THE BROOM GIRL
One morning in the following week the high road leading to Castell On
presented a lively appearance. It was white and dusty from the tramp
of the country folk and the vehicles of all descriptions which followed
each other towards the town, whose one long street would be crowded
from ten o'clock in the morning till late afternoon, as it was market
day. This was the weekly excitement of the neighbourhood, and there
was scarcely a household within the radius of a few miles that did not
send at least one of its members to swell the number of chafferers and
bargainers in the market. Jolly farmers, buxom maidens, old women in
witch hats and scarlet scarves, pigs, sheep, horses, all followed each
other in the same direction.
Amongst the rest came a girl who rather stooped under what looked like
a large bunch of blooming heather. It was Morva, who was carrying her
bundle of heath brooms to the corner of the market-place, where she was
eagerly waited for by the farmers' wives.
Dyc "pigstye" was accustomed to bring her a bundle of broom handles,
which he had roughly fashioned in the wood in the valley, and she and
Sara employed their leisure hours in tying on to them the bunches of
purple heather, binding them firmly with the young withies of the
willows growing here and there on the boggy moor.
There was always quite a little knot of women round her stall of brooms
and wings, for she collected also from the farmhouses the wings of the
geese and ducks which had been killed for the market, and after drying
them carefully in the big chimney, sold them as brushes for hearth and
stairs. Sometimes, too, her stock-in-trade was increased by a
collection of wooden bowls, spoons, scales, and trenchers, which Stiven
"Storrom," living on the shore below, turned off his lathe, and sold
through Morva's agency. At such times she borrowed Stiven's
donkey-cart, and stood by it in the market until her wares were sold.
But to-day she had only her brooms, and tying them on her shoulders,
she held the cords crossed over her bosom, stooping a little under
their weight. Her head was buried in the purple blossoms, so that she
did not hear the tramp of footsteps following close behind her.
Gethin and Will were going to the market together, and the latter had
recognised the girl at some distance off, but had kept silence and
lessened his speed a little until his brother had asked:
"Who is this lass walking before us? Let's catch her up and carry her
brooms for her."
"Nonsense," said Will. "A Garthowen man may drive his sheep, his oxen,
and his horses to market, but to carry a bundle of brooms would not
look well. Leave them and the fowls to the women, and the pigs to the
men-servants--that's my fancy."
"Well, my fancy is to help this lassie," said Gethin. "She's got a
tidy pair of ankles, whatever; let's see what her face is like."
"'Tis Morva," said Will, rather sulkily.
"Then we know what her face is like. Come on, man. Who will be the
first to catch her?" and Gethin hurried his steps, while Will held back
a little. "Why, what's the matter? Surely thou art not ashamed to be
seen with Morva?"
"Of course not," said Will irritably; "but--er--er--a broom girl!"
"Oh, jawks!" said Gethin. "Brooms or no brooms, I am going to catch
her up," and coming abreast other, he laid his hand on the bunches of
blooming heather.
"Morva," he said, bending round her purple burden, "where art here,
lassie? Thee art buried in flowers! Come, loosen thy cords, and hoist
them upon my shoulder."
And as the girl looked at him from under the brooms, his voice changed,
the brusque sailor manner softened.
"'Tis not for a girl like thee to be carrying a heavy weight on thy
shoulders," he said gently. "Come, loosen thy cords."
But Morva held them tightly.
"Not for the world," she said. "It is quite right I should carry my
wares to market, but I would not like to see a son of Garthowen with a
bundle of brooms on his shoulders."
"I will have them," he said; "come, loosen the cords," and he laid hold
of one of the hands which held the rope.
A warm glow overspread Morva's face, as the large brown hand covered
hers in its firm grasp.
"No, I will do this to please thee," she said, and loosening her hold
of the bundle, she flung it suddenly into an empty red cart which was
rattling by. "Take care of them, Shemi, thou know'st my corner in the
market."
"Yes, yes," said Shemi, "they will be all right."
And Morva stood up in the sunshine freed from her burden.
Will seemed to think it the right time to join them, and suddenly
appearing, greeted the girl, but rather coldly, and the three walked on
together, Gethin much resenting Will's bad temper, and endeavouring to
make up for his brother's somewhat silent and pre-occupied manner by
keeping up the conversation himself. But a little constraint fell upon
them all, Gethin chafing at the girl's apparent nervousness, and his
brother's silence; Morva fearful of offending Will, and disturbed at
her own pleasure at meeting Gethin. When they reached the town she
bade them good-bye.
"Here's my corner," she said, "and when I have sold my brooms, I am
going home in the cart from the mill at Pont-y-fro."
