, hot or 
 cowd.' 
 
 ^ Thou'rt not afraid on him, Eph? ' 
 ^No — not now/ said Ephraim slowly. 'I 
 was one while, he ffot a^^^ate o' cloutin' me. 
 I teld him to set his stall out ; two, thou 
 knows, can play at that. Law, he's a man 
 for his pennorth, for all he reckons to be a 
 good chapel-goer. I ha' to do his books ivery 
 Sunday morning afore breakfast, if I mean to 
 go to chapel, that's the mischief o' havm' larnt 
 to read an' write. He's a poor hand hissen, 
 he can hardlins sattle a bill. I am not so bad 
 off i' one sense, thoff I am in another. I been 
 worst off for clothes. Uncle Bean, I think he 
 seed I was poor. He ga me a sovereign last 
 May, and I bought a Sunday coat, and a mean 
 un it is.' 
 
 ^ Faither 'd no business to marry again,' 
 declared the sailor, 'if he meant to have 
 another family. He'd better have let you 
 gone out to sarvice. He could have married 
 an oldish woman, if it was a housekeeper lie
 
 224 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 wanted. A foreman ought not to be so bad 
 off. But I can see, I can see ; slie spends all 
 she can rap and rear.' 
 
 ' How is it thou got here sooner ? ' asked 
 Ephraim. 
 
 ^ I found out it was time I went ; the poor 
 owd chap's right, but when you fancy some- 
 body's watching every mouthful you get, you 
 don't feel comfortable, and then a lot o' poor 
 little baens, and all up o' sixes and sevens. 
 Why, lad,' said the sailor, brightening with a 
 happy thought, 'there's my clothes — they'll 
 all be in the box I left behind me.' 
 
 ' She'll ha' cutten 'em up by this.' 
 
 ' Xay, she won't. Aunt Towse has the 
 key ; she had it, however. We shall see. 
 When I took off to sea, I sent it in a letter to 
 her.' 
 
 ' It's at home/ 
 
 ' ril see thou has it. I shall go home and 
 see faither before I go back to sea.' 
 
 ' How much longer ha' ye ? ' 
 
 ' Leave? — a fortnight. It's a queer-looking
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 225 
 
 customer our ship, I can tell you. One would 
 almost wonder she floated. She is more in 
 water than out. She's like a floating fort. 
 We scarcely know where we are going, but I 
 think it'll be Mediterranean.' 
 
 ^ Bio wed if I know where that be,' said 
 Ephraim, candidly. 
 
 * When one's been on a foreign station, 
 they reckon to put one on a home station, but 
 I'd as lieve be away. A home station, maybe 
 one's as tied and far enough away from any 
 kin. I shouldn't mind if we had a welt in 
 with this new ship.' 
 
 * D it,' said Ephraim, ^ ya might git 
 
 killed yarsen. Bob.' 
 
 ' Hollo, young fellow,' said the sailor, 
 thunderstruck ; ' I thowt the maister said you 
 was religious.' 
 
 ' Dal it, 1 forgot,' said Ephraim, feeling his 
 character was at stake. 
 
 'And what about that sweetheartin', young 
 fellow ?' asked the sailor brother, poking 
 Ephraim mischievously in the ribs. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^Wliy, it's maister's — and still it isn't,' 
 said Epliraim, candidly. ' You know, I believe 
 they're jealous as sin o' me, 'cause I gone part 
 way home wi' th' lass on a Sunday night.' 
 Ephraim blushed through his fireburn. ^ We've 
 hed a word or two an' all afore, as I have been 
 coming away fra Towse's.' Ephraim' s brother 
 was regarding him with a look of surprise. 
 
 * Why, it isn't the farmer's daughter Towse 
 is with ? Ephraim, thou'rt going to do well ; 
 stick to the lass. Thou mustn't let her slip 
 through thy fingers.' 
 
 ' I'd knaw, th' owd man doesn't look so 
 amiable at one as he used to do.' 
 
 * When thou wast first convarted,' said the 
 sailor, cynically, imitating the blacksmith's 
 broader speech. 
 
 * Hadn't thou a sweetheart once? ' posed 
 Ephraim. ' I ain't forgot. Didn't you, first 
 time you come ower, show me some hair — a 
 lovers' knot — what became on her ? ' 
 
 ^ I'd know ; married somebody else, I'se 
 think.' There was a tone of sorrowfulness, 
 
 ^
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 227 
 
 not unmixed with bitterness, that did not 
 escape Ephraim. Ephraim felt that he was 
 trespassing on fenced-in ground. 
 
 ' Our maister's son's at Moortown's larnin' 
 to be a draper ; he paid a raort o' money with 
 him : he used to do his writmo:. He's turnmo; 
 out a preacher, which looks to me like a lot o' 
 money wasted, Bud, if they got him a rich 
 young woman ' 
 
 * Like your lass? ' 
 
 ' I wodn't say they've set their eyes on 
 her, it 'ud be a madness for 'em to see a 
 common cha^^ like me walking off with her, 
 and them a Ions; while findino- one of the rio^ht 
 
 o o o 
 
 sort.' 
 
 The sailor rapped out a sailor's expletive, 
 and admonished his brother hj all that was 
 secular to follow her up. 
 
 ^ She's not a waster,' said Ephraim enthusi- 
 astically, ' thou'll be sure to see her — why, 
 she'd fit thou, I believe Bob, better nor me. 
 If she was to fancy thee afore me, don't be 
 scar'd o' me, I wodn't mind so much if t' was 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 thou,' Epliraim regarding such a not unlikely 
 contretemps philosophically. 
 
 ' Pshoo, lad, I don't want thy sweet- 
 heart.' 
 
 'It's like feightin',' argued Ephraim; 'if 
 you put in a cut for somebody, put in two 
 for yarsen. You wouldn't ha' to go sailoring 
 no more wi' all her money.' 
 
 ' Nay, when you marry her, maybe I shall 
 be tired by then ; the owd man '11 put you in a 
 farm, and I'll come and work for you.' 
 
 ' Aye, aye, that's very fine talkin', better 
 riding than walking. He catched me wi' my 
 ame round her o' Sunday neet, and he hes to 
 sattle wi' me for that. I'd knaw what he 
 means to do.' 
 
 ' Phew,' whistled the sailor ; ' then it isiit 
 all plain sailmg ? ' 
 
 ' Why, yon's him ! ' exclaimed Ephraim 
 under his breath. ' Ho'd hard abit Bob, let 
 him git on.' 
 
 Something in Cowlamb's weary walk 
 excited Ephraim's wonder. The farmer was
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 229 
 
 not liurrying, but lie walked like a hopeless, 
 despairing man. 
 
 ' He's a fine old cliap/ said the sailor, 
 ' higher than I am, I believe.' 
 
 'He is,' said Ephraim, measuring his 
 brother with his eye. ' Here, we'll go in at 
 this gate ; they gotten well started into har- 
 vestin'. I come and did a bit o' pickin' last 
 year. I'se think he wean't ha' me t' year. 
 There's Towse, sithee, by goms, he's going 
 in.' 
 
 The women were the first to look up. 
 There was somethins: for a woman to admire 
 in the stalwart sailor, picturesque, spotlessly 
 clean, and the element of careless hardihood 
 in the open throat and loose knot. Then the 
 men turned more slowly. 
 
 ' Be that him ? ' inquired the village 
 wiseacre. 
 
 * I'll uphold it, it's Bob,' said Towse. 
 
 ' An' Ephraim, he's catched owd Braddy i' 
 fine fettle to hap his fire,' said one of the 
 women, shrewdly.
 
 230 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ AVhere's Joel ? ' inquired Towse as the 
 brothers approached. 
 
 'Law, he was here a minute sin'.' 
 
 ' Here he is,' said a woman dragging the un- 
 willing urchin from behind a couple of prone 
 sheaves; Hie's hidin'. What ails the baen? 
 Why th' baen's scared ; he weant hot thee ? ' 
 
 The arrival had terrified Joel. A police- 
 man was Joel's hcte noire. The threat of 
 fetchino: one to check his infantile wilfulness 
 or quell loud wailing had not been used vainly. 
 Joel imasfined his oo^re had come at last — a 
 martinet of an uncommonly vicious order. 
 Joel had been most forward, Towse threaten- 
 ing him direly, and storming at his absent 
 wife for not keeping the ' brat at home.' Joel 
 began to weep silently. Loud wailing and 
 his general bad conduct had precipitated the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 ' We seed th' owd man goin' down the 
 road or we wodn't ha' come in,' saidEphraim, 
 apologetically. 
 
 ' Thou wodn't, thou means,' said the
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 231 
 
 garthman, sternly, ' if all be true I hear. 
 Thou gits into hobbles thy sen often enow. 
 Xobbut mind thou doesn't drag nobody else 
 in. It mudn't be comfortable for us moving 
 tliis time o' year.' 
 
 'I s'll noan git thou into no hobbles. I 
 couldn't keej) out on 'em my sen if I tried iver 
 so, it seems to me.' 
 
 Ephraim talked in a propitiatory way. 
 He knew Towse was never very amiable when 
 working hard. 
 
 ' My lad I nowt agean thee, mind,' said 
 Towse. 
 
 ' Thou'st good-tempered when clean,' said 
 
 Ephraim. ' What's th' owd man piked off 
 
 so sour about ? ' 
 
 'Not about thee,' returned Towse, cjni- 
 cally. ' It's his son this time that's putten' 
 him out, gone oif a drinking an' worse maybe, 
 an' corn shaking.' 
 
 ' Now he owt ta git married,' said the 
 elderly man from the village in a wheedling 
 voice.
 
 232 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ Bud/ said Towse, exasperated at mortal 
 obliquity, ' it just isn't liim as isn't married, 
 but him as is.' 
 
 * — ah ! ' ejaculated the wise man, col- 
 lapsing. . 
 
 * Maister says he's done all he could to git 
 the t'other to marry as isn't, for fear he should 
 start an' all, but he weant. Marryin' made 
 t'other chap worse, I think. It's sich an a 
 lottery is marrying ; some gits good uns, 
 some gits bad uns, mostlins they're bad uns 
 to the fore. They don't bring 'em up reight 
 nowadays ; no bellies for work — no bellies 
 for work.' 
 
 ^ They'd like it stattus all the year round, 
 an' wear fine hats an' ha' plenty o' money i' 
 their pockets to spend.' 
 
 ^ What d'ya knaw about it ? ' rasped out 
 Caroline, impatiently contemptuous. ' Men, 
 what are they ? Alius at alehouse, wishing 
 pints were as big as chimbley pots.' 
 
 * Heigh, old lad^J ' cried Hosea in delight.
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 233 
 
 The ancient was notorious for his partiality 
 for the Nag's Head and the Brown Cow. 
 
 Towse at last recollected that he had never 
 thought good to address his nephew by 
 marriage, extend to him hospitality, inquire 
 after his health, and trim his face up com- 
 plaisantly. 
 
 ' How a' ta ? ' said Towse at last, cordially. 
 ' Thou'lt find the missis at home ; thou'lt feel 
 edgish if thou's lied nowt sin' thou left home. 
 Will tha hev a drink o' beer ; it's sore wesh, 
 but it's sich as it is,' and Towse made for the 
 jug embedded in a sheaf 
 
 ' Xo ; I'm not thirsty. I musn't keep 
 thou beyond thy hour, Eph,' said the sailor, 
 turning to Ephraim. 
 
 ' Oh, don't bother thy heead about me,' 
 responded this most careless individual, in his 
 happiest mood. Ephraim never cared a straw 
 for prospective trouble. 
 
 At this moment Iphis Cowlamb, having 
 stalled her father's horse and replenished its
 
 234 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 crib with hay, lingered outside the house for 
 some few minutes. She had a little of her 
 father^ s suspicious nature. When the cat's 
 away the mice play, her father was wont to 
 observe sardonically. She went to the house 
 corner and shadmg her eyes looked down 
 upon the corn-field. Actually — they were — 
 all at a standstill. They knew that her father 
 was now well out of the way, and they were 
 takino; advantag^e of his absence. She had 
 always had faith in Towse, he was left in 
 charge, he ought to see to the others — but he 
 was only mortal after all. 
 
 A woman moved aside, Iphis had observed 
 a peculiarity over her head, now she could 
 tell it was the head of some one in dark 
 clothes. 
 
