Inquest and Consequences--Orther Lom--Coolness--Evening
Service--Mr. Pawkins and the Constable--Two Songs--Marjorie, Mr.
Biggles and the Crawfish--Coristine Falls Foul of Mr. Lamb--Mr.
Lamb Falls Foul of the Whole Company--The Captain's Couplet--Miss
Carmichael Feels it Her Duty to Comfort Mr. Lamb.
It is unnecessary to relate the details of the inquest. By various
marks, as well as by the testimony of the woman Flower and of Mr. Bangs
and his party, the remains were identified as those of Rawdon and his
wounded henchman Flower. Some of the jurymen wished to bring in a
verdict of "Died from the visitation of God," but this the Squire, who
was foreman, would not allow. He called it flat blasphemy; so it was
altered to: "Died by the explosion of illicit spirits, through a fire
kindled by the wife of the principal victim, Altamont Rawdon." Nobody
demanded the arrest of Matilda; hence the Squire and the doctor did not
feel called upon to issue a warrant for that purpose. The widowed and
childless Mrs. Flower, for the so-called Harding was her son, claimed
his body, and what remained of her husband's; and asked Mr. Perrowne to
read the burial service over them in the little graveyard behind his
humble church. Mr. Bangs, his work over, got the use of a waggon and the
services of Ben Toner, to take his dead comrade's coffin to Collingwood.
Nobody claimed the remains of Rawdon, till old Mr. Newberry came
forward, and said he would take the shell in his waggon, with the woman
and the boy, and give it Christian burial in the plot back of the
Wesleyan church. "We can't tell," he said, "what passed between him and
his Maker when he was struggling for life. Gie un the bainifit o' the
doot." So, Ben and Serlizer rolled away with Bangs, and Nash's coffin;
and Matilda and her son accompanied Rawdon's remains, in Mr. Newberry's
waggon. At the same time, with the sad, grey-haired woman as chief
mourner, and Mrs. Carmichael beside her, a funeral procession passed
from Bridesdale to the post office, and thence to the English
churchyard, where old Styles and Sylvanus dug the double grave, around
which, in deep solemnity, stood the Captain and Mr. Terry, the minister
and the lawyer, while Mr. Perrowne read the service, and two victims of
Rawdon's crime and treachery were committed, earth to earth, dust to
dust, and ashes to ashes. Immediately the grave was covered in, the
doubly-bereaved woman slipped away, and was never again heard of. There
appeared no evidence, far or near, that she had done away with herself;
it was, therefore, concluded that she had a child or children elsewhere,
and had gone to hide the rest of her wasted life with them. The two
clergymen went their ways to their lodgings, and the Bridesdale party
walked silently and sorrowfully home.
Mr. Bigglethorpe wanted to go back with the Richards, so that he might
have another morning's fishing; but Mrs. Carruthers thought he had
better take Mr. Bangs' room, and nurse his eyes and other burned parts
before going home. Marjorie and her young cousins dragged him off, after
his green shade was put on, to the creek, and made him rig up rods and
lines for them in the shape of light-trimmed willow boughs, to which
pieces of thread were attached with bent pins at the other ends.
Fishing with these, baited with breadcrumbs, they secured quite a number
of chub and dace, and made the valley musical with their laughter at
each success or mishap, by the time the Bridesdale people returned from
the impromptu funeral. The Squire was busy in his office, looking over
Nash's legacy, preparatory to sending it to Bangs, who had begged him to
forward the documents without delay. The only thing of note he found
was, that Rawdon did not bank his money; he had no bank account
anywhere. Where did he stow away the fortune he must have made? There
was a note of the casual conversation of an assumed miser with Rawdon,
in which Rawdon was represented as saying: "Dry sandy soil, well drained
with two slopes, under a rain-shed, will keep millions in a cigar box."
That the Squire noted; then he sealed up the rest of the papers, and
addressed them to Hickey Bangs, Esq., D.I.R., ready for the post in the
morning. The colonel, Mrs. and Miss Du Plessis were all in Wilkinson's
room. The colonel was commenting upon the four poor souls that had gone
before God's judgment seat, three of them, probably, with murder on
their hands; and thanked God that his boy had died in the war, brave and
pure and good, with no stain on his young life. "When my boy was killed,
my deah Fahquhah, I felt like the Electoh Palatine of the Rhine, when
young Duke Christopheh, his son, fell at Mookerheyde, accohding to
Motley: he said ''Twas bettah thus than to have passed his time in
idleness, which is the devil's pillow.' Suh, I honouh the Electoh
Palatine foh that. What melancholy ghaves these pooah creatuhes fill."
