North, South and over the Sea Part 9

Ted cast a depreciating eye towards the portrait, but, after a glance at it, suddenly regained his tongue and his spirits.

"See here, Miss Heptonstall," he cried eagerly, "th' Queen's not like that! Theer now, it just shows how poor folks gets imposed upon! I've seen the Queen mysel'--walked all the road to Liverpool when I didn't know no better, an' I see her, an' hoo were nought but a wumman i'

black! Theer now, I'll tak' my oath on 't! Hoo hadn't no crown on, nor yet no blue ribbon, an' none o' they fal-lals o' medals, an' nought i'

her hand. Hoo was jest an ord'nary wumman same 's ony other wumman.

'Well,' thinks I to mysel', 'if yon is to be stuck up at th' 'ead o'

Government, an' we all mun bow down afore a wuimman as isn't nought different to ony other wumman, it's a shame,' I says. An' it _is_ a shame, Miss Heptonstall."

Ted was working up into a fine declamatory vein, and would probably have continued to hold forth for some time had not Margaret indignantly interrupted him.

"Stop that! I'll ha' noan of it i' this 'ouse, an' so I tell ye. Did ever a body hear sich talk! Ye ought to be ashamed o' yoursel', Edward Wharton! If you was a mon ye should be ready to lay down your life for your Queen!"

"Lay down my life!" repeated Ted, who was getting slightly irate in his turn. "I'd do no sich thing. I wouldn't put mysel' onyways out o'

my road for th' Queen, now I know what hoo is. Hoo's fools enough to fight for her and wark for her. I wouldn't do nought for her."

"Ye would then," said Margaret, suddenly becoming calm again and smiling grimly to herself. "Theer's one thing ye'd do for her, Edward Wharton--ye'd drink her 'ealth."

Before he could retort she rose and went into the b.u.t.tery, returning after a moment or two with a foaming brown jug in one hand and a quaintly shaped Toby-mug in the other. She placed them both on the table in inviting proximity to Ted.

"Now then," she said persuasively, "ye'll drink Long Life to Her Gracious Majesty."

The day was exceedingly warm, and if there was one thing on earth for which Radical Ted had a weakness it was his native nut--brown ale. He looked at Margaret and grinned--the grin of compromise. Margaret, still smiling, slowly filled the beaker, a beautiful creamy head bubbling over the brim.

"Coom," she said, "ye'll say: 'Her Majesty's 'ealth, an' long life to her.'"

Ted stretched out his hand and grasped the tempting handle; then, averting his eyes, he hastily mumbled the prescribed words, burying his face in the mug immediately after. While he slowly drained its contents Margaret chanted the last verse of the National Anthem, to a tune which might possibly have been like "G.o.d Save the Queen" if it had not borne an equal resemblance to "The Dead March in Saul."

Music, we know, has charms to soothe the savage breast, and, whether because of Margaret's patriotic outburst, or because the beer was of excellent quality, Ted's face was wreathed in smiles when he set down the mug.

"Ah," he said, "we'se never ha' no words if ye tackle me this gate.

I'd drink the Queen's 'ealth again if you axed me."

"Enough's good as a feast," returned his hostess sententiously. "It'll be tay-time afore aught's long."

"Mun I bide for tay?" inquired Ted, with his head on one side.

"Ye can if ye've a mind," said Margaret, accommodatingly. "Ye can be lookin' round if ye like while I'm gettin' things ready."

Ted complied, nothing loth, and stalked about the place with his thumbs in his armholes and an air of proprietorship. Everything without was as snug, neat, and prosperous as everything within. The garden was well-stocked and weedless; the potatoes seemed to be coming on nicely; the pig was as fat as a self-respecting pig ought to be, and the chickens were healthy and well-grown. Ted re-entered the house, sc.r.a.ping his feet carefully this time, and looking at Margaret with increased respect as she bustled about. The kettle already sung merrily on the hob, a plateful of most inviting b.u.t.tered toast was keeping warm within the fender, and Miss Hep. was in the act of placing on the table a smoking dish of nicely-browned sausages.

"I made 'em mysel'," she explained briefly. "I dunnot often have 'em at this time o' day, but this here's an occasion."

Ted looked blank for a moment, then, suddenly remembering that this was practically a betrothal-feast, responded heartily, and drew in his chair to the table with pleased antic.i.p.ation.

Miss Heptonstall, he remarked, had everything "gradely" about her. The table-cloth was not only snow-white and beautifully mended, but of fine quality; the spoons were silver, worn to egg-sh.e.l.l thinness, but resplendently bright; the teapot, a heavy, old-fashioned Britannia metal one, was polished till it might have been of the same precious ore; the cups and plates were of delicate transparent china. Margaret came of good old north-country stock, and these possessions were heirlooms. Ted looked at her, and a queer feeling suddenly came over him. Supposing--only _supposing_--that instead of a jest his wooing had been undertaken in sober earnest, he would be doing rather well for himself than otherwise. Now that he was at leisure to survey Miss Heptonstall with an impartial eye, it appeared to him that she really was not ill-looking, and he didn't believe she could be more than nine or ten years older than he was. She certainly was a notable sort of body; she kept her place wonderful nice, and she had a tidy bit of bra.s.s laid by in the bank. There was a very comfortable ring about this last item. It was odd that from the time these reflections took possession of him Ted became pensive and serious. The conversation flagged, and by-and-by he rose to take his leave. Margaret accompanied him to the door.

