THE RUSH-BEARING
'Heigho! daises and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall,
A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure,
And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall!
Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure,
God that is over us all.'--Jean Ingelow.
Mildred soon became accustomed to Dr. Heriot's constant presence about
the house, and the slight restraint she had at first felt rapidly wore
off.
She soon looked upon it as a matter of course to see him at least three
evenings in the week; loneliness was not to his taste, and in
consequence, when he was not otherwise engaged, he generally shared
their evening meal at the vicarage, and remained an hour afterwards,
talking to Mr. Lambert or Richard. Mildred ceased to start with surprise
at finding him in the early morning turning over the books in her
brother's study, or helping Polly and Chriss in their new fernery. Polly
was made happy by frequent invitations to her guardian's house, where
she soon made herself at home, coming back to Mildred with delightful
accounts of how her guardian had allowed her to dust his books and mend
his gloves; and how he had approved of the French coffee she had made
him.
One afternoon Chriss and she had been in the kitchen, concocting all
sorts of delicious messes, which Dr. Heriot, Cardie, and Roy were
expected to eat afterwards.
Dr. Heriot gave an amusingly graphic account of the feast afterwards to
Mildred, and his old housekeeper's astonishment at 'them nasty and
Frenchified dishes.'
Polly had carried in the omelette herself, and placed it with a flushed,
triumphant face before him, her dimpled elbows still whitened with
flour; the dishes were all charmingly garlanded with flowers and
leaves--tiny breast-knots of geranium and heliotrope lay beside each
plate. Polly had fastened a great cream-coloured rose into Olive's
drooping braids, which she wore reluctantly.
'I wish you could have seen it all, Miss Lambert; it was the prettiest
thing possible; they had transformed my bachelor's den into a perfect
bower. Roy must have helped them, and given some of his artistic
touches. There were great trailing sprays of ivy, and fern-fronds in my
terra-cotta vases, and baskets of wild roses and ox-eyed daisies; never
was my _fete_ day so charmingly inaugurated before. The worst of it was
that Polly expected me to taste all her dishes in succession; and Chriss
insisted on my eating a large slice of the frosted cake.'
Mildred was not present at Dr. Heriot's birthday party; she had
preferred staying with her brother, but she found he had not forgotten
her; the guests were surprised in their turn by finding a handsome gift
beside each plate, a print that Roy had long coveted, Trench on
_Parables_ for Richard, Schiller's works for Olive, a neat little
writing-desk for Polly, and a silk-lined work-basket for Chriss, who
coloured and looked uncomfortable over the gift. Polly had orders to
carry a beautiful book on Ferns to Aunt Milly, and a slice of the
iced-cake with Dr. Heriot's compliments, and regrets that she had not
tasted the omelette--a message that Polly delivered with the utmost
solemnity.
'Oh, it was so nice, Aunt Milly; Dr. Heriot is so good and indulgent. I
think he is the best man living--just to please us he let us serve up
the coffee in those beautiful cups without handles, that he values so,
and that have cost I don't know how much money; and Olive dropped hers
because she said it burnt her fingers, and broke it all to fragments.
Livy looked ready to cry, but Dr. Heriot only laughed, and would not let
Cardie scold her.'
'That was kind of Dr. Heriot.'
'He is never anything but kind. I am sure some of the things disagreed
with him, but he would taste them all; and then afterwards--oh, Aunt
Milly, it was so nice--we sang glees in the twilight, and when it got
quite dark, he told us a splendid ghost-story--only it turned out a
dream--which spoilt it rather; and laughed at Chrissy and me because we
looked a little pale when the lamp came in. I am sure Richard enjoyed it
as well as us, for he rubbed his hands and said, "Excellent," when he
had finished.'
Mildred looked at her book when the girls had retired, fairly wearied
with chattering. It was just what she had wanted. How thoughtful of Dr.
