LORNA KNOWS HER NURSE
[Illustration: 518.jpg Illustrated Capital]
Having obtained from Benita Odam a very close and full description of
the place where her poor mistress lay, and the marks whereby to know it,
I hastened to Watchett the following morning, before the sun was up,
or any people were about. And so, without interruption, I was in the
churchyard at sunrise.
In the farthest and darkest nook, overgrown with grass, and overhung by
a weeping-tree a little bank of earth betokened the rounding off of a
hapless life. There was nothing to tell of rank, or wealth, of love, or
even pity; nameless as a peasant lay the last (as supposed) of a mighty
race. Only some unskilful hand, probably Master Odam's under his wife's
teaching, had carved a rude L., and a ruder D., upon a large pebble from
the beach, and set it up as a headstone.
I gathered a little grass for Lorna and a sprig of the weeping-tree, and
then returned to the Forest Cat, as Benita's lonely inn was called.
For the way is long from Watchett to Oare; and though you may ride
it rapidly, as the Doones had done on that fatal night, to travel
on wheels, with one horse only, is a matter of time and of prudence.
Therefore, we set out pretty early, three of us and a baby, who could
not well be left behind. The wife of the man who owned the cart had
undertaken to mind the business, and the other babies, upon condition of
having the keys of all the taps left with her.
[Illustration: 519.jpg In the Churchyard]
As the manner of journeying over the moor has been described oft enough
already, I will say no more, except that we all arrived before dusk
of the summer's day, safe at Plover's Barrows. Mistress Benita was
delighted with the change from her dull hard life; and she made many
excellent observations, such as seem natural to a foreigner looking at
our country.
As luck would have it, the first who came to meet us at the gate was
Lorna, with nothing whatever upon her head (the weather being summerly)
but her beautiful hair shed round her; and wearing a sweet white frock
tucked in, and showing her figure perfectly. In her joy she ran straight
up to the cart; and then stopped and gazed at Benita. At one glance her
old nurse knew her: “Oh, the eyes, the eyes!” she cried, and was over
the rail of the cart in a moment, in spite of all her substance. Lorna,
on the other hand, looked at her with some doubt and wonder, as though
having right to know much about her, and yet unable to do so. But when
the foreign woman said something in Roman language, and flung new hay
from the cart upon her, as if in a romp of childhood, the young maid
cried, “Oh, Nita, Nita!” and fell upon her breast, and wept; and after
that looked round at us.
This being so, there could be no doubt as to the power of proving Lady
Lorna's birth, and rights, both by evidence and token. For though we had
not the necklace now--thanks to Annie's wisdom--we had the ring of heavy
gold, a very ancient relic, with which my maid (in her simple way) had
pledged herself to me. And Benita knew this ring as well as she knew her
own fingers, having heard a long history about it; and the effigy on it
of the wild cat was the bearing of the house of Lorne.
For though Lorna's father was a nobleman of high and goodly lineage, her
mother was of yet more ancient and renowned descent, being the last
in line direct from the great and kingly chiefs of Lorne. A wild and
headstrong race they were, and must have everything their own way. Hot
blood was ever among them, even of one household; and their sovereignty
(which more than once had defied the King of Scotland) waned and fell
among themselves, by continual quarrelling. And it was of a piece with
this, that the Doones (who were an offset, by the mother's side, holding
in co-partnership some large property, which had come by the spindle,
as we say) should fall out with the Earl of Lorne, the last but one of
that title.
The daughter of this nobleman had married Sir Ensor Doone; but this,
instead of healing matters, led to fiercer conflict. I never could quite
understand all the ins and outs of it; which none but a lawyer may go
through, and keep his head at the end of it. The motives of mankind are
plainer than the motions they produce. Especially when charity (such
as found among us) sits to judge the former, and is never weary of it;
while reason does not care to trace the latter complications, except for
fee or title.
Therefore it is enough to say, that knowing Lorna to be direct in
heirship to vast property, and bearing especial spite against the house
of which she was the last, the Doones had brought her up with full
intention of lawful marriage; and had carefully secluded her from the
wildest of their young gallants. Of course, if they had been next in
succession, the child would have gone down the waterfall, to save any
further trouble; but there was an intercepting branch of some honest
family; and they being outlaws, would have a poor chance (though the law
loves outlaws) against them. Only Lorna was of the stock; and Lorna they
must marry. And what a triumph against the old earl, for a cursed Doone
to succeed him!
