The Soul of Susan Yellam Part 6

Mrs. Mucklow repeated the words:

"No more churchgoing--! That, from you? I be shaken to my beam ends."

Mrs. Yellam went on, in the same cold, incisive voice:

"We be told, Jane, that the Lard chastens him whom He loves, but we read elsewhere in the holy Book that He chastises them as He hates. When Lizzie died I'd the blasphemeous notion that G.o.d A'mighty hated me. And then my faith went a-flutterin' out o' winder. I lay in bed two Sundays, because I da.s.sn't go into my pew. I never spoke to n.o.body. Yas--I lay abed, fighting Satan. He tempted me rarely."

Mrs. Mucklow nodded.

"Ah-h-h! You be tellin' a wondersome tale, Susan. Satan nearly had me, near as no matter, when I was a maid. He came gallivantin' along in a red coat...."

"A soldier?"

"No, a fox-hunting young gentleman. 'Tis a subject I don't care to think about. How did Satan tempt you, Susan?"

"Wi' a brandy-bottle. It stood there makin' eyes at me...."

"For all the world like my young gentleman."

"What saved you, Jane?"

"I dunno'. It might ha' been G.o.d A'mighty's grace. It might ha' been fear o' consequences.'

"Them two things saved me, Jane. But I calls it one thing. G.o.d A'mighty's grace made both on us think o' consequences. I says to myself: 'What will Alferd do if his mother don't go churchalong? What'll happen to him, if his mother be known as a drunkard?' And, there and then, Jane, my pore faith come a-flutterin' back, a-shaking its feathers, like a hen after a storm o' rain. And the storm was over, too.

It's been warm and sunny for me ever since. Now you know why I be proud o' my Christian feelings."

Mrs. Mucklow nodded and finished her cake. She had begun her second cup of tea, when steps were heard upon the stone flags which led from the front wicket to the back door.

"'Tis Alferd," said Mrs. Yellam.

"And Miss Fancy Broomfield," added Jane Mucklow. "Come to ask your blessing, Susan."

"Fiddle!" replied Mrs. Yellam sharply.

Within a minute, however, it became plain that Alfred wanted nothing more exciting than a cup of tea for himself and his companion. They had climbed to the top of the down, after visiting Mr. Fishpingle at the Home Farm. Miss Broomfield, formally presented to the elder women and as formally received, looked pale and tired. Possibly, she divined hostility the more penetrating because suppressed. Mrs. Yellam said magnificently:

"Please excuse me for welcoming you, Miss Broomfield, in my kitchen."

Fancy smiled.

"What a pretty kitchen!"

The kitchen--as Mrs. Yellam was complacently aware--deserved the adjective. It boasted, what is never found in modern cottages, an open hearth and ingle-nook. Hams and flitches of bacon were smoked in the wide chimney. After such treatment, the hams were hung in a row from a big black beam. By the side of the hearth stood a small stove large enough to bake modest joints. The window, with diamond-paned cas.e.m.e.nts, was deeply recessed, with a red-cushioned seat running round it. The dresser, opposite to the hearth, exhibited pewter and some willow-pattern pottery. Upon the oak panelling on each side of the hearth hung gleaming bra.s.s, including an immense warming-pan. The table in the middle of the room had been stoutly built of deal. Removing the table-cloth, you would have seen a surface scrubbed white as the linen cloth. Along the window-sill were pots of geraniums. Even Mrs. Mucklow admitted that Queen Mary could eat her dinner off the red tiles of the floor.

Mrs. Yellam nodded. Alfred brought a chair for Fancy, but she declared her intention of sitting upon one of two stools against the wall.

To her amazement, Alfred said sharply:

"Don't sit on that!"

"Why ever not, Mr. Yellam?"

"'Tis a coffin stool."

Fancy sat down upon the chair he placed for her. Mrs. Mucklow said mournfully:

"I wonders, Susan, why you keep they stools in your kitchen."

"And so do I," added Alfred.

Mrs. Yellam answered simply:

"They mind me, Alferd, that in the midst o' life we be wise to think, now and again, o' death. Will you remove your hat, Miss Broomfield?"

Fancy did so, slipping off her gloves first. Mrs. Yellam frightened her a little. Not quite at ease, she minded her table manners, and behaved with a gentility quietly noted and silently commended by the elder women. On such occasions, when a stranger happened to be present, Mrs.

Yellam loved to lead the talk, choosing a subject likely to improve the minds of her listeners. The captious may regard this as an unpleasing trait. Mrs. Yellam believed that it was more blessed to give than to receive instruction. But, listening to Parson or Squire, she imbibed such wisdom as fell from their august lips with an attention and an intelligence which she exacted from others when she held the floor. Her first duty, as hostess, was to see that her guest made a good tea, the sort of tea, obviously, that she did not get at home. Fancy, however, trifled with her food, being overtired, and positively refused to eat cake. Mrs. Yellam said majestically:

"My son tells me that you be a reader, Miss Broomfield."

"I like books," replied Fancy. "I have not read many, Mrs. Yellam."

"I don't hold wi' reading," observed Mrs. Mucklow; "leastways, not for pore folks as has no time to waste."

This was a sly thrust at Susan Yellam, one of the few villagers who took in and read a halfpenny paper.

"Nor do I, Jane, for such as you means. Parson says you find in a book just what you bring to 'un. There's folks in Nether-Applewhite as brings nothing, nothing at all."

Mrs. Mucklow helped herself to a second slice of cake. Alfred lit his pipe, hoping that Fancy would stand her ground when his mother opened fire. Mrs. Yellam smiled graciously at her guest. She might be "spindling," but she looked intelligent. Nevertheless, she distrusted intelligence in very young women. Undisciplined, it might turn a modest maid into a militant suffragette. From all such, Good Lord, deliver us!

A Nether-Applewhite girl, at the head of her cla.s.s in school, had joined the Salvation Army, and now banged a tambourine in Southampton.

Sometimes she wondered whether her own Lizzie mightn't have turned out a handful. Such a possibility almost resigned her to the loss of a child very precocious and with a strong will of her own. You will understand the temperament and character of Susan Yellam better if you grasp the fact that she endeavoured, habitually, to explain the mysterious workings of Providence both to herself and to her neighbours. She had been a devoted wife and mother, but, marking as she did the disconcerting changes in young women of her acquaintance, she was forced to the conclusion that many mothers profited by losing their prayers.

G.o.d Almighty knew best. She addressed Fancy again:

"You live in Salisbury?"

"I do, Mrs. Yellam."

"My son tells me that there be many radicals in the town."

"I daresay."

"Be you true blue or yaller?"

"I don't quite understand."

"Be you Conservative or Radical?"

"My father is a Liberal."