Heriot. Her name was written in full; and for the first time she had a
chance of criticising the bold, clear handwriting. 'From a family
friend--John Heriot,' was written just underneath. After all, had it not
been a little churlish of her to refuse going with the children? The
evening had gone very heavily with her; her brother had been in one of
his taciturn moods and had retired to his room early; and finding the
house empty, and somewhat desolate, she had betaken herself to the
moonlighted paths of the churchyard, and had more than once wished she
could peep in unseen on the party.
It was not long afterwards that Mildred was induced to partake of Dr.
Heriot's hospitality.
It was the day before the Castlesteads Rush-bearing. Mildred was in the
town with Olive and Polly, when, just as they were turning the corner by
the King's Arms, a heavy shower came on; and Dr. Heriot, who was
entering his own door, beckoned to them to run across and take shelter.
Dr. Heriot's house stood in a secluded corner of the market-place,
behind the King's Arms; the bank was on the left-hand side, and from the
front windows there was a good view of the market-place, the town pump,
and butter market, and the quaint, old-fashioned shops.
The shops of Kirkby Stephen drove a brisk trade, in spite of the sleepy
air that pervaded them, and the curious intermixture of goods that they
patronised.
The confectioner's was also a china shop, and there was a millinery room
upstairs, while the last new music was only procurable at the tin shop.
Jams and groceries could be procured at the druggist's, while the
fashionable milliner of the town was also the postmistress. On certain
days the dull little butcher's shop, with its picturesque gable and
overhanging balcony, was guileless of anything but its chopping-blocks,
and perhaps the half-carcase of a sheep; beef was not always to be had
for the asking, a fact which London housekeepers were slow to
understand.
On Mondays the town wore a more thriving appearance; huge wagons blocked
up the market-place, stalls containing all sorts of wares occupied the
central area, the countrywomen sold chickens and eggs, and tempting
rolls of fresh butter, the gentlemen farmers congregated round the
King's Arms; towards afternoon, horse-dealers tried their horses' paces
up and down the long street, while the village curs made themselves
conspicuous barking at their heels.
'I hope you will always make use of me in this way,' said Dr. Heriot, as
he shook Mildred's wet cloak, and ushered them into the hall; 'the rain
has damped you already, but I hope it is only a passing shower for the
little rush-bearers' sakes to-morrow.'
'The barometer points to fair,' observed Polly, anxiously.
'Yes, and this shower will do all the good in the world, lay the dust,
and render your long drive enjoyable. Ah! Miss Lambert, you have found
out why Olive honours me by so many visits,' as Mildred glanced round
the large handsome hall, fitted up by glass bookcases; and with its
carpeted floor and round table, and brackets of blue dragon china
looking thoroughly comfortable.
'This is my dining-room and consulting-room; my surgery is elsewhere,'
continued Dr. Heriot. 'My drawing-room is so little used, that I am
afraid Marjory often forgets to draw up the blinds.' And he showed
Mildred the low-ceiled pleasant rooms, well-furnished, and tastefully
arranged; but the drawing-room having the bare disused air of a room
that a woman's footstep seldom enters. Mildred longed to droop the
curtain into less stiff folds, and to fill the empty vases with flowers.
Polly spoke out her thought immediately afterwards.
'I mean to come in every morning on my way to school, and pull up the
blinds, and fill that china bowl with roses. Marjory won't mind anything
I do.'
'Your labour will be wasted, Polly,' returned her guardian, rather
sadly. 'No one but Mrs. Sadler, or Miss Ortolan, or perhaps Mrs.
Northcote, ever sits on that yellow couch. Your roses would waste their
sweetness on the desert air; no one would look at them, or smell them;
but it is a kind thought, little one,' with a gentle, approving smile.
'Which room was the scene of Polly's feast?' asked Mildred, curiously.
'Oh, the den--I mean the room I generally inhabit; it is snug, and opens
into the conservatory; and I have grown to like it somehow. Now, Polly,
you must make us some tea; but the question is, will you favour the
yellow couch and the empty rose-bowls, Miss Lambert, or do you prefer
the dining-room?'
