PARSON JARNER.
In his hand this remarkable-looking cleric still held Dan's cap. He
looked at the badge and nodded his head towards the young man in a
friendly fashion.
"So you are a Magdalen man, sir," said he, in a full rich voice. "I
too am of that college. _Et ego in Arcadia fui_. 'Addison's Walk' by
the Cher is dear to me."
Dan took his cap with a smile. The badge had unmasked him as an
Oxonian, so that he could no longer pass himself off as cheap-jack of
the caravan.
"Yes, I belonged to Magdalen, sir," he owned up, stepping out of the
porch and covering his head. "Had you not seen this, I would not tell
you so much. I am in a different walk of life at present, Mr. Jarner,
and my name is Dan."
The clergyman looked at him with a slightly satirical expression on
his full lips, and nodded. He quite understood the significance of the
speech.
"Keep your secret, friend Dan. I too have heard the chimes at
midnight. You are at a frolicsome age, and why should not a man play
the fool when the blood sings in his veins? But within reason--within
reason."
"Pagan sentiments, Mr. Jarner."
"Pish, my dear sir! The sentiments of every healthy-minded man. So you
are Dan? I have heard of you and of your caravan in the dell. Come
across and crack a bottle with me."
"What! port at four o'clock in the afternoon, and after the Red Deer
ale? Do you take me for a four-bottle man, sir?"
Jarner cracked his whip at the dogs, who all three set up a barking
chorus. Bent upon offering hospitality, he was not to be daunted by
the first refusal.
"Then I'll give you good ale. That won't hurt you. By St. Beorl who
built this church, I must have a chat with you. For thirty years I
have been buried here, and not once have I met with a student of my
old college. This day shall be marked with a white stone. That is
Horace, sir, but I won't give you the Latin of it, as my classics,
like my manners, have become somewhat rusty."
Considerably diverted by the speech of this hospitable divine, Dan
accepted the invitation, and they walked across to the vicarage.
The door was wide open, and, followed by the dogs (who evidently had
the right of entry), Jarner led his guest into a snug little room
filled with old-fashioned furniture. There was a wide casement, in
the depths of which was a parlour seat. The fireplace was large and
old-fashioned, the shelves round the walls were filled with books in a
more or less tattered condition, and there was a mahogany table ringed
over with the bottoms of tumblers. Evidently that table had seen some
hard drinking in the long winter nights. Over all there was a jovial
air of untidy hospitality. Even before he spoke, Dan guessed that his
new friend was unmarried. That parlour was eloquent of the absence of
the female element at the vicarage.
"Bachelor Hall, sir," said the parson, casting hat and hunting-crop
into a corner. "Sit in that chair by the window. It is the most
comfortable, and is only permitted to be used by favoured guests."
"And why am I thus favoured?" replied Dan, dropping into a chair.
"Because you are a nursling of Magdalen, sir," thundered the divine,
with a laugh on his jolly red face. "There is Alma Mater herself over
the fireplace--the quadrangle, and the tower askew. Ah me!" continued
he, shaking his head pensively at the picture, "what days those were
thirty years ago! Where are all the good fellows with whom I consorted
in the time when Plancus was consul, and still---- But here comes the
ale, Dan! Let me froth you a tankard, and we'll drink to the old
college, sir, and to our better acquaintance."
Not feeling equal to the task of emptying the silver pot presented to
him, Dan bravely drank half, but Jarner did not set down his tankard
till it was empty. Then he sighed, thumped himself with vigour, and
nodded towards the mantelpiece.
"Try a churchwarden," said he, persuasively.
"Thank you, sir, I'll stick to my briar," answered Dan; and each
having chosen his pipe, they smoked amicably together.
"Briars smoke sweet," observed the former, using his little finger as
a stopper, "but to my mind they don't come up to a churchwarden. I
always smoke churchwardens, for," he added, with a twinkle in his
little eyes, "being a clergyman, it is but right that I should affect
a pipe with a clerical name."
As in duty bound, Dan laughed at the old gentleman's joke, and then
began to put cautious questions with a view to finding out all he
could about Meg and her father. Jarner was very communicative, and
replied frankly. The discovery that Dan was an Oxonian like himself
warmed his heart towards the young fellow, and he did not regard him
quite in the light of a stranger, though he knew nothing about him.
Dan might have been an unconscionable scamp, and Jarner would not have
seen through him. He was a simple, kindly old fellow, in spite of his
strong ale and terriers and bluster. See, then, what freemasonry there
is in Oxonianism. A coined word is necessary here, as no other can
adequately describe the parson's attitude towards the tramp.
