North, South and over the Sea Part 21

"Don't 'urry en," called the farmer to the lad who had charge of him.

"Tis a long journey for he--two mile and more; let en take his time.

He'll get there soon enough."

The next morning, just as Mrs. Bold had finished getting breakfast, her husband came to the dairy in a state of amused excitement.

"There, ye'll never think! I al'ays did say beasts was so sensible as Christians if ye took a bit of notice of 'em. I was a-goin' round stables jist now, and if I didn't find wold Blackbird in his own stall, jist same as ever. I did rub my eyes and think I must be dreamin', but there he were layin' down, quite at home. He al'ays had a trick of openin' gates, ye know, and he must jist ha' walked away i'

th' night. He wur awful tired, pore beast--'twas so much as I could do to get en off again."

"Ye sent en off again!" cried Mrs. Bold indignantly. "Well, I shouldn't ha' thought ye could have found it in yer heart! The poor wold horse did come back to we, so trustin', and you to go an drive en away again to his death! Dear, men be awful hard-hearted!"

"Of all the onraisonable creeturs, you are the onraisonablest," cried the farmer, much aggrieved. "Was I to go and take the folks' money and keep the money's worth? A nice name I'd get in the country! They'd be sayin' I stole en away myself, very like. No, I did send en up so soon as I could, so as they shouldn't be s'archin' for 'en."

Mrs. Bold clapped a plate upon the table.

"Sit down," she cried imperatively. "Ye'll be ready for your own breakfast, though you wouldn't give pore Blackbird a bit."

"Who says I didn't give en a bit?" retorted Joseph. "Ye be al'ays jumpin' at notions, Mary. Blackbird had as good a feed o' carn afore he did go as ever a horse had."

"Much good it'll do en when he's a-goin' to be killed," returned his spouse inconsequently. "There, it's no use talkin'; I must make haste wi' my breakfast and get back to my work. It's well for I as I be able to work a bit yet, else I suppose ye'd be sendin' me to the knackers."

"I never heerd tell as you was a ha.r.s.e," shouted the farmer. The wit and force of the retort seemed to strike him even as he uttered it, for his indignant expression was almost immediately replaced by a good-humoured grin. "I had ye there, Mary," he chuckled. "'I never heerd tell as you was a ha.r.s.e, says I."

Next churning day Mrs. Bold rose before dawn, according to her custom, and the churning was already in progress before the first grey, uncertain light of the autumnal morning began to diffuse itself through the latticed milk-house windows. All at once, during a pause in the labour, she fancied she heard a curious, hesitating fumbling with the latch of the door.

"Hark!" she cried, "what's that?"

"Tis the wind," said one of the churners.

"Nay, look, somebody's a-tryin' to get in," returned the mistress, as the latch rose in a ghostly manner, fluttered, and fell. "Go to the door, Tom," she continued, "and see what's wanted."

"'Tis maybe a spirit," said Tom, shrinking back.

"Nonsense! What would a spirit want at the dairy door? 'Tis more like a tramp. Open it at once--You go, Jane."

"I dursen't," said Jane, beginning to whimper.

"Not one of ye has a grain o' sense!" said Mrs. Bold angrily.

She went to the door herself, just as the odd rattling began for the third time, opened it cautiously, and uttered a cry.

There stood the attenuated form of poor old Blackbird, looking huge and almost spectral in the dim light, but proclaiming its ident.i.ty by a low whinny.

"Rabbit me!" exclaimed Tom, "if that there wold carcase ain't found his way here again!"

But Mrs. Bold's arms were round the creature's neck, and she was fairly hugging him.

"Well done!" she cried ecstatically, "well done! Ye did well to come to I, Blackbird. I'll stand by ye, never fear! I'll not have ye drove away again."

Blackbird stood gazing at her with his sunken eyes, his loose nether lip dropping, his poor old bent knees bowed so that they seemed scarcely able to sustain his weight; the rusty skin, which had once been of so glossy a sable, was scratched and torn in many places.

"He must have found his way out through the hedge. Well, to think of his coming here, Missis!"

"He knowed he come to the right place," said Mrs. Bold, with flashing eyes. "Turn that there new horse out o' the stall and put Blackbird back, and give en a feed o' earn, and shake down a bit o' fresh straw.

'Tis what ye couldn't put up wi', could ye, Blackbird?" she continued, addressing the horse, "to find a stranger in your place! Ye come to tell I all about it, didn't ye?"

