Eli's Children Part 47

The sisters had wandered far, and filled their baskets, but still there were always fresh blossoms to pluck, odorous violets or primroses, and delicate sc.r.a.ps of moss or early leaf.

Cynthia was a couple of score yards away from her sister, in the budding copse, trilling a merry song, as if in answer to the birds, and Julia, with a bright, happy flush upon her face, was still eagerly piling up fresh sweets, when a clump of primroses, fairer than any she had yet gathered, drew her a few yards further amongst the hazel stems.

She was in the act of stooping down to pick them when her flushed face became like marble, her lips parted, her eyes dilated, and she stopped-- leaning forward--motionless--fascinated by what she saw.

And that was the face of Jock Morrison, as he lay amongst the leaves and flowers, p.r.o.ne upon his chest, his arms folded before him, his chin resting upon them, and his eyes literally seizing hers, not a yard away.

He did not speak or move, only crouched there, staring at her as if he were some philosopher trying the effect of the stronger eye upon the weaker. Neither did Julia speak, but stood there bending down, her eyes fixed, her body motionless, while you might have counted twenty.

"Julie! Where are you? Coo-ee!" Cynthia's bright young voice broke the spell, and Julia's eyes closed as she backed slowly away for a few yards before she dare turn and run towards her sister.

"Oh, there you are, Julie. If I did not think you were in the other direction! Why, what's the matter? Are you ill?"

"No, no," said Julia, hastily; "I think I am hot; it is tiring out here.

Let us go home; I--I want to get back."

"Why, Julie, you don't come out enough; you are done up directly.

There, come along out into the fields, there's more fresh air there. I say, did I tell you that we are to go to town next week?"

"No," said Julia, who shivered at every sound in the copse, and glanced from side to side, as if she expected to be seized at any moment.

"But we are, and I don't know but what I long to be up in London to get away from Harry Artingale."

"To get away?" said Julia, making an effort to be composed, and wondering why she had not told her sister what she had seen.

"Yes, I want to get away; for of course," she added, archly, "he will have to stay down here."

She spoke loudly, and all that had been said and left unsaid appealed very strongly to the senses of the great fellow in the copse.

Julia need not have felt afraid that he was about to rise up and seize her; he remained perfectly still for a few moments, and then rolled over upon his back, laughing heartily, but in a perfectly silent manner, before having a struggle with himself to drag a short pipe and a tobacco-pouch out of his pocket.

Filling his pipe quietly, he struck a match and lit it, placed his hands beneath his head, and stared straight up through the tender green leaves at the bare sky, while a robin came and perched upon a branch close by, and kept watching the ruffian with his great round eyes.

"This is jolly," he said, in a ba.s.s growl; "better than having places of your own, and being obliged to work."

Then he smoked for a few minutes before musing once more aloud.

"Women arn't much account," he said, oracularly; "and the younger and prettier they are, the worse they are."

There was another interval of smoking.

"What a deal a fellow sees by just doing nothing but hang around.

Franky Mallow, eh? Ah, he cuts me now. If I was John Berry, farmer, I'd cut him, that's what I'd do."

Another interval of smoking.

"Why don't young Serrol," (so he p.r.o.nounced it) "go after the schoolmissus now, I wonder? Tired, I spose."

Another smoking interval.

"Hah, if it's because he prefers going down to the ford--"

He stopped short.

"I tell you what it is; if I thought--"

Another pause, during which Jock Morrison made his short pipe still shorter by biting off a piece of the stem and spitting it out.

"Shall I tell Tom--shan't I tell Tom? Tom don't like me, and tells me to keep myself to myself. He'd about smash him, that's what Tom would do, if he knowed, and then he'd be miserable for ever and ever, amen, as owd Sammy Warmoth used to say."

Another smoking fit.

"She's a good little la.s.s, and the trouble she was in about her bairn was terrible."

More smoking, and the robin looking wondering on.

"Polly don't like me, but she's a kind-hearted little la.s.s, and has give me many a hunk of bread and meat unknown to Tom, and I never see but that she was as square as square."

Another long smoke.

"Master Serrol, eh? Why, of course! She must ha' knowed him when she lived at parson's. I'll tell Tom."

More smoking, and the pipe of tobacco burned out.

"No, I won't tell Tom," said the big fellow. "If I did he wouldn't believe me, and it would only make him and Polly miserable too, and I don't want to do that. I tell you what--if I see Master Serrol go down there again when Tom's out of the way I'll pretty well break his neck."

He uttered a low chuckling laugh as he lay p.r.o.ne there, catching sight now of the robin, and chirruping to it as it watched him from its perch.

"Pretty d.i.c.k!" he said. "Going up to London, are they? All right!

Anywheres'll do for me, parson. I wonder whether Serrol and Frank'll go too."

Jock Morrison did not pretty well break Cyril's neck, for a very few days after Mr Paulby had the full management of Lawford Church again, the family at the rectory being once more in town.

"It is worse for the boys," said the Rector, "but it will keep Cyril away from her. I must get him something to do."

PART ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

MR AND THE MISSES PERRY-MORTON "AT HOME."

It was a lovely and sculpturesque att.i.tude, that which was taken up by the "stained-gla.s.s virgins," as James Magnus called them, on the night of their first "at home" of the season, for at every opportunity, when not otherwise engaged, they joined their hands together, raised them over their left or right shoulder, as the case may be, and then drooped a head against them till an ear just touched the finger-tips, so that they seemed to be saying their prayers all on one side and writhing over the _Amens_.

Claudine and Faustine Perry-Morton were thorough types of the ladies who have of late taught society how to indulge in the reverent worship of the human form. Their hair was too fearful and wonderful to be described. The nearest approach possible is to compare it to the gum mop of some Papuan belle, who had been chivied during her toilet in the eucalyptus shade, and, consequently, had only managed to get the front part done.

Since dress is made so great a feature in a modern lady's life, no excuse is surely needed for saying a few words regarding the costume of these gifted sisters. A desire is felt to do justice to those robes, but to give a perfect idea would be extremely difficult.

As it happened, the colour was but one, and it was that of the familiar household tap-rooted vegetable botanically named _daucus_, but hight the carrot, when seen reposing in sweetness in a dish.