RENEWING ACQUAINTANCE.
ELSPETH fully anticipated the honour of giving lunch to this strange
artist, for whom Bill had borrowed the chair. It was a good step up
to the public house by the church; and common sense told her that
a shelter so near at hand, where he could rest and eat, would be a
convenience not to be despised.
Accordingly, she laid forward with her work, in order to be ready to
do the honours of a cold-meat spread any time after eleven o'clock,
by which hour she counted he might reasonably be getting hungry. As
fortune would have it, however, she was doomed to disappointment.
Setting out about half-past nine for a walk his grandsons, the Squire
with Hal at his side, arrived at the stile beyond the Manor Farm,
intending to proceed by way of the riverbank and the fields to the
church, and thence to the gate of the wood, to see how Farmer Bluff's
place of exile was progressing.
Will and Sigismund were quickly over; and whilst Hal and the old
gentleman were following at leisure, on they ran as usual. They no
sooner disappeared beyond the corner where the path curved round the
orchard than they came racing back.
"Such an odd object!" cried Will, in his clear, sharp voice. "A man
under a white canvas umbrella!"
"Like a missionary teaching the heathen," put in Sigismund; for the
equinoctial sun was in one of its rare hot moods, and our artist had
been glad to screen his eyes from its glare.
A few moments later, the Squire and Hal were in sight of him. Hal, as
usual, was just ready with some question, when his grandfather uttered
an exclamation of pleasure and surprise. At the same moment, a look of
recognition passed over the artist's face, and he rose, respectfully
doffing his hat.
"Why, Grantley!" exclaimed the old gentleman, hurrying forward with
extended hand. "I little thought you were upon my domains."
"On Tommy Tinker's ground," put in, sotto voce, Will, who always had
something mischievous at the tip of his tongue.
The artist replied that he himself had not been aware of it until,
inquiring his way of a labouring man up by the church, he had learned
the name of the place. "I intended doing myself the honour of calling
on you later in the day," he added; "when the air becomes too chilly
for work."
"By all means," said the Squire cordially. "I shall be delighted.
I see you have already made acquaintance with my bailiff, or his
housekeeper," added he, glancing at the chair.
Grantley acquiesced. "A decent, hospitable kind of body too," returned
he; "offered to get me luncheon presently—which, by the way, I think
will come acceptable before long; for I breakfasted at six, preparatory
to my tramp over from the town; and I find your country air sharpening
to the appetite."
"You will find my bailiff but indifferent company, I fear," said the
Squire. "Farmer Bluff is all that his name implies; a gouty old sinner,
too, who deserves every twinge in his joints as heartily as ever any
one did. However, if he is expecting you, of course—"
"Oh! From what the good woman said," interrupted Grantley, "I am not to
enjoy the honour of sitting down with Farmer Bluff. She spoke of her
front kitchen."
"I suspected as much," rejoined the Squire. "Bluff was never noted
for the virtue of hospitality, and never will be. This is simply a
scheme of Dame Elspeth's to turn an honest half-crown. That being so,
I propose that you come up to lunch with me at the Manor House; or if
that will take you from your work too soon, go in and have a snack of
bread and bacon in Elspeth's kitchen, and come on to dine with me at
six."
This arrangement seemed best to suit Grantley, who was anxious to lose
none of the short spring day. "It will make a pretty sketch," said he,
"if I can do it justice; but I am expecting a lad back presently—the
one who fetched out Dame Elspeth and the chair; a lively urchin, from
the way in which he scrambled through the hedge there, rather than go
round like ordinary folk to the front entrance."
"Well for him that the old farmer has his gout on, if he is familiar
with the way through that hedge," observed the Squire. "But if Farmer
Bluff suffers that way, his dog Blazer doesn't; and the dog isn't a
whit more bland-tempered than his master."
"Oh, grandfather!" put in Hal, who was listening as usual, his keen
eyes moving quickly from one to the other of the speakers. "Blazer is
ever so much nicer than Grip. He's an honest old doggie."
"Perhaps Farmer Bluff might become an honest old bailiff in your hands,
my boy," returned his grandfather, "if only his gout allowed him to
live long enough to see you in power. This is Hal, the coming man,"
continued he to Grantley; "the eldest son of your old schoolfellow, who
will be Squire in my stead one of these days, I hope."
Grantley said something pleasant in answer to this information; but Hal
could not help feeling that he cast a pitying glance at his crutches
and irons.
"I hope I shall be as good a Squire as you, grandfather," said he in a
low voice.