"You have lived here for thirty years, Mr. Jarner?"
"For thirty years, sir. I have charge of three parishes within a
radius of twenty miles, and ride over to preach in one of them every
second and third Sunday; the first I keep for Farbis."
"How do the people live in this outlandish place?"
"By weaving. Have you not seen the looms at work in the cottages?"
"Well, yes; but I did not----"
"See how inobservant is youth!" laughed Jarner, filling himself
another tankard. "Don't be alarmed at my thirst, young man. I have
been in the saddle for five hours to-day, over the hills at Silkon,
where I met a friend of yours."
"Indeed! I didn't know I had friends here."
"Pooh! What about Tinker Tim? He is a warm admirer of you, sir, and
thinks you a pretty light-weight fighter. Tim gave me a description of
your battle in the dell. It was glorious--glorious! I should like to
have been present."
"Come to my camp, then, and I'll put on the gloves with you."
"Not me--not me!" said Parson Jarner, wagging his large head. "Too
old; and besides, I'm a vicar--must respect the cloth, young man!"
"Well, to continue about Farbis. How do they get their bales of cloth
away?"
"There's a road over the hills by Farbis Court. The weavers here are a
poor lot, and an infernally irreligious set. God forgive me for
swearing!"
"They seem healthy enough."
"Oh yes 1 The air is good. They don't bother the doctor much."
"Dr. Merle! I saw him the other day."
Jarner faced round suddenly with a grave look on his face.
"What do you think of him?" he asked doubtfully.
"I think it is a pity he doesn't take example by De Quincey, and put
away that decanter."
"Oh, you saw that, did you? You have sharp eyes, young man. Yes, yes!
it's a great pity. I've tried to break him off that laudanum-drinking,
but it's no use; the man's a slave to the vice. I've straightened him
out a dozen times, and he always doubles up again. Lord forbid that I
should speak ill of my fellow-creatures, but Richard Merle's a poor
white mouse of a creature!"
"It is more than his daughter is."
"Ta, ta! Hey! Have you met her?"
"Two or three days ago."
"She is a fine girl, sir. As honest and simple as can be. I am a
hardened old bachelor, Dan, but my heart aches for the future of that
poor creature."
"Her father----"
"Pooh, pooh! Tush! Don't talk to me, sir. He is worse than useless.
The girl would have been ruined body and soul had she trusted to his
fatherly care. I can say, without praising myself and Miss Linisfarne,
that we have done our best for her. She is a noble creature, sir,"
continued the parson, vehemently, "and should be the mother of brave
men and chaste women. But there, there! in this waste corner of the
earth who is there to mate with her?"
He sighed and finished his beer, then continued his speech after such
pause.
"I have often thought of asking Miss Linisfarne to take the lass to
London and aid her to----"
"No, no!" interrupted Dan, smartly, "do not let her go to town. A
season would spoil her. It would destroy her charm of simplicity and
candour. Believe me, my dear Mr. Jarner, it is best to let this
woodland flower bloom here, and not to thrust it into the hothouse of
an artificial civilization."
"You take a great interest in the young lady, sir," said Jarner,
dryly.
"Do you think so, sir? It is pure philanthropy on my part, I assure
you."
Jarner looked steadily at him, but Dan met his eyes with so frank a
face that he seemed satisfied of the young man's intentions.
Nevertheless he tapped his breast meaningly.
"Don't lose that, sir! Take care--take care!"
"If you mean my heart, Mr. Jarner, there is no danger of my being so
foolish. I can look after myself, and so can she. But to speak in a
more general way--do you know if Dr. Merle has any dealings with Tim
the Tinker?"
"No, I can't say that I do. Why do you couple their names together,
young man?"
Dan meditated a few moments before replying. He was not prepared to
communicate his suspicions to Jarner until he knew more about him.
Unlike the confiding country divine, this haunter of cities was more
cautious in unfolding himself to a new acquaintance.
"I cannot answer your question at present, Mr. Jarner," he said at
length, with some hesitancy; "but if you will do me the honour to
visit my camp, I will explain myself, and ask your opinion on a
certain matter."
"Does it concern Meg?" asked Jarner, rendered serious by this speech.
"Yes; it concerns Meg and--myself. No! pray don't ask me if I am in
love with her. To-morrow I will tell you all."
"At what hour shall I come?"
"Say at noon. I am generally alone at that hour."
Jarner accepted the invitation, and shook hands with his strange
guest. Politeness forbade him to ask questions, else he might have
done so. The whole tone of Dan's conversation was so mysterious that
the simple gentleman was greatly puzzled and disturbed.