'Dr. Heriot, what do you mean by treating Aunt Milly so stiffly? of
course we shall have tea in the den, as usual.' But he interrupted her
by a brief whisper in her ear, which made her laugh and clap her hands.
Evidently there was some delightful secret between them, for Polly's
eyes sparkled as she stood holding his arm with both hands; and even Dr.
Heriot's twinkled with amusement.
'Miss Lambert, Polly wants to know if you can keep a secret? I don't
think you look dangerous, so you shall be shown the mystery of the den.'
'Does Olive know?' asked Mildred, looking at the girl as she sat
hunching her shoulders, as usual, over a book.
'Yes, but she does not approve. Olive never approves of anything nice,'
returned Polly, saucily. 'Let us go very quietly; he generally whistles
so loudly that he never hears anything;' and as Polly softly opened the
door, very clear, sweet whistling was distinctly audible.
There was a little glass-house beyond the cosy room they were entering;
and there, amongst flowers and canaries, and gaily-striped awning, in
his old blue cricketing coat, was Roy painting.
Dr. Heriot beckoned Mildred to come nearer, and she had ample leisure to
admire the warm sunshiny tints of a small landscape, to which he was
putting finishing touches, until the melodious whistling ceased, and an
exclamation of delight from Polly made him turn round.
'Aunt Milly, this is too bad; you have stolen a march on me;' and Roy's
fair face was suffused for a moment. 'I owe Dr. John a grudge for this,'
threatening him with his palette and brush.
Polly could not resist the pleasure of showing her aunt the mysteries of
Bluebeard's den. 'When you miss your boy, you will know where to find
him in future, Miss Lambert.'
'Roy, dear, you must not be vexed. I had no idea Polly's secret had
anything to do with you,' said Mildred, gently. 'Dr. Heriot is very good
to allow you to make use of this pleasant studio.'
Roy's brow cleared like magic.
'I am glad you think so. I was only afraid you would talk nonsense, as
Livy does, about waste of time, and hiding talents under a bushel.
Holloa, Livy, I did not know you were there; no offence intended; but
you do talk an awful quantity of rubbish sometimes.'
'I only said it was a pity you did not tell papa about it; your being an
artist, I mean,' answered Olive, mildly; but Roy interrupted her
impatiently.
'You know I cannot bear disappointing him, but of course it has to be
told. Aunt Milly, do you think my father would ask Dad Fabian down to
see Polly? I should so like to have a talk with him. You see, Dr. John
is only an amateur; he cannot tell me if I am ever likely to be an
artist,' finished Roy, a little despondingly.
'I am not much of a critic, but I like your picture, Roy; it looks so
fresh and sunny. I could almost feel as though I were sitting down on
that mossy bank; and that little girl in her red cloak is charming.'
Roy coloured bashfully over the praise.
'I tell him that with his few advantages he does wonders; he has only
picked up desultory lessons here and there,' observed Dr. Heriot.
'That old fellow at Sedbergh taught me to grind colours, and I fell in
with an artist at York once. I don't mind you knowing a bit, Aunt Milly;
only'--lowering his voice so as not to be heard by the others--'I want
to get an opinion worth having, and be sure I am not only the dabbler
Dick thinks me, before I bother the Padre about it; but I shall do no
good at anything else, let Dick say what he will;' a touch of defiance
and hopelessness in his voice, very different from his ordinary saucy
manners. Evidently Roy was in earnest for once in his life.
'You are quite right, Roy; it is the most beautiful life in the world,'
broke in Polly, enthusiastically. 'It is nobler to try at that and fail,
than to be the most successful lawyer in the world.'
'The gentlemen of the robe would thank you, Polly. Do you know, I have a
great respect for a learned barrister.'
'All that Polly knows about them is, they wear a wig and carry a blue
bag,' observed Roy, with one of his odd chuckles.
'What a Bohemian you are, Polly.'
