PLOUGHING THE GROUND
Kezia had locked up the house and given to Bessie possession of the
keys; because she had always been left in charge when the family
departed to the seaside, having received her commission as holder of the
keys from Captain Drake himself in the days when she was growing. Now
there was a husband in command, and one who held decided views regarding
property. Robert expressed his willingness to undertake the duties of
custodian; but, in order that the work might be performed efficiently,
he proposed to Bessie that they should close their own cottage and
retire into luxurious residence across the road.
So when George called at his own house, which was occupied by caretakers
he had not appointed, the doors were locked against him. He was not
refused admittance, as that might have looked like an unfriendly act;
his presence was simply ignored. Robert, smoking in the parlour, with
his feet upon the sofa, heard the knocking; but he struck another match
and smiled. Bessie, who was preparing the best bedroom, heard the
ringing; but she peeped behind the curtain and muttered, "Can't have him
in here taking things."
George retired to his lodgings and stared at the framed advertisements,
until he heard Dyer singing as he scoured the oven. The baker had been
heard to declare that, if he had not known how to sing, he would have
lost his senses long ago owing to the fightings and despondings which
beset him. As a matter of fact he did not know how to sing, and those
who listened were far more likely to lose their senses. George
descended, assured Dyer it was a sin to bake bread with a voice like
that, and went on to inquire affectionately after the business.
"Going from bad to worse, sir," came the answer. Dyer was more than a
pessimist; he was not content merely to look on the dark side of things,
but associated himself with every bit of shadow he could find.
"I don't see how that can be. People may give up meat, they may reduce
their clothing; but they must have bread," replied George.
"But they don't want nearly so much as they used to," said Dyer
bitterly, "and they looks at anything nowadays avore they takes it. When
I started business a healthy working man would finish off two loaves a
day; and one's as much as he can manage now. The human race ain't
improving, sir; 'tis dying out, I fancy. They used to be thankful vor
anything I sold 'em, but now if they finds a button, or a beetle, or a
dead mouse in the bread--and the dough will fall over on the floor
sometimes--they sends the loaf back and asks vor another gratis. And the
population is dwindling away to nought."
"According to the census--" began George.
"Don't you believe in censuses," cried the horrified Dyer. "That's dirty
work, sir. Government has a hand in that. If me and you wur the only two
left in Highfield parish, they'd put us down, sir, as four hundred
souls."
"You have a big sale for your cakes and doughnuts," George suggested.
"I loses on 'em," said the dreary Dyer.
"Then why do you make them?"
"I suppose, sir, 'tis a habit I've got into."
"My uncle used to say he had never tasted better cakes than yours."
"Captain Drake was a gentleman, sir. His appetite belonged to the old
school what be passed away vor ever. When he wur alive I could almost
make both ends meet. But he gave me a nasty fright once, when he got
telling about a tree what grows abroad--bread tree he called it. Told me
volks planted it in their gardens, and picked the loaves off as they
wanted 'em. 'Twas a great relief to my mind when he said the tree
wouldn't be a commercial success in this country because the sun ain't
hot enough to bake the bread. Talking about gentlemen, sir, what do you
think of the Brocks?"
"A bad lot," said George, wagging his head.
"Sure enough! They make their own bread," whispered the baker.
"I didn't know they went so far as that," replied the properly horrified
George.
"Some volks stick at nothing. But is it fair, sir? How be struggling
tradesmen to escape ruin when volks break the law--"
"It's not illegal."
"There's Government again! I tell ye how 'tis, sir, Government means to
get rid of me, though I never done anything worse than stop my ears when
parson prays vor Parliament. I hates Government, sir, and I do wish it
wur possible to vote against both parties. If I wur to make my own
tobacco, or vizzy wine such as rich volk drink at funerals, they'd put
me away in prison. Why ain't it illegal vor volks to make their own
bread? I'll tell ye why, sir: 'tis because Government means to do away
wi' bakers. They ha' been telling a lot lately about encouraging home
industries, and that's how they stir up volks to ruin we tradesmen by
making all they want at home."