Then Mrs. Du Plessis wept, mildly, and Miss Du Plessis, and they all had
to wipe a few tears out of Wilkinson's eyes. Had Coristine been there,
he would have been scandalized. The lawyer's lady-love was engaged in
very prosaic work in the sewing-room, with her aunt, running a
sewing-machine to make much-needed clothes for the unhappy woman, whom
the coroner's jury, by a euphemism, called Rawdon's wife. The two had
seen her off in charge of good old Mr. Newberry, and had promised to
send her the work, which she herself had begun; and, now, they were
toiling with all their might to redeem the promise, as early as
possible, in spite of the tears that would come also into their foolish
eyes, blurring their vision and damping their material. Coristine, who
longed for a sight of fresh young life after the vision of death, did
not know what kept that young life within, and, like an unreasonable
man, was inclined to be angry. He was overwrought, poor fellow,
sleepless and tired, and emotionally excited, and, therefore, ready for
any folly under the sun.
Mrs. Carmichael had entered the house, with the Captain and Mr. Terry.
The lawyer remained alone in the garden, waiting for something to turn
up. Something did turn up in the shape of the stage on its way to the
post office, which dropped its only passenger at the Bridesdale gate.
The passenger was a young fellow of about twenty-five, rather over than
under middle height, of good figure, and becomingly dressed. His
features were good enough, but lacked individuality, as did his combined
moustache and side whiskers, that formed a sort of imperfect W across
his face. He held his nose well up in the air, spoke what, in his
ignorance, he fondly imagined to be aristocratic English, and carried,
with an apologetic and depressed air, a small Gladstone bag. The
newcomer dusted his trouser legs with a cane utterly useless for walking
purposes; then, adjusting his eye-glass, he elevated it towards the
solitary occupant of the garden, as he entered the gate. "Haw, you sir,"
he called out to him; "is this, haw, Mr. Corrothers' plaice?" Coristine
was nettled at the style of address, but commanded himself to reply as
briefly as possible that it was. "Miss Morjorie Cormichael stoying
here?" continued the stage passenger. "Miss Carmichael is here,"
responded the lawyer. "Haw, I thort so. Just you run in now, will you,
ond tell Miss Morjorie thot on old friend wonts to speak to her." The
lawyer was getting furious, in spite of himself. Taking his pipe out of
his pocket, and proceeding to fill it with all apparent deliberation and
calmness, he replied: "So far as I have the honour of Miss Carmichael's
acquaintance, she is not in the habit of receiving visitors out of
doors. There are both bell and knocker on the door before you, which
servants will probably answer; but, if that door doesn't suit you, you
will probably find others at the back." With this ungracious speech, he
turned on his heel, lit his pipe, and puffed vigorously along the path
towards the meadow gate. Then, he strolled down the hill and met the
returning fishers, the two youngest in Mr. Bigglethorpe's arms, and with
their arms about his neck. Coristine indulged in a kissing bee with the
rest of them, so as to assure himself that he was the true old friend,
the genuine Codlin, while the other man was Short. "Marjorie," he said,
as that fishing young lady clung to him, "there's a duffer of a dude,
with an eye-glass, up at the house, who says he's an old friend of your
cousin Marjorie; do you know any old friend of hers?" Marjorie stopped
to think, and, after a little pause, said: "It can't be Huggins." "Who
is Huggins, Marjorie?" asked the lawyer. "He's the caretaker of
Marjorie's school."
"Oh no, this dude is too young and gorgeous for a caretaker."
"Then, I think I know; its Orther Lom."
"Who is Orther Lom?"
"I don't know; only Auntie Marjorie said, she wouldn't be astonished if
Orther Lom was to come and find cousin Marjorie out, even away up here.
It must be Orther Lom."
This was all the information the lawyer could obtain; so he and Marjorie
joined Mr. Bigglethorpe and the other anglers, and talked about making
domestic sardines and smelts of the chub and dace they had caught.
The summons to tea greeted the wanderers before they had had time to
cleanse their hands of fishy odours; consequently Mr. Bigglethorpe and
the lawyer were a minute or two late. They found the man of the
eye-glass seated on one side of Miss Carmichael, and, as she beckoned
the fisherman to the other, she introduced her protegé to him as Mr.
Arthur Lamb, a very old friend. Miss Halbert made way for Coristine
beside her, and he congratulated her on the doctor's reappearance at the
table.
"Mr. Coristine," said Miss Carmichael, and the lawyer, with a somewhat
worn society face, looked across.
"Mr. Lamb, who is an old friend of ours, tells me he met you in the
garden, but you did not introduce yourself. Let me introduce you, Mr.
Lamb, Mr. Coristine."