'I like what is best and brightest and most loveable in life,' returned
Polly, undauntedly. 'I think you are an artist by nature, because you
care so much for beautiful scenery, and are so quick to see different
shades and tints of colouring. Dad Fabian is older, and grander,
far--but you talk a little like him, Roy; your words have the same ring,
somehow.'
'Polly is a devout believer in Roy's capabilities,' observed Dr. Heriot,
half-seriously and half-laughing. 'You are fortunate, Roy, to have
inspired so much faith already; it must warm up your landscapes and
brighten your horizons for you. After all, there is nothing like
sympathy in this world,' with a scarcely audible sigh.
'Dr. Heriot, tea is ready,' broke in Polly, with one of her quick
transitions from enthusiasm to matter-of-fact reality, as she moved as
though by right to her place at the head of the table, and looked as
though she expected her guardian to seat himself as usual beside her;
while Dr. Heriot drew up a comfortable rocking-chair for Mildred.
Certainly the den presented a cheerful aspect to-night; the little
glass-house, as Dr. Heriot generally termed it, with its easel and
flowers, and its pleasant glimpse of the narrow garden and blue hills
behind, looked picturesque in the afternoon light; the rain had ceased,
the canaries burst into loud song, there was a delicious fragrance of
verbena and heliotrope; Roy stretched his lazy length on the little red
couch, his fair head in marked contrast with Mildred's brown coils; a
great crimson-hearted rose lay beside her plate.
Dr. Heriot's den certainly lacked no visible comfort; there were
easy-chairs for lounging, small bookcases filled with favourite books, a
writing-table, and a marble stand, with a silver reading-lamp, that gave
the softest possible light; one or two choice prints enlivened the
walls. Dr. Heriot evidently kept up a luxurious bachelor's life, for the
table was covered with good things; and Mildred ventured to praise the
excellent Westmorland cakes.
'Marjory makes better girdle-cakes than Nan,' observed Polly. 'Do you
know what my guardian calls them, Aunt Milly?'
'You should allow Miss Lambert to finish hers first,' remonstrated Dr.
Heriot.
'He calls them "sudden deaths."'
'Miss Lambert is looking quite pale, and laying down hers. I must help
myself to some to reassure her;' and Dr. Heriot suited his action to his
words. 'I perfectly scandalise Marjory by telling her they are very
unwholesome, but she only says, "Hod tongue o' ye, doctor; t' kyuks are
au weel enuff; en'ill hurt nin o' ye, if y'ill tak 'em i' moderation."'
'I think Marjory is much of a muchness with Nan in point of obstinacy.'
'Nan's habits bewilder me,' observed Mildred. 'She eats so little flesh
meat, as she calls it; and whatever time I go into the kitchen, she
seems perpetually at tea.'
'Ay, four o'clock tea is the great meal of the day; the servants
certainly care very little for meat here. I am often surprised, when I
go into the cottages, to see the number of cakes just freshly baked; it
is the most tempting meal they have. The girdle-cakes, and the little
black teapot on the hob, and not unfrequently a great pile of brown
toast, have often struck me as so appetising after a cold, wet ride,
that I have often shared a bit and a sup with them. Have you ever heard
of Kendal wigs, Miss Lambert?'
Mildred shook her head.
'They are very favourite cakes. Many a farmer's wife on a market-day
thinks her purchases incomplete without bringing home a goodly quantity
of wigs. I am rather fond of them myself. All my oat-bread, or
havre-bread as they call it, is sent me by an old patient who lives at
Kendal. Do you know there is a quaint proverb, very much used here, "as
crafty as a Kendal fox"?'
'What is the origin of that?' asked Mildred, much amused.
'Well, it is doubtful. It may owe its origin to some sly old Reynard who
in days long since "escaped the hunter many times and oft;" or it might
possibly originate in some family of the name of Fox living at Kendal,
and noted for their business habits and prudence. There are two proverbs
peculiar to this country.'
'You mean the Pendragon one,' observed Roy.
'Yes.'
'Let Uter Pendragon do what he can,
Eden will run where Eden ran.'
