That Lass O' Lowrie's Part 20

"Tendin' th' gates an' th' loike. Aye sir. Th' little la.s.s towd me aw about it. Hoo is na one as misses owt."

"So I see," smiling again. "And you think you can perform them?"

"I wur thinkin' so. It did na stroike me as a mon need to be partic'lar muskylar to do th' reet thing by 'em. I think I could tackle 'em wi'out breakin' down."

After a brief discussion of the subject, it was agreed that Mr. Craddock should be installed as keeper of the lodge the week following.

"As to politics," said Mr. Haviland, when his visitor rose to depart, "I hear you are something of a politician, Craddock."

"Summat o' one, sir," answered Sammy, his evident satisfaction touched with a doubtful gravity. "Summat o' one. I ha' my opinions o' things i'

gineral."

"So I have been told; and they have made you rather unpopular among our county people, per-haps?"

"I am na mich o' a favorite," with satisfaction.

"No, the fact is that until Miss Barholm came to me I had rather a bad idea of you, Craddock."

This looked somewhat serious, Craddock regarding it rather in the light of a challenge.

"I'd loike well enow to ha' yo' change it," he said, "but my coat is na o' th' turnin' web. I mun ha' my say about things--gentry or no gentry."

And his wrinkled old visage expressed so crabbed a determination that Mr. Haviland laughed outright.

"Oh! don't misunderstand me," he said, "stick to your party, Craddock.

We will try to agree, for Miss Barholm's sake. I will leave you to your opinion, and you will leave me to mine--even a Member of Parliament has a right to an opinion, you know, if he doesn't intrude it upon the public too much."

Craddock went home in a mollified frame of mind. He felt that he had gained his point and held his ground, and he respected himself accordingly. He felt too that his a.s.sociates had additional right to respect him. It was their ground too, and he had held it for them as well as for himself. He stopped at The Crown for his midday gla.s.s of ale; and his self-satisfaction was so evident that his friends observed it, and remarked among themselves that "th' owd lad wur pickin' up his crumbs a bit."

"Yo're lookin' graidely to-day, Sammy," said one.

"I'm feelin' a trifle graidelier than I ha' done," he answered, oracularly. "Things is lookin' up."

"I'm main glad to hear it. Tell us as how."

"Well,"--with studied indifference,--"it's noan so great luck i'

comparison, but it's summat to be thankfu' fur to a mon as is down i'

th' world. I've getten the lodge-keeper's place at Mr. Havi-land's."

"Tha' nivver says! Who'd a' thowt it? How ivver did that coom about?"

"Friends i' coort," with dignity. "Friends i' coort. Hond me that jug o' ale, Tummy. Havi-land's a mon o' discretion, if he is a Member o'

Parlyment. We've had quoite a friendly chat this mornin' as we set i'

th' loibery together. He is na so bad i' his pollytics after aw's said an' done. He'll do, upo' th' whole."

"Yo' stood up to him free enow, I warrant," said Tummy. "Th' gentle folk dunnot often hear sich free 'speakin' as yo' gi' 'em, Sammy."

"Well, I had to be a bit indypendent; it wur nat'ral. It would na ha'

done to ha' turnt soft, if he _wur_ th' mester an' me th' mon. But he's a mon o' sense, as I say, an' he wur civil enow, an' friendly enow. He's getten gumption to see as pollytics is pollytics. I'll tell yo' what, lads, I'm comin' to th' opinion as happen theer's more sense i' some o'

th' gentry than we gi' em credit fur; they ha' not mich but book larnin i' their heads, it's true, but they're noan so bad--some on 'em--if yo're charytable wi' 'em."

"Who was thy friend i' coort, Sammy?" was asked next.

Sammy's fist went down upon the table with a force which made the mugs dance and rattle.

"Now tha'rt comin' to the meat i' th' egg." he said. "Who should tha think it wur 'at had th' good-will an' th' head to tak' th' business i'

hond?"

"It ud be hard to say."

"Why, it wur that little la.s.s o' th' owd Pa.r.s.en's again. Dom'd if she wunnot run aw Riggan i' a twelvemonth. I dunnot know wkeer she getten her head-fillin' fro' unless she robbed th' owd Parson, an' left his n.o.b standin' empty. Happen that's what's up wi' th' owd chap."

CHAPTER XXI - Derrick's Question

Derrick had had a great deal to think about of late. Affairs at the mines had been troublesome, as usual, and he had been often irritated by the stupidity of the men who were in authority over him. He began to feel, moreover, that an almost impalpable barrier had sprung up between himself and his nearest friend. When he came to face the matter, he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that there were things he had kept from Grace, though it had been without any positive intention of concealment And, perhaps, being the sensitive fellow he had called him, Grace had felt that there was something behind his occasional abstraction and silence, and had shrunk within himself, feeling a trifle hurt at Derrick's want of frankness and confidence.

Hardly a day pa.s.sed in which he did not spend some short time in the society of his Pythias. He rarely pa.s.sed his lodgings without dropping in, and, to-night, he turned in on his way from the office, and fell upon Grace hard at work over a volume of theology.

"Lay your book aside," he said to him. "I want to gossip this evening, old fellow."

Grace closed his book and came to his usual seat, smiling affectionately. There was a suggestion of feminine affectionateness in his bearing toward his friend.

"Gossip," he remarked. "The word gos-sip----

"Oh," put in Derrick, "it's a woman's word; but I am in a womanish sort of humor. I am going to be--I suppose, one might say--confidential."

The Reverend Paul reddened a little but as Derrick rather avoided looking at him he did not observe the fact.

"Grace," he said, after a silence, "I have a sort of confession to make.

I am in a difficulty, and I rather blame myself for not having come to you before."

"Don't blame yourself," said the Curate, faintly. "You--you are not to blame."

Then Derrick glanced up at him quickly. This sounded so significant of some previous knowledge of his trouble, that he was taken aback. He could not quite account for it.

"What!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible that you have guessed it already?"

"I have thought so--sometimes I have thought so--though I feel as if I ought almost to ask your pardon for going so far."

Grace had but one thought as he spoke. His friend's trouble meant his friend's honor and regard for himself. It was for his sake that Derrick was hesitating on the brink of a happy love--unselfishly fearing for him. He knew the young man's impetuous generosity, and saw how under the circ.u.mstances, it might involve him. Loving Anice Barholm with the full strength of a strong nature, Derrick was generous enough still to shrink from his prospect of success with the woman his friend had failed to win.

Derrick flung himself back in his chair with a sigh. He was thinking, with secret irritation, that he must have felt even more than he had acknowledged to himself since he had in all unconsciousness, confessed so much.

"You have saved me the trouble of putting into words a feeling I have not words to explain," he said. "Perhaps that is the reason why I have not spoken openly before. Grace,"--abruptly,--"I have fancied there was a cloud between us."

"Between us!" said Grace, eagerly and warmly. "No, no! That was a poor fancy indeed; I could not bear that."