Coristine gave the merest nod of recognition, and went on talking to
Miss Halbert. He thought Perrowne was right; there was some
satisfaction conversing with a girl like that, a girl with no nonsense
about her. The minister's gloves had got fishy, handling Marjorie's
catch, so he had taken them off when preparing himself for tea, and had
left them in his room. Miss Carmichael looked at the burnt hands, and
felt disposed to scold him, but did not dare. Perhaps, he had taken the
gloves off intentionally. She wished that ring of his were not on her
finger. Between Mr. Lamb and Miss Halbert, she felt very uncomfortable,
and knew that Eugene, no, Mr. Coristine, was behaving abominably. The
colonel and his belongings had been so much about the wounded dominie
all afternoon, that Mrs. Carruthers insisted on her right, as a hostess,
to minister to him, while her sister-in law presided in her stead.
Coristine at once rose to help the hostess, and regained his spirits,
while rallying his old friend over the many attentions he was receiving
at the hands of the fair sex. He could hardly believe his eyes and ears
when he beheld the meek and helpless creature who had once been the
redoubtable Wilkinson. How had the mighty fallen! "We'll put you in a
glass case, Wilks, like the old gray horse that was jined to the
Methodis, and kicked so high they put him in the museum."
"Corry," interrupted the still correct dominie, "I have no sympathy with
that rude song; but if you will quote it, please adhere to the original.
It was 'my old aunt Sal that was joined to the Methodists,' not the old
gray horse."
"Thanks, Wilks, thanks, I'll try and remember. Any more toast or jam,
old boy?"
"No, I have a superabundance of good things."
"Well, see you again, sometime when I have a chance. You're pretty well
guarded you know. Au revoir."
Coristine followed Mrs. Carruthers down stairs; while the dominie
sighed, and said: "It seems as if nothing will give that boy stability
of character and staidness of demeanour."
"Who is going to service to-night?" asked the Squire. Mrs. Carruthers
could not, because of the children; the doctor was unfit to walk; and
the colonel and Mrs. Du Plessis had so much to say to each other over
their dear boy that they desired to be excused. Mr. Bigglethorpe said
he was a church-going man, but hardly cared to air his green shade in
public; whereupon Mr. Terry volunteered to remain and smoke a pipe with
him. Mrs. Carmichael and her daughter signified their intention of
accompanying the Squire, and Mr. Lamb at once asked permission to join
them. Miss Halbert stated that she would like to go to week service, if
anybody else was going. Of course, the lawyer offered his escort, and
Miss Du Plessis and the Captain begged to be included. Thus, four of the
party set out for Mr. Perrowne's mid-week service, and four to Mr.
Errol's prayer meeting. Mr. Lamb did not get much out of Miss Carmichael
on the way, and Miss Halbert thought her escort unusually absent-minded.
Coming home, Mr. Perrowne deprived Coristine of his fair charge, and Mr.
Errol relieved the Squire of his sister. Accordingly, the freed
cavaliers drew together and conversed upon the events of the day. Good
Mr. Carruthers was startled, when the lawyer expressed his intention of
leaving in the morning, as he could be of no further use, and felt he
had already trespassed too long upon his generous hospitality.
"Noo, Coristine," he said, falling into his doric, "what ails ye, man,
at the lassie?"
"My dear Squire, I have none but the kindest and most grateful thoughts
towards all the ladies."
"Weel, weel, it's no for me to be spierin', but ye maun na gang awa
frae's on accoont o' yon daft haveral o' a Lamb."
"Who is this Mr. Lamb?"
"I ken naething aboot him, foreby that he's a moothin' cratur frae the
Croon Lans Depairtment, wi' no owre muckle brains."
Dropping the subject, the Squire proceeded to tell what he had found in
Nash's papers, and proposed an expedition, ostensibly for fishing, in
which the two of them, providing themselves with tools, should prospect
for the hidden treasure of the former master of the Select Encampment.
As it was unlikely that any claimant for Rawdon's property would appear,
all that they found would belong to Matilda and her boy, unless it were
judged right to indemnify Miss Du Plessis for any injury done to her
land. There was no reason for the lawyer's departure. He had another
week of leave, which he did not know how to put in. True, he could not
remain until Wilkinson was perfectly well, but it would seem heartless
to desert him so soon after he had received his wound. He had thought of
writing the Squire about Miss Carmichael's position as her deceased
father's next of kin, but it would save trouble to talk it over. All
things considered, Mr. Carruthers did not find it a difficult task to
make his pleasant new acquaintance reconsider his decision and commit
himself to an indefinite prolongation of Bridesdale hospitality. Yet, as
he entered the gate, he almost repented his weakness, on hearing the
eye-glassed Lamb say: "What ohfully jawlly times we hod, Morjorie, when
you and I were sweethorts." He wished that he could recall some
frightfully injurious and profane expression in a foreign tongue, with
which to anathematize the wretched, familiar, conceited Crown Lands
Department cad. While the Squire joined the doctor and the Captain in
the office, he went over to a corner in which the pipes of the veteran
and Mr. Bigglethorpe were still glowing, and, lighting his own, listened
to their military and piscatorial yarns.