When the farmer came down half-an-hour later, his wife emerged from the shed in the neighbourhood of the pig-styes, where she had been ministering to the wants of two motherless little pigs. One small porker, indeed, was still tucked away under her arm as she advanced to meet her husband, and she was brandishing the teapot, from which she had been feeding it, in her disengaged hand.

"Joseph," she said, planting herself opposite to him, and speaking with alarming solemnity, "we've a-been wed now farty year come Lady Day. Have I bin a good wife to 'ee, or have I not?"

"Why, in course," Joseph was beginning, when he suddenly broke off.

"What's the new colt standing in the cart-shed for?"

"Never you mind the new colt--attend to I! Have I been a good wife to 'ee, or have I not?"

"In course ye have--no man need ax for a better. But why--"

"Haven't I worked early and late, and toiled and moiled, and never took a bit o' pleasure, and never axed 'ee to lay out no money for I?

Bain't I a-bringin' up these 'ere pigs by hand for 'ee, Joseph Bold?

And a deal of worry they be. 'Twasn't in the marriage contract, I think, as I should bottle-feed sucking-pigs--was it now, Joseph? I d'

'low parson never thought o' axin' me if I were willin' to do that, but I've a-done it for your sake."

"Well, but what be ye a-drivin' at?" interrupted the farmer, with a kind of aggrieved bellow, for his wife's sorrowfully-reproachful tone cut him to the quick. "What's it all about? What be a-complainin' of?

What d'ye want, woman? What d'ye want?"

"I want a pet," returned Mrs. Bold vehemently. "Here I've been a-livin' wi' ye all these years, and ye've never let me keep so much as a canary bird. There's the Willises have gold-fish down to their place, and they be but cottagers; and Mrs. Fripp have got a parrot. A real beauty he be, what can sing songs and laugh and shout like the children, and swear--ye'd think t'was Fripp hisself, he do do it so naitral!"

Joseph Bold fairly groaned:

"Good Lard! I never did think to hear 'ee talk so voolish--a sensible body like ye did always use to seem! Dear heart alive! Gold-fish! And a poll parrot! Well, Mary, I did think as a body o' your years could content herself wi' live things as had a bit more sense in 'em nor that."

"Oh, I dare say," returned his spouse sarcastically. "Pigs and sich-like!" giving a little tap to the wriggling, squeaking creature at that moment struggling under her arm, "and chicken and ducks! Nice pets they be."

"Upon my word, a man 'ud lose patience to hear you. _Pets_--at your time o' life, wi' children grown up and married. Well, if ye want pets, ha'n't ye had enough of 'em. Don't ye have nigh upon a dozen lambs to bring up every spring?"

"'E-es, and where be they now, Joseph? Where be the lambs as I got up afore light in the frostis and snow to attend to? Where be they? Ye know so well as I do as butcher had 'em, every one. That's my complaint--you do never let me keep a thing as isn't for killin'. A body'd need a heart o' stone to stand it. This 'ere pig--ye know right well as he'll be bacon afore this time next year."

[Ill.u.s.tration: BLACKBIRD'S INSPIRATION "Here's my little pet," she cried jubilantly]

"Then, in the name of furtin have your fancy, woman! Give it a name, and I'll get it for 'ee."

"Ye give me your word, do ye, Joseph?"

"I bain't a man to break it," responded the farmer shortly.

Mrs. Bold set the little pig carefully on its feet, and sidled across the yard, eyeing her husband the while with a curious expression that was half-fearful, half-triumphant. When she reached the closed stable door she opened it, plunged into the dark recess within, and reappeared, dragging forth by a wisp of his ragged mane--poor, decrepit old Blackbird.

"Here's my little pet," she cried jubilantly, delight at her success overmastering all other feelings. "You've give me your word, Joseph, and, as ye d'say yerself, ye bain't the one to take it back. Here's the only pet I'll ever ax to keep. He'll not cost much," she added, seeing her husband's face redden and his eyes roll threateningly. "He can pick about in the summer, and a bit of hay in the winter'll be all he'll need. I'll make it up to 'ee, see if I don't; and I think you do owe I summat, anyhow, for workin' so hard as I always do."

"Oh, in course, if ye put it that way," he returned, huffily, "I haven't got a word to say. I al'ays thought 'twas a wife's dooty to help her husband, but since it seems to be a favour, I'm sure I did ought to be very grateful. Thank ye kindly, ma'am! P'r'aps ye'll be so good as to shut up that beautiful pet o' yourn now, and give me a bit o' breakfast, if it bain't troublin' ye too much."