Will seemed relieved at this solving of his difficulties, but Gethin
was not so satisfied; he roamed the market discontentedly, filling his
pockets with sweets and gingerbread. Many times that day he peered
through the crowd into the corner out of the sun, where Morva's purple
blooms made a grand show. At last he ventured nearer, and laying his
sweets and gingerbreads down beside her, said:
"Thee'll be hungry by and by, Morva; wilt have these?"
The girl's eyes drooped, and she scarcely answered, but the smile and
the blush with which she took up the paper bags were quite enough for
Gethin, who went home early, with that smile and blush gilding every
thought and every subject of conversation with his companions of the
road.
In the afternoon Morva, having sold her brooms, prepared to leave the
market. Looking up the sunny street, she saw Will approaching, and the
little cloud of sadness which Gethin's genial smile had banished for a
time, returned, bringing with it a pucker on the brows and a droop at
the corners of her mouth.
"Well, indeed," she soliloquised, "there's grand Will is looking, with
his gloves and shining boots; quite like a gentleman. 'Tis not only me
he will have to say good-bye to soon, I am thinking, but to all at
Garthowen."
Her thoughts were interrupted by his arrival. "Art still here, Morva?"
he said; "I thought thee wouldst have gone long ago."
"Only just now I have sold my brooms. There's Jacob the Mill, now I
will go."
Will looked at the cart uneasily as it rumbled up the street; already
he was beginning to be ashamed of his rustic surroundings.
With keen sensitiveness Morva read his thoughts.
"Nay, there's no need for you to help me, Will. I am used to the mill
cart, and indeed to goodness, 'twould not suit with gloves and shining
boots to be helping a girl into a red cart."
"Twt, nonsense," said Will irritably; but he nevertheless allowed her
to leave him, with a wave of her hand, and an amused twinkle in her eye.
As she hurried to catch the cart, he stood a moment moodily looking
after her, his better nature prompting him to follow and help her, but
it was too late; already the brilliant vehicle, with Morva and the
burly Jacob sitting in it side by side, was swallowed up by the crowd
of market people and cattle, and Will turned on his heel with a look of
vexation on his face.
The market was at its liveliest, the sunny air laden with a babel of
sounds. Men and women chattered and chaffered, pigs shrieked, sheep
bleated, and cattle lowed, but Will scarcely noticed the familiar
sounds. A light step and a soft voice, however, attracted his
attention, and he saw approaching him two girls, who evidently belonged
to a different class from those whose simple ways we have hitherto
followed. One was a lady of very ordinary appearance, but the other he
recognised as Miss Vaughan of Nantmyny, a young lady whose beauty and
pleasant manners were the frequent theme of the countryside gossip,
"and no wonder," he thought, "she _is_ pretty!"
"Ah! what a pity!" she was saying to her friend, who was evidently a
young housekeeper intent upon her purchases, "the brooms are all gone!
we're too late!"
Will walked away hastily, lest standing upon that spot he might appear
to be in some way connected with the broom girl. Suddenly there was a
tumult in the air, a rushing of feet, and cries of fright, and in a
cloud of dust he saw rushing towards him an infuriated bull, which had
evidently escaped from his attendant, for from the iron ring in his
nose still hung the rope by which he had been held. With head lowered
and tail curled high over his back, he dashed towards the two ladies,
who fled in affright before him, one escaping through an open doorway,
while the other, bewildered and terrified, catching her foot in an
upturned stall-table, fell prone exactly in the path of the bull. The
poor animal, as frightened as any of his shouting pursuers, increased
his own mad fury by continually stepping upon the rope which dangled
from the ring in his nose, thus inflicting upon himself the pain from
which he endeavoured to escape.
The girl screamed with terror, as the snorting nostrils and curving
horns came close upon her. In another moment she would undoubtedly
have been seriously gored, had not Will, who was in no wise lacking in
personal courage, rushed in upon the scene. One look at the beautiful,
pale face lying helpless in the dust, and he had seized the creature's
horns. The muscular power of his arms was well known at Garthowen, and
now it stood him in good stead, for calling his full strength to his
aid, he succeeded by a sudden wrench in turning the bull's head aside,
so that the direct force of his attack came upon the ground instead of
the girl's body.
In a moment the enraged animal turned upon his assailant, and probably
Will would have fared badly had not a drover arrived, who, possessing
himself of the rope, gave a sudden and sharp twitch at the bull's nose,
a form of punishment so agonising and alas, so familiar, that the
animal was instantly subdued, and brought under comparative control,
not, however, before his horn had slightly torn Will's arm.
An excited crowd of market people had now reached the spot, and while
the animal, frightened into submissiveness by the blows and cries that
surrounded him, was led away snorting and panting, Will looked in
affright at the girl who lay white and unconscious on the ground.
"Did he toss her?" asked one of the crowd, "or is she only frightened?
Dear! there's white she looks, there's delicate the gentry are!"
"'Tis her foot, I think," said Will; "let be, I will hold her."