'You look mystified, Miss Lambert; but at Pendragon Castle in
Mallerstang there may still be seen traces of an attempt to turn the
waters of Eden from their natural and wonted channel, and cause them to
flow round the castle and fill the moat.'
'How curious!'
'Proverbs have been rightly defined "as the wisdom of the many and the
wit of one." In one particular I believe this saying has a deep truth
hidden in it. One who has studied the Westmorland character, says that
its meaning is, that the people living on the banks of the Eden are as
firm and persevering in their own way as the river itself; and that when
they have once made up their minds as to what is their duty, all
attempts to turn them aside from walking in the right way and doing
their duty are equally futile.'
'Hurrah for the Edenites!' exclaimed Roy, enthusiastically. 'I don't
believe there is a county in England to beat Westmorland.'
'I must tell you what a quaint old writer says of it. "Here is cold
comfort from nature," he writes, "but somewhat of warmth from industry:
that the land is barren is God's good pleasure; the people painful
(_i.e._ painstaking), their praise." But I am afraid I must not
enlighten your minds any more on proverbial philosophy, as it is time
for me to set off on my evening round. A doctor can use scant ceremony,
Miss Lambert.'
'It is time you dismissed us,' returned Mildred, rising; 'we have
trespassed too long on your time already;' but, in spite of her efforts,
she failed to collect her party. Only Olive accompanied her home. Roy
returned to his painting and whistling, and Polly stayed behind to water
the flowers and keep him company.
The next day proved fine and cloudless, and at the appointed time the
old vicarage wagonette started off, with its bevy of boys and girls,
with Mildred to act as _chaperone_.
Mildred was loath to leave her brother alone for so long a day, but Dr.
Heriot promised to look in on him, and bring her a report in the
afternoon.
The drive to Castlesteads was a long one, but Roy was in one of his
absurd moods, and Polly and he kept up a lively exchange of _repartee_
and jest, which amused the rest of the party. On their way they passed
Musgrave, the church and vicarage lying pleasantly in the green meadows,
on the very banks of the Eden; but Roy snorted contemptuously over
Mildred's admiring exclamation--
'It looks very pretty from this distance, and would make a tolerable
picture; and I don't deny the walk by the river-bank is pleasant enough
in summer-time, but you would be sorry to live there all the year round,
Aunt Milly.'
'Is the vicarage so comfortless, then?'
'Vicarage! It is little better than a cottage. It is positively bare,
and mean, miserable little wainscoted rooms looking on a garden full of
currant-bushes and London-pride. In winter the river floods the meadows,
and comes up to the sitting-room window; just a place for rheumatism and
agues and low fevers. I wonder Mr. Wigram can endure it!'
'There are the Northcotes overtaking us, Cardie,' interrupted Chriss,
eagerly; 'give the browns a touch-up; I don't want them to pass us.'
Richard did as he was requested, and the browns evidently resenting the
liberty, there was soon a good distance between the two wagonettes; and
shortly afterwards the pretty little village of Castlesteads came in
sight, with its beeches and white cottages and tall May-pole.
'There is no time to be lost, Cardie. I can hear the band already. We
must make straight for the park.'
'We had better get down and walk, then, while George sees to the horses,
or we shall lose the procession. Come, Aunt Milly, we are a little late,
I am afraid; and we must introduce you to Mrs. Chesterton of the Hall in
due form.'
Mildred obeyed, and the little party hurried along the road, where knots
of gaily-dressed people were already stationed to catch the first
glimpse of the rush-bearers. The park gates were wide open, and a group
of ladies, with a tolerable sprinkling of gentlemen, were gathered under
the shady trees.
Mr. Delaware came striding across the grass in his cassock, with his
college cap in his hand.
'You are only just in time,' he observed, shaking hands cordially with
Mildred; 'the children are turning the corner by the schools. I must go
and meet them. Susie, will you introduce Miss Lambert to these ladies?'