As for their outlawry, great robberies, and grand murders, the veriest
child, nowadays, must know that money heals the whole of that. Even if
they had murdered people of a good position, it would only cost about
twice as much to prove their motives loyal. But they had never slain any
man above the rank of yeoman; and folk even said that my father was the
highest of their victims; for the death of Lorna's mother and brother
was never set to their account.
Pure pleasure it is to any man, to reflect upon all these things. How
truly we discern clear justice, and how well we deal it. If any poor
man steals a sheep, having ten children starving, and regarding it as
mountain game (as a rich man does a hare), to the gallows with him. If
a man of rank beats down a door, smites the owner upon the head, and
honours the wife with attention, it is a thing to be grateful for, and
to slouch smitten head the lower.
While we were full of all these things, and wondering what would happen
next, or what we ought ourselves to do, another very important matter
called for our attention. This was no less than Annie's marriage to the
Squire Faggus. We had tried to put it off again; for in spite of all
advantages, neither my mother nor myself had any real heart for it. Not
that we dwelled upon Tom's short-comings or rather perhaps his going too
far, at the time when he worked the road so. All that was covered by
the King's pardon, and universal respect of the neighbourhood. But our
scruple was this--and the more we talked the more it grew upon us--that
we both had great misgivings as to his future steadiness.
For it would be a thousand pities, we said, for a fine, well-grown, and
pretty maiden (such as our Annie was), useful too, in so many ways, and
lively, and warm-hearted, and mistress of 500 pounds, to throw herself
away on a man with a kind of a turn for drinking. If that last were even
hinted, Annie would be most indignant, and ask, with cheeks as red as
roses, who had ever seen Master Faggus any the worse for liquor indeed?
Her own opinion was, in truth, that he took a great deal too little,
after all his hard work, and hard riding, and coming over the hills to
be insulted! And if ever it lay in her power, and with no one to grudge
him his trumpery glass, she would see that poor Tom had the nourishment
which his cough and his lungs required.
His lungs being quite as sound as mine, this matter was out of all
argument; so mother and I looked at one another, as much as to say, “let
her go upstairs, she will cry and come down more reasonable.” And while
she was gone, we used to say the same thing over and over again; but
without perceiving a cure for it. And we almost always finished up with
the following reflection, which sometimes came from mother's lips, and
sometimes from my own: “Well, well, there is no telling. None can say
how a man may alter; when he takes to matrimony. But if we could only
make Annie promise to be a little firm with him!”
I fear that all this talk on our part only hurried matters forward,
Annie being more determined every time we pitied her. And at last Tom
Faggus came, and spoke as if he were on the King's road, with a pistol
at my head, and one at mother's. “No more fast and loose,” he cried.
“either one thing or the other. I love the maid, and she loves me; and
we will have one another, either with your leave, or without it. How
many more times am I to dance over these vile hills, and leave my
business, and get nothing more than a sigh or a kiss, and 'Tom, I must
wait for mother'? You are famous for being straightforward, you Ridds.
Just treat me as I would treat you now.”
I looked at my mother; for a glance from her would have sent Tom out of
the window; but she checked me with her hand, and said, “You have
some ground of complaint, sir; I will not deny it. Now I will be as
straight-forward with you, as even a Ridd is supposed to be. My son and
myself have all along disliked your marriage with Annie. Not for what
you have been so much, as for what we fear you will be. Have patience,
one moment, if you please. We do not fear your taking to the highway
life again; for that you are too clever, no doubt, now that you have
property. But we fear that you will take to drinking, and to squandering
money. There are many examples of this around us; and we know what the
fate of the wife is. It has been hard to tell you this, under our own
roof, and with our own--” Here mother hesitated.
“Spirits, and cider, and beer,” I broke in; “out with it, like a Ridd,
mother; as he will have all of it.”
“Spirits, and cider, and beer,” said mother very firmly after me; and
then she gave way and said, “You know, Tom, you are welcome to every
drop and more of it.”
Now Tom must have had a far sweeter temper than ever I could claim; for
I should have thrust my glass away, and never have taken another drop
in the house where such a check had met me. But instead of that, Master
Faggus replied, with a pleasant smile,--
“I know that I am welcome, good mother; and to prove it, I will have
some more.”
And thereupon be mixed himself another glass of hollands with lemon and
hot water, yet pouring it very delicately.
“Oh, I have been so miserable--take a little more, Tom,” said mother,
handing the bottle.
“Yes, take a little more,” I said; “you have mixed it over weak, Tom.”