"Yes, 'tis her foot," said another, "the bull must have trampled on it,
see how dusty it is--there's a pity."
It was in fact more from the pain of the crushed foot than from fright
that Gwenda had fainted, for she was a brave girl. Though fully alive
to her danger she had not lost consciousness until her foot had been
crushed, and even then not before she had seen Will's rush to her
rescue, and his energetic twist of the animal's horns.
Two or three gentlemen now came running up the street, amongst them her
uncle, Colonel Vaughan, who, standing at the door of the hotel, had
witnessed the escape of the bull, and the pursuit of him by the excited
throng of market people. Remembering that his niece had but a few
moments previously passed up the street, he too ran in the same
direction, and arrived on the scene as promptly as his short legs and
shorter breath permitted him. In a fever of fright and flurry he
approached, the crowd making way for him as he snapped out a cannonade
of irrelevant questions.
"Good heavens! Gwenda! What is it? My darling, are you hurt? Who
did it? How very careless!"
"'Tis her foot, I think, sir," said Will. "She has not been gored, and
if you will send for your carriage I will lift her in as I am already
holding her."
"She'd have been killed for certain," said one of the crowd, "if this
young man had not rushed at the bull and saved her life. I saw it all
from the window of the Market Hall. He risked his life, I can tell
you, sir, and you've got to thank him that the young lady is not
killed."
"Yes, yes, a brave young fellow, pommy word. There comes the carriage,
now raise her gently," and Will lifted the slender form as easily as he
would have carried a swathe of corn.
Slipping her gently into a recumbent position in the carriage, he
endeavoured to rest her foot on the opposite seat, but she moaned and
opened her eyes as he did so, crying out with evident pain.
"'Tis plain the position hurts her," said her uncle.
Will lifted the foot again, and the moaning ceased.
"That's it," said the colonel; "sit down and hold it up."
Will did as he was bid in a maze of bewilderment, and while the colonel
continued to wonder, to lament, and to congratulate, Will made a soft
cushion of a wrap which he found beside him, and resting the foot upon
it he held the two ends, so that the injured limb hung as it were in a
sling, thus lessening very much the effect of the jolting of the
carriage over the rough road.
"Drive slowly," said the colonel to his coachman, "and call at Dr.
Jones's on your way. Can you spare time to come as far as Nantmyny?"
he said, addressing Will.
"Oh! yes, sir, certainly," he answered in good English.
"Tis the right foot, I think," said the old gentleman, unbuttoning the
boot.
The girl opened her eyes.
"Oh! uncle, it hurts," she said. "Keep it up," and catching sight of
Will, she looked inquiringly at her uncle.
"Tis the young man who saved your life, child," he explained.
"Oh! not that, sir," said Will. "I am sorry I have not even prevented
her being hurt."
At first there was a pompous stiffness in Colonel Vaughan's manner, but
he added more graciously:
"I hope you were not hurt yourself. Bless me! is that blood on your
hand?"
"I have cut my wrist a little, but 'tis nothing," said Will. "Please
not to think about it."
"Oh! certainly, certainly, we must. Here's Dr. Jones. Come in,
doctor. You must squeeze in somewhere. Gwenda has had a narrow
escape, and this young fellow has hurt his wrist in saving her. A very
brave young man! Mercy we were not all killed, I'm sure!"
"I'll attend to them both when we get to Nantmyny," said Dr. Jones.
"Keep her foot in that position, and be as quiet as possible, young
man," said the colonel, and Will, though he resented the tone and the
"young man," still felt a glow of satisfaction at the turn affairs had
taken.
To have sat in the Nantmyny carriage! What a story to tell Ann and his
father! and Will felt as they drove through the lodge gates that the
charm of the situation outweighed the twinges of pain in his arm.
Gwenda Vaughan, recovering a little, smiled at him gratefully.
"Thank you so much for holding up my foot," she said. "It is easier
so. I am sorry you have hurt your wrist. Does it pain you much?"
"Oh, 'tis nothing at all," said Will, not accustomed to think much of
slight wounds or bruises.
On arriving at Nantmyny he assisted in carrying her into the house.
"Now," said the doctor, when they had laid her on a couch, "let me see,
and I will look at your wrist afterwards. Young Owens of Garthowen, I
think--eh?"
"Yes," said Will, quietly retreating into the background, while Colonel
Vaughan and the maids pressed round the sofa. He only waited until,
after a careful examination, the doctor said, "No bones broken, I'm
glad to say, only rather badly bruised," and then, leaving the room
unnoticed, found his way to the front door, and in a glow of excitement
walked back to Castell On. His arm was getting more painful, so on his
way through the town he called on Dr. Hughes, who was considered "the
people's" doctor, while Dr. Jones was more patronised by "the gentry."