On returning homeward the young waterman bethinks him of a difficulty--a
little matter to be settled with his mother. Not having gone to the
shop, he has neither whipcord nor pitch to show. If questioned about
these commodities, what answer is he to make? He dislikes telling her
another lie. It came easy enough before the interview with his
sweetheart, but now it is not so much worth while.
On reflection he thinks it will be better to make a clean breast of it.
He has already half confessed, and may as well admit his mother to full
confidence about the secret he has been trying to keep from her--
unsuccessfully, as he now knows.
While still undetermined, a circumstance occurs to hinder him from
longer withholding it, whether he would or not. In his abstraction he
has forgotten all about the moon, now up, and at intervals shining
brightly. During one of these he has arrived at his own gate, as he
opens it seeing his mother on the door-step. Her attitude shows she has
already seen him, and observed the direction whence he has come. Her
words declare the same.
"Why, Jack!" she exclaims, in feigned astonishment, "ye beant a comin'
from the Ferry that way?"
The interrogatory, or rather the tone in which it is put, tells him the
cat is out of the bag. No use attempting to stuff the animal in again;
and seeing it is not, he rejoins, laughingly--
"Well, mother, to speak the truth, I ha'nt been to the Ferry at all.
An' I must ask you to forgie me for practisin' a trifle o' deception on
ye--that 'bout the _Mary_ wantin' repairs."
"I suspected it, lad; an' that it wor the tother Mary as wanted
something, or you wanted something wi' her. Since you've spoke
repentful, an' confessed, I ain't a-goin' to worrit ye about it. I'm
glad the boat be all right, as I ha' got good news for you."
"What?" he asks, rejoiced at being so easily let off.
"Well; you spoke truth when ye sayed there was no knowin' but that
somebody might be wantin' to hire ye any minnit. There's been one
arready."
"Who? Not the Captain?"
"No, not him. But a grand livery chap; footman or coachman--I ain't
sure which--only that he came frae a Squire Powell's, 'bout a mile
back."
"Oh! I know Squire Powell--him o' New Hall, I suppose it be. What did
the sarvint say?"
"That if you wasn't engaged, his young master wants ye to take hisself,
and some friends that be staying wi' him, for a row down the river."
"How far did the man say? If they be bound to Chepstow or even but
Tintern, I don't think I could go; unless they start Monday mornin'.
I'm 'gaged to the Captain for Thursday, ye know; an if I went the long
trip, there'd be all the bother o' gettin' the boat back--an' bare
time."
"Monday! Why, it's the morrow they want ye."
"Sunday! That's queerish, too. Squire Powell's family be a sort o'
strict religious, I've heerd."
"That's just it. The livery chap sayed it be a church they're goin' to;
some curious kind o' old worshippin' place, that lie in a bend o' the
river, where carriages ha' difficulty in gettin' to it."
"I think I know the one, an' can take them there well enough. What
answer did you gie to the man?"
"That ye could take 'em, an' would. I know'd you hadn't any other
bespeak; and since it wor to a church wouldn't mind its bein' Sunday."
"Sartinly not. Why should I?" asks Jack, who is anything but a
Sabbatarian. "Where do they weesh the boat to be took? Or am I to wait
for 'em here?"
"Yes; the man spoke o' them comin' here, an' at a very early hour. Six
o'clock. He sayed the clergyman be a friend o' the family, and they're
to ha' their breakfasts wi' him, afore goin' to church."
"All right! I'll be ready for 'em, come's as early as they may."
"In that case, my son; ye better get to your bed at once. Ye've had a
hard day o' it, and need rest. Should ye like take a drop o' somethin'
'fores you lie down?"
"Well, mother; I don't mind. Just a glass o' your elderberry."
She opens a cupboard, brings forth a black bottle, and fills him a
tumbler of the dark red wine--home made, and by her own hands.