Mrs. Chesterton of the Hall was a large, placid-looking woman, with a
motherly, benevolent face; she was talking to a younger lady, in very
fashionable attire, whom Mrs. Delaware whispered was Mrs. de Courcy, of
the Grange: her husband, Major de Courcy, was at a little distance, with
Mr. Chesterton and the Trelawnys.
Mildred had just time to bow to Ethel, when the loud, inspiriting blare
of brazen instruments was heard outside the park gates. There was a
burst of joyous music, and a faint sound of cheering, and then came the
procession of children, with their white frocks and triumphant crowns.
The real garland used for the rush-bearing is of the shape of the old
coronation crowns, and was formerly so large that it was borne by each
child on a cushion; and even at the present time it was too weighty an
ornament to be worn with comfort.
One little maiden had recourse to her mother's support, and many a
little hand went up to steady the uneasy diadem.
Mildred, who had never seen such a sight, was struck with the beauty and
variety of the crowns. Some were of brilliant scarlet and white, such as
covered May Chesterton's fair curls; others were of softer violet. One
was of beautifully-shaped roses; and another and humbler one of
heliotrope and large-eyed pansies. Even the cottage garlands were woven
with taste and fancy. One of the poorest children, gleaning in lanes and
fields, had formed her crown wholly of buttercups and ox-eyed daisies,
and wore it proudly.
A lame boy, who had joined the procession, carried his garland in the
shape of a large cross, which he held aloft. Mildred watched the bright
colours of moving flowers through the trees, and listened to the music
half-dreamily, until Richard touched her arms.
'Every one is following the procession. You will lose the prettiest part
of the whole, if you stand here, Aunt Milly; the children always have a
dance before they go into church.' And so saying, he piloted her through
the green park in the direction of the crowd.
By and by, they came to a little strip of lawn, pleasantly shaded by
trees, and here they found the rush-bearers drawn up in line, with the
crowns at their feet; the sun was shining, the butterflies flitted over
the children's heads, the music struck up gaily, the garlands lay in
purple and crimson splashes of colour on the green sward.
'Wouldn't it make a famous picture?' whispered Roy, eagerly. 'I should
like to paint it, and send it to the Royal Academy--"The Westmorland
Rush-bearing." Doesn't May look a perfect fairy in her white dress, with
her curls falling over her neck? That rogue of a Claude has chosen her
for his partner. There, they are going to have lemonade and cake, and
then they will "trip on the light, fantastic toe," till the church bells
ring;' but Mildred was too much absorbed to answer. The play of light
and shadow, the shifting colours, the children's innocent faces and
joyous laughter, the gaping rustics on the outside of the circle,
charmed and interested her. She was sorry when the picture was broken
up, and Mr. Delaware and the other clergy formed the children into an
orderly procession again.
Mildred and Richard were the last to enter the church, but Miss Trelawny
made room for them beside her. The pretty little church was densely
crowded, and there was quite an inspiring array of clergy and choristers
when the processional hymn was sung. Mr. Delaware gave an appropriate
and very eloquent address, and during a pause in the service the
church-wardens collected the garlands from the children, which were
placed by the officiating priest and the assistant clergy on the
altar-steps, or on the sloping sills of the chancel windows, or even on
the floor of the sanctuary itself, the sunshine lighting up with vivid
hues the many-coloured crowns.
These were left until the following day, when they were placed on a
frame made for the purpose at the other end of the church, and there
they hung until the next rush-bearing day; the brown drooping leaves and
faded flowers bearing solemn witness of the mutability and decay of all
earthly things.
But as Mildred looked at the altar-steps, crowded with the fragrant and
innocent offerings of the children, so solemnly blessed and accepted,
and heard the fresh young voices lifted up in the crowning hymn of
praise, there came to her remembrance some lines she had heard sung in
an old city church, when the broidered bags, full of rich offerings, had
been laid on the altar:--
'Holy offerings rich and rare,
Offerings of praise and prayer,
Purer life and purpose high,
Clasped hands and lifted eye,
Lowly acts of adoration
To the God of our salvation.
On His altar laid we leave them,
Christ present them! God receive them!'