North, South and over the Sea Part 15

"Well, Sunday did come, an' I did have a beautiful tea ready; m.u.f.fins and a bit o' cold ham--not so salt as poor Sarah's--and a pot o'

blackberry-an'-apple jam. Brother John were the first to come. He fair give me a start, for I didn't expect en so early; he did put his head in at the door, an' beckon this way, so secret-like." (Here there was the usual accompaniment of appropriate gesture.)

"'Mary,' he whispered, 'Mary, be she come?'

"'Not yet, John,' says I.

"He did squeeze hisself very cautious round the door, lookin' to right an' left, this way" (further pantomime). "'Mary,' says he, right in my ear, 'have 'ee seen the bank-book?'

"'Nay, John,' says I; 'nay; 'twasn't to be expected, but I did hear, John,' says I, 'as it were worth lookin' at.'

"He did sit him down then, an' did begin to whistle to hisself, an' to rub his knees up and down. He had his best clothes on, an' the big tall hat as he'd a-bought for the first poor Mrs. John's funeral. He took it off after a while, and did keep turnin' it round and round in his hands. 'Where's Robert?' says he, all to once.

"'Cleaning up a bit i' the bedroom,' says I.

"'I think I'll go to en,' says he.

"'Not you,' says I, determined-like. 'Sit you there, that's a good man. She'll be here in a minute.'

"But Robert come down first, an' we was gettin' a bit anxious when Mrs. Maidment did tap at the door. She was lookin' real well an'

genteel, in a black silk dress, and wi' one o' them little black bags as they did use to call ridicules in her hand. Poor Brother John could scarce take his eyes off it, for he made sure, d'ye see, as she'd a-brought the bank-book inside. Well, the tea did pa.s.s off so pleasant as could be, and so soon as it was over I did make a sign to Robert.

"'I've summat to show 'ee' says I, an' so soon as I did get en outside, I did sauce en for bein' so stupid.

"'How be they ever to get things settled wi' us two a-lookin' at 'em?'

says I.

"We did stay outside a-kickin' of our heels for above half-an-hour, an' then we did come in--an' there they was a-settin' one on each side of the fire so comfortable as you could wish. Sarah looked up when I opened the door, an' she says straight out, 'We've pretty nigh settled things, but I shan't give my promise until I've had a look round Mr.

Domeny's place. I'd like to make sure as it 'ud suit me,' says she.

"'To be sure,' says John, who was lookin' a bit puzzled, but very pleasant. 'To be sure. Next Thursday--now what 'ud ye say to makin' up a party next Thursday, all on ye, an' drivin' over in the arternoon?

I'd have kettle bilin',' says he, 'an' all set out so well as a poor lone man can do it, an' maybe one o' you ladies 'ud make tea?'"

Mrs. Cross sucked in her breath in token of intensifying enjoyment, and turned her head yet a little more on one side.

"And so?" prompted she, as Mrs. Domeny paused.

"And so, Thursday come, an' we did get a trap off Mr. Sharpe, an' we set off. Brother John was a-standin' on the doorstep on the look-out for us, and he did lead Mrs. Maidment in and sit her down at the head of the table.

"'Let's hope,' says he, 'it may be your nat'ral place afore long.'

"She jist smiled back wi'out speakin'; an' all the time we was havin'

our tea, I could see her eyes a-rovin' round the room, here an' there an' everywhere. The teapot had a chip out of the spout, an' she did jist pa.s.s her finger along it.

"'T'ud be easy to get a new un,' says Brother John, for he knowed what she meant. An' then she looks down at the table-cloth--'It wants darnin',' says she. "Tis easy seen as a woman's hands be needed here.'

"'They are, truly,' says he, lookin' at her so wistful-like.

"'Well, we'll see,' says she, noddin' at him very kind."

"An' did she really look over everything Mrs. Domeny, my dear?"

interrupted Mrs. Cross eagerly. "She must ha' been a wonderful sensible woman!"

"You'd ha' said so if you could ha' seen her. There! there wasn't so much as a pan as she didn't look into. Behind the doors, and under the bed; she turned over the very blankets, I do a.s.sure 'ee. Upstairs an'

down she went, an' roun' the yard, an' down the garden, an' into the shed. Poor Brother John kep' a-trottin' after her, an' at last she come back to the kitchen again."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ROMANCE OF BROTHER JOHN "Poor Brother John kep a trottin' after her"]

"'Well, Mr. Domeny,' says she, 'if ye'll go to the expense of a few buckets of whitewash, an' give a lick o' paint to the door here, I think it 'ull do very well.' So they settled the day an' everythin'

there an' then."

