had never tasted anything like it, so delicious and reviving: such ham!
Such eggs! Such bread! Such cream! Really, it was almost worth while
getting the fright and the wetting to enjoy such a meal with so keen a
relish.
"They've got a famous distillery in this house," remarked Mr Tankardew
when they had finished their tea.
"A famous what?" asked Mrs Franklin, in great surprise.
"Dear me," said Mary aghast, "I really thought I--"
"Oh! You thought they were teetotalers here: well, you should know that
it is a common custom in these parts to put rum or other spirits into
the tea, especially when people have company. Now, Hodges and his wife
are not content with putting spirits into the tea, but they put them
into everything: into their bread, and their ham, and into their eggs."
Mrs Franklin looked partly dismayed and partly puzzled.
"Yes, it is true, madam. The fact is simply this: the spirits which my
good tenants distil are made up of four ingredients--diligence, good
temper, honesty, and total abstinence; and that is what makes everything
they have to be so good of its kind."
"I wish we had more distilleries of this kind," said Mrs Franklin,
smiling.
"So do I, madam; but it is a sadly dishonest, unfaithful, and self-
indulgent age, and the drink has very much to do with it, directly or
indirectly. Here, Sam," to the farmer and his wife who had just re-
entered the kitchen, "do you and your mistress come and draw up your
chairs, and give us a little of your thoughts on the subject; there's
nothing, sometimes, so good as seeing with other people's eyes,
specially when they are the eyes of persons who look on things from a
different level of life."
"Why, Mayster Tankardew," said the farmer, "it isn't for the likes of me
to be giving my opinion of things afore you and these ladies; but I
_has_ my opinion, nevertheless."
"Of course you have. Now, tell us what you think about the young people
of our day, and their self-indulgent habits."
"Ah! Mayster! You're got upon a sore subject; it is time summut was
done, we're losing all the girls and boys, there'll be none at all
thirty years hence."
"Surely you don't mean," said Mrs Franklin anxiously, "that there is
any unusual mortality just now among children."
"No, no, ma'am, that's not it," cried the farmer, laughing: "no, I mean
that we shall have nothing but babies and men and women; we shall skip
the boys and girls altogether."
"How do you mean?"
"Why, just this way, ma'am: as soon as young mayster and miss gets old
enough to know how things is, they're too old for the nursery; they
won't go in leading strings; they must be little men and women. Plain
food won't do for 'em; they must have just what their pas and mas has.
They've no notion of holding their tongues--not they; they must talk
with the biggest; and I blames their parents for it, I do. They never
think of checking them; they're too much like old Eli. The good old-
fashioned rod's gone to light the fire with."
"Ay, and Sam," broke in his wife, "what's almost worst of all--and oh!
It is a sin and a shame--they let 'em get to the beer and the wine and
the spirits: you mustn't say them nay. Ay, it is sad, it is for sure,
to see how these little ones is brought up to think of nothing but
themselves; and then, when they goes wrong, their fathers and mothers
can't think how it is."
"You're right, wife; they dress their bodies as they like, and eat and
drink what they like, and don't see how Christ bought their bodies for
Himself, and they are not their own. Ah! There'll be an awful
reckoning one day. Young people can't grow up as they're doing and not
leave a mark on our country as it'll take a big fire of the Almighty's
chastisements to burn it out."
Mrs Franklin sighed, and Mary looked very thoughtful.
Mr Tankardew was about to speak when a faint halloo was heard above the
noise of the storm, which was now again raging without. All paused to
listen. It was repeated again, and this time nearer.
"Somebody missed his road, I should think," said Mr Tankardew.
"Maybe, sir; I'll go out and see."
So saying, Sam Hodges left the kitchen, and calling to quiet his dog who
was barking furiously, soon returned with a stranger who was dressed in
a long waterproof and felt hat, which he doffed on seeing the ladies,
disclosing a head of curling black hair. He was rather tall, and
apparently slightly made, as far as could be judged; for the wrappings
in which he was clothed from head to foot concealed the build of his
person.
"Sorry to disturb you," he said, in a gentlemanly voice. "It is a
terrible night, and I've missed my way. I ought to have been at
Hopeworth by now, perhaps you can kindly direct me."