"Ye'll be lookin' in again, I fancy, afore th' weekend?" she remarked casually.

Ted cleared his throat and replied that very like he would. He walked rather slowly till he reached the corner of the lane, and there he paused, slapping his thigh as he suddenly remembered something.

"I haven't said a word about the shoutin'!" he cried in a vexed tone.

He retraced his steps more quickly, and presently re-entered Margaret's cottage.

"Miss Heptonstall," he began, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his head insinuatingly round the doorpost.

"Well?" returned Margaret. She was standing with her back to him, gazing meditatively into the fire.

"I were thinkin'," continued Wharton, "you an' me, ye know--theer isn't much use in waitin', is theer?"

Margaret turned and looked at him, but did not speak.

"We met as well let Canon begin o' shoutin' us, dunnot ye think?"

Margaret reflected. "It 'ud be a pity for ye to gi' up your house afore th' end o' th' year," she remarked. "Th' agent wouldn't let ye, would he? Ye'll ha' to gi' six months' notice, wunnot ye? Theer's time enough as how 'tis."

Ted bethought him of the cask of beer, and his face fell. If he was to win his wager the banns must be published before the end of the month, and but ten days of it remained to run.

"Well, I'd as soon as not hurry up things," he said, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a little more of his person on the other side of the door. "I'm awful tired o'

livin' by mysel'. An' we met let my house an' turn o'er a bit o' money that way. If we was to get wed at once ye'd be havin' the benefit o'

that as well's me. It 'ud be more to our mutual advantage," delivering this phrase, culled from one of his favourite papers, with great emphasis, "nor for both of us to remain single. That's what _I_ think, Miss Heptonstall, but ye mun do as _you_ choose."

"Well, theer's summat i' what ye say," returned Margaret. "Happen 'twould be best to get the job done. Dear o' me, it seems sudden like!

I raly never thought o' changin' my state. Once before, ye may ha'

heerd, Mrs. Alty wanted me to wed her Thomas. I was again it, dreadful again it at first, but hoo persuaded me, so I very nigh gave in. But him an' me didn't agree so well at arter, and Betty didn't dee, so that settled it. Well, then, I said to mysel', 'It's all for th'

best,' an' I reckoned to bide as I were. But raly now, as ye've coom,"

a sudden smile lit up her face, a smile less frosty, less sour, less grim than any that had hitherto found their way there, "I dunno how it is, but I seem to ha' taken a fancy to ye. I did fro' th' first. I reckon ye'll mak' a good husband."

Ted left off embracing the lintel of the door and walked straight up to her, quite forgetting to wipe his feet. His face was very red and his eyes avoided hers; making a sudden dart at her hand, he shook it solemnly.

"I will, Margaret, I will," he said huskily, "an' I reckon ye'll mak'

a good wife--better nor I deserve."

In another moment he was gone, walking very rapidly this time, almost running indeed, as though to give himself no time for thought. When he reached home, he shut the door hastily behind him and sat down on the nearest chair.

"Well," he said, scratching his head, with an exceedingly perturbed expression, "this here's a queer kind o' business! I didn't quite know what I were lettin' mysel' in for, it seems."

Once or twice during the week he called upon his lady-love, who, on one occasion, permitted him to inspect her Savings Bank book, and, on another, presented him with a handsome silver-mounted pipe, which her father had won many years before at some village sports. It was bestowed, it must be owned, on the understanding that it was never on any account to be used, but Ted's pride of possession was none the less great. At the conclusion of each visit she had not failed to make him drink Her Majesty's health.

On the following Sunday, when the Canon with the portentous "Hem," and solemn glance round which invariably preceded the announcement of banns, began: "Be it known unto all here present," it was observed that the corners of his mouth were twitching in a most peculiar manner, and his voice actually trembled as he coupled the names of Margaret Heptonstall and Edward Wharton.

Had any stranger chanced to enter Thornleigh church at that moment, I fear he would have been much disedified; every single member of the congregation was a-grin; the Canon himself was smiling; the only person who preserved his entire seriousness being Radical Ted himself.

Those among his cronies who were in the secret of the wager considered this gravity affected, and part of the joke; and greeted him hilariously on quitting the church.

"Well done, owd bird! Thou's lost no time as how 'tis."

"Ah," replied Ted, still solemn, "I haven't lost mich time."

"Well, thou's won th' bet i' gradely style! When wilto coom to Thornleigh Arms to have th' five shillin' paid over?"