 ' Mother ! ' she cried, ' mother, come 
 here ! ' 
 
 * Why, what ? ' said Mrs Cowlamb, with- 
 out a vestige of interest, not looking up from 
 the milk panshion she was wiping before 
 placing on the rack outside the door.
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 235 
 
 ^ Here's somebody i' th' corn-field in blue 
 clothes — it isn't a sowjer ! ' 
 
 ^A soTvjerl' ejaculated Mrs. Cowlamb, 
 now a little roused, sufficiently, however, to 
 seek the side of her daughter, wiping her 
 hands on her apron as she walked. She shaded 
 her eyes as Iphis was doing. There they 
 stood side by side as if saluting. 
 
 ' Dost t' knaw who t' is ? ' 
 
 ' Xo,' said Iphis, ^ I mun go see.' 
 
 ' No, thou moant. Thou'rt alius so ran- 
 nish. Stop at home. What would they think 
 o' thee? Besides, thou'd better mind what 
 thou'rt about, thou knaws thy faither's gone 
 off i' fine fettle.' Mrs. Cowlamb spoke des- 
 perately, in plaintive monotone. She felt the 
 heavy responsibility of this wilful girl on her 
 hands. 
 
 Iphis replied with a toss of her head. 
 
 ^ I will go see who it is. It might be 
 somebody I know.' 
 
 When Mrs. Cowlamb looked around Iphis 
 had already started for the corn-field.
 
 236 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Well, well,' muttered she, clespairmgiy, 
 ' if she will make a rod for her own back — I 
 done all I can.' 
 
 In Iphis's mind her mother's ^vords still 
 lingered, but like an echo, an echo of some 
 one else's. Her father's word would have 
 been law ; her mother's went to the winds. 
 Iphis ran at full speed while she felt she could 
 do so without being observed by the people 
 below. When she knew that she was well in 
 sight, she steadied herself, gathered in her 
 breath, walking sedately, assuming a discreet 
 and most guarded expression. 
 
 She was soon observed. A woman below 
 turned and spoke to Ephraim. 
 
 ' Yon's thy lass a comin'.' 
 
 * His lass,' said Towse witheringly, ' she'll 
 niver liev him I ' 
 
 ' What did the lass say,' said Caroline, 
 with a pause to excite interest, ' when they 
 reckoned she shouldn't liev her chap ? She 
 said she'd nayther be oblivated nor yit con- 
 suaded, bud she'd hev her own possulute way.'
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 237 
 
 ^Wliat did she mean?' asked Hosea, 
 slowly. 
 
 ' Why, she'd hev hmi if he hedn't a rag to 
 his back.' 
 
 ' — ah ! ' returned Hosea, quenched. 
 
 ^ Now, lads,' cried Towse, impatiently, 
 vexed at the reference to Ephraim and Iphis, 
 a little disconcerted that Iphis should come 
 upon them all at a standstill, so soon after her 
 father had left them ; ' we mun make up for 
 lost time.' 
 
 He heard Iphis's voice, speaking to him 
 hurriedly. 
 
 ' Towse ! Sithee — here's that lass drinkins; 
 the men's beer.' 
 
 ^ Heigh, saving time,' commented Ephraim. 
 Iphis had reached his elbow. 
 
 Iphis laughed, but Towse was indignant. 
 He did not approve of the beer going up in 
 that way, good or bad. 
 
 ' Heigh, guts ; thou great greedy guts. 
 Paletliorpe, that's thy lass, I believe.' 
 
 ' 'Tis, awiver. Law, Liz likes beer,' said
 
 238 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Palethorpe, calmly. ' But it's not a bit o' use 
 vennerin' at her, she'd threap ye out on it 
 she'd never hed a drop.' 
 
 Towse was scarcely satisfied with Pale- 
 thorpe's easy way at looking at disaster. He 
 commenced to work vigorously, muttering 
 savagely the treatment Liz would have had 
 from him if she had been one of his. 
 
 ' How's them Irish gettin' on, Towse ? ^ 
 asked Iphis, to say something, but her eyes 
 admiringly sweeping the outline of the pictur- 
 esque and stalwart fellow with Ephraim. 
 
 ' Oh, they'll bide a bit. The maister's 
 been to them. It's all tek work.' Towse 
 turned with serious face to his fellow-workers. 
 ^ "We mun git on or them Irish 11 git the 
 wind on us.' 
 
 Iphis was now standing close to Ephraim' s 
 brother ; Ephraim feeling a little mortified 
 that she had no eyes at all for him now. He 
 spoke, she smiled absently, her eyes remain- 
 ing fixed on the taller brother. Her face was 
 lit up with admiration — but not for him.
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 239 
 
 Ephraim had graciously offered to forego bis 
 claim, but now be felt tbat it would be witb 
 some soreness. Tbe green-eyed monster was 
 already asserting itself. Sbe stood band in 
 palm, her attitude would bave been ridiculous 
 but for tbe brigbt look of interest in ber eyes. 
 Sbe read tbe gold letters on bis cap. Sbe 
 noted tbe brawny, open tbroat, tbe careless 
 knot, tbe wide full trousers, and bis easy 
 careless pose. 
 
 ' You're Epbraim's brotber, tben ? I 
 didn't know be bad a brother — be never told 
 me.' 
 
 ' Yes, I'm bis brotber ; I'm the oldest,' he 
 returned a little awkward in bis explanation. 
 
 ' Do you like it ? ' 
 
 ' Like what ? ' 
 
 ' Being a sailor.' 
 
 ' Yes — I'm forced to like it. But I do 
 like it ; I wanted to go to sea.' 
 
 ^But should you like it if there was to 
 be war ? The ship might sink — it must be 
 dreadful,'
 
 240 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ^ You haven't been in any fightin' yet, 
 then ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Nor don't want ? ' 
 
 * No, not particular.' 
 
 ^ You would like to have one battle, and 
 come out safe. I'd rather be horse sowjer, 
 and just have one battle, and come out safe. 
 I think it must be a dele safer on land.' 
 
 ^ You mightn't come out safe there.' 
 
 ^ Then I shouldn't like to go. I'se think 
 you aint so much to do as sowjers.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's not the idle life anybody would 
 think. If there isn't work, they make 
 some. We have to be drilled nearly the 
 same.' 
 
 ' Oh, have you ? ' said Iphis, surprised. 
 * I thought all you had to do was to wrap the 
 sails up when it blew over hard, and stand on 
 the poles, same as I saw 'em at Haveluck 
 once, when the Prince o' Wales come.' 
 
 ^ Bob, I'll see thee up to Towses,' inter-
 
 A BLUE JACKET. 241 
 
 rupted Epliraim in a whisper ; ' then I mun 
 go back.' 
 
 ' Thou'rt hiped/ said Towse, with a 
 chuckle. It was but a whisper, but Iphis 
 heard it. 
 
 ' Xay, I hadn't/ asseverated Ephraim, 
 quickly. 
 
 • Thou needn't bother, Ephraim ; I'll go 
 wi' liini. If you was to 'list, Ephraim, one 
 would be a sailor and tother a sowjer ; bud 
 you hadn't big enough.' 
 
 Towse was in the seventh heaven of de- 
 light hearing Iphis taking Ephraim down a 
 peg or two, and Ephraim felt himself dis- 
 paraged and thrown over. Well, she was 
 fancying Bob all in a liurry ; she had taken 
 her time with him ; she had not shown him 
 favour so suddenly. 
 
 His brother's eyes turned kindly on liun. 
 The sailor was older, sharpened with disci- 
 pline, contact ; he had a firm mouth and chin, 
 rather thoughtful, far-reacliing eyes, and evi- 
 dently was a quick, observant fellow. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Thy hour must be goue, Eph. I don't 
 want thee to get into any scrapes. I'll come 
 down to-night when work's done. She's a 
 fine lass,' whispered he aside, ' I could like 
 her my sen — nay, nay, don't be jealous, Eph. 
 What could I do with her ? ' 
 
 ' I ant,' said Ephraim, ' bud thou may hev 
 her if she will ha' thee. I'd rather thou, if it 
 was onybody else but me.' 
 
 ' Take no notice, 'tis a lass's way to flout 
 her sweetheart afore other folks.' 
 
 ' What's he whisperin' about ? ' demanded 
 Iphis, jealously. 
 
 ' Oh,' said the sailor, ' I dursn't tell you.' 
 
 ' If it's anything about me, it's all stories.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's not stories,' said the sailor, 
 seriously. 
 
 Iphis was determined to know from 
 Ephraim tlie purport of this whispered inter- 
 course. 
 
 Ephraim watched them up the field — his 
 brother erect and tall, but with a sailor's roll ; 
 Iphis tall and lithesome and slender. They
 
 A. BLUE JACKET. 24o 
 
 were made for each other, he was fain to 
 think, and he could not stifle his soreness. 
 
 ^ Here, get thee gone ; thou'll hev owd 
 Brad natterin' at thee. It's not the way to 
 git another odd hour,' cried Towse. 
 
 Other eyes were watching — Mrs. Cowlamb 
 had not stirred from the house front. Here 
 was Iphis bringing somebody up — a soldier of 
 all folks. If Iphis was going to take up with 
 him, it would be a worse catastrophe than her 
 freak with Ephraim Sparrow. What lives 
 soldiers did lead, especially those among 
 whom Mr. Macwhortle had laboured and 
 failed to bring in. 
 
 She saw that Iphis was diverging from 
 the farmhouse ; she now wondered to which 
 of the farm labourers lie belonged. She felt 
 a little more assured wlien she saw that Iphis 
 was simply showing him the way. She 
 hoped the ' sowjer ' would not stay long, but 
 then Cowlamb would be home in a day or 
 two, and if Iphis didn't behave herself he 
 would ' rei^'htle ' her. 
 
 R 2
 
 24-1: jmeadow sweet. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 
 
 CowLAMB was at liis own farm again by 
 eleven o'clock of the following forenoon. He 
 had come direct from Moortown railway 
 station. He was sour and perturbed, as Mrs. 
 Cowlamb expected he would be. She wisely 
 said nothing beyond — 
 
 ' Thou's gotten back.' 
 
 Leaving him to speak and question, slie 
 content to reply and answer. The farmer 
 looked round for Iphis, then recollected that 
 it was market day, and that to save time he 
 had come by the rural back road of the town, 
 and so had seen nothmo; of the market stir. 
 
 * Who took her butter and e^^s ? ' 
 
 ' The sowjer ! '
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 245 
 
 ' What sowjer,' demanded Cowlamb, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 ' AYell, he's not exactly a sowjer, though 
 he sarves the Queen. He's come to Towse's.' 
 
 She could not tell whether her husband 
 was displeased or dispassionate. He was 
 drying his hands on the towel before sittmg 
 down to a hastily improvised luncheon. 
 
 ' Yon creatur' goes on nicely,' said the 
 farmer, with his eyes on his plate, ' I'd knaw 
 what's u'oin' to 'come on him. It wasn't so 
 afore he married that fine wife. His house- 
 keeper's gen him a month's warning, she'll 
 be gone i' three weeks. What's to be 
 done ? ' 
 
 ' They'll never make it up ? ' hazarded 
 Mrs. Cowlamb. 
 
 ^ What I Him and his wife ? ' shouted her 
 husband, 'not they. He was a dele ower 
 rannish and lungeous,' added he, despairingly ; 
 ' Iphis '11 ha to go.' 
 
 ' Iphis ! ' Mrs. Cowlamb almost allowed a 
 dish to slip through her fingers ; recovering
 
 24:6 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 it slie continued, 'I'm suer it's no place for 
 her. Him coming home at all hours.' 
 
 ' He'd be different if she was there, maybe.' 
 
 * They're bad to hold in, once they get 
 started.' 
 
 * What do you know about it, woman ? ' 
 cried her husband, irately. Although he 
 could disparage his son himself, he could not 
 brook others condemning hun. He felt that 
 if this wife of his had been the lad's mother 
 she would now have been making excuses for 
 him. 
 
 'Well, well,' said Mrs. Cowlamb with 
 subservient acerbity, ' one can't say a word 
 without having one's head bitten off. I said 
 nowt agean him.' 
 
 ' Bud you would wi' very little coaxing.' 
 
 ' Let Iphis go, then,' assented she re- 
 signedly ; ' she's as much yours as mine. If 
 you can bear her to be there I can. I used to 
 think you was very choice on her.' 
 
 ' An' hadn't ee ? ' demanded Cowlamb, 
 bringing his hand down upon the table
 
 DANGEROUS GKOUND. 247 
 
 heavily. 'Who's done more for her than I 
 have ? Who's done more for liis baens than 
 me, eh ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Cowlamb felt the futility of reply. 
 She filled botli her hands with dishes and 
 retired into her sanctuary, the pantry. He 
 knew he was blowing up a storm in a teacup, 
 and that his wife could not help Sam's mis- 
 deeds, and that he did not like Iphis going 
 himself. 
 