"Nay," said the farmer, "you mustn't be off again to-night: we'll manage
to take you in: we'll find you a bed, and you're welcome to such as we
have to eat and drink: it is plain, but it is wholesome."
"A thousand thanks, kind friends," replied the other; "but I feel sure
that I am intruding. These ladies--"
"We are driven in here like yourself by the storm," said Mrs Franklin.
"I'm sure I should be the very last to wish any one to expose himself
again to such a night on our account."
Mr Tankardew had not spoken since the stranger's entrance; he was
sitting rather in shadow and the new-comer had scarcely noticed him.
But now the old man leant forward, and looked at the new guest as though
his whole soul was going out of his eyes; it was but for a moment, and
then he leant back again. The stranger glanced from one to another, and
then his eyes rested for a moment admiringly on Mary's face--and who
could wonder! A sweeter picture and one more full of harmonious
contrast could hardly be seen than the young girl with her hair somewhat
negligently and yet neatly turned back from her forehead, her dress
partly her own and partly the coarser garments of her hostess's
daughter, sitting in that plain old massive kitchen, giving refinement
and gaining simplicity, with the mingled glow of health and bashfulness
lending a special brilliancy to her fair complexion. This was no
ordinary man's child the stranger saw, and again he expressed his
willingness to retire and make his way to the town rather than intrude
his company on those who might prefer greater privacy.
"Sit ye down, man, sit ye down," said Hodges; "the ladies 'll do very
well, the kitchen's a good big un, so there's room for ye all. Have you
crossed the brook? You'd find it no easy matter unless you came over
the foot bridge."
"I'm sorry, my friend, to say," was the reply, "that I have both crossed
the brook and been _in_ it. I was about to go over by a little bridge a
mile or so farther down, when I thought I saw some creature or other
struggling in the water. I stooped down, and to my surprise and
consternation found that it was a man. I plunged into the stream and
contrived to drag him to the bank, but he was evidently quite dead.
What I had taken for struggling was only the force of the stream swaying
him about against the supports of the bridge. His dress was that of a
coachman or driver of some public conveyance. I got help from a
neighbouring cottage, and we carried him in, and I sent someone off for
the nearest doctor, and then I thought to take a short cut into the
road, and I've been wandering about for a long time now, and am very
thankful to find any shelter."
During this account Mrs Franklin and her daughter turned deadly pale,
and then the former exclaimed:
"I fear it was our poor driver--I heard a splash while our omnibus was
struggling in the water. Oh! I fear, I fear it must have been the
unfortunate man; and oh! Poor man, I'm afraid he wasn't in a fit state
to die."
"If he was like your young friend at the forge, I fear not indeed," said
Mr Tankardew. "That drink that accursed drink," he added, rising and
approaching the stranger, who was now divesting himself of his wet outer
garments. He was tall, as we have said, and his figure was slight and
graceful; he wore a thick black beard and moustache, and had something
of a military air; his eyes were piercing and restless, and seemed to
take in at a glance and comprehend whatever they rested on.
But what was there in him that seemed familiar to Mrs Franklin and
Mary? Had they seen him elsewhere? They felt sure that they had not,
and yet his voice and face both reminded them of someone they had seen
and heard before. The same thing seemed to strike Mr Tankardew, but,
as he turned towards the young stranger, the latter started back and
uttered a confused exclamation of astonishment. The old man also was
now strangely moved, he muttered aloud:
"It must be--no--it cannot be: yes, it surely must be;" then he seemed
to restrain himself by a sudden effort, he paused for a moment, and then
with two rapid strides he reached the young man, placed his left hand
upon the other's lips, and seizing him by the right hand hurried him out
of the kitchen before another word could be spoken.
Poor Mrs Franklin and her daughter looked on in astonishment, hardly
knowing what to say or think of this extraordinary proceeding, but their
host reassured them at once.
"Never fear, ma'am, the old mayster couldn't hurt a fly; it'll be all
right, take my word for it; there's summut strange as _we_ can't make
out. I think I sees a little into it, but it is not for me to speak if
the mayster wants to keep things secret. It'll all turn out right in
the end, you may be sure. The old mayster's been getting a bit of a
shake of late, but it is a shake of the right sort. He's been coming
out of some of his odd ways and giving his mind to better things. He's
had his heart broke once, but it seems to me as he's been getting it
mended again."
