Children of the Mist Part 51

"'Tis a black thought for you to knaw this trouble's of your awn wicked hatching, Farmer," he said abruptly; "though it ban't a very likely time to say so, perhaps. Yet theer's life still, so I speak."

Will glared speechless; but Billy knew himself too puny and too venerable to fear rough handling. He regarded the angry man before him without fear, and explained his allusion.

"You may glaze 'pon me, an' stick your savage eyes out your head; but that doan't alter truth. 'T 'as awnly a bit ago in the fall as I told un what would awvertake un," he continued, turning to the women. "He left the cross what Mr. Grimbal found upsy-down in the airth; he stood up afore the company an' d.a.m.ned the glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he done that fearful thing, an' if 't weern't enough to turn the Lard's hand from un, what was? Snug an' vitty he weer afore that, so far as anybody knawed; an' since--why, troubles have tumbled 'pon each other's tails like apple-dranes out of a nest."

The face of Phoebe was lighted with some eagerness, some deep anxiety, and not a little pa.s.sion as she listened to this harangue.

"You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?" she asked.

"No, no, never," declared Damaris; "'t is contrary to all reason."

"'T is true, whether or no; an' any fule, let alone a man as knaws like I do, would tell 'e the same. 'T is common sense if you axes me. Your man was told 't was a blessed cross, an' he flouted the lot of us an'

left it wheer 't was. 'T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a scoffin' of the A'mighty to the very face of Un. I wouldn't stand it myself if I was Him."

"Will, do 'e hear Mr. Blee?" asked Phoebe.

"I hear un. 'T is tu late now, even if what he said was true, which it ban't."

"Never tu late to do a gude deed," declared Billy; "an' you'll have to come to it, or you'll get the skin cussed off your back afore you 'm done with. Gormed if ever I seed sich a man as you! Theer be some gude points about 'e, as everything must have from G.o.d A'mighty's workshop, down to poisonous varmints. But certain sure am I that you don't ought to think twice 'pon this job."

"Do 'e mean it might even make the differ'nee between life an' death to the bwoy?" asked Phoebe breathlessly.

"I do. Just all that."

"Will--for G.o.d's love, Will!"

"What do 'e say, mother?"

"It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my parents in the past."

"For why?" asked Billy. "'Cause they didn't knaw 't was theer, so allowance was made by the Watching Eye. Now 't is differ'nt, an' His rage be waxing."

"Your blessed G.o.d 's got no common sense, then--an' that's all I've got to say 'bout it. What would you have me do?"

Will put the question to Mr. Blee, but his wife it was who answered, being now worked up to a pitch of frenzy at the delay.

"Go! Dig--dig as you never digged afore! Dig the holy stone out the ground direckly minute! Now, now, Will, 'fore the life's out of his li'l flutterin' body. Lay bare the cross, an' drag un out for G.o.d in heaven to see! Doan't stand clackin' theer, when every moment's worth more'n gawld."

"So like's not He'll forgive 'e if 'e do," argued Mr. Blee. "Allowed the Lard o' Hosts graws a bit short in His temper now an' again, as with them gormed Israelites, an' sich like, an' small blame to Him; but He's all for mercy at heart, 'cordin' to the opinion of these times, so you'd best to dig."

"Why doan't he strike me down if I've angered Him--not this innocent cheel?"

"The sins of the fathers be visited--" began Mr. Blee glibly, when Mrs.

Blanchard interrupted.

"Ban't the time to argue, Will. Do it, an' do it sharp, if't will add wan grain o' hope to the baaby's chance."

The younger woman's sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream at the protracted delay.

"O Christ, why for do 'e hold back? Ban't anything worth tryin' for your awn son? I'd scratch the stone out wi' my raw, bleedin' finger-bones if I was a man. Do 'e want to send me mad? Do 'e want to make me hate the sight of 'e? Go--go for love of your mother, if not of me!"

"An' I'll help," said Billy, "an' that chap messin' about in the yard can lend a hand likewise. I be a cracked vessel myself for strength, an'

past heavy work, but my best is yours to call 'pon in this pa.s.s."