 If he could have beheld Iphis returning 
 from market, and her escort, what would he 
 have said or thought ? Iphis had been proud 
 enough of her gallant. She recollected now 
 hearing Mrs. Towse once allude to a nephew 
 who was on shipboard, but slie always pic- 
 tured him as a swabby marine, like those she 
 liad seen in Haveluck — disreputable- looking 
 undersized redcoats, but he was a blue-jacket. 
 She did think the willow^ baskets, though tied 
 down neatly with spotless white napkins, 
 looked somewdiat out of place on his arms. 
 Slie had bestowed some little extra attention
 
 248 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 on her dress, and then she felt that she 
 scarcely looked equal to her cavalier. For 
 the nonce Ephraim was forgotten. She had 
 reckoned upon creatmg quite a sensation 
 among tlie market folks, bearing the town 
 they met many people. She felt proud. The 
 fine elms and horse chestnuts skirting either 
 side of the road in all their summer glory of 
 leaf contributed, she knew, to the luminosity 
 of the picture. Her cavalier left her at the 
 butter market entrance with a nod and 
 smile, promising to look in occasionally. 
 When she was ready to return he would 
 carry her baskets back. She had some mar- 
 keting to do — the empty baskets to fill with 
 shop things. Busy shopping she was con- 
 tinually catching a glimpse of him threading 
 his way through the knots of people — burly 
 farmers showing samples of last year's corn, 
 their wives and daughters gossiping ; all 
 turned to look at him, and to ponder over his 
 rolling gait. Their eyes met at every rencontre. 
 He judged at last that she must be nearly
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 249 
 
 ready for liome. She came out of a shop with 
 her basket heavy with groceries and linen 
 goods. She placed it on the ground at her 
 feet, countino' over chancre she held in her 
 hand. He approached her and took up a 
 basket. It was all pretence, but she appeared 
 to only j ust grasp the fact that he was near. 
 Eyes around she knew were attentive, ears 
 contiguous she knew were alert. The remarks 
 would not have surprised her. 
 
 ' Oh ! owd Sam Cowlamb's dowter's a 
 gallas un.' 
 
 ^ Now, fancy if that gay chap hooks off wi' 
 her ! ' 
 
 ' I wodn't be a bit surprised.' 
 ' He's clapping love to her ear, sitliee.' 
 ' Who is he, an' what is he ? He's a fine 
 lashin' chap ! ' 
 
 ' They do say there's been a bit of a tift on 
 already about some common chap.' 
 
 ' Well, if I was a young chap ' 
 
 ^ Aye, but thou hadn't. An' then thou 
 mud be as fur off as t'iirt now.'
 
 250 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Where there is smoke there is fire. Iphis 
 gave some occasion for all this quizzing. She 
 rather enjoyed it ; and her saucy eye was 
 met by one equally quick. 
 
 ' Here, I'll carry this,' said he. 
 
 ^ It's a shame.' 
 
 ' Oh, no.' 
 
 ' I'll be dal'd if he ant goin' to carry her 
 basket,' muttered a spy. 
 
 ' That looks hke seeing on her home 
 
 Ha' ye seen th' owd man about ? ' 
 
 • Awhile agone, i' th' back street, hotcliin' 
 off home, sour as wig.' 
 
 Iphis and her gallant walked past them. 
 They had the flags to themselves until they 
 reached an inn-door where many congregated. 
 Every head turned, Iphis tossed hers de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 • I should thmk you think yoursen a fine 
 fellow,' said she, mischievously. 
 
 ' What will other people think ? I have 
 as great an opinion of myself as you have of 
 yourself.'
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 251 
 
 ipnis coloured at the retort. At tlie town- 
 end Iphis began to reveal the misclnef in 
 her. 
 
 ^ I'll help you to carry this basket,' said 
 she, passing her arm through the liandle. 
 This brought them closer ; any one might have 
 imagined them walking arm-m-arm, but when 
 any one approached near enough to be certain, 
 Iphis withdrew her arm decorously. 
 
 ^ You ant so much like,' said Iphis, men- 
 tally comparing the brothers ; 'you're bigger.' 
 
 'Not better.' 
 
 ' Ko, maybe not. I aint much opinion o' 
 sowjers an' sailors. I wouldn't believe one 
 any further than I could throw him.' 
 
 ' How far could you throw me ? ' 
 
 ' I'm not going to try.' 
 
 ' I tliink we are very straight.' 
 
 ' As straight as a bent pin.' 
 
 ' I had an idea you were a droll girl.' 
 
 ' You are getting very free. Mister sailor. 
 I shall not come up to Towse's while you are 
 staying there.'
 
 252 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' I'll send one of tlie bairns to let you know 
 when I am going out.' 
 
 ' Oil, don't put yourself to that trouble on 
 my account.' 
 
 Every caustic retort one or other dragged 
 at tlie basket, one or other being pulled to an 
 extremity of the footpath. The man's strength 
 prevailed ; he would not allow her to withdraw 
 her arm. At last she cried for mercy. 
 
 ' Well, walk as a lady should. You'll not 
 be so torn down when we get in sight of the 
 house.' 
 
 'Do you thmk I'm afraid? Xo AYhat 
 
 a queer cap it is you wear. Are the gold letters 
 sewn on ? How would a woman look in it ? ' 
 
 ' Try it on if you like.' 
 
 ^ No ; I shouldn't like.' 
 
 ' Yes, do. Do — now,' begged he persua- 
 sively. His face was eloquent. She had a 
 long time coveted it, if but for a moment. 
 ' There's nobody in sight.' 
 
 He placed down the basket and held his 
 cap in his hand, the other hand was on her
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 253 
 
 shoulder. Ipliis coquettishly removed her 
 own hat, and a moment after the sailor's im- 
 pulse was to snatch a kiss. 
 
 It was what she expected. It was what 
 she really had tempted him to do. She threw 
 his cap in his face, she pushed him away. 
 Forgetful of the basket, he stumbled over it, 
 overturning it. Several packages rolled out 
 upon the footpath ; one burst in the basket, a 
 large paper bag, and the contents — rice — 
 scattered on the path. 
 
 ' Now you have made a mess,' said she, 
 sternly. 
 
 * It was all you.' 
 
 ' You began it, and you ought to pick it 
 all up. What will mother say ? ' 
 
 * But the bag has burst.' 
 
 ' Turn it upside down and put it in at the 
 other end.' 
 
 ^ It is a good thing the road is not dirty.' 
 
 ' I expect you'll get grits in, and all our 
 teeth '11 be edged.' 
 
 She did not offer to help him. She stood
 
 254 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 by carelessly, readjusting her hat. While thus 
 occupied a pedestrian passed them. She looked 
 after the man and was somewhat taken aback, 
 discerning her father's coadjutor in the steward- 
 ship of the chapel. Seeing her replacing her 
 hat, her companion gathering up the scattered 
 rice, he would judge there had been some 
 scuffle. He might be mischievous enough to 
 go to her father with some tale of her romp- 
 ing, hint that her conduct was scarcely in 
 consonance with the character of a convert, or 
 of a modest maiden. More decorously she 
 carried herself as they proceeded up the lane. 
 Her father might have reached home, be 
 scouring the country with his glass, and she 
 recollected the lapse which had excited her 
 father was yet but a few days old. She was 
 certain that he would not be in the best of 
 humours ; it was an open question whether he 
 would view this relative of Towse's as a proper 
 escort for her. 
 
 Cowlamb liad finished his luncheon, and 
 was coming out of the house just as they were
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 255 
 
 approaching it. He stopped a moment to 
 examine Ipliis's companion. With all Cow- 
 lamb's hard-headedness. he had an eye for 
 colour and contour, also some reverence for 
 men who had been beyond seas, and sojourned 
 in far lands. A missionary was the most 
 acceptable guest at his house. 
 
 Cowlamb eyed the stranger so graciously, 
 Iphis was astonished. He even waited for 
 them to come up, and took the baskets in. 
 
 ' Come in, sowjer ! Xow, will ye have a 
 glass o' beer ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you, su^,' replied Ephraim's 
 brotlier, gratefully and politely. 
 
 ' Draw a pitcher of beer. Missis,' said 
 Cowlamb. ' Come in. sowjer I ' 
 
 ]\Irs. Cowlamb was amazed, but she 
 seemed pleased to take the pitclier and go 
 down into the cellar. 
 
 ' There,' said the farmer, pouring from a 
 <xreat heii^'ht, ' that's a o^lass o' o'ood beer out 
 on a cowd cellar.' 
 
 Iphis sat down by the long table before
 
 256 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 the window, took off her hat and held it in 
 her lap, breathing wearily. 
 
 ' It's hot, oh deary me, I'm nigh melted.' 
 
 *And the sowjer hugged thy baskets. 
 Why thou fowt, what has t' done to harry 
 thysen,' said her father in his best manner. 
 He was jocular, blunt humour in his eyes, 
 banter on his lips. Thus was it always; if 
 he left home for a day full of fault-finding, if 
 he returned sour and cross, all his ill-temper 
 vanished at the sight of Iphis. 
 
 ' You're related to Towse's wife, hadn't 
 ye ? Goin' to stop a bit. We're throng 
 harvestin'. I can gie ye a job if you like.' 
 
 ' Oh, I shouldn't mind,' but the sailor 
 looked at his clothes. 
 
 ' Ah, thou'rt scar'd o' thy fine clothes. If t' 
 spoilt 'em, thou'd git into trouble. Stand up. 
 
 Why, thou'd be fitted easy, thou'rt nigh 
 
 as hisfh as me. I'll find thee. Towse mun 
 lend thee a smock — eh, what d'ye say ? An' 
 stop and hev a bit o' dinner wi' us, all in a 
 plain way. That'll save Towse's ; there's a
 
 DANGEROUS GROUND. 257 
 
 lot o' baens that wants filling there, I know, 
 an' Towse is a trusty fellow.' 
 
 Iphis looked up in the greatest astonish- 
 ment ; her mother, too, regarded the speaker 
 blankly, as if through trouble his senses were 
 going. Then she shook her head to herself ; 
 her husband had always some ' deep fetch ' at 
 the bottom of his generosity. Iphis sat up 
 briskly, forgetting her sudden sense of lassi- 
 tude, wondering whether her father realised 
 that this was Ephraim Sparrow's brother. 
 
 Farmer Cowlamb certainly had not com- 
 prehended that. After a moment's reflection, 
 Iphis felt sure that her father had not realised 
 it, unless he had some crafty motive. If he 
 was an innocent man, Iphis felt ready to laugh 
 in her sleeve. What an opportunity for her ! 
 — and she would take it. She would flirt 
 with this new Phccbus — draAv him on to ad- 
 miration and infatuation. She had seen his 
 eyes glisten. He was very quiet, and had a 
 sunburned, oppressed look on his forehead, 
 indicating that he liad been under the rays of a 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 hot sun; but she saw a gleam of Ephrami when 
 he attempted to kiss her. What fun to enjoy 
 Ephraim's discomfiture! Of course, in her 
 mind she would place a line of demarcation 
 he must not overstep. She checked herself. 
 What if she were to cause the brothers to 
 quarrel! But she flattered herself that she 
 could prevent or bridi^e that over, she liked 
 both too well to cause an estrangement. She 
 should give the sailor to understand that she 
 was Ephraim's sweetheart, but torture poor 
 Ephraim with agonies of fear and doubt, and 
 still hold him in hand with a look of reproach, 
 were he disposed to look with the eyes of Cain 
 on his brother. Poor Ephraim ! she reasoned 
 tliat it was cjuite proper he should be drawn 
 through the fires of purification, have all his 
 bad tempers, if he had any, purged out of 
 liim, and after a period of humiliation be 
 exalted.
 
 259 
 
 CHAPTER 12. 
 
 COQUETTING. 
 
 Epheaim Sparrow's brother went away from 
 Farmer Cowlamb's somewliat surprised at his 
 reception. Had Ephraim, his aunt Towse, 
 Towse himself, magnified a passing displea- 
 sure of the farmer's? Mrs. Cowlamb that 
 morning had sent over to Mrs. Towse for 
 some one to carry down Iphis's baskets, 
 and he had volunteered. Thereupon Mrs. 
 Towse had entered into a diffuse narrative of 
 events and analysis of character. He walked 
 back to Towse's contemplating the extraor- 
 dinary turn of affairs. It was natural they 
 would be civil — he had rendered them a ser- 
 vice, if a slight one. He rather liked tlie 
 fanner, brusque as lie was. His aunt Tow.se
 
 260 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 had said he was far from being a churl if any 
 one looked to him for help. 
 