“If ever there was a sober man,” cried Tom, complying with our request;
“if ever there was in Christendom a man of perfect sobriety, that man is
now before you. Shall we say to-morrow week, mother? It will suit your
washing day.”
“How very thoughtful you are, Tom! Now John would never have thought of
that, in spite of all his steadiness.”
“Certainly not,” I answered proudly; “when my time comes for Lorna, I
shall not study Betty Muxworthy.”
In this way the Squire got over us; and Farmer Nicholas Snowe was
sent for, to counsel with mother about the matter and to set his two
daughters sewing.
When the time for the wedding came, there was such a stir and commotion
as had never been known in the parish of Oare since my father's
marriage. For Annie's beauty and kindliness had made her the pride of
the neighbourhood; and the presents sent her, from all around, were
enough to stock a shop with. Master Stickles, who now could walk, and
who certainly owed his recovery, with the blessing of God, to Annie,
presented her with a mighty Bible, silver-clasped, and very handsome,
beating the parson's out and out, and for which he had sent to Taunton.
Even the common troopers, having tasted her cookery many times (to help
out their poor rations), clubbed together, and must have given at least
a week's pay apiece, to have turned out what they did for her. This was
no less than a silver pot, well-designed, but suited surely rather
to the bridegroom's taste than bride's. In a word, everybody gave her
things.
And now my Lorna came to me, with a spring of tears in appealing
eyes--for she was still somewhat childish, or rather, I should say, more
childish now than when she lived in misery--and she placed her little
hand in mine, and she was half afraid to speak, and dropped her eyes for
me to ask.
“What is it, little darling?” I asked, as I saw her breath come fast;
for the smallest emotion moved her form.
“You don't think, John, you don't think, dear, that you could lend me
any money?”
“All I have got,” I answered; “how much do you want, dear heart?”
“I have been calculating; and I fear that I cannot do any good with less
than ten pounds, John.”
Here she looked up at me, with horror at the grandeur of the sum, and
not knowing what I could think of it. But I kept my eyes from her.
“Ten pounds!” I said in my deepest voice, on purpose to have it out
in comfort, when she should be frightened; “what can you want with ten
pounds, child?”
[Illustration: 524.jpg Kept my eyes from her]
“That is my concern,” said Lorna, plucking up her spirit at this: “when
a lady asks for a loan, no gentleman pries into the cause of her asking
it.”
“That may be as may be,” I answered in a judicial manner; “ten pounds,
or twenty, you shall have. But I must know the purport.”
“Then that you never shall know, John. I am very sorry for asking you.
It is not of the smallest consequence. Oh, dear, no.” Herewith she was
running away.
“Oh, dear, yes,” I replied; “it is of very great consequence; and I
understand the whole of it. You want to give that stupid Annie, who
has lost you a hundred thousand pounds, and who is going to be married
before us, dear--God only can tell why, being my younger sister--you
want to give her a wedding present. And you shall do it, darling;
because it is so good of you. Don't you know your title, love? How
humble you are with us humble folk. You are Lady Lorna something, so far
as I can make out yet: and you ought not even to speak to us. You will
go away and disdain us.”
“If you please, talk not like that, John. I will have nothing to do with
it, if it comes between you and me, John.”
“You cannot help yourself,” said I. And then she vowed that she could
and would. And rank and birth were banished from between our lips in no
time.
“What can I get her good enough? I am sure I do not know,” she asked:
“she has been so kind and good to me, and she is such a darling. How I
shall miss her, to be sure! By the bye, you seem to think, John, that I
shall be rich some day.”
“Of course you will. As rich as the French King who keeps ours. Would
the Lord Chancellor trouble himself about you, if you were poor?”
“Then if I am rich, perhaps you would lend me twenty pounds, dear John.
Ten pounds would be very mean for a wealthy person to give her.”
To this I agreed, upon condition that I should make the purchase myself,
whatever it might be. For nothing could be easier than to cheat Lorna
about the cost, until time should come for her paying me. And this was
better than to cheat her for the benefit of our family. For this end,
and for many others, I set off to Dulverton, bearing more commissions,
more messages, and more questions than a man of thrice my memory might
carry so far as the corner where the sawpit is. And to make things
worse, one girl or other would keep on running up to me, or even after
me (when started) with something or other she had just thought of, which
she could not possibly do without, and which I must be sure to remember,
as the most important of the whole.