For the next half hour, the farmer, his wife, and daughter were busy
about their home concerns, and their two guests were left to their own
meditations.
At last a distant door opened, and Mr Tankardew appeared followed by
the young stranger. By the flickering fire Mrs Franklin thought she
saw the traces of tears on both faces, and there was a strange light in
the old man's eyes which she had not seen there before.
"Let me introduce you to a young friend and an old friend in one," he
said, addressing the ladies; "this is Mr John Randolph, a great
traveller."
Mrs Franklin said some kind words expressive of her pleasure in seeing
the gratification Mr Tankardew felt in this renewal of acquaintance.
"Ah! Yes," said the old man; "you may well say gratification. Why,
I've known this young gentleman's father ever since I can remember.
Sam," he added to the farmer, who had just come in, "I'm going to run
away with our young friend here, we shall both take up our quarters at
the inn for to-night. I see it is fairer now. Mrs Franklin, pray make
yourself quite easy. I shall despatch a messenger at once to `The
Shrubbery' with full particulars. Good-night! Good-night!"
And so Mary and her mother were left to their own musings and
conjectures, for the farmer and his family made no allusion afterwards
to the events of the evening.
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE YOUNG MUSICIAN.
A Grand piano being carried into Mr Esau Tankardew's! What next! What
_can_ the old gentleman want with a grand piano? Most likely he has
taken it for a bad debt--some tenant sold up. But say what they may,
the fact is the same. And, stranger still, a tuner pays a visit to put
the instrument in tune. What can it all mean? Marvellous reports, too,
tell of a sudden domestic revolution. The dust and cobwebs have had
notice to quit, brooms and brushes have travelled into corners and
crevices hitherto unexplored, the piano rests in a parlour which smiles
in the gaiety of a new carpet and new curtains; prints have come to
light upon the walls, chairs and tables have taken heart, and now wear
an honest gloss upon their legs and faces; ornaments, which had hitherto
been too dirty to be ornamental, now show themselves in their real
colours. Outside the house, also, wonderful things have come to pass;
the rocking doorstep is at rest, and its fellow has been adjusted to a
proper level; _ever_-greens have taken the place of the old _never_-
greens; knocker and door handle are not ashamed to show their native
brass; the missing rails have returned to their duty in the ranks. The
whole establishment, including its master, has emerged out of a state of
foggy dilapidation. Old Molly Gilders has retired into the interior,
and given place above stairs to a dapper damsel. As for the ghosts,
they could not be expected to remain under such _dispiriting_
circumstances, and have had the good sense to resort to some more
congenial dwelling.
While gossip on this unlooked-for transformation was still flying in hot
haste about Hopeworth and the neighbourhood, the families both at "The
Firs" and "The Shrubbery" were greatly astonished one morning by an
invitation to spend an evening at Mr Tankardew's.
"Well," said Mr Rothwell, "I suppose it won't do to decline; the old
gentleman means it, no doubt, as an attention, and it would not be
politic to vex him."
"I am sure, my dear," said his wife, "_I_ can't think of going. I shall
be bored to death; you must make my excuses and accept the invitation
for the girls. I don't suppose Mark will care to go; the old man seems
to have a spite against him--I can't tell why."
"I'll go," interposed Mark, "if it be only to see the fun. I'll be on
my good behaviour. I'll call for tea and toast-and-water at regular
intervals all through the evening, and then the old gentleman will be
sure to put me down for something handsome in his will."
"You'd better take some music with you," said his mother, turning to her
eldest daughter; "Mr Tankardew has got his new piano on purpose, I
suppose."
"Ay, do," cried Mark; "take something lively, and you'll fetch out the
old spiders and daddy-long-legs which have been sent into the corners
like naughty boys, and they'll come out by millions and dance for us."