 ' He hates to see folks making bones about 
 what they do/ said she. 
 
 Not oddly, his thoughts went from the 
 father to the daughter. She was audacious, 
 "but he considered she was not of the sensuous. 
 A fine girl — bold, and brave, and pure ; if 
 he CO aid marry her he should wish to be 
 something different to what he was. But 
 no, he could not reach her. Then he re- 
 collected that Ephraim had, but perhaps it 
 was only a passing show of favour. Towse 
 and his wife had railed at Ephraim' s folly 
 imagining himself good enough for her, or 
 that Cowlamb would ever yield. He won- 
 dered if Ephraim invested her with the 
 admiration he already had for her. He 
 wished Ephraim had not talked so resignedly 
 of yielding her up to him, if her fancy turned 
 lightly as a weathercock. He was grateful 
 to the farmer for his cordiality, for his gene- 
 rosity ; Cowlamb would have liim smoke, and
 
 COQUETTIXG. 261 
 
 brought out a spirit bottle. But Cowlamb 
 was hungry for information, and although his 
 guest was not a raconteur^ the farmer looked 
 upon the odd hour after dinner as one of 
 the most entertaining hours he had ever 
 wasted in his life. 
 
 A smile was on Robert Sparrow's face 
 when he met his aunt, and told her how well 
 he had been treated. 
 
 ' He looked on you like a gentleman ; well 
 your job is a good dele above a hedge- 
 plasher's,' couimented she. 
 
 ' Do you really think so ? ' laughed he. 
 
 ' To be suer I do. Why, if it had been a 
 haw-baw like Eli or Hosey, they'd been sent 
 off hafe an hour afore her, or else sent efter 
 her, as if they wasn't good enough to tread 
 the same gi'ound. Thou come in eppen.' ^ 
 
 ' Wush, wush, missis,' said Towse at his 
 dinner. 
 
 ' Way, woth thee, thou hardlins durst hear 
 thy sen speak. A cat may look at a king.' 
 
 1 Handy.
 
 2G2 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Heigli,' f^aid Towse, ' words travel with 
 tliG wind a'most. But sit thee down an' hev 
 a bit o' dinner.' 
 
 ' Xay,' said Robert, ' I been telling aunt he 
 asked me to have beer, and then I had dinner.' 
 
 ' What ! ' ejaculated Towse, his knife and 
 fork emphasising perpendicularly his surprise. 
 • Some folks long for cheese when they've 
 none in the house, bat when there's no lack 
 then is their desire gone,' added Towse, with 
 a cheerful determination to take surprises 
 philosophically ; at the same time imagining 
 the latter part of his sentence a quotation 
 from Scripture, to the point, and his memory 
 commendable. 
 
 ' Fm going to help you folks in the morn- 
 ing,' said Robert, expecting to surprise them 
 more. 
 
 ' Thou'll spoil thy clothes. Why, now, 
 look at thy caji, it is all road-muck. Xiver 
 mind, I'll brush it.' 
 
 ' They're going to lend me clothes.' 
 
 ' Thou'rt in luck's way,' said Mrs. Towse.
 
 COQUETTING. 2CA 
 
 ' I'll knaw what sort on a morning 'twill 
 be. It'll teem down wi' rain afore very long. 
 That makes th' owd chap anxious. Well, / 
 moant dawdle here. Get's some drmk, missis. 
 He's home and down agean by this. Law, 
 thou'rt i' high feather, Bobby.' 
 
 The weather-wise garthman was not far 
 to seek in forecast. Before the afternoon was 
 over there floated up small black clouds like 
 tufts of coarse black wool or curls of smoke, 
 * water-whelps ' Towse called them. These 
 increased in size, floated wildly across the sky, 
 gathered together, eventually obscuring the 
 sun. Xo relief from heat was felt ; the air 
 was clammy, overpowering ; languor suc- 
 ceeded parchedness. At last large rain-drops 
 pattered down, each at a respectful distance 
 from its neighbour. Cowlamb continued 
 eyeing the threatening sky nervously, and 
 not with thankfulness. 
 
 * I hope we hadn't going to have it weet ! ' 
 
 ' I hope not for sartain,' said Towse. 
 
 ^ The A'mighty does as He likes,' said
 
 264 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Cowlamb, ' bud I wish it was a sparing time, 
 this time o' year.' 
 
 ' They say it all comes for good — i' th' 
 end, but it's amazing aggravatmg at th' time.' 
 
 * Drop it,' said the farmer at last, shaking 
 his head ominously, as the ram came thicker, 
 faster, and now closer together ; ' git all up ye 
 can. I mun be off to yon Irishmen.' 
 
 ' It'll come on heavy, I'll uphold it,' said 
 Towse. 
 
 Towse was correct in his judgment. The 
 night closed in gloomily enough, shower 
 succeeding shower, a settled downpour 
 steadily flushing the parched earth. The 
 farmer sank into a dismal humour, meetino- 
 trouble more than half way, seeing his crops 
 that year ruined, Sam's too — sprouting, 
 stooks growing fast to the ground, and 
 stacks rotting and heating until they blazed. 
 There was nothing for him but to sit in the 
 house thus broodino- thinkino; ao-ain about 
 Iphis and Sam. He was too sore to speak of 
 his son to his wife — too proud. He had been
 
 COQUETTING. 265 
 
 SO boastful of Sam's cleverness and abilities 
 to her ; he had prophesied i;vith too much 
 certainty of Sam's future prosperity and 
 standino^. She was not Sam's mother, lie 
 always considered ; she was Iphis's. She 
 could not have a mother's feelino; for him — it 
 was natural she should place her ' ain bairn ' 
 first. He had not placed the other lad any- 
 thing like so high as Sam. He had always 
 considered the elder first, and the younger 
 was always given to understand that Sam 
 was first, and first to be considered. And 
 this was his return ! Cowlamb's invidious - 
 ness was brought home to him with bitter- 
 ness. Is it not so ? Do we not too often 
 centre our hearts and affections the most 
 strongly upon the oue who shall cause us the 
 most trouble and woe, giving but scant love 
 and appreciation to the dutiful and law 
 abiding ? 
 
 Cowlamb sat silently eating out his own 
 heart while the women sewed. The cUck of 
 their needles was necessary to him ; it was
 
 206 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 the familiar sound at nio^ht time ; the sio-ht of 
 the work-basket always made the evening 
 seem thrifty. Had they sat idle tliis night 
 his unrest would have been more pronounced. 
 Their occupation was evidence of a proper 
 emj^loyment of spare hours. 
 
 At ten o'clock in the summer, at nine in 
 the winter, the household retired, the servant 
 girl always leaving the kitchen one hour before 
 them. That hour matters were discussed 
 which could not be ventilated in the girl's 
 presence, for although she sat at a respectful 
 distance, in a shadowed corner, Cowlamb 
 believed the lass's ears were pertinaciously 
 set to gather in crumbs of information. 
 AVhen the girl had gone, Cowlamb turned to 
 his dauo'hter. 
 
 ' What does t' say to going back to Snail- 
 horn — to keep Sam's house ? ' 
 
 ' Snailhorn ? ' questioned Iphis. 
 
 * I spoke plain, didn't ee ? ' said her father 
 curtly. 
 
 ' Am I going ? '
 
 COQUETTING. 267 
 
 ^ I don't knaw, we s'll see. He can't get 
 along: bv liissen. Thou used to reckon tliou'd 
 raitlier be at Snail horn than here.' 
 
 Iphis recollected that well, but now her 
 wishes in that respect were somewhat modi- 
 fied. 
 
 There was half an hour's silence, during 
 whicli neither woman looked up, Iphis 
 occasionally bitino' off her thread, while her 
 mother cut it with the scissors, Cowlamb's 
 eyes directed into the fire-grate. Both sud- 
 denly looked up, for tlie farmer having 
 stealthily unlaced his boots, now kicked them 
 ofi^, and stooping down carried them away in 
 his hand to their proper position for the night. 
 He marched across the floor. 
 
 ' Where art ee goin' ? ' asked Mrs. Cow- 
 lamb. 
 
 ^ To bed, to be suer,' answered be tartly. 
 
 ' Then we'll go an all,' said she agreeably. 
 ^ Iphis, put the basket away. Tliou can finish 
 thy work another night.' 
 
 It was against all rule sitting up after the
 
 268 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 head of the house thoiio'ht o-ood to seek his 
 couch. On rare occasions, exceptions had 
 been attempted, but every ten minutes his 
 voice would be heard demanding the cause of 
 delay, warning them they would be asleep 
 when they should be awake, railing because 
 of improvident lamp-burning. There was no 
 rest for them or for him. 
 
 ' Thy faither's hed a long day, an's harried 
 and worried, Iphis ; he's dog-tired,' excused 
 Mrs. Cowlamb. 
 
 ^ One always has to bundle off just when 
 it suits him to go, whether one's ready to go 
 or not,' complained Iphis, peevishly, but 
 obeying. 
 
 'AVell, well, thou's lived long enough to 
 knaw his ways.' 
 
 ' I don't want to go to Snailhorn,' declared 
 Iphis, ' and be in the house wi' that drunken 
 Sam.' 
 
 ' I don't suppose he'll force thee to go.' 
 
 But Iphis was not so confident of this. 
 Morning came with a clear sky but a watery
 
 COQUETTING. 269 
 
 cliill in the air, as if the cessation of rain might 
 only be regarded as temporary. As Iphis 
 was dressing she heard voices in the lane. 
 She looked out of the window, and her eyes 
 rested upon a group of the men, the Irish and 
 English labourers, in colloquy. Their position 
 was pleasing and picturesque. Trees in that 
 particular spot still remained on either side 
 of the road, reasons for such charity lying in 
 the conviction that on one side of the lane 
 they screened the house, on the other they 
 were on a less vandalistic farmer's holdinfr. 
 The early sunlight through the openings 
 flooded patches with refreshing and exhila- 
 rating effect. The men had their gathering 
 rakes and other tools, a few lads stood with 
 stone jugs on their backs, which they held 
 painfully, the string cutting their fingers, but 
 of too conservative a temper to set them down 
 on the ground. The rain had caused a stop- 
 page of labour, the cause of the preamble 
 now progressmg. Wit was prominent, rude 
 perhaps as mucli in manner as in speech, the
 
 270 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Irisli subtle and less boisterous, their strong: 
 brogue at times rendering them unintelligible, 
 disqualifying their keen retorts in the ears of 
 the English labourers. She could hear their 
 short laughs. She raised her sash and list- 
 ened. 
 
 Palethorpe, advancing from the village, 
 now reached the group, and was roughly 
 seized by the shoulder. 
 
 ' This is one, lads.' 
 
 ' Mind who ya're seizin' at this time o' 
 mornin',' cried Palethorpe, stentoriously ; 'dost 
 know who thou'rt seizin' ? ' 
 
 ' Thou needn't be so big, man. Ha' they 
 catched them two crazed men ? ' 
 
 ' I niver heerd a word.' 
 
 * It's reight. They've gotten away fra 
 'sylum, an' reckon they lookin' for har'stin.' 
 
 ' There's been a policeman up here astin' 
 if they been any such sarchin' for work,' said 
 Towse. 
 
 '^If that's it, I'm off and away,' said Pale- 
 thorpe.
 
 COQUETTING. 271 
 
 ' Oil, not for thou. Bud we're stopped/ 
 said Towse. 
 
 ' I knew it 'ud be weet as tliack,' said 
 Palethorpe, ' it tern down wi' rain all neet ; 
 did thee hear it ? ' 
 
 ' Noa ; I was ower harried to keep awake,' 
 returned Towse, ' bud I mun be off.' 
 
 ' An' I mun,' said Palethorpe. ' I want 
 to do some odd jobs. One mun keep reight 
 or I wodn't ha' come ujd.' 
 
 • Maybe if thou'd as much money as some 
 folks thou wodn't ha' bothered.' 
 
 ' Xot I, Eli. They say them as is killed 
 wi' work goes to Treminster to be buried. 
 I'm so fond o' work I could go to sleep by it, 
 bud not i' a weet wheat-field. I'd niver rob 
 no man of a day's work if I wasn't main 
 forced. They make it out riches is sinful, 
 and it says i' th' Testament roughish tilings 
 o' rich men, bud I think one's a better chance 
 o' bein' good when one's well ofi". An' ya 
 don't find folks wi' plenty o' money more 
 anxiouser than poor folks, and they hadn't
 
 272 MEADOAV SWEET. 
 
 scar'd by what it says. Poverty aggravates 
 one into bein' a rascal. Parson says o' 
 Sundays we're main bad, 'cause there's no 
 collections to speak on.' 
 
