Peter's Mother Part 13

"Ah, how you understand!" said Peter's mother, sadly.

"Perhaps because, as you said just now, I have been a young man too,"

he said, forcing a smile. "Oh, forgive me, but let me save you; for I believe that if you deserted your husband to-day, you would sorrow for it to the end of your life."

"And Peter--" she murmured.

He came to her side, and straightened himself, and spoke hopefully.

"Give me your last words and your last gifts--and a letter--for Peter, and send me in your stead to-night. I will deliver them faithfully. I will tell him--for he should be told--of the sore straits in which you find yourself. Set him this n.o.ble example of duty, and believe me, it will touch his heart more nearly than even that sacred parting which you desire."

Lady Mary held out her hand to him.

"Tell Sir Timothy that I will stay," she whispered.

John bent down and kissed the little hand in silence, and with profound respect.

Then he went to the study without looking back.

When he was gone, Lady Mary laid her face upon the badly painted miniature of Peter, and cried as one who had lost all hope in life.

CHAPTER VII

"Her didn't make much account on him while him were alive; but now 'ce be dead, 'tis butivul tu zee how her du take on," said Happy Jack.

There was a soft mist of heat; the long-delayed spring coming suddenly, after storms of cold rain and gales of wind had swept the Youle valley. Two days' powerful sunshine had excited the buds to breaking, and drawn up the tender blades of young gra.s.s from the soaked earth.

The flowering laurels hung over the shady banks, whereon large families of primroses spent their brief and lovely existence undisturbed. The hawthorn put forth delicate green leaves, and the white buds of the cherry-trees in the orchard were swelling on their leafless boughs.

In such summer warmth, and with the concert of building birds above and around, it was strange to see the dead and wintry aspect of the forest trees; still bare and brown, though thickening with the red promise of foliage against the April sky.

John Crewys, climbing the lane next the waterfall, had been hailed by the roadside by the toothless, smiling old rustic.

"I be downright glad to zee 'ee come back, zur; ay, that 'a be. What vur du 'ee go gadding London ways, zays I, when there be zuch a turble lot to zee arter? and the ladyship oop Barracombe ways, her bain't vit var tu du 't, as arl on us du know. Tis butivul tu zee how her takes on," he repeated admiringly.

John glanced uneasily at his companion, who stood with downcast eyes.

"Lard, I doan't take no account on Miss Zairy," said the road-mender, leaning on his hoe and looking sharply from the youthful lady to the middle-aged gentleman. "I've knowed her zince her wur a little maid. I used tu give her lolly-pops. Yu speak up, Miss Zairy, and tell 'un if I didn't."

"To be sure you did, Father Jack," said Sarah, promptly.

"Ah, zo 'a did," said the old man, chuckling. "Zo 'a did, and her ladyship avore yu. I mind _her_ when her was a little maid, and pretty ways her had wi' her, zame as now. None zo ramshacklin' as yu du be, Miss Zairy."

"There's n.o.body about that he doesn't remember as a child," said Sarah, apologetically. "He's so old, you see. He doesn't remember how old he is, and n.o.body can tell him. But he knows he was born in the reign of George the Third, because his mother told him so; and he remembers his father coming in with news of the Battle of Waterloo, So I think he must be about ninety."

"Lard, mar like a hunderd year old, I be," said Happy Jack, offended.

"And luke how I du wark yit. Yif I'd 'a give up my wark, I shude 'a bin in the churchyard along o' the idlers, that 'a shude." He chuckled and winked. "I du be a turble vunny man," quavered the thin falsetto voice. "They be niver a dune a laughin' along o' my jokes. An' I du remember Zur Timothy's vather zo well as Zur Timothy hisself, though 'ee bin dead nigh sixty year. Lard, 'ee was a bad 'un, was y' ould squire. An old devil. That's what 'ee was."

"He only means Sir Timothy's father had a bad temper," explained Sarah. "It's quite true."