So it was settled that the invitation should be accepted. The surprise
at "The Shrubbery" was of a more agreeable kind. Mrs Franklin and her
daughter had learnt to love the old man, in spite of his eccentricities;
they saw the sterling strength and consistency of his character. They
had, however, hardly expected such an invitation; but the reports of the
strange changes in progress in Mr Tankardew's dwelling had reached
their ears, so that it was evident that he was intending, for some
unknown reasons, to break through the reserve and retirement of years,
and let a little more light and sociability into the inner recesses of
his establishment. That he had a special object in doing this they felt
assured; what that object was they could not divine. Had Mrs Franklin
known that the Rothwells had been asked, she would have declined the
invitation; but she was unaware of this till she had agreed to go; it
was then too late to draw back.
All the guests were very punctual on the appointed evening, curiosity
having acted as a stimulant with the Rothwells of a more wholesome kind
than they were in the habit of imbibing. What a change! It was now the
end of October, and the evenings were chilly, so that all were glad of
the cheery fire, partly of wood and partly of coal, which threw its
brightness all abroad in flashes of restless light. Old pictures,
apparently family portraits, adorned the walls, relieved by prints of a
more modern and lively appearance. One space was bare, where a portrait
might have been expected as a match to another on the other side of the
fireplace. The omission struck every one at once on entering. The
furniture, generally, was old-fashioned, and somewhat subdued in its
tints, as though it had long languished under the cold shade of neglect,
and had passed its best days in obscurity.
Not many minutes, however, were given to the guests for observation, for
Mr Tankardew soon appeared in evening costume, accompanied by the young
stranger who had taken refuge on the night of the storm in Samuel
Hodges' farm kitchen. Mr Tankardew introduced him to the Rothwells as
Mr John Randolph, an old-young friend. "I've known his father sixty
years and more," he said; then he added, "my young friend has travelled
a good deal, and will have some curiosities to show you by-and-by--but
now let us have tea. Mrs Franklin, pray do me the honour to preside."
While tea was in progress, Mr Tankardew suddenly surprised his guests
by remarking dryly, and abruptly:
"You must know, ladies and gentlemen, that my mother was a brewer."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr Rothwell, in considerable astonishment; and then
asked, "was the business an extensive one?"
"Pretty well, pretty well," was the reply. "She brewed every morning
and night, but she'd only one _dray_ and that was a _tray_, and she'd a
famous large teapot for a vat; we never used hops nor sent our barley to
be malted, what little we used we gave to the fowls; and we never felt
the want of porter, or pale ale, or bitter beer."
"It is a pity that more people are not of your mother's mind," said Mrs
Franklin, laughing.
"So it is indeed; but I shouldn't, perhaps, have said anything about it,
only the teapot you've got in your hand now was my dear old mother's
brewery, and that set me thinking and talking about it."
It was not their host's fault, nor Mr John Randolph's, who acted as
joint entertainer, if their guests did not make a hearty tea. The meal
concluded, Mr Tankardew requested his young friend to bring out some of
his curiosities. These greatly interested all the party--especially
Mrs Franklin and Mary, who were delighted with the traveller's
liveliness and intelligence.
"Show our friends some of your sketches," said the old man. These were
produced, and were principally in water colours, evidently being the
work of a master's hand. As he turned to a rather un-English scene, the
young artist sighed and said, "I have some very sad remembrances
connected with that sketch."
"Pray let us have them," said Mr Tankardew. Mr Randolph complied, and
proceeded: "This is an Australian sketch: you see those curious-looking
trees, they are blue and red gums: there is the wattle, too, with its
almond-scented flowers, and the native lilac. That cottage in the
foreground was put up by an enterprising colonist, who went out from
England some fifteen years ago; you see how lovely its situation is with
its background of hills. I was out late one evening with a young
companion, and we were rather jaded with walking, when we came upon this
cottage. We stood upon no ceremony, but marched in and craved
hospitality, which no one in the bush ever dreamt of refusing. We found
the whole family at supper: the father had died about a year before of
consumption, after he had fenced in his three acres and built his house,
and planted vineyard and peach orchard. There were sheep, too, with a
black fellow for a shepherd, and a stock yard with some fine bullocks in
it; altogether, it was a tidy little property, and a blooming family to
manage it. The widow sat at the head of the table, and her son, a young
man of two-and-twenty, next to her. There were three younger children,
two girls and a boy, all looking bright and healthy. We had a hearty
welcome, and poured out news while they poured out tea, which with
damper (an Australian cake baked on the hearth), and mutton made an
excellent meal. When tea was over we had a good long talk, and found
that the young farmer was an excellent son, and in a fair way to
establish the whole family in prosperity. Well, the time came for
parting, they pressed us to stay the night, but we could not. Just as
we were leaving, my companion took out a flask of spirits, and said,
`Come, let us drink to our next happy meeting, and success to the farm.'