 ' Them fellows/ said Towse witheringiy, 
 ^ wi' live or six hundred a year consithers 
 theirsens poor, or they'd niver stand in a 
 pulpit telling poor folks they hug their 
 money; they'd nobbut like to hug more 
 on it.' 
 
 ' Maybe,' said Palethorpe, who was a 
 staunch Churchman, and contemptuous of 
 Dissent ; ' the more money one gits the worse 
 off one feels.' 
 
 ^ I never hed that feeling, Paley, so I can't 
 tell thee.' 
 
 'Oh, well, lad,' said PalethorjDe, 'if one's 
 to be strung up for breaking that last com- 
 mandment, I broken it no end o' times. 
 When I seen a young heifer i' full profit I ha' 
 wished it was mine, nobbut. I've hung my 
 liver efter fat pigs, an' wished I'd th' mur- 
 thering on 'em. 0, an' bless ye, a bit o' land
 
 COQUETTING. 273 
 
 o' somebody else's I've felt as if it oughtn't to 
 liave gone beside me.' 
 
 ' Heigh,' assented Towse, gravely shaking 
 his head, ' them little commandments take a 
 vast dele more keeping than them big 'uns, 
 for all them little 'uns one can remember the 
 best. No man but a nat'ral fool 'ud bow and 
 scrape to a penny doll. One used to be able 
 to read 'em up i' churches times by occasions, 
 when one felt one's memory was goin', bud 
 now they've got to print 'em in such print as 
 no plain body can make out. It's high larnt 
 folks that wants the suerest direction — us 
 common folks must ast 'em if we want to 
 knaw or remember what parson tells us. 
 One mud be breakino; 'em thrufF io^'orance, 
 now then I ' 
 
 ^ Runnin' away wi' somebody else's wife 
 or 
 
 ' Xay, now, that's among the very littlest ; 
 tliat one can't help but remember. ' 
 
 'Or runnin' away wi' somebody else's 
 dowter ' 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^I hardlins knaw whether that's in, ony- 
 where/ said Towse, uncertain. 'In conse- 
 quence, if it isn't there it couldn't be a sin.' 
 
 'Xo, certainly not,' said Palethorpe. 
 
 Iphis put the window sash down gently. 
 Eun away with somebody's daughter — was 
 something in the air of her father's annoy- 
 ance ? If things came to the worst, exiled to 
 Snailhorn, even if placed under lock and key 
 there — she knew what a determined man her 
 father was — there were ways and means of 
 communicating with a lover ; trust a woman. 
 vShe flattered herself that she was of the sex. 
 Would Ephraim run away with her ? Would 
 he be bold enough ? Iphis laughed to herself, 
 to her own face in the looking-glass, as she 
 brushed her hair a little smoother, and wiped 
 the corners of her mouth with a towel coquet - 
 tishly . She even admired her own lips ; no one 
 could deny their colour, their fulness and 
 ripeness, and oh, coquette! she practised a 
 pitiful, entreating look before the glass, ad 
 then a coaxing one, the tear not there^ but she
 
 COQUETTING. 275 
 
 felt when occasion required it could be there. 
 But she would not run away while Ephraini's 
 brother stayed. 
 
 She raised the window sharply and the 
 breeze rushed promptly into her chamber. 
 
 ' Towse — you can't start yet, can you ? ' 
 
 ^No 'm, we can't that.' 
 
 ^It's a bad job.' |i 
 
 But she was thinkins^ it would baulk her 
 of seeing Robert Sparrow in the harvest -field. 
 
 There was no enduring prospect of fine 
 weather, but the sun gleamed out at breakfast 
 time, and at noon the farmer decided that 
 work should be resumed. 
 
 ^ If it's ower clatty,' said he, ' we mun 
 drop it.' 
 
 The sailor suggested a beautiful moth re- 
 turned to chrysalis or caterpillar. I'lie meta- 
 morphose was disheartening. But to Iphis 
 a little of his former glory hung about liim. 
 For one thing, he retained the open throat. 
 
 ' I wonder you don't git cowd,' remarked 
 she. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' Use is second nature, Miss.' 
 
 She discovered her father's trousers were 
 too long for him. He had rolled them over a 
 pair of Towse's high-lows. They were ample 
 too. He saw that her eyes were scrutinising 
 his get-up. 
 
 ' They were full long and big, but that 
 makes 'em^cool and pleasant, more like my 
 own.' 
 
 A touch of impatience overcame the farmer 
 as he noted the complete understanding which 
 seemed to have been arrived at between them. 
 
 ' Now, is the bessy gomg for to fancy this 
 chap now ? ' 
 
 His greater impatience was perhaps that it 
 looked like leading to 'much talk, little work.' 
 If she did nothing herself, she ought to know 
 better than hang about hindering when the 
 weather was so treacherous. And he was not 
 accustomed to seeing faults in what she did. 
 To cure her of a megrim he would have paid a 
 man to hangf about doinc^ nothinsf if he had a 
 sruarantee the man would not in turn become
 
 COQUETTING. 277 
 
 presumptuous, and go beyond what he was 
 paid for. 
 
 ' It'll turn her mind fra the t'other,' philo- 
 sophised Cowlamb, as he pressed his spurless 
 heel into the almost white nag as a signal for 
 it to proceed. 
 
 ' It's shameful how that lass does go on 
 wi' chaps,' remarked Caroline. 
 
 ' Law, missis, what would ye ? A lass 
 has to give a look, or a chap dursn't speak. 
 They tell me ya was as gallas as onybody.' 
 
 * Now, now, Palethorpe, thou niver come 
 efter me.' 
 
 ' I was ower far gone wi' somebody else. 
 Law, one doesn't alius wed the one one fancied 
 best, but the one one gits turns out mostlins 
 useful and needful to one.' 
 
 ' That's true,' said Caroline ; ' I niver 
 meant heving my man. They used to lia' 
 picturs o' folk cut out o' black paper. He'd 
 i>:ot one o' them black thino;s of a lass I did 
 knaw, an' I thowt she shouldn't hev liiin. 
 Law ! I'd that thing put by years, an' I used
 
 278 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 to go look at it, I was nobbut a soft young 
 tiling. I gave it to one o' th' baens to play 
 wi', an' lie cut her head off her neck, an' so 
 she was done wi'.' 
 
 ' You women are alius so deead unto one 
 another.' 
 
 ' Sithee, she's makhig bands for Towse's 
 sowjer.' 
 
 ' Well done him.' 
 
 ^ But how about that blacksmith chap ? ' 
 
 * 'Tis all i' the famaly.' 
 
 Iphis set herself this task in a spirit of 
 partisanship. She wished Robert to make a 
 good show of work done. She could talk to 
 him and help him as well, she only wished 
 the straw was less damp. But Robert was 
 quick and deft. A little raw at first he soon 
 showed that he had not entirely forgotten a 
 pursuit he had followed before sailoring days. 
 
 Iphis habited herself to frequentmg the 
 field to watch her protege, so that whenever 
 her father asked what had become of her, his 
 wife replied, desperately —
 
 COQUETTING. 279 
 
 ' She's off to the wheat close.' 
 
 And the farmer screwed his eyelids in 
 dull perplexity. He could not fail to notice 
 how attentive the girl was to the fellow at the 
 dmner-table, anticipating his wants, pouring 
 into the guest's glass even to the last drop of 
 beer. That a certain anxiety began to show 
 itself in his auxiliary's countenance, hopeless- 
 ness and tenderness, his eyes watchmg Iphis's 
 movements with some fondness, admiration — 
 some confusion in her talk, her eyes falling. 
 Ah, this was again a pretty piece of business ! 
 Cowlamb was now fully aware of the sailor's 
 relationship to Ephraim Sparrow, and had 
 half repented himself of his generous im- 
 pulses. The sailor was not such good com- 
 pany as at first ; he seemed too absorbed now 
 to enter into any talk with him. 
 
 The wheat was all in stook, the oats were 
 all cut, and the barley was fast becoming 
 white, and the barley harvest was the most 
 tickle. It should stand out, but a rain might 
 depreciate it several shiUings a quarter.
 
 280 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Robert's leave of absence was fast expiring. 
 He bad intended going borne to spend bis 
 last few days witb bis fatber. Day by day 
 be put it off until be bad reacbed tbe last day 
 but one of bis leave. Ipbis saw little of 
 Epbraim, and tbose few occasions sbe met 
 witb bim sbe treated biui witb provoking- 
 coolness. Epbraim retired eacb time witb 
 tbe conviction tbat bis day was over and tbat 
 be must abandon all bope. Tbe first pang 
 over, Epbraim' s nature prevented sucb usage 
 from cutting deeply — resignation was one of 
 Epbraim's strong points. He saw tbat bis 
 brotber was drifting into a strong passion ; 
 its apparent deptb appalled bim. Epbraim 
 was quick enougb to conceive tbat bis brotber 
 was not of so elastic a temperament as be 
 was. A fever of desire lurked in tbe elder 
 brotber' s eye, tbere was worsbip in tbe little 
 attentions be bad for Ipbis wben tbey met, 
 bis voice was wistful and tender. Robert's 
 polisb caused Epbraim to feel bimself more 
 of a clown, more awkward and rude : and
 
 COQUETTING. 281 
 
 although Robert's words were few and quiet, 
 and well chosen, Ephraim knew it was 
 intense passion that kept them calm and 
 moderate. Ephraim felt himself unworthy 
 before all this. It was only in Ephraim's 
 presence the elder brother had qualms, feeling 
 himself a supplanter, acting a Jacob's part. 
 When conscience smote him he met it sadly. 
 He would have to go away soon, and the field 
 would remain for his younger brother, her 
 
 first lover, and she would No ! he did 
 
 not wish to think that she would entirely 
 forget him. He hoped that he would dwell 
 in her memory and be remembered kindly. 
 He was foolish ; her goodwill from the first 
 was owing to him bemg Eph's brother. 
 Then lie could not overlook the impression 
 that of late there had been little communica- 
 tion or concord between the farmer's dauo-hter 
 and his brother. Why had he come at 
 all ? 
 
 ' When does he make a finish ? ' asked the 
 farmer.
 
 282 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ' To -morrow ; he's going by the night 
 train from Moortown to see his father,' said 
 Iphis with guilty knowledge. 
 
 ' They're ordered to fm-ren parts, Towse 
 tells me,' added Mrs. Cowlamb. 
 
 ' There's likely to be feightin' ; corn'll get 
 up,' remarked the farmer with some satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 ' He hesn't persuaded his brother to 
 go ? ' said Cowlamb, venturing on dangerous 
 ground. 
 
 'I don't know,' returned Iphis im- 
 patiently, off her guard, then turning 
 away. 
 
 The former repented himself of his 
 temerity. Shortly after Iphis left the house, 
 a little disturbed. She had not treated 
 Ephraim well. In despair he might enlist. 
 According to gossip, he had no light time of 
 it with his master. This and her treatment 
 of him might make him feel restless, reckless. 
 She had not failed to notice Ephraim look- 
 ing downcast, despondent, without a struggle
 
 COQUETTING. 283 
 
 giving up the field to his more favoured 
 brother. He set too little store upon himself. 
 
 They were leading wheat that day. She 
 wandered up to the stackyard, it must be con- 
 fessed, a little aimlessly. To her surprise, 
 Ephraim was there, seated on a huge draught 
 horse, not astride of it, but as the plough 
 lads sit. She could see that he had no stock- 
 ings on, but whether that was because of 
 poverty or a desire for comfort she was 
 scarcely able to determine. Ephraim was 
 spinning out his errand to its utmost, ignor- 
 ing Farmer Cowlamb's prohibition, wishing 
 to steal a few minutes to be near his brother. 
 Robert was in a waggon throvs'ing up sheaves, 
 which Towse on one side of the stack deftly 
 disposed, while another waggon on the other 
 side was ministered to by Hosea and the 
 sheaves taken by Palethorpe. 
 
 Robert's waggon Avas nearly empty ; 
 Ephraim, idly seated on the horse, was talk- 
 ing at his ease, while Robert's words Avere 
 jerked out after every exertion.
 
 284 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 None of them saw her at first, and she 
 stood observing them interestedly. The 
 fraternal affection of the brothers touched 
 her. When the waggon was empty, Robert 
 sat down at the tail ; then leaving his fork in 
 the waggon, sprang to the ground. At the 
 same moment Ephraim slipped off the horse, 
 and Eli carrying gears on his head, advanced 
 to the horse's tail, and adroitly threw them 
 upon the animal's back. 
 