Will turned and left the sick-room without more words, while Billy followed him.

The farmer fetched two picks and a shovel, called Ted Chown and a minute later had struck the first blow towards restoration of his granite cross. All laboured with their utmost power, and Will, who had flung off his coat and waistcoat, bared his arms, tightened his belt, and did the work of two men. The manual labour sweetened his mind a little, and scoured it of some bitterness. While Mr. Blee, with many a grunt and groan, removed the soil as the others broke it away, Blanchard, during these moments of enforced idleness, looked hungrily at the little window of the upper chamber where all his hopes and interests were centred.

Then he swung his pick again.

Presently a ray of sunlight brightened Newtake, and contributed to soothe the toiling father. He read promise into it, and when three feet below the surface indications of cross-arms appeared upon the stone, Will felt still more heartened. Grimbal's prediction was now verified; and it remained only to prove Billy's prophecy also true. His tremendous physical exertions, the bright setting sunshine, and the discovery of the cross affected Will strangely. His mind swung round from frank irreligion, to a sort of superst.i.tious credulity, awestricken yet joyful, that made him cling to the saving virtue of the stone. Because Martin had been right in his a.s.sertion concerning the gate-post, Blanchard felt a hazy conviction that Blee's estimate of the stone's virtue must also prove correct. He saw his wife at the window, and waved to her, and cried aloud that the cross was uncovered.

"A poor thing in holy relics, sure 'nough," said Billy, wiping his forehead.

"But a cross--a clear cross? Keep workin', Chown, will 'e? You still think 'twill serve, doan't 'e, Blee?"

"No room for doubt, though woful out o' repair," answered Billy, occupied with the ancient monument. "Just the stumps o' the arms left, but more'n enough to swear by."

All laboured on; then the stone suddenly subsided and fell in such a manner that with some sloping of one side of the excavated pit they were able to drag it out.

"Something's talking to me as us have done the wan thing needful,"

murmured Will, in a subdued voice, but with more light than the sunset on his face. "Something's hurting me bad that I said what I said in the chamber, an' thought what I thought. G.o.d's nigher than us might think, minding what small creatures we be. I hope He'll forgive them words."

"He's a peac.o.c.k for eyes, as be well knawn," declared Mr. Blee. "An'

He've got His various manners an' customs o' handlin' the human race.

Some He softens wi' gude things an' gude fortune till they be bound to turn to Him for sheer shame; others He breaks 'pon the rocks of His wrath till they falls on their knees an' squeals for forgiveness. I've seed it both ways scores o' times; an' if your little lad 's spared to 'e, you'll be brought to the Lard by a easier way than you deserve, Blanchard."

"I knaw, I knaw, Mr. Blee. He 'm surely gwaine to let us keep li'l w.i.l.l.y, an' win us to heaven for all time."

The cross now lay at their feet, and Billy was about to return to the house and see how matters prospered, when Will bade him stay a little longer.

"Not yet," he said.

"What more's to do?"

"I feel a kind o' message like to set it plumb-true under the sky. Us caan't lift it, but if I pull a plank or two out o' the pig's house an'

put a harrow chain round 'em, we could get the cross on an' let a horse pull un up theer to the hill, and set un up. Then us would have done all man can."

He pointed to the bosom of the adjacent hill, now glowing in great sunset light.

"Starve me! but you 'm wise. Us'll set the thing up under the A'mighty's eye. 'Twill serve--mark my words. 'Twill turn the purpose of the Lard o'

Hosts, or I'm no prophet."

"'Tis in my head you 'm right. I be lifted up in a way I never was."

"The Lard 's found 'e by the looks of it," said Billy critically, "either that, or you 'm light-headed for want of sleep. But truly I think He've called 'e. Now 't is for you to answer."

They cleaned the cross with a bucket or two of water, then dragged it half-way up the hill, and, where a rabbit burrow lessened labour, raised their venerable monument under the afterglow.

"It do look as if it had been part o' the view for all time," declared Ted Chown, as the party retreated a few paces; and, indeed, the stone rose harmoniously upon its new site, and might have stood an immemorial feature of the scene.