Rufus had remained at Bridesdale, at the urgent entreaty of his sisters
and the Pilgrims; but the sight of the people going to prayer meeting
smote his conscience. He knew his father and mother would be at meetin'
in their own church, and that there would be a good deal of work to do.
Besides he hadn't brought home the team from Mr. Hislop's since the bee.
Nothing would stop him, therefore; he shouldered his gun, and, bidding
all good bye, started for home. Nobody was left in the kitchen but the
two maids and the two Pilgrims. Yes, there was one more, namely Mr.
Pawkins, who was afeard his duds warn't dry. The nettrelized citizen of
Kennidy was telling stories, that kept the company in peals and roars of
laughter, about an applicant for a place in a paper mill, who was set to
chewing a blue blanket into pulp, who was given a bottle of vinegar to
sharpen his teeth with, and who was ignominiously expelled from the
premises because he didn't "chaw it dry"; about a bunting billy goat;
and a powerful team of oxen, that got beyond the control of their
barn-moving driver, and planted the barn on the top of an almost
inaccessible hill. Mr. Pawkins complimented the young women, and drew
wonderful depths of knowledge out of Sylvanus and Timotheus. But, when a
vehicle rolled into the stable yard that brought the constable and
Maguffin to join the party, the quondam American citizen waxed jubilant,
and beheld endless possibilities of amusement. "Good evenin',
consterble," said Mr. Pawkins, blandly.
"Good evening, sir, at your service," replied the pensioner.
"Pawkins is my naum, consterble, kyind er Scotch, I reckin. They say
pawky means sorter cute an' cunnin', like in Scotch. Never was thar
myself, to speak on, but hev seed 'em."
"The Scotch make good soldiers," said Mr Rigby.
"Yaas; I reckin the oatmeal sorter stiffens 'em up."
"There are military authorities who assert that the Scotch are the only
troops that can reform under fire; but that is a mistake. In that
respect, sir, the Guards are equal to any other Household Troops."
"Fer haousehold trooeps and reformin' under fire, you had orter ha seen
aour fellers at Bull Run. When the shooten' begun, all the Bowery plug
uglies, bred to cussin' and drinkin' and wuss, dropped ther guns and
fell on ther knees a reformin'; then, when they faound they couldn't
reform so suddent, they up on ther two feet and started fer the
haoushold. Eurrup ain't got nuthin' ter ekal aour haousehold trooeps."
"You mistake me, Mr. Pawkins; the Household Troops in infantry are the
Guards and Highlanders, whose special duty it is to guard the royal
household."
"Is it big?"
"Is what big, sir?"
"Why, the household! How many storeys is ther to it besides the attic
and basement? Hev it got a mansard?"
"The Household, sir, dwells in royal palaces of great dimensions. It is
the royal family and their attendants over whom the Guards watch."
"That's the Black Guards, ain't it?"
"No, sir; you are thinking of the Black Watch, a name of the
Forty-second Highlanders."
"D'ye hear that, you Sambo? You orter go and git draafted inter that
corpse, and go araound breakin' the wimmin's hyearts in a cullud flannel
petticut."
"There are no negroes, sir, in the Black Watch," interposed the
corporal.
"See heah, yoh Yankee Canajiun," answered Mr. Maguffin with feeling,
"fo' de law ob this yeah kintry I'se jess es good a man as yoh is. So
yoh jess keep yoh Samboo in yoh mouf atter this. Specks yoh'se got a
mighty low down name yohsef if t'was ony knowed by respeckable pussons."
"My name, Mr. Julius Sneezer Disgustus Quackenboss, my name is Pawkins,
great grandson of Hercules Leonidas Pawkins, as was briggidier ginral
and aijicamp to George Washington, when he drummed the haousehold
trooeps, and the hull o' the derned British army, out'n Noo Yohk to the
toon o' 'Yankee Doodle.'"
The constable turned pale, shivered all over, and swayed about in his
chair, almost frightening the mendacious Yankee by the sight of the
mischief his words had wrought. Tryphena, however, quickly filled the
shocked corporal a hot cup of tea, and mutely pressed him to drink it.
He took off the tea at a gulp, set down the cup with a steady hand, and,
looking Mr. Pawkins in the face, said: "I regret, sir, to have to say
the word; but, sir, you are a liar."
"That's true as death, consterble," remarked Timotheus, who did not
share the hostile feelings of Sylvanus towards Corporal Rigby; "true as
death, and the boys, they ducked him in the crick for't, but they's no
washin' the lies out'n his jaws."