"Ah, was it timper?" said Jack, sarcastically. "I cude tell 'ee zum tales on 'un. There were a right o' way, zur, acrust the mead thereby, as the volk did claim. And 'a zays, 'A'll putt a stop tu 'un,' 'a zays. And him zat on a style, long zide the tharn bush, and 'a took 'ee's gun, and 'a zays, 'A'll shute vust man are maid as c.u.mes acrust thiccy vield,' 'a zays. And us knowed 'un wude du 't tu. And 'un barred the gate, and there t'was."

He laughed till the tears ran down his face, brown as gingerbread, and wrinkled as a monkey's.

"Mr. Crewys is in a hurry, Jack," said Sarah. "He's only just arrived from London, and he's walked all the way from Brawnton."

"'Tain't but a stip vur a vine vellar like 'ee, and wi' a vine maiden like yu du be grown, var tu kip 'ee company," said Happy Jack. "But 'ee'll be in a yurry tu git tu Barracombe, and refresh hisself, in arl this turble yeat. When the zun du search, the rain du voller."

"I dare say you want a gla.s.s of beer yourself," said John, producing a coin from his pocket.

"No, zur, I doan't," said the road-mender, unexpectedly. "Beer doan't agree wi' my inzide, an' it gits into my yead, and makes me proper jolly, zo the young volk make game on me. But I cude du wi' a drop o' zider zur; and drink your health and the young lady's, zur, zo 'a cude."

He winked and nodded as he pocketed the coin; and John, half laughing and half vexed, pursued his road with Sarah.

"It seems to me that the old gentleman has become a trifle free and easy with advancing years," he observed.

"He thinks he has a right to be interested in the family," said Sarah, "because of the connection, you see."

"The connection?"

"Didn't you know?" she asked, with wide-open eyes. "Though you were Sir Timothy's own cousin."

"A very distant cousin," said John.

"But every one in the valley knows," said Sarah, "that Sir Timothy's father married his own cook, who was Happy Jack's first cousin. When I was a little girl, and wanted to tease Peter," she added ingenuously, "I always used to allude to it. It is the skeleton in their cupboard.

We haven't got a skeleton in our family," she added regretfully; "least of all the skeleton of a cook."

John remembered vaguely that there was a story about the second marriage of Sir Timothy the elder.

"So she was a cook!" he said. "Well, what harm?" and he laughed in spite of himself. "I wonder why there is something so essentially unromantic in the profession of a cook?"

"Her family went to Australia, and they are quite rich people now: no more cooks than you and me," said Sarah, gravely. "But Happy Jack won't leave Youlestone, though he says they tempted him with untold gold. And he wouldn't touch his hat to Sir Timothy, because he was his cousin. That was another skeleton."

"But a very small one," said John, laughing.

"It might seem small to _us_, but I'm sure it was one reason why Sir Timothy never went outside his own gates if he could help it," said Sarah, shrewdly. "Luckily the cook died when he was born."

"Why luckily, poor thing?" said John, indignantly.

"She wouldn't have had much of a time, would she, do you think, with Sir Timothy's sisters?" asked Sarah, with simplicity. "They were in the schoolroom when their papa married her, or I am sure they would never have allowed it. Their own mother was a most select person; and little thought when she gave the orders for dinner, and all that, who the old gentleman's _next_ wife would be," said Sarah, giggling. "They always talk of her as the _Honourable Rachel_, since _Lady Crewys_, you know, might just as well mean the cook. I suppose the old squire got tired of her being so select, and thought he would like a change.

He was a character, you know. I often think Peter will be a character when he grows old. He is so disagreeable at times."

"I thought you were so fond of Peter?" said John, looking amusedly down on the little chatterbox beside him.

"Not exactly fond of him. It's just that I'm _used_ to him," said Sarah, colouring all over her clear, fresh face, even to the little tendrils of red hair on her white neck.