"Aim at being better, my boy," returned his grandfather, laying a fond
hand on his shoulder. "The higher our ideal, the higher we may hope
to reach. Set before yourself not the Squire your old grandfather
has been, but the Squire Christ Jesus would have been if He—the only
perfect man—had been Lord of the Manor to the people here."
And somehow, with his grandfather's words, it came over the cripple
boy, that with such an ideal before him, it would not so very much
matter to his squireship if he could not follow the hounds or ride in
the steeplechase.
Then they set forward, and presently they met Dick Crozier on his way
back from witnessing Bill's encounter with the goose.
The Squire stopped.
"Well, Master Dick," said he, for he rarely forgot a name, "you're out
early; and you haven't missed your way to-day."
Dick answered "No;" but coloured to the crown, for conscience reminded
him that he had none the less been out of bounds.
The Squire, however, knowing nothing of his father's injunctions,
misinterpreted the blush, judging him to be of a modest turn. Now the
Squire liked a boy who wasn't "made of brass;" so he took Dick to his
heart thenceforth.
"My grandsons will be pleased to show you the grounds at the Manor
House any time you like to come up for a game," said he.
Dick thanked him.
"And if you're not too tired to turn back with us just now," continued
the Squire, "we shall all be pleased to have your company."
So Dick, who had till one o'clock upon his hands, turned back towards
the river with them, nothing loth to walk in such august society.
Meanwhile Bill, upon the riverbank, behind the willow clump, had just
finished washing out his pockets, which he had wrung out as dry as he
could before putting his jacket on again. This done, he turned to take
a survey of the distant hostile squadron.
To his amazement and dismay, whom should he behold but Dick Crozier and
the Squire's grandsons making straight for the very spot where he had
given the goose that vicious kick; and in their midst the brisk, trim
figure of the Squire himself, one hand behind his back, as usual, the
other grasping the gold head of his cane.
"Now, if he ha'n't been straight and split on me!" exclaimed Bill to
himself. "There's a mess!"
This was precisely what Dick—being somewhat in the same mess—had not
done, and had no intention of doing. The history of the affair was this.
Turning to the left, along the riverbank, to gain the cottages by
the gate of the wood, the Squire and his grandsons had come upon the
extraordinary spectacle of a flock of some ten or a dozen geese huddled
together in apparent agitation and concern at a distance of several
yards from one member of their flock, who was writhing and flapping
on the grass in evident distress and agony. Their conduct betrayed a
curious mixture of fear and sympathy. Now and again, one or another
would come out from among her fellows, and make a few steps forward
with outstretched neck, whilst the rest of the flock chorused her with
warning screams of "Ya-hi!—Ya-hi!" But having contemplated the poor
sufferer for some seconds, the spectacle of a sister's sufferings
evidently became too much for her feelings, and she waddled away again
to seek support of the gander, who stood hindermost of all, utterly
useless in such an emergency.
Hal's quick eyes had been the first to catch sight of her.
"She's dying, grandfather!" exclaimed he; and as his brothers rushed
forward, he felt in all its keenness the privation of his crippled
condition.
Dick was in no such hurry, for he guessed pretty accurately what was
the matter with the goose; though whether Bill's boot had broken her
breast-bone or bruised her internal organs, he could not tell; so he
followed on with Hal and his grandfather.
The Squire looked on for some minutes with both perplexity and concern
at the poor creature's distress, then he turned to Hal and Sigismund.
"Run to Farmer Bluff's, both of you," said he. "Bring one of the men.
The poor thing must be attended to at once."
Off ran Will and Sigismund at the top of their speed, whilst the other
three looked on, not knowing what to do.
And in the distance stood Bill, watching them, and wondering what
would come of it all. At length, recollecting his appointment with the
artist, and concluding that it would be safer not to venture back to
Farmer Bluff's field by that path, Bill set off running in the opposite
direction, intending to go round the longer way by which Dick had met
him when they quarreled about the broken egg.
All this while, Dick was in a sad dilemma, for he dared not tell what
he knew, although he could so easily have put them on the right track
with regard to the poor bird's sufferings.
At length, two of the farm labourers arrived, and after a short
examination, amid much cackling and screaming from the rest of the
flock, they carried off the injured goose in a basket they had brought
for the purpose, to doctor her after their simple light; or, as a last,
humane measure, to put a quick end to her struggles.
"For it's my opinion, sir," said one of the men wisely, as they placed
her in the basket, "that her 'll not get over this. I've seen 'em took
like this before; and they never live."
"Then kill her mercifully, by all means," the Squire answered him; "and
end her sufferings."
And they continued on their way.
[Illustration]