 'Nobody would believe ya two was 
 brothers,' said Palethorpe, his waggon now 
 emptied. With his fork in the stack he accom- 
 plished a clever sliding descent. 
 
 ' Whoo ! ' grinned Eli to Ephraim, ' thou 
 looks like a slice chopped off" o' Bob.' Then 
 addressing the horse authoritatively, ' Come 
 hether a woy-ah. Tinker ! — Gee ! ' 
 
 The sailor could not divest himself of the 
 effects of discipline ; he stood erect, and his 
 carriage was good, while Ephraim' s locomo- 
 tion was plunging and loose. Ephraim was 
 quite ready to admit his inferiority, regardmg
 
 COQUETTING. 285 
 
 his taller brother with pride and affection. 
 Long years had parted them. No envy was 
 like to take its place in the breast of either. 
 
 ' Why doesn't t' 'list ? ' asked Eli. 
 
 ' I TTodn't much mind,' said Ephraim. 
 
 ' Xay,' said Robert, ' stop thy time now; 
 thou can do that when thou art beat.' 
 
 ' Why should t' 'Ust ? ' asked Iphis, in- 
 dignantly addressing Ephraim. 
 
 ' I'd knaw ' 
 
 ' Thou'd better stop an' sarve thy time.' 
 
 But Ephraim would not meet her eyes. 
 
 ^ I mun be off,' said Ephraim awkwardly, 
 ' or my owd mowdy-warp '11 be down unto 
 me for bein' a long while, an' 1 no business 
 here.' 
 
 ^Git into no scrapes, Ephraim,' advised 
 the prudent Towse. 
 
 * Father thinks maybe there'll be war,' 
 said Iphis with a measure of anxiety, follow- 
 ing with Robert Swallow in the Avake of the 
 waggon. Though terrible to her, there was a 
 glamour of the heroic. This young fellow
 
 286 MEADOW SAVEET. 
 
 before her would likely enough take part 
 in it. 
 
 * Has he seen the paper ? ' 
 
 ' The Mercury had something about it.' 
 
 ^ Well, lots of our men will be eager.' 
 
 ^ And shall you ? ' 
 
 ' I can hardly say now. I don't think I 
 shall be so much as I have been.' 
 
 ^Why?' 
 
 ' Xay,' Robert Sparrow shook his head 
 with tender diffidence. ' I might tell thee, 
 if ' 
 
 ' No ifs,' said she, with bewitchmg en- 
 couragement. 
 
 'I hadn't free. Is it true that there's 
 aught between Eph an' thee ? ' 
 
 ' You can ask him that,' she' replied. 
 
 ' It's true ; thou doesn't deny it.' 
 
 He appeared to think it would be as well 
 not to explain himself. She was dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 ' But if Ephraim fancied me, and I didn't 
 him '
 
 COQUETTING. 287 
 
 This was certainly reasonable. Men had 
 made themselves foolish over women who 
 would not hearken to them. Conld he expect 
 a modest girl to volunteer her preference ? It 
 was possible Ephraim had had no real place 
 in her heart before he came. If he had 
 caught her ear, she had listened out of sheer 
 wilfulness and the spirit of coqucttishness. A 
 yellow- centred cornflower, the ox-eye daisy, 
 she held in her hand ; one by one the white 
 petals were dismembered ruthlessly by re- 
 morseless fingers. 
 
 ' Thou only plays with a fellow/ said he 
 solemnly. 
 
 * Xay, I don't,' denied she earnestly. 
 
 ' Are you sure of it ? ' 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't.' 
 
 ' Thou'rt not playing with me ? ' he asked 
 with strong feeling, but with some doubt of 
 her. 
 
 ' Xot now.' 
 
 ' Well, then, I wish I could come and 
 work here to be near thee. I'd work hard an'
 
 288 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 try to better my sen for thee.' His voice was 
 tremulous and entreating and full of the 
 purest emotion. He had no rough modes of 
 courtship, no violent seizure ; he was a sup- 
 pliant and held himself apart, until voice or 
 gesture showed him that which was faintly 
 denied might be taken freely. 
 
 ' Hasn't t' said as much to others afore 
 me,' temporised she ; ' sowjers and sailors can 
 git a fresh sweetheart wherever they go, they 
 tell me.' 
 
 'Never — not,' he stammered, ' as I mean 
 now.' 
 
 She laughed in a low tone. ' Oh, Robert, 
 thou left a sweetheart where thy ship stopped, 
 I'll be bound.' 
 
 He only shook his head disconsolately. 
 
 ' I could buy myself off, maybe ' 
 
 He stopped and looked in her face appeal- 
 in gly ; he failed, though, to interpret her 
 sphinx-like face. 
 
 ' Thou couldn't do that just now, maybe,' 
 said she, with a feeling of pity.
 
 COQUETTING. 289 
 
 * Maybe not But if thou doesn't care 
 
 for anybody else,' he took her hand, ' tell me, 
 Iphis. I do love thee. I didn't think I 
 should, really ; but every day I been getting 
 
 worse. If I stopped here much longer 
 
 Well,' said he, ' 'tis as well I am going, 
 maybe. Thou doesn't like to tell me ? ' He 
 was anxious even to find her an excuse for 
 her hesitation. ' Isn't that it ? Thou could 
 easily draw thy hand away if it was so.' 
 
 He felt himself bound to ask her the 
 question to quiet his conscience with regard 
 to Ephraim. If it had been any one else, he 
 felt that his wooing would have overlooked 
 such an obstacle as a previous lover, one who 
 still had pretensions. But it was his own 
 brother. His heart sank, when he felt her 
 hand stirring ; resistlessly he let it go. 
 
 * I thought so it's Eph ? ' 
 
 Iphis incUned her head. 'But I like you ; 
 but it is Ephraim, it is Ephraim ! ' confessed 
 she with some agitation and remorse. 
 
 They heard a horse's feet behind them. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 Both were roused out^of their other world by 
 the tangibilities of the world about them. It 
 was Cowlamb riding up. He had been ob- 
 servinof them for some minutes, walkmi^: his 
 horse on the grassy hedge side. His reflec- 
 tions until the last moment or two were 
 buoyant and comforting to himself. 
 
 ' Oh, well, we s'll soon be out on Mm. 
 He's put t'other chap out on her heead, I'se 
 think. Oh, well, if she begins agean wi' him, 
 oiF she packs to Snailhorn.' 
 
 But now close upon them he lieard her 
 say distinctly, ' I like you ; but it is Ephraim, 
 it is Ephraim ! ' 
 
 ' She shall go to Snailhorn,' muttered the 
 farmer, savagely. A peculiar sound made 
 with tongue and palate, and he was abreast of 
 them. 
 
 ' Now, then,' cried he, addressing the 
 sailor, ' shall you git thruff ? ' 
 
 ' I think we shall, sir,' said Kobert quietly. 
 
 Yes, they would have all wheat in that
 
 COQUETTING. 291 
 
 nioflit, and liarvestino;, as far as he was con- 
 cerned in it, would be over. If he had had 
 longer leave of absence he could not have 
 stayed another day now. 
 
 xj 2
 
 292 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 CHAPTER 13. 
 
 EXPATETATION. 
 
 The corn was all led, even the barley, and 
 some of the wheat was thrashed, for Farmer 
 Cowlamb had a weakness for being one of the 
 first in the market with a sample of new 
 wheat. 
 
 Sam's housekeeper was leaving him this 
 very day. Iphis's boxes were packed and 
 stood in the kitchen. She was going back to 
 Snailhorn, to the home of her childhood. • It 
 would have had its measm^e of pleasure and 
 delight for her but for the feeling that it was 
 a genteel kind of transportation. Iphis ap- 
 peared in the kitchen dressed for her journey. 
 She passed through, scarcely deigning to look 
 at any one.
 
 EXPATRIATION. 293 
 
 ' Where art tli' going ? ' asked her father, 
 jealously. 
 
 ' To Towse's, to bid the baens good-bye,' 
 vouchsafed she, 
 
 'Don't be lono; about it,' cautioned he: 
 then to his wife adding, with deep offence, 
 though with a grim chuckle, 'fine and rear 
 and rank she is.' 
 
 Ij^his hurried across the two fields. Her 
 heart was somewhat heavy. Her mettle, too, 
 was curbed and bitted down. She seemed to 
 be bound down with an iron chain. She was 
 going to live with Sam, keep his house, but it 
 was on compulsion. She could leave a word 
 behind with Mrs. Towse ; it was not likely 
 that Ephraim would be there. She had not 
 seen him to sj^eak to since his brother's de- 
 parture. She had seen him in the chapel, but 
 Ephraim seemed to fight shy even of looking 
 at her, and her father had insisted upon her 
 vacatino; her seat amons: the sin<]^crs to sit 
 with him in their narrow pew. 
 
 She did not know that her father had
 
 294 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 done his best to make Ephraim's place almost 
 too liot to hold him. The blacksmith, not 
 ignorant of Ephraim's escapade, was treating 
 the lad with some consideration, if a little 
 envy rankled with it ; but a word from the 
 farmer, intimating a change of smith if 
 Ephraim Sparrow were sent on his place 
 again, caused that worthy to return to and 
 improve upon his old tyranny ; curtness, 
 grumbling, and grievance implied by looks 
 and gestures more than words. The black- 
 smith gave the farmer to understand that he 
 would curb the presuming Ephraim, and give 
 him more work to take the folly out of him. 
 
 Happily, away from his hardships. 
 Ephraim was blithe as any lark, looking 
 forward to the day of his release. There was 
 the faintest chance of Iphis meetmg Ephraim 
 at the garthman's. Already the Towses were 
 aware of the proscription, but delicacy would 
 have prevented them from mentioning it to 
 Iphis. They rather held with the farmer.
 
 EXPATRIATION. 295 
 
 that he was justified in the course he had 
 adopted. 
 
 The Towse children and some of the 
 neighhours' were at pLay on the house floor. 
 Joel, a towel thrown over his head, and the 
 other children around him, chanting a bur- 
 then in a dreary key — 
 
 Be he old or be he young, 
 
 He hath not larnt his mother tongue. 
 
 'Husht! Imsht! baens, you do make sich 
 a noise,' said Mrs. Towse, the moment she 
 saw Iphis enter. 
 
 The silence was profound, and Joel, affec- 
 ted by it, though disappointed at the interrup- 
 tion of the rite of which he was the mystic, 
 removed the towel from his head angrily. 
 
 ' Thou be goin' to leave us, then ? ' said 
 Mrs. Towse. 
 
 ' I am, but not by my good will,' declared 
 Ipliis ; then softening a little, she said, ' Sam 
 was alius a good brother, but he isn't what he 
 used to be. I think you're always mendin' 
 stockin's when I come.'
 
 296 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 ^ Alius fisliin' or inendin' nets.' 
 
 ' Have ye heard fra Robert, Mrs. Towse? ' 
 
 ' Well, Ephraim lies — lie doesn't knaw 
 whether there'll be war, bud they're ordered 
 off. It's a good way off, but it's not the 
 Indies, it's a harder name than that. I doubt 
 we s'll niver see Robert no more.' 
 
 Ipliis looked so much distressed, Mrs. 
 Towse felt concerned. 
 
 ' I haven't seen Ej^hraim to speak to him ; 
 he fights shy of me, and I don't know what 
 I've done amiss to him. Has he said any- 
 thing to you, Mrs. Towse ? ' 
 
 But Mrs. Towse shook her head, mentally 
 determining to be neither pillar nor post. 
 The first precept with Mrs. Towse was duty 
 and obedience to parents. 
 
 ' Oh, I see,' said Iphis, with some temper, 
 ' there's nowt to be got out o' you.' 
 
 ' We moant git into no trouble,' said Mrs. 
 Towse, apologetically. 
 
 'I wish I had been a boy,' said Iphis, 
 v/ith a forced laugh. ' I once teld father so
 
 EXPATRIATION. 297 
 
 when I was little, and he said, '• And I wish 
 thou lied;" and then I said, "Then, why 
 didn't ye christen me different ? " He tells 
 everybody that.' 
 
 ' Well, it was a queer thing to say,' said 
 Mrs. Towse, laughing. ' Fancy I An' are ye 
 o;oin' to Snailhorn for o-ood ? ' 
 
 ' I expect so,' said Ipliis, despondently. 
 ' I once reckoned o' going, but I hate to think 
 about it now. But I mun say good-bye, or 
 I s'll have father here safe enow ; we have to 
 catch the two train. Joel, what shall I bring 
 thee when I come back — a silver new nothino; 
 to pin on thy sleeve ? ' 
 
 ' Xo,' replied Joel ; * I want a sword, 
 and a gun, and a monkey.' 
 