Mr. Pawkins looked as fierce as it was possible for a man with a merry
twinkle in his eyes to look, and roared, "Consterble, did you mean that,
or did you only say it fer fun like?"
Mr Rigby, glaring defiance, answered, "I meant it."
"Oh waall," responded the Yankee Canadian, mildly, "that's all right;
because I want you to know that I don't allaow folks to joke with me
that way. If you meant it, that's a different thing."
"What your general character may be, I do not know. As for your remarks
on the British army, they are lies."
"I guess, consterble, you ain't up in the histry of the United States of
Ameriky, or you'd know as your Ginral Clinton was drummed aout o' Noo
Yohk to the toon o' 'Yankee Doodle.'"
"I know, sir, that a mob of Hanoverians and Hessians, whom the Americans
could not drive out, evacuated New York, in consequence of a treaty of
peace. If your general, as you call him, Washington, had the bad taste
to play his ugly tune after them, it was just what might be expected
from such a quarter."
"My history," said Tryphosa, "says that the American army was driven out
of Canada by a few regulars and some French-Canadians at the same time."
"Brayvo, Phosy!" cried Timotheus.
"I assert now, as I have asserted before," continued Corporal Rigby,
"that the British army never has been defeated, and never can be
defeated. I belong to the British army, and know whereof I speak."
"Were you in the American war, Mr. Pawkins?" asked Tryphena.
"Yaas, I was thar, like the consterble, in the haouse hold trooeps. When
they come araound a draaftin', I skit aout to Kennidy. I've only got one
thing agin the war, and that is makin' every common nigger so sassy he
thinks he's the ekal of a white man. Soon's I think of that, the war
makes me sick."
"It is the boast of our Empire," remarked the pensioner, grandly, "that
wherever its flag floats, the slave is free."
"It's a derned pity," said Mr. Pawkins; "that there boy, Julius Sneezer
Disgustus Quackenboss, ud be wuth heaps more'n he is, if his boss jest
had the right to lick him straight along."
"Who," shrieked Maguffin; "who'se yar Squackenbawsin' an' gibbin' nigger
lip ter? My name's Mortimah Magrudah Maguffin, an' what's yourn?
Pawkins! Oh massy! Pawkins, nex' thing ter punkins. I cud get er punkin,
an' cut a hole er two in it an' make a bettah face nor yourn, Mistah
Pawkins, candaberus, lantun jaw, down east, Yankee white tresh. What you
doin' roun' this house, anyway?"
"Arrah, hush now, childher!" said Mr. Terry, entering from the hall.
"The aivenin's the time to make up aall dishputes, an' quoiet aal yer
angry faylins afore yeez say yer worruds an' go to shlape, wid the howly
angels gyardin' yeez. Good aivenin', Corporal."
"Good evening, Sergeant-Major."
"Mr. Terry," asked Tryphosa, timidly, "will you play a game at Cities,
Rivers and Mountains? We were waiting for even numbers to begin." The
veteran, who knew the game, agreed. Gallantly, the gentlemen asked the
two ladies to choose sides, whereupon Tryphena selected Mr. Pawkins,
Maguffin and Sylvanus; Mr. Terry, the constable, and Timotheus fell to
Tryphosa. Peace once more reigned, save when the great-grandson of the
brigadier general was detected in looking over his opponent's cards and
otherwise acting illegally.
Bigglethorpe and the lawyer entered the house, not far from bed time.
