WHICH IS, HAPPILY, THE LAST
Old Mr. Dumbrell, perched in George Potter’s cart behind the likely
horse, blinked at the setting sun and shook his head; quoth he:
“The longer oi live, Jarge, the more sartin-sure be oi that there be no
sich thing as gratitood nowheres, no!”
“What be troublin’ of ’ee now, Gaffer?”
“Thinkin’ o’ Sir John Dering, oi be. Oh, ’e’s mebbe this an’ that an’
t’other, but oi calls ’im naun but a ongrateful young barrynet!”
“Lord, old ’un,” remonstrated Mr. Potter, “ain’t ’e given ye your
cottage, rent free?”
“Wot o’ that?” snarled the Aged Soul. “Ain’t ’e got ’unnerds an’
thousands o’ cottages? Wot’s a cottage?”
“Well, but ain’t ’e likewise give ye that little medder be’ind your
cottage?”
“Oi never said ’e ’adn’t, did oi?”
“Aye, but ain’t ’e give ye a cow along o’ the medder an’ a couple o’ fat
’ogs?”
“Wot of ’em?” screeched the Aged One indignantly. “Oi bean’t complainin’
o’ they, be oi? No, my trouble be ’im a-goin’ away an’ never s’ much as
a word to oi ... an’ me sech a very old, aged Soul as can’t live much
longer, an’ ’im a-leavin’ pore old oi wi’ never no good-bye ... an’ never
sendin’ me that theer arm-cheer as ’e promised faithful!”
“Arm-cheer?” repeated Mr. Potter inquiringly.
“Ah! ’Osea,’ says ’e, aye, an’ called me ’is friend, ’e did, ’Osea,’ says
’e, ‘you shall set in comfort arl your days,’ ’e sez—them were ’is very
words! An’ I’ve been ’opin’ an’ a-waitin’ an’ expectin’ that theer cheer
ever since.... An’ look wot I done for ’e!”
“Wot?” demanded Mr. Potter.
“Why, didn’t oi comfort ’e an’ talk to ’e when arl the world was agin’
him? Didn’t oi speak up for ’e on arl ’casions, ah—an’ mak’ love for ’e
to ’is sweet-’eart, tu? Wasn’t oi loike a feäther an’ mother arl rolled
into one? An’ now ’ere be oi, an’ ’im gone—an’ no cheer!”
It was at this moment that, turning into the main road, they beheld
a dusty chaise approaching at a smart trot, whereupon, the way being
somewhat narrow, Mr. Potter pulled aside to make room; but scarcely had
he done so than a cheery voice hailed him, the chaise pulled up, and out
from the window came a bewigged head.
“Why, Potter—George Potter,” cried a merry voice. “God bless ye, George;
’tis very well met! And my friend Hosea too! How art thou, my Aged Soul?
I vow thou’rt looking younger than ever!”
“Lord, Sir John!” exclaimed Mr. Potter heartily, “I be main glad to see
ye back, sir.”
“And I’m back for good, George ... aye, for good of every kind and sort,
I hope——”
“Why, then, that theer cheer, Sir John!” piped the Aged One. “Wot about
my arm-cheer?”
“’E means the cheer your honour promised ’im, sir,” explained Mr. Potter.
“Chair?” repeated Sir John in laughing puzzlement. “I fear I don’t recall
... but we will talk of this later. For the present, George, I want you
to drive over to old Penelope and warn her that she hath visitors on the
way to drink tea with her——”
“Say two visitors, Mr. Potter,” laughed a second voice, and over Sir
John’s shoulder peeped my lady’s lovely face; whereupon Mr. Potter
flourished his whip exultantly and, wheeling the likely horse, drove off
at such a pace that he was necessitated to hug the small, protesting
Aged Soul for safety’s sake.
“’Twill give our revered witch due time to don the silken gown, mayhap,
my Rose o’ love.”
“Aye, though—I think ’tis donned already, sir.”
“She expects us, then?”
“She doth, John!... And Aunt Lucinda will be there, and Sir Hector ...
unless we have outworn their patience.”
“But what shall bring them there? How know you this, child?”
“’Faith, sir, ’tis because I invited ’em to meet us at Penelope’s
cottage——”
“Ha, wert so sure we should come back together, my Herminia?”
“Why, of course, John dear. Though I little thought we should ha’ kept
them so long a-waiting—see, the sun is set already and—nay, sir ... oh,
for mercy’s sake, John ... you’ll ha’ my hair all down——”
“You’ll look but the lovelier——”
“Nay, prithee ... oh, hark, John! Dost hear, dost hear how they welcome
thee home at last, beloved?”
Upon the air rose a sudden, glad riot of bells lustily rung, a faint,
silvery pealing that grew momentarily louder, until the joyous clamour
thrilled in the air all about them.
“Hark, my John, where they welcome Dering of Dering home at last!”
“And his most dear lady!” he answered, drawing her close. “For, O my
Herminia, my Rose-child, thou shalt teach him to live to better purpose
... by thee ‘The Wicked Dering’ shall——”
“Ah, hush!” she murmured. “He was but a dream ... but thou, my dear,
brave, noble, most honourable ... oh, wilt stifle me, John? Nay, they
will see us——”
So in due season they drove into the winding street of High Dering
where stood folk to cheer, to flourish hats and flutter scarves a little
shyly, but to fall suddenly silent and stare wide-eyed as Sir John, my
lady beside him, paused bare-headed to salute that solitary old creature
whom all had scorned so long and persecuted as a witch; silent she stood
leaning upon her staff, but in all the glory of rustling silk and belaced
mutch, her indomitable old head aloft, her bright, old eyes keen as ever,
yet surely strangely gentle for a witch. And now Sir John was speaking,
his clear voice very plain to be heard:
“Good friend Penelope, the years have been very cruel and hard for thee.