 ' Xow, thmk o' that,' said Mrs. Towse, 
 hands outspread, juvenile assurance and 
 tenacity of memory thus exemplified in her 
 own offspring. ' Once we bowt him one o' 
 them monkeys on a stick, at liisby feast. He 
 broke it first day, he did. He would make 
 the monkey go clean over in a way he was
 
 298 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 niver meant to, an' wi' lickin', the paint came 
 off on to his face, an' a clean pinny. He 
 was sitch an a sight as niver was seen. I 
 thowt he'd forgotten all about it.' 
 
 ' I ain't, though,' said Joel, proudly. 
 
 ^ Hush, hush ! mustn't be naughty, Joel.' 
 
 ' I hadn't naughty,' declared Joel, in hurt 
 surprise. 
 
 ' Xo, I'm suer he isn't,' said Iphis, merci- 
 fully. 
 
 'AYell, I moant bide no longer, Mrs. 
 Towse, so good-bye. I shall come and see 
 you when I come home, if it's nobbut for a 
 day. Good-bye, Joel, and be a good boy,' 
 advised Iphis, kissing Joel where his face 
 was cleanest. 
 
 Mrs. Towse, watching Iphis hurry over 
 the fields, sang to herself in low tones a song 
 old as the hills, but which did not strike her 
 as apposite — ' Brangiin' no more ' — but then 
 Mrs. Towse' s wit, humour, and philosophy 
 was like that of her neighbours, innocent of 
 forcmg, the spontaneous outcome of her mind.
 
 EXPATRIATION. 299 
 
 Readiness of response, happiness of retort is 
 native to illogical, nntrained minds. Before 
 Ipliis was settled in the train, her father at 
 her side, the wayward girl had passed out of 
 the matron's mind. 
 
 It is a cleanly county; there are cleanly 
 houses and cleanly people, clean streets in the 
 small market towns, and well ordered sewers. 
 But go on the railway, the cars are deplorably 
 dirty ; soap and soda is certainly not a strong 
 point with directors ! 
 
 A vignette of a farming acquaintance 
 attracted Cowlamb's attention. He made for 
 the compartment where this face beamed as 
 complacently as the bull's head on the 
 mustard tin. 
 
 ' Come on, Iphis, we'll be in here.' 
 
 ' What a dirty carriage ! ' said Iphis, 
 ready to be disgusted with anything ; * but 
 they're all alike — they always are dirty.' 
 
 ' Here, sithee baen, sit o' this paper, 
 they're not fit for women-kind,' said her 
 father's acquaintance. Iphis was not in a
 
 300 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 gracious mood ; she took the paper though, 
 then met his eyes with a look akin almost 
 to horror. What a fat man ! He smiled at 
 her, and she felt ready to sink through the 
 carriage floor. \Yhat a ponderous human 
 being ! It was easy to see the complaisant 
 fellow sat at a good table, although he must 
 sit some distance from it, and no weak arm- 
 chair to support his twenty stone odd. His 
 hands were now clasped across his monstrous 
 stomach. His features were not unpleasantly 
 caricatured with wreaths of fat ; he seemed 
 to have numberless chins. He loved good 
 living, no doubt, and when he was out drank 
 many threepenn'orths. He looked benig- 
 nantly at Iphis, his bearing suggestive of 
 thankfulness that he showed in his person 
 abundant evidence of his prosperity and 
 power to make any friends comfortable who 
 might favour him with their company, that 
 was, so far as eating and drinking and a free 
 house went. 
 
 Iphis did not feel at all inclined to melt.
 
 EXPATRIATION. 301 
 
 She sat staring disconsolately out of the 
 window. She listened to her father and his 
 friend talking — wheat, barley, oats ; oats, 
 barley, wheat, but it interested her. Crops 
 on either side came in for criticism. 
 
 ' Bad land — heeads badly filled — thin.' 
 
 ^ Not so forrad about here as down wi' 
 us,' from Farmer Cowlamb. 
 
 Transition from bad land to better effected 
 by the puissant locomotive. But bad farm- 
 ing. Some one known to both coming in for 
 censure and sarcasm. 
 
 ' A good farmer afore a kitchen fire, or in 
 publics wi' a glass afore him ; eh, Cowlamb ? ' 
 
 Cowlamb nodded. 
 
 ' He can discourse there mightily o' stock, 
 an' har'st, an' hay gittin', an' how to keep 
 fly ofl* tonnops, but somehow he's alius 
 back'ard at rent-day. He's hed ill luck i' all 
 his venturs.' 
 
 "Tis not to be wondered at that, seeing 
 how he leaves all his business for other folks 
 to transact, while he's gadding about parish
 
 302 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 business or some consarns o' other folkses,' 
 said Farmer Cowlamb, cynically. 
 
 ' I see, Cowlamb, thou knaws the man as 
 well as me.' 
 
 ' I good reason ' 
 
 Cowlamb' s face, as an old writer puts it, 
 was almost actionable ; his fat friend regarded 
 him gravely, then both nodded — one sourly, 
 the other sympathetically. 
 
 ' That's a different place,' said the fat 
 farmer, pointing out of the window, ' to what 
 it was when I was a lad. Law, I seen the 
 owd man busy paring sods an' laying 'em on 
 th' bank tops. The warren — blowing sand, 
 short ling. That was the owd man's way o' 
 keeping the bunnies within bounds.' 
 
 ' And that was Squire Dick I ' said Cow- 
 lamb. 
 
 ' On Sunday he rid an owd galloway to 
 Cuckoo-field, ^ve mile away, wi' his owd bas- 
 soon, for he was that fond o' church music. 
 That was his one deli^'lit.' 
 
 ' And that son of his niver got married,
 
 EXPATRI ATIOX. 3 3 
 
 an' died, an' dowters still single — owd 
 maids.' 
 
 * Scar'd for fear chaps sliould want 'em for 
 their money,' said Cowlamb's friend. 
 
 ' Better keep single than that,' said Cow- 
 lamb, looking significantly at Iphis, who 
 tossed her head to herself. 
 
 ' How queer things go I A man spends his 
 life a scrattin' to be a money man, an' put 
 forrad his baens ; they don't alius fit into his 
 notions.' 
 
 ' Xo ; that's true,' re23lied Cowlamb, fer- 
 vently. 
 
 ' Aye, a young lad's taken a farm i' our 
 parish, rucks o' money there is th' famaly, an' 
 nowts too hot nor too heavy for him. Dal it, 
 they tell me he's a thousand pounds worse 
 since he began. Xow if he'd started 
 
 poorish ' 
 
 ' It ud ha' been th' making on him, may- 
 be,' finished Cowlamb. 
 
 ^Well, I s'll soon be home. T s'll git 
 out directly. The train stops a Ijit. AVill ye
 
 304 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 git out and liev a threepenn'orth, Cow- 
 lamb? ' 
 
 ' No, thank ye.' 
 
 ' Well,' offering a fat hand, ' good-day. 
 Good-day, my dear, I hope thou'll get a good 
 husband. Heigh, oh, bless thee, all my lasses 
 hev husbands, baens and all — all the sorts 
 there is. Thou's the reight sort, I can see.' 
 He stood outside talking. ' I knew thou had 
 one lass beside them lads, but she's a 
 woman.' 
 
 ' He's a nice man, Mr. Hezlewood,' ven- 
 tured Iphis, as soon as the farmer moved on. 
 
 * Nice enough, if he wasn't so fond o' 
 threepenn'orths. I once saw a man change 
 him a sovereign. " Now, thou'll come an' 
 hev a threepenn'orth?" says Hezlewood. 
 " Nay, there's no need o' that," says the man, 
 " awiver I can't just now." A bit efter 
 Hezlewood meets him. "Here you!" says 
 Hezlewood, " come on, I owe tha a three- 
 penn'orth, an' I hate bemg in debt." ' 
 
 Iphis laughed.
 
 EXPATRIATION. 305 
 
 ^ I see nowt to laugh at/ said her father, 
 crabbedly, ' throwing good money away. 
 There was nine or ten more he was in debt 
 wi' somehow or other. Then, when another 
 man wanted to treat back, Hezlewood says 
 '• Xay." Awiver, the fellow got mad, an' 
 swore he'd niver ride in Hezlewood' s cart ony 
 more if Hezlewood wouldn't be treated. Law, 
 what a while they do keep one at tliese pot- 
 terin' places.' 
 
 More often Cowlamb took train to Have- 
 luck to get to Snailhorn, but this day Sam's 
 trap was to be at Glamford. When they 
 reached the inn it had not yet been heard of. 
 The farmer fumed, but there was nothinof else 
 Ijut waiting. In the snug bar a party of job- 
 bers were sitting returned from some fair. 
 They were full of bounce and talk, com- 
 pounded of simplicity and shrewdness. Clever 
 in their calling, outside of it guileless of ordi- 
 nary intelligence, of the constitution of people 
 keeping more than an ordinary pace with the 
 world. They saw Cowlamb enter, but none 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 of. them seemed to know liim. Altliouo-h 
 talking among themselves, they were not 
 altoo'ether unmindful of foreim ears catchino- 
 the gist of their conversation; indeed they 
 talked to be heard, rather flattered if they 
 gained an interested ear. Happy recollec- 
 tions of fortunate days, old stories retold, as 
 if to stimulate in the face of darker days. 
 One would tell a story, the others simulate 
 interest, for they had perhaps heard it over 
 and over again, but their Jesuitry was to 
 entrap the stranger into attention and re- 
 gard. 
 
 ' Just guess how many he bowt at Ragby 
 fair?' 
 
 ^ A thousand ! ' with mock eagerness. 
 
 'A thousand?' — a moment's pause to 
 excite surprise — ' six, and cleared 4/. a-piece 
 at Sleepclose market — twenty-four thousand 
 pound. Here, landlady, efter that we can 
 drink another glass, it puts heart into one.' 
 
 ' I think we can,' said Cowlamb, taking 
 up his glass. Iphis v»'as inclined to be indig-
 
 o A^ 
 
 EXPATRIATION. 30 
 
 nant, to tliink that her father should doubt 
 the man. Xo doubt he was speakmg the 
 truth. Only Iphis knew her father so well — 
 he was not a credulous man, he would not 
 place implicit faith m such brag. 
 
 ^ It's true, sir,' affirmed another ; ' he's 
 geven up jobbing an' taken to farming.' 
 
 ' I didn't dispute it, sir,' said Cowlamb, 
 drily. 
 
 Iphis noticed that they Avere shy of their 
 experiences after this. To Iphis, jobbers bar- 
 gaining was always an interesting scene. 
 Leading the seller away from the throng, 
 affectionately resting one hand upon a shoul- 
 der, the buyer ^ indulges in much whispering 
 and many gestures. At one moment one 
 expects osculation imminent, at another there 
 is such repulse that one believes the odd 
 grimaces indicate scorn, contempt, and re- 
 course to fisticuffs. But the arm flills point- 
 lessly, the bargaining recommences, the pair 
 of fiices touch almost, some l^ctter under- 
 standing seems to prevail, they cast each
 
 308 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 other off with sudden movement, the vendee's 
 hand is outspread pahn U23ward, and down 
 with a smart shock comes the hand of the 
 vendor. 
 
 A trap went past the window, a horse 
 with a proud neck and fine action. It drew 
 all to the window. 
 
 ' A fine animal,' said one. 
 
 ' It's Sam's,' whispered the farmer to his 
 daughter — then to the landlady in an under- 
 tone, ' tell the chap he needn't lowse out ; ast 
 him if he'll hev a pint o' beer. We'll go in a 
 minute, Iphis : I'll just finish my glass.' 
 
 ' I like a good topped hoss,' said the 
 jobber, again. 
 
 ' Aye, thou ought to know a good hoss 
 when thou sees one ; thou's done a bit o' hoss 
 coupin' i' thy time.' 
 
 ' I hev, but I was once at Herecastle and 
 there was a fellow, every time I spoke about 
 a hoss, kep' puttin' it down in a book. I'd 
 been up (before the magistrates) the week 
 afore. I thowt he was curus about me and
 
 EXPATRIATION. 309 
 
 was set on to watcli me, so says I, "I hope 
 you're puttin' it down correct." Says he, " I 
 hope so." So I says to hmi, '*' Maybe you 
 want to know who I be ; I'll tell you straight. 
 I'm Jack Moody, the reprobate boss dealer o' 
 Haveluck." I heerd no more on it.' 
 