"You are not ruined yet. Robert declares you are the richest man in
Highfield--not that I believe much he says," George remarked, settling
down to business.
"Quite right, sir. I ha' learned Robert to bake, but I can't prevent him
from talking childish. He'd like to see me out of the business, so that
he could slip into the ruins of it. When he sees I'm the richest man in
the village he means the poorest. 'Tis just a contrairy way of talking.
Captain Drake often looked in to tell wi' me--out of gratitude vor my
doughnuts what helped him to sleep, he said--'twur avore he died so
sharp like."
"I guessed as much," said George.
"And he used to tell me, if you wanted to make a man real angry you had
only to say the opposite of what you meant in the most polite language
you could find. He told Robert the like, I fancy."
"My uncle generally found the soft answer a success," said George. "He
told me once how another captain once called him 'a bullying old
scoundrel with a face like a lobster-salad,' and he replied, 'You're a
ewe-lamb.' The other man got madder than ever though, as my uncle said,
you can't find anything much softer than a ewe-lamb. But Robert isn't
always calling you a rich man. He's in our kitchen every evening, and he
talks pretty freely when he has a drop of cocoa in him."
"He ain't got nothing against me. Me and the missus ha' been a father
to him," said the baker, with suspicious alacrity.
"He thinks he has a grievance."
"Then I suppose he's still worrying over his honeymoon. A man what's
been married years and years ought to be thinking of his future state
and his old-age pension. He might as well be asking vor his childhood
back again."
"He says you cheated him out of his honeymoon," said George, who knew
the story: how Dyer's wedding present to his assistant had been leave of
absence, without pay, from Saturday to Monday; coupled with a promise of
a week's holiday, with half pay, at some future date when business might
be slack; which promise belonged to that fragile order of assurances
declaimed so loudly at election time.
"'Tis a lot too late now," said the baker.
"I suppose a deferred honeymoon is better than none at all," George
remarked. "Anyhow, Robert and his wife are grumbling a good bit and, as
I'm staying here, they asked me to remind you of your promise, business
being very slack at present."
"I ha' never known it to be anything else, but 'tis funny it should be
picking up a little just now. I got a big order vor cakes this morning,
as there's a school treat next week. Me and Robert will be kept very
busy all this month--but it's a losing business. There's no profit in
cakes, nor yet in bread. There used to be a profit in doughnuts, but
that's gone now."
The cautious George said no more, being content with the knowledge that
he had given Dyer something to worry about. The baker would certainly
not mention the matter so long as Robert kept silent; and Robert had
probably forgotten all about the promise, although many months back
George had overheard him assuring Bessie it would be time to think of a
new dress when master's wedding present came along.
"One thing is certain: nobody can get the better of me," George chuckled
as he left the bakehouse. "I beat Hunter at his own game, I diddled
Crampy in his, I scared Percy out of the country--at least that's my
belief--and now I'm going to make old Dyer set a trap to catch the
furniture snatchers."
The Mudges, unsuspecting treachery, were glittering like two stars of
fashion; Robert lolling at ease in the parlour until Bessie summoned him
to supper in the dining room. If it was their duty to look after the
house, it was also their pleasure to take care of themselves. They did
not regard George as either friend or enemy; they despised and pitied a
poor fellow who possessed no visible means of support, while attributing
his presence in Highfield to a cat-like habit of returning to a house
which might have been his had he behaved with propriety.
The only person they feared was Kezia, who certainly did appear to have
almost as much right to the Captain's furniture as themselves. This
suspicion was in Robert's mind when, the shutters having been closed and
the lamps lighted, he stood beside the round table upon which were
spread various scraps of paper beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
"If we takes all that Mrs. Drake sees we'm to have, what do Kezia get?"
he asked.
"Not much," replied Bessie.