To my dear mother, who had partly outlived the exceeding value of
trifles, the most important matter seemed to ensure Uncle Reuben's
countenance and presence at the marriage. And if I succeeded in this,
I might well forget all the maidens' trumpery. This she would have been
wiser to tell me when they were out of hearing; for I left her to fight
her own battle with them; and laughing at her predicament, promised to
do the best I could for all, so far as my wits would go.
Uncle Reuben was not at home, but Ruth, who received me very kindly,
although without any expressions of joy, was sure of his return in the
afternoon, and persuaded me to wait for him. And by the time that I had
finished all I could recollect of my orders, even with paper to help
me, the old gentleman rode into the yard, and was more surprised than
pleased to see me. But if he was surprised, I was more than that--I was
utterly astonished at the change in his appearance since the last time I
had seen him. From a hale, and rather heavy man, gray-haired, but plump,
and ruddy, he was altered to a shrunken, wizened, trembling, and almost
decrepit figure. Instead of curly and comely locks, grizzled indeed, but
plentiful, he had only a few lank white hairs scattered and flattened
upon his forehead. But the greatest change of all was in the expression
of his eyes, which had been so keen, and restless, and bright, and
a little sarcastic. Bright indeed they still were, but with a slow
unhealthy lustre; their keenness was turned to perpetual outlook, their
restlessness to a haggard want. As for the humour which once gleamed
there (which people who fear it call sarcasm) it had been succeeded by
stares of terror, and then mistrust, and shrinking. There was none of
the interest in mankind, which is needful even for satire.
“Now what can this be?” thought I to myself, “has the old man lost all
his property, or taken too much to strong waters?”
“Come inside, John Ridd,” he said; “I will have a talk with you. It is
cold out here; and it is too light. Come inside, John Ridd, boy.”
I followed him into a little dark room, quite different from Ruth
Huckaback's. It was closed from the shop by an old division of boarding,
hung with tanned canvas; and the smell was very close and faint. Here
there was a ledger desk, and a couple of chairs, and a long-legged
stool.
“Take the stool,” said Uncle Reuben, showing me in very quietly, “it is
fitter for your height, John. Wait a moment; there is no hurry.”
Then he slipped out by another door, and closing it quickly after him,
told the foreman and waiting-men that the business of the day was done.
They had better all go home at once; and he would see to the fastenings.
Of course they were only too glad to go; but I wondered at his sending
them, with at least two hours of daylight left.
However, that was no business of mine, and I waited, and pondered
whether fair Ruth ever came into this dirty room, and if so, how she
kept her hands from it. For Annie would have had it upside down in about
two minutes, and scrubbed, and brushed, and dusted, until it looked
quite another place; and yet all this done without scolding and
crossness; which are the curse of clean women, and ten times worse than
the dustiest dust.
Uncle Ben came reeling in, not from any power of liquor, but because he
was stiff from horseback, and weak from work and worry.
“Let me be, John, let me be,” he said, as I went to help him; “this is
an unkind dreary place; but many a hundred of good gold Carolus has been
turned in this place, John.”
“Not a doubt about it, sir,” I answered in my loud and cheerful manner;
“and many another hundred, sir; and may you long enjoy them!”
“My boy, do you wish me to die?” he asked, coming up close to my stool,
and regarding me with a shrewd though blear-eyed gaze; “many do. Do you,
John?”
“Come,” said I, “don't ask such nonsense. You know better than that,
Uncle Ben. Or else, I am sorry for you. I want you to live as long as
possible, for the sake of--” Here I stopped.
“For the sake of what, John? I knew it is not for my own sake. For the
sake of what, my boy?”
“For the sake of Ruth,” I answered; “if you must have all the truth. Who
is to mind her when you are gone?”
“But if you knew that I had gold, or a manner of getting gold, far more
than ever the sailors got out of the Spanish galleons, far more than
ever was heard of; and the secret was to be yours, John; yours after me
and no other soul's--then you would wish me dead, John.” Here he eyed me
as if a speck of dust in my eyes should not escape him.
“You are wrong, Uncle Ben; altogether wrong. For all the gold ever heard
or dreamed of, not a wish would cross my heart to rob you of one day of
life.”
At last he moved his eyes from mine; but without any word, or sign, to
show whether he believed, or disbelieved. Then he went to a chair, and
sat with his chin upon the ledger-desk; as if the effort of probing me
had been too much for his weary brain. “Dreamed of! All the gold ever
dreamed of! As if it were but a dream!” he muttered; and