I shall never forget the look of the poor mother, nor of the young man
himself; the old woman turned very pale, and the son very red, and said,
`Thank you all the same, I've done with these things, I've had too much
of them.' `Oh! Nonsense,' my friend said; `a little drop won't hurt
you, perhaps we may never meet again.' `Well, I don't know,' said the
other, in a sort of irresolute way. I could see he was thirsting for
the drink, for his eye sparkled when the flask was produced. I
whispered to my friend to forbear, but he would not. `Nonsense,' he
said; `just a little can do them no harm, it is only friendly to offer
it.' `Just a taste, then, merely a taste,' said our host, and produced
glasses. The mother tried to interfere, but her son frowned her into
silence. So grog was made, and the younger ones, too, must taste it,
and before we left the flask had been emptied. I took none myself, for
never has a drop of intoxicants passed my lips since I first left my
English home. I spoke strongly to my companion when we were on our way
again, but he only laughed at me, and said, `What's the harm?'"
"And what _was_ the harm?" asked Mark, in a rather sarcastic tone.
"I will tell you," replied John Randolph, quietly. "Four years later I
passed alone across the same track, and thought I would look in on my
old entertainer. I found the place, but where were the owners? All was
still as death, little of the fence remained, the stock yard was all to
pieces, the garden was a wilderness, the cottage a wreck. I made
inquiries afterward very diligently, and heard that the young farmer had
taken to drinking, that the younger children had followed his example,
the poor mother was in her grave, and her eldest son a disreputable
vagabond; where the rest were no one knew. Oh! I resolved when I heard
it that never would I under any circumstances offer intoxicating drinks
to others, as I had previously, while myself a total abstainer,
occasionally done."
"But surely," said Mr Rothwell, "we are not answerable for the abuse
which others may make of what is lawful and useful if taken in
moderation. The other day I offered the guard of my train a glass of
ale; he took it; afterward the train ran off the line through his
neglect; it seems he was drunken, but he appeared all right when I gave
him the ale; surely I was not answerable there? The guard ought to have
stopped and refused when he knew he had had enough."
"No, not answerable for the accident, perhaps," said Mr Tankardew; "but
your case and the case just related by my young friend are not quite
parallel, for his companion knew that the farmer had, by his own
confession, been in the habit of exceeding; _you_ didn't know but that
the guard was a moderate man."
"Exactly so," replied the other; "I presumed, of course, that he knew
when to stop."
"And yet, my dear sir," rejoined the old man, earnestly, "isn't it
perilous work offering a stimulant which is so ruinous to tens of
thousands, and has emptied multitudes of homes of health, and peace, and
character?"
"Well, it may be so; I'm certainly beginning to think it anything but
wise getting children into the habit of liking these things;" and he
glanced anxiously at Mark, who appeared intensely absorbed in looking at
some photographs upside down.
There was a few moments' pause, and then the old man said, "Come, let us
have a little music, perhaps Miss Rothwell will favour us."
Nothing loth, the young lady led off in a brilliant sonata, displaying
in the execution more strength of muscle than purity of taste; then came
a duet by the eldest and youngest sisters, and then a song by the
second. Mr Tankardew expressed his satisfaction emphatically at the
conclusion, possibly more at finding the performance ended than at the
performance itself.
Mr John Randolph then seated himself at the piano, at the host's
request, and addressed himself to his work with a loving earnestness
that showed that the soul of music dwelt within him. The very first
chords he struck riveted at once the attention of every one, an
attention which was deepened into surprised delight, as he executed with
perfect finish passages of surpassing brilliancy growing out of the
national airs of many countries--airs which floated out from the
entanglements of the more rapid portions with an earnest pathos that
held every hearer as with a spell of enchantment.
"Marvellous, marvellous! Bravo!" cried both Mr Rothwell and Mark at
the conclusion.
"My young friend," said Mr Tankardew, "will be glad to give lessons in
music, as an occupation. He will be making my house his home at
present."