But indeed thy sufferings have not been wholly in vain, as I think, and
henceforth, John Dering shall be the first to do thee honour.” So saying,
he took that worn and shrivelled hand, drawing it within his arm, and so
brought her to the cottage gate where stood the Duchess, glad-eyed, with
Sir Hector towering gigantic behind her.
But now Mr. Potter’s voice was heard in placid exhortation:
“Come, friends and neighbours, cheer now, a cheer for Dering o’ Dering
and his lady!” Hereupon, led by Mr. Potter’s stentorian voice and the
Aged Soul’s shrill pipe, they cheered full-throated and with a will. “An’
now, neighbours, one more for old Pen, as be true Sussex through an’
through, barn an’ bred——”
“Aye, cheer, ye fules!” shrilled the Aged Soul, flourishing his hat.
“Beller for ol’ Pen, an’ dannel ’im as doan’t, says oi!”
“Hoot-toot, Johnnie-man,” quoth Sir Hector as they crossed the little
garden, “ye kept us waitin’ a’ the day whiles ye made up your mind,
it seems-an’ me in ma vera best clo’es, y’ ken—but ’twas worth it,
lad, and—why, what now?” For old Penelope had paused suddenly to take
my lady’s hand to gaze on it through gathering tears and kiss it with
strange fervour.
“What, John—a ring?” exclaimed Sir Hector—“an’ a weddin’-ring,
forbye—already? Why, man, doth it mean——”
“Ah, Sir Hector,” cried old Penelope, “it do mean as the dead, as liveth
for ever, hath spoke from beyond his grave ... it meaneth, God be
praised, that true love is immortal indeed!” So, hand in hand, the old
woman and the young entered the cottage.
“But, Johnnie, wull ye be for tellin’ me that it means——?”
“That they are married, sir,” answered the little Duchess—“wooed and won
and wedded, sir! Which is great joy to me, for our Herminia hath found
a man shall rule her rigorously at last; in a word, master her megrims,
control, curb and constrain her contrariness as only a masterful man
might.”
“Wooed and won ... rule rigorously,” murmured Sir Hector, “curb and
constrain——”
“Well, sir, well, why must you mop and mow and mutter like a mere male?
Wouldst not do the same, sir?”
Then, looking down into the little Duchess’s strangely youthful eyes, Sir
Hector emitted that sound to which no one but a true-born Scot may give
utterance, and which, so far as poor words go, may be roughly translated
thus:
“Umph-humph!” quoth Sir Hector Lauchlan MacLean.
A FEW BOOKS OF GENERAL INTEREST
_obtainable from any bookshop, and published by Sampson Low, Marston &
Co., Ltd., 100 Southwark Street, London, S.E. 1_
RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHÁYYÁM
_Translated by_ EDWARD FITZGERALD
_Introduction by_ JOSEPH JACOBS
_Designs by_ FRANK BRANGWYN
_Ordinary cloth edition, 8¼″ × 5½″. 6s. net._
A beautiful and tasteful edition of this great classic. In Fitzgerald’s
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[Illustration]
CHRISTMAS FIRESIDE STORIES
_by_
P. C. ASBJÖRNSEN
_Demy 8vo, cloth. 5/- net._
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[Illustration]
THREE HUNDRED AND ONE THINGS A BRIGHT GIRL CAN DO
_by_ JEAN STEWART
_Large Crown 8vo, cloth. 6/- net._
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[Illustration]
THREE HUNDRED THINGS A BRIGHT BOY CAN DO
_by_ MANY HANDS
_Large Crown 8vo, cloth. 6/- net._
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[Illustration]
HOBBIES FOR BOYS
_by_ JACQUES REINDORP
_Demy 8vo, cloth. 5/- net._
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[Illustration]
GODS OF MODERN GRUB STREET
_by_
A. ST. JOHN ADCOCK
_Thirty-two Portraits by_ E. O. HOPPÉ
_Crown 8vo, cloth. 7/6 net._
Everyone is curious to know how the heights of Mount Olympus have been
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Mr. E. O. Hoppé is admittedly the most finished artist among present-day
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[Illustration]
PALESTINE PICTURED; or, WHERE HE DWELT
_by_
ALFRED T. SCHOFIELD, M.D., M.R.C.S.E.
_Crown 8vo, cloth. 6/- net._
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[Illustration]
THE STORY OF ST. PAUL’S LIFE AND LETTERS
_by_
J. PATERSON SMYTH, B.D., Litt.D., LL.D., D.C.L.
_Crown 8vo, cloth. 3/6 net._
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[Illustration]
BOOKS BY JEFFERY FARNOL
NEW CHEAP EDITION AT 4s. NET
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_CHRONICLES OF THE IMP (MY LADY CAPRICE)_
_BELTANE THE SMITH_
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_THE HONOURABLE MR. TAWNISH_
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_THE DEFINITE OBJECT_
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_OUR ADMIRABLE BETTY_
(An early Georgian story)
_BLACK BARTLEMY’S TREASURE_
(A stirring pirate story)
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(Continues Black Bartlemy’s adventures)
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(In the author’s original vein)
and Mr. Farnol’s latest success:
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(A Romantic Comedy. 7s. 6d. net.)
BOUND IN CLOTH, CROWN 8VO, PICTURE WRAPPER IN COLOUR
BY C. E. BROCK
OBTAINABLE FROM ANY BOOKSELLER
_SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & Co., Ltd., PUBLISHERS
100 SOUTHWARK STREET, LONDON, S.E. 1._