"Well, to be sure!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Cross. "It do sound jist like a book; an' talkin' o' that, I suppose she did show en the bank-book?"

"She never gave en so much as a sight o' it, Mrs. Cross, if you believe me. Kep' it locked up, she did, and never let him throw his eye over it till the day of her death. I went up to see en so soon as I heard as all were over, an' found en cryin' fit to break his heart.

"'Come, Brother John,' says I, ''tis a sad loss, as we do all know, but you must bear up.'

"''Tisn't only the loss o' poor Sarah,' says he, ''tis--'tis,' an' his 'eart were that full he couldn't say no more, but jist held out the bank-book to me. My dear, there weren't above three pound in it!"

"Dear heart alive!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Cross, clapping her hands together, "I never heerd o' such a thing i' my life. Why," she added energetically, "it 'ud scarce pay for the whitewash! An' yet he gave her a nice funeral, ye tell me?"

"'E--es, my dear. Ye see, 'tis this way. Brother John be a very just man, an' so soon as he did get over his first disappointment, he did say to I, m'urnful like, but very patient--

"'Mary,' he says, 'it weren't what I did look for, an' it weren't what I were led to expect, but takin' one thing wi' another,' says he, 'I don't regret it. Poor Sarah was a wonderful hand at managin' pigs,'

says he, 'an I never see'd her equal for bringin' up chicken. No!' he says, 'I don't regret it.'"

"Well, he couldn't say no fairer than that," commented Mrs. Cross admiringly. "Yes," she added, drawing a long breath, "'tis just what you do say, Mrs. Domeny--it be a reg'lar romance."

GILES IN LUCK

Giles Maine sat in the middle of the ward, his hands crossed on his new umbrella, while his fellow-inmates gathered together in knots and stared at him, some curiously, some enviously, some a little regretfully, though all were ready to wish him G.o.d-speed when the moment of parting came.

By a strange turn of Fortune's wheel, Giles Maine, the oldest inmate of Branston Union, who had in truth for twenty years known no other home, now found himself, at the age of seventy-eight, a comparatively wealthy man. A distant relative, a relative so distant indeed that Giles had been unaware of his existence, had recently died intestate, and Giles proved to be his next-of-kin.

It had taken him some time to grasp the situation, and to understand that he was now free to live where he would, in a position of comfort, not to say affluence. Everybody had taken him in hand, however; the master had ordered a brand-new suit of clothes for him; the matron had engaged rooms in the village, and had put him under the charge of his future landlady, who was a motherly sort of woman, and could be trusted to look after him; the clergyman had given him much kind advice, and many friendly warnings; and at length the old man found himself ready to depart. He was now, in fact, only waiting to say good-bye to the matron before turning his back for ever on the bare room where he had spent so many monotonous hours.

The prospect ought surely to have elated him, yet his face wore a very blank expression as he sat awaiting the expected summons; his new clothes felt strange and stiff, the high collar of his fine white shirt hurt his neck, his shiny new boots pinched his feet, the k.n.o.bby handle of his ma.s.sive umbrella was not so comfortable to grasp as the familiar crook of his battered old stick.

"First turn at the end of the lane, then third house on the right, and ax for Mrs. Tapper," he repeated to himself from time to time. "First turn, and third house--'e-es I can mind it right enough--third house and ax for Mrs. Tapper."

"'Tis a pity," said some one for the fortieth time that day, "'tis a pity, Mr. Maine, as you ain't got no folks o' your own. Ah, 'tis a pity, sure. 'Twould ha' been more cheerful like if you'd ha' been going home."

"'E-es," agreed Giles, also for the fortieth time, "'e-es I d' 'low it would, but I ain't had no folk--there! I can scarce mind when I had any. I never so much as heerd the name o' this 'ere chap what has left me his fortun'. Never heerd his name--never so much as knowed he were born."

"Dear to be sure! It seems strange, don't it? And him to leave ye his money and all. I wonder where ye'll go, Mr. Maine. P'r'aps ye'll go to Lunnon?"