"If Kezia takes all the things Mrs. Drake said she could have, what do
we get?" continued Robert.
"Nought," said Bessie.
"When property be left this way, volks sometimes share and share alike;
or they sells the stuff, and each takes half the money," continued
Robert.
"Kezia won't neither sell nor share. She'll bide quiet till Miss Sophy
dies, and then she'll see a lawyer," declared Bessie.
"Our bits o' paper are as gude as hers."
"Kezia would sooner lose everything than see us take any little old bit
of stuff. She'm a spiteful toad."
"The nicest thing we can do, Bess, is to go on shifting, one bit now and
agin. Kezia won't notice nothing, if us takes 'em gradual."
"Where can us hide them?" asked Bessie. "We can't put 'em over in the
cottage. Kezia ain't such a vule as you think. If I wur to take a
kitchen spine she'd miss it."
"She never found out about the last lot," Robert reminded her.
"Policeman went away sudden and forgot to tell her. We'll have to shift
those things, vor rainy weather'll be starting soon, and that musical
box will spoil inside the peatstack."
"I'll get 'em out avore they comes back home; I b'ain't ashamed of
claiming what be rightly ours. I told policeman we'd took what belonged
to us, and he said 'twas all right this time, but us mustn't do it too
often. I'm going to shift a few more pieces across the way in a day or
two."
"Best wait till Miss Sophy dies," said Bessie nervously.
"We'll let the big furniture bide till then. Where's Miss Sophy going to
be buried?"
"Somewhere in London, she ses. Said she wouldn't be buried here if they
paid her vor it."
"That's got it!" cried Robert. "When Kezia goes to the funeral, I'll
shift the furniture."
"Don't that seem like trying to get the better of her?"
"Ain't she trying to deprive us of our rightful property? Don't she want
to see me and you cut off wi' a fry pan? See what's wrote on this
paper--'I want Bessie to have all the furniture in the spare bedroom.'
And on this one--'all the furniture in the dining room.' And on this
here--'all the stuff in the kitchen.' Ain't that clear?"
"Sure enough," said Bessie.
"Then there's the house and garden; worth a thousand pounds, I reckon."
"It seems as how Mrs. Drake never left the place to no one, unless it
wur to Miss Sophy. But, I tell ye, Kezia means to have it."
"Parson had best keep his eyes open, or she'll slip off wi' the church,"
said Robert grimly.
"If Miss Sophy ha' got it, 'tis only vor her life. She can't keep it
afterwards," explained Bessie. "So Nellie can't get it, and Mr. George
ain't to have nothing, and I'll watch Kezia don't have it, though I
wouldn't mind letting her the attic where they keeps the boxes."
"What about Mr. Percy!"
"Well, there! I never thought of him. But the house belonged to Captain
Drake, and he didn't like Mr. Percy, so it don't seem right the place
should go to him."
"Mr. George would know."
"'Tis him, I fancy, who's been knocking such a lot," said Bessie.
"Go and let 'en in," directed Robert. "He can't do us any harm, and he
may do us a bit of gude."
Bessie obeyed, and George entered, beaming in the most sunny fashion,
assuring the Mudges he too had frequently been deluded into the belief
that a loose branch had been tapping against the door, when in reality
somebody was knocking and ringing. It was a mistake, he thought, to
plant umbrageous perennials so close to the front doorstep, which had
been nicely purified since Miss Teenie stood upon it. Their plan of
acting the part of caretakers with the thoroughness of ownership he
commended highly; as, with autumn approaching, it was necessary to keep
the house warm and the furniture dry; and the only satisfactory way of
doing so was for Robert to smoke his pipe in the parlour while Bessie
reclined upon the easy chairs which, he went on to suggest, would be her
own some day.
"Us might as well take t'em now as wait vor 'em, Robert ses," replied
Bessie, delighted at the geniality of her visitor. "Won't you sit down,
Mr. George, and make yourself comfortable? I was surprised to hear you
had gone to Mrs. Dyer's. I'd have asked ye to come here, if I'd known
you wur going to stay."