 ' It sattled him, I'll uphold it,' said the 
 landlord, who had come in. ' I went to a 
 horse-breaker when I was a lad, and my 
 father said to me, '* Make up thy mind, lad, 
 for I do think a horseman that dies worth his 
 saddle and bridle he's not a bad fellow." I 
 offen thowt o' what he said, often est when I 
 was mounted i' th' stable. I ridden a boss in 
 a dark stable for Aveeks, we dursn't let 'em 
 see daylight — when we browt 'em out they'd 
 blinkers on. Romping six-ycar-owds, tho- 
 roughbreds nobody liked fettling. One cowd 
 morning I thowt I'd go to a bit o' plain 
 .^arvice ; my finger ends was frozen nearly, an' 
 I bed to howd my boss that tight, buck as lie 
 would when he'd th' least chanch, and I see 
 th' owd tailor come out and rub his iroosc on
 
 310 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 the door mat; thinks I, he's a better job nor 
 me, so onehow or other I got a trade.' 
 
 ^ Iphis, we'll be going,' said Cowlamb. 
 ' Good-day to ye.' 
 
 ^ Good-day, sir,' said the landlord, obse- 
 quiously. 
 
 ^ Who is that? ' asked the jobbers. 
 
 'AYhy, don't ye know? Why, Cow- 
 lamb.' 
 
 ' I thowt I'd seen him afore,' said the 
 story-teller, scarcely recovered from his dis- 
 comfiture ; ' he's a clever farmer, I hear.' 
 
 ' Them two sons o' his are turning out 
 queer,' said another ; ^ they tell me when Sam 
 Cowlamb comes here or goes to Haveluck or 
 Treminster market there's no telling when 
 he'll git by agam.' 
 
 ^ He's parted from his wife, isn't he ? ' 
 
 * The owd man looks sour. He's a good 
 dele put on.' 
 
 Iphis saw all the faces at the window. 
 She knew instinctively that the party inside 
 were canvassino; them. Having: her father's
 
 EXPATRIATION. 311 
 
 nature, she met tlie quizzical eyes crossly and 
 defiantly. She could not hear the broad 
 lauo'h that went round after one of them 
 said — 
 
 ' That's his lass, an' a chip o' th' owd 
 block. That sour look 's the owd man up 
 an' down.' 
 
 The town was a pleasant one, more pic- 
 turesque than Moortown. It was a beautiful 
 country around it. The road passed through 
 a rich area, old pasture, gentle slopes, and 
 lush hollows, the wool of the sheep yellow, 
 the red beasts sleek and ' solider ' than those 
 about Willowby. Copses of young slim trees, 
 broad hedgerows, with ancient oaks and elms, 
 skirted the road for miles, wide strips of green 
 on either side, the villagers' cows grazing, 
 and a lad ^ tent in ' them. 
 
 ' A good road,' said Cowlamb. ' I tell 
 our overseers they ought to conic an' look at 
 the roads about here. They use gravel, not 
 that soft clay or limestone. The first frost, 
 if it isn't sharp enough to bear a duck
 
 312 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 on a dyke, it's all splish-sposh, like soft 
 mortar.' 
 
 ' There is some line trees an' all,' said 
 Iphis, won over with the beautiful entour- 
 age. 
 
 ' A'most too many on 'em,' said her father, 
 critically. 
 
 ' There's a few trees about our lane, else 
 they're all stubbly thorns i' th' hedgerows.' 
 
 ' They look nice when they're white ower 
 wi' May, or red wi' cat-haws.' 
 
 ' Xot so pritty as them hoss-chesnuts when 
 they're i' flower.' 
 
 ' They're good to nowt, not much more 
 vally than tliorn i the wood, an' not half so 
 useful to a farmer.' 
 
 ' Is iverything forced to be useful? ' ques- 
 tioned Iphis. 
 
 ' Thou'rt i' thy tantrums, to be suer,' said 
 Cowlamb, impatiently; 'thou knaws as well 
 as I do what ee mean.' 
 
 Iphis relapsed into silence again. She 
 brightened when the great white house came
 
 EXPATRIATION. 313 
 
 in sight. She was born there ; her soul was 
 not yet dead. The thick stone walls and 
 sturdy comfort were much more preferable to 
 the lath-and- plaster grace of the Willowby 
 farmhouse. Its multitudinous windows 
 gleamed m the sun ; the ivy that here and 
 there ran up to the eaves, a distinct feature in 
 the building. How dear to her was every 
 antiquated piece of stone-work, the curious 
 old kitchen-door frame that might have come 
 out of an abbot's refectory ! How oddly the 
 modern register grates accorded with massive 
 stone mouldings and chamfers of the old open 
 rano'es ! and the window-sills were as lari>;e as 
 cottagers' tables. 
 
 Sam was m the 3^ard, He came up like a 
 dutiful son and shook hands with his father 
 and kissed Iphis. Iphis found herself ad- 
 miring Sam's dutifulness and filial respect. He 
 looked to her fatlier, she thought, apologetic- 
 ally, as if he were sorry for his faults and 
 would do better in the future. She was 
 almost sore because her father would show
 
 314 MEADOW SWEET, 
 
 liimself so curt and unsympathetic. Sam 
 followed at his father's heels like a prodigal 
 son returned to an obdurate father. Cowlamb 
 would certainly have sent his prodigal to the 
 swine until his heat was over. 
 
 How homelike everything seemed to her ! 
 It was like coming back home. Her heart 
 seemed to warm within her and her brain to 
 quicken. Her eyes glistened at the pale 
 bright blue on the staircase wall. The flock 
 paper on the dining-room wall — hideous to 
 present esthetes — had not been changed, 
 although Sam, the last time she was there, 
 had declared he was tired of it. Iphis had 
 said that she should be sorry to come and find 
 another in its place. Had Sam retained the 
 room in its old guise, heeding her ? Ij^his 
 was inclined to believe so. The girl brought 
 in a kettle and placed it on the trivet. Iphis 
 noted that Sam had a liking for comfort, and 
 did not keep best rooms merely to look, at 
 and to entertain company in. Xo ; Sam's wife 
 had had high notions, as Farmer Cowlamb
 
 EXPATRIATIOX. Oii) 
 
 said. She had acquiesced in breakfasting in 
 the great kitchen, on condition that the other 
 meals of the day be had in the dining-room. 
 But Cowlamb would never have found fault 
 with his son for living in good style, however 
 he might deprecate Sam's ' uppishness ' at 
 home. Whenever he went to Snailhorn he 
 settled down comfortably in the easiest of 
 Sam's leather- covered arm-chairs, his slippered 
 feet stretched out at leo;'s len<2:th on the 
 
 rug. 
 
 Sam was open and frank with his fatlier, 
 and Cowlamb forebore pressing upon past 
 slips. While Iphis was m the kitchen cutting 
 bread into writing-paper slices, the farmer was 
 acquainting Sam of Ij^his's alarming proclivi- 
 ties. He had a fine opportunity, for Iphis 
 must have a scour round, opening closet and 
 cupboard drawers, asking numberless ques- 
 tions of the stout lass who was there ready to 
 wait on the young mistress hand and foot, 
 with no laggard Avill. The fireplace was 
 under a beam, a chair stood under at each
 
 316 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 side. Iphis could recall the picture of lier 
 father and mother sitting there. 
 
 ' If it was a fellow,' said Cowlamb, ' that 
 was owt at all, one might be glad. But a 
 blacksmith's lad, a ne'er-do-weel, and but a 
 bit bigger than his tongs ! Xow there was a 
 brother, a sailor, as come ; he was a fineish 
 chap. I thowt between 'em it would all slip 
 to the oi'ound. I thowt so till I heerd wi' 
 my awn ears — bud she'll be out o' the road 
 on him here, out o' harm's way.' 
 
 ' Oh, she'll be safe enough here,' said Sam, 
 encouragmgly. 
 
 After tea, naturally, the farmer and his 
 son went out to look through the stackyard, 
 the stables, and over contiguous fields. 
 During their absence Iphis found time to 
 explore the bedrooms, examine carpets, beds 
 — paying particular attention to pillows — 
 looking under them to see if there was any 
 accumulation of flue. The window curtains 
 did not escape her ; her fingers ran along the 
 edges of furniture to test whether dust pre-
 
 EXPATRIATIOX. 317 
 
 vailed. Ipliis came to the conclusion that 
 there was little to find fault with. For a day 
 or two the girl had been left to her ot\ti 
 devices, and Iphis held with her mother that 
 servants were a necessary abomination, insti- 
 tuted to be sharply looked after. 
 
 She found something to occupy her in 
 the kitchen. The evening shadows crept on, 
 and she heard Sam and her father enter the 
 house. 
 
 ' She's hed a regular hunt,' said Cow- 
 lamb shrewdly to his son. ' AVhat's she efter 
 now ? ' 
 
 ' Xay,' laughed Sam, ' she's found some- 
 thing not point 'vice maybe.' 
 
 Iphis coming into the room a little after 
 this was witness to a little jar. Father and 
 son seemed to have forgotten past recrimi- 
 nation, shyness and distance. An unlucky 
 move of Sam's disturbed the harmony. He 
 went to the sideboard to fetch decanters and 
 glasses, and Cowlamb fired up. 
 
 ^ Thou needn't — no. that's it ; oh, deary
 
 318 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 me,' here Cowlamb groaned, ' I can do wi'out 
 at home, I can do beout here.' 
 
 Iphis's heart leaped mto her mouth almost. 
 She felt paralysed with a cold dread. 
 
 Sam returned from the sideboard crest- 
 fallen, and without a word of rejoinder. He 
 went to the chimney-piece, and his fingers 
 absently abstracted some letters from a rack, 
 which he eyed one after the other and then 
 placed them back again, conscious of his 
 father's eyes fixed upon him basilisk-like. 
 Eventually he took a chair, leaned back, then 
 restlessly inclined forward, but all the time read- 
 ing his father's uncompromising face furtively. 
 Iphis sat away from both, and she was also 
 watching Sam ; her eyes had a frightened 
 dread in them. Her father — had he told at 
 home the worst of Sam's craving? 
 
 She was glad, indeed, when her father said, 
 without any temper — 
 
 ' Well, my lass, where's a light. I'm off 
 up the wooden hill.' 
 
 Iphis wondered if Sam would stay behind
 
 EXPATRIATION. 319 
 
 and help himself to the liquor. But Sam's 
 moral boyish awe of his father was not yet 
 extinct. Sam was master here at Snailhorn, 
 but the king still lived, and he made his voice 
 heard in subtle fashion. Sam cheerfully took 
 the hint, and both father and daughter heard 
 his bedroom door close with some satisfaction. 
 Iphis lay awake thinking for a time, then 
 recollecting that her father w^ould have to be 
 stirring early, she composed herself for sleep. 
 
 She was down early, solicitous ; a good 
 breakfast will soften a misogynist. There 
 were few of her father's weak points she did 
 not know. Did this solicitude soften him 
 towards her? But no ; he did dearly love 
 her, he was parting from her, and there was 
 some difference between them. He was tender 
 with her before f]foinf^. 
 
 ' Now, Iphis,' said he, touchingly, ' if 
 thou'd only do as I wish thee, thou'd niver ha' 
 cause to rue. The day afore I come here I 
 sattled for that little farm beyond ours. I 
 bowt it, an' I mean it for thou. Then, whither
 
 320 MEADOW SWEET. 
 
 t' gits husband or no, thou'll lia' no fear when 
 I'm gone.' 
 
 Her heart beat fast. She could not help 
 beino' touched with such love and forethouo^ht. 
 But then, could even such a bait reconcile her 
 to the life of an old maid? Woman fulfils 
 not her mission in the world unless she 
 marries. All she could say was, ' Thank you, 
 father,' and kiss him. 
 
 But when Sam and his father were about 
 parting, Cowlamb retained his son's hand a 
 moment. 
 
 ' I believe, Sam, thou likes that lass. Now, 
 be good to her.' It was earnest entreaty. 
 
 ' I will,' said Sam reassuringly, brighten- 
 ing as he fully comprehended his father's 
 meaning. 
 
 ' Well, sithee,' said CowJamb, desperately 
 faithless if hoping for the best, ' if I hear talk 
 o' thou frightening her wi' ony o' thy antics 
 I'll hev her back soon. Now, mind.' 
 
 Sam felt himself very much like a bad boy, 
 but, with wonderful grace, bore the lash.
 
 EXPATRIATIOy. 321 
 
 ' You're hard on me, father, if you think that 
 o' me — wi' her.' 
 
 Cowlamb had no time for reply. Trains 
 do not wait for happy terminations to periods. 
 
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