The company was in the drawing-room, and a lady was at the piano
singing, and playing her own accompaniment, while Mr. Lamb was standing
beside her, pretending to turn over the music, of which he had as little
knowledge as the animal whose name he bore. The song was that beautiful
one of Burns,
O wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
and, though a gentleman's song, it was rendered with exquisite taste and
feeling. The singer looked up appealingly at Mr. Lamb twice, solely to
invoke his aid in turning the music leaf. But, to Coristine's jealous
soul, it was a glance of tenderness and mutual understanding. Four long
days he had known her, and she had never sung for him; and now, just as
soon as the Crown Land idiot comes along, she must favour him with her
very best. He would not be rude, and talk while the singing was going
on, but he would let Lamb do all the thanking; he wasn't going shares
with that affected dude. The music ceased, and he turned to see whom he
could talk to. Mrs. Carmichael and Miss Halbert were busy with their
clerical adorers. The colonel and Mrs. Du Plessis had evidently bid
their dear boy good night, for they were engaged in earnest
conversation, in which he called her Terésa, and she called him Paul as
often as colonel. Miss Du Plessis was turning over the leaves of an
album. He went up to her, and asked if she would not favour the company
with some music. "Instrumental or vocal, Mr. Coristine?" she asked. "Oh,
vocal, if you please, Miss Du Plessis; do you sing, 'Shall I wasting in
despair,' or anything of that kind?" Miss Du Plessis did not, but would
like to hear Mr. Coristine sing it. He objected that he had no music,
and was a poor accompanyist. Before the unhappy man knew where he was,
Miss Du Plessis was by Miss Carmichael's side, begging her dear friend
Marjorie to accompany Mr. Coristine. She agreed, for she knew the song,
and the music was in the stand. Like a condemned criminal, Coristine was
conducted to the piano; but the first few bars put vigour into him, and
he sang the piece through with credit. He was compelled, of course, to
return thanks for the excellent accompaniment, but this he did in a
stiff formal way, as if the musician was an entire stranger. Then they
had prayers, for the gentlemen had come in out of the office, and,
afterwards, the clergymen went home. As the inmates of Bridesdale
separated for the night, Miss Carmichael handed the lawyer his ring,
saying that since his hands were fit to dispense with gloves, they must
also be strong enough to bear its weight. He accepted the ring with a
sigh, and silently retired to his chamber. Before turning in for the
night, he looked in upon Wilkinson, whom he found awake. After enquiries
as to his arm and general health, he said: "Wilks, my boy, congratulate
me on being an ass; I've lost the finest woman in all the world by my
own stupidity." His friend smiled at him, and answered: "Do not be
down-hearted, Corry; I will speak to Ceci--Miss Du Plessis I mean, and
she will arrange matters for you." The lawyer fervently exclaimed: "God
bless you, Wilks!" and withdrew, not a little comforted. We cannot
intrude into the apartment of the young ladies, but there was large
comfort in their conversation for a person whose Christian name was
Eugene. If he only had known it!
By the constable, Ben Toner, and other messengers, Mr. Bigglethorpe had
acquainted his somewhat tyrannical spouse that he was staying for a
while at the Flanders lakes to enjoy the fishing. Mr. Rigby had brought
from the store his best rods and lines and his fly-book. He was,
therefore, up early on Thursday morning, lamenting that he was not at
Richards, whence he could have visited the first lake and secured a mess
of fish before breakfast. He was sorting out his tackle in the office,
when Marjorie, an early riser, came in to see if Uncle John was there.
When she found out the occupant, she said: "Come along, Mr. Biggles, and
let us go fishing, it's so long before breakfast." Fishing children
could do anything with Bigglethorpe; he would even help them to catch
cat-fish and suckers. But he had an eye to business. "Marjorie," he
asked, "do you think you could find me a pickle bottle, an empty one,
you know?" She thought she could, and at once engaged 'Phosa and 'Phena
in the search for one. A Crosse and Blackwell wide-mouthed bottle,
bearing the label "mixed pickles," which really means gherkins, was
borne triumphantly into the office. Mr. Bigglethorpe handled it
affectionately, and said: "Put on your hat, Marjorie, and we'll go
crawfish hunting." Without rod or line, the fisherman, holding the
pickle bottle in his left hand, and taking Marjorie by the right, walked
down to the creek. On its bank he sat down, and took off his shoes and
socks, an example quickly and joyfully followed by his young companion.
Then he splashed a little water on his head, and she did the same; after
which they waded in the shallow brook, and turned up flat stones in its
bed. Sometimes the crawfish lay quite still, when Mr. Bigglethorpe,
getting his right hand, with extended thumb and forefinger, slily behind
it, grasped the unsuspecting crustacean at the back of his great
nippers, and landed him in the bottle filled with sparkling water.
Sometimes a "craw," as Marjorie called them, darted away backward in a
great hurry, and had to be looked for under another stone, and these
were generally young active fellows, which, the fisherman said, made the
best bait for bass. It was wild, exciting work, with a spice of danger
in it from the chance of a nip from those terrible claws. Marjorie
enjoyed it to the full. She laughed and shrieked, and clapped her hands
over every new addition to the pickle bottle, and Mr. Biggles was every
bit as enthusiastic as she was. Soon they were aware of a third figure
on the scene. It was the sleepless lawyer. "Come in, Eugene," cried
Marjorie; "take off your shoes and stockings, and help us to catch these
lovely craws." He had to obey, and was soon as excited as the others
over this novel kind of sport.