"Thank you very much," said George simply. "I should have been far more
comfortable here; but I am not making a long stay, and I felt sure you
would be wanting to turn out these rooms."
"Kezia said you weren't coming back again," observed Robert, hoping to
obtain raw material for gossip.
"What do she know?" snapped Bessie.
"Nothing," replied George. "I had to come back on business in connection
with the railway. You see, I'm civil engineer to the company, and I have
to prepare a report."
"They did say you had given up the railway," remarked Bessie, beginning
to understand the politeness of George's manner, although she did not
know why engineers had to be more civil than other people.
"That railway has been in the air a long time, but I shall never rest
until I've made it," said George with energy. "Everything is arranged
now except a few preliminary details, such as issuing the prospectus,
collecting the money, and obtaining of Parliamentary powers. I have an
idea of turning this garden into the terminus, and making the house the
station. This will make a good waiting room, while the dining room can
be converted into the booking office. The station-master and his family
can live upstairs. I shall be station-master, as well as general
manager."
Bessie gulped and Robert whistled.
"Your cottage will do for a goods' station. I shall build a platform
round it, put up a crane--"
"What about the street?" cried Robert.
"I shall divert that, if necessary. If I find the church is in my way,
it must come down."
"But you won't start till Miss Sophy dies. Mrs. Drake said nothing wur
to happen till Miss Sophy died," said Bessie.
"We can't possibly wait for her. We have got to make progress," replied
George firmly.
"What about Mr. Percy?" asked the crafty Robert.
"What has he got to do with our affairs?"
"Ain't he to have the house and garden?"
"The whole of this property belongs to me, and Miss Sophy is my tenant,"
replied the far more crafty George; for this was the question he had
been leading up to.
"Kezia won't have it anyhow," Robert muttered with satisfaction,
removing his boots from the sofa. He wanted to go out into the village
and talk.
"You never did tell us much about that paper what Mrs. Drake left vor
you," said Bessie reproachfully.
"It was just an ordinary will, leaving me some money and the house. She
couldn't deprive me of that, as the property belonged to my uncle, and
he made her promise I should have it. If you don't believe me, you can
ask Miss Blisland," George added lightly.
"Of course we believes you. I always thought it funny Mrs. Drake
shouldn't have left you nothing," said Bessie.
"What do you think she meant to do about the furniture, sir?" asked
Robert boldly.
"Ah, that's a troublesome question," said George cautiously.
"I fancy she meant to leave half to Kezia and half to me; but she wur
such a kind-hearted lady that she left all of it to both of us,"
observed Bessie.
"Not all--tell the truth, Bess. We ain't going to claim what don't
belong to us. She never left you the carpet on the stairs, nor yet the
old bed in the attic," said Robert severely.
"You can't be too honest in business, and that means, if you are too
honest, some one else will get the better of you," said George. "If Mrs.
Drake had left the furniture to Mr. Taverner and myself, as she has left
it to Kezia and you--"
"What would you ha' done, sir?" asked Robert eagerly.
"I should have looked after my own interests," George answered, as he
reached for his hat.
The Mudges escorted him to the door of his own house, and hoped he would
look in any time he was passing.
"It's right about the house," said Robert, as he too reached for his
hat. "And it's right about the railway. I know Captain Drake meant to
build it; he talked a lot about it, and he brought gentlemen down to
look round the place; they pretended to be fishing, but we knew what
they wur up to. Mr. George ain't clever like his uncle. He made a vule
of hisself when he said the American gentleman come here to buy a pair
of vases--all the way from America to buy a bit o' cloam! Everybody knew
he'd come about the railway. Mr. George ain't clever--that's a sure
thing. He can't talk so as to deceive a child. 'Twas the American
gentleman what put him up to the idea o' turning this house into the
terminus. He would never ha' thought of it."