Coristine looked up after securing his twelfth victim, and saw four
figures sauntering down the hill. Three were young ladies in print
morning gowns; the fourth was the ineffable dude, Lamb. At once he went
back, and put himself into socks and boots, turning down his trouser
legs, as if innocent of the childish amusement. "Haw," brayed Mr. Lamb,
"is thot you, Cawrstine? Been poddling in the wotter, to remind yoursolf
of the doys when you used to run round in your bare feet?" Outwardly
calm, the lawyer advanced to meet the invaders. Bowing somewhat too
ceremoniously to the three ladies, who looked delightfully fresh and
cool in their morning toilets, he answered his interlocutor. "I am sure,
Mr. Lamb, that it would afford Mr. Bigglethorpe and Marjorie additional
satisfaction, to know that their wading after crawfish brought up
memories of your barefooted youth. Unfortunately, I have no such
blissful period to recall." Mr. Lamb blushed, and stammered some
incoherencies, and Miss Carmichael, running past the lawyer towards
Marjorie, whispered as she flitted before him, "you rude, unkind man!"
This did not tend to make him more amiable. He snubbed the Crown Land
gentleman at every turn, and, more than usually brilliant in talk,
effectually kept his adversary out of conversation with the remaining
ladies. "Look, Cecile!" said Miss Halbert; "Marjorie is actually joining
the waders. "Mr. Lamb stroked his whisker-moustache and remarked: "Haw,
you know, thot's nothing new for Morjorie; when we were childron
together, we awften went poddling about in creeks for crowfish and
minnows." Then he had the impertinence to stroll down to the brook, and
rally the new addition to the crawfishing party. To Coristine the whole
thing was gall and wormwood. The only satisfaction he had was, that Mr.
Lamb could not summon courage enough to divest himself of shoes and
stockings and take part in the sport personally. But what an
insufferable ass he, Coristine, had been not to keep on wading, in view
of such glorious company! What was the use of complaining: had he been
there she would never have gone in, trust her for that! Wilkinson and he
were right in their old compact: the female sex is a delusion and a
snare. Thank heaven! there's the prayer gong, but will that staring,
flat-footed, hawhawing, Civil Service idiot be looking on while she
reattires herself! He had half a mind to descend and brain him on the
spot, if he had any brains, so as to render impossible the woeful
calamity. But the fates were merciful, sending Mr. Lamb up with Marjorie
and Mr. Bigglethorpe. Now was the angry man's chance, and a rare one,
but, like an angry man, he did not seize it. The other two ladies
remarked to each other that it was not very polite of three gentlemen to
allow a lady, the last of the party, to come up the hill alone. What did
he care?
At breakfast, Miss Carmichael sat between Messrs. Bigglethorpe and Lamb,
and the lawyer between Miss Halbert and the veteran. "Who are going
fishing to the lakes," asked the Squire, to which question the doctor
replied, regretting his inability; and the colonel declined the
invitation on account of his dear boy. Mr. Lamb intimated that he had
business with Miss Du Plessis on Crown Land matters, as the department
wished to get back into its possession the land owned by her. This was a
bombshell in the camp. Miss Du Plessis declined to have any conference
on the subject, referring the civil servant to her uncle, to Squire
Carruthers, and to her solicitor, Mr. Coristine. The lawyer was disposed
to be liberal in politics, although his friend Wilkinson was a strong
Conservative; but the contemptible meanness of a Government department
attempting to retire property deeded and paid for in order to gain a few
hundred dollars or a new constituent, aroused his vehement indignation,
and his determination to fight Lamb and his masters to the bitter end of
the Privy Council.
"Mr. Lamb," said the colonel, "is yoar business with my niece
complicated, or is it capable of being stated bhiefly?"
"I can put it in a very few words, Colonel," replied the civil service
official; "the deportment hos received on awffer for Miss Du Plessis'
lond which it would be fawlly to refuse."
"But," interposed the Squire, "the department has naething to dae wi'
Miss Cecile's land: it's her ain, every fit o't."
"You don't know the deportment, Squire. It con take bock lond of its
own deed, especially wild lond, by the awffer of a reasonable equivolent
or indemnity. It proposes to return the purchase money, with five per
cent. interest to date, and the amount of municipal toxes attested by
receipts. Thot is regorded os a fair odjustment, ond on Miss Du Plessis
surrendering her deed to me, the deportment will settle the claim within
twelve months, if press of business ollows."
"Such abominable, thieving iniquity, on the pairt o' a Government
ca'ain' itself leeberal, I never hard o' in aa my life," said the
indignant Squire.
"Do you mean to say, Arthur," asked Mrs. Carmichael, "that your
department can take away Cecile's property in that cavalier fashion, and
without any regard to the rise in values?"
"I'm ofraid so, Mrs. Cormichael."
"What have you to say to that, Mr. Coristine, from a legal standpoint?"
enquired Mrs. Carruthers.
"A deed of land made by the Government, or by a private individual,
conveys, when, as in this case, all provisions have been complied with,
an inalienable title."
"There is such a thing as expropriation," suggested Mr. Lamb, rather
annoyed to find a lawyer there.
"Expropriation is a municipal affair in cities and towns, or it may be
national and provincial in the case of chartered railways or national
parks, in all which cases remuneration is by arbitration, not by the
will of any expropriating body."
"The deportment may regord this as a provincial offair. Ot any rate, it
hos octed in this way before with success."
"I know that the department has induced people to surrender their rights
for the sake of its popularity, but by wheedling, not by law or justice,
and, generally, there has been some condition of payment, or something
else, not complied with."
"Thot's simple enough. A few lines in the bookkeeping awffice con
involidate the deed."
"One or two words, Mr. Lamb, and I have done; the quicker you answer,
the sooner Miss Du Plessis' decision is reached. Do you represent the
commissioner, the minister?"
"Well, not exoctly."
"Were you sent by his deputy, the head of the department?"
"Not the head exoctly."
"Is the name of the man, for whom your friend wants to expropriate Miss
Du Plessis' land, called Rawdon, Altamont Rawdon?"
"How did you know thot? Ore you one of the deportment outriggers?"
"No; I have nothing to do with any kind of dirty work. You go back, and
tell your man, first, that Rawdon is dead, and that in life he was a
notorious criminal; second, that Miss Du Plessis' land has been
devastated by the fire in which he perished; and, third, that if he, or
you, or any other contemptible swindler, moves a finger in this
direction, either above board or below, I'll have you up for foul
conspiracy, and make the department only too happy to send you about
your business to save its reputation before the country."
As Ben Toner and his friends in the kitchen would have said, Mr. Lamb
was paralyzed. While the lawyer had spoken with animation, there was
something quite judicial in his manner. Miss Carmichael looked up at him
from under her long lashes with an admiration it would have done him
good to see, and a hum of approving remarks went all round the table.
Then, in an evil moment, the young lady felt it her duty to comfort the
heart of poor Orther Lom, whom everybody else regarded with something
akin to contempt. She talked to him of old times, until the man's
inflated English was forgotten, as well as his by no means reputable
errand. The young man was quite incapable of any deep-laid scheme of
wrong-doing, as he was of any high or generous impulse. He was a mere
machine, educated up to a certain point, able to write a good hand, and
express himself grammatically, but thinking more of his dress and his
spurious English than of any learning or accomplishment, and the
unreasoning tool of his official superiors. He had been checkmated by
Coristine, and felt terribly disappointed at the failure of his mission;
but the thought that he had been engaged in a most dishonest attempt did
not trouble him in the least. Yet, had he been offered a large bribe to
commit robbery in the usual ways, he would have rejected the
proposition with scorn. Miss Carmichael, knowing his character, was
sorry for him, little thinking that his returning vivacity under her
genial influence smote Coristine's heart, as the evidence of double
disloyalty on the lady's part, to her friend, Miss Du Plessis, and to
him. Tiring of her single-handed work, she turned to Mr. Bigglethorpe,
saying: "You know Mr. Lamb, do you not!" The fisherman answered: "You
were kind enough to introduce us last night, Miss Carmichael, but you
will, I hope, pardon me for saying that I do not approve of Mr. Lamb."
Then he turned away, and conversed with the Captain. When the company
rose, the only person who approached the civil servant was the colonel,
who said: "I pehsume, suh, aftah what my kind friend, Mr. Cohistine, has
spoken so well, you will not annoy my niece with any moah remahks about
her propehty. It would please that lady and me, as her guahdian, if you
will fohget Miss Du Plessis' existence, suh, so fah as you are
concehned." This was chilling, but chill did not hurt Mr. Lamb. The
little Carruthers, headed by Marjorie, were in front of the verandah
when Miss Carmichael and he went out. Marjorie had evidently been
schooling them, for, at her word of command, they began to sing, to the
tune of "Little Bo Peep," the original words:--
Poor Orther Lom,
He looks so glom.
Miss Carmichael seized her namesake and shook her. "You naughty, wicked
little girl, how dare you? Who taught you these shameful words?" she
asked, boiling with indignation. Marjorie cried a little for vexation,
but would not reveal the name of the author. Some said it was the
doctor, and others, that it was his daughter Fanny; but Miss Carmichael
was sure that the lawyer, Marjorie's great friend, Eugene, was the
guilty party, that he ought to be ashamed of himself, and that the
sooner he left Bridesdale the better. Coristine was completely innocent
of the awful crime, which lay in the skirts of Marjorie's father, the
Captain, as might have been suspected from the beauty of the couplet.
The consequence of the poetic surprise was the exclusive attachment of
Miss Carmichael to the Crown Lands man, in a long walk in the garden, a
confidential talk, and the present of a perfectly beautiful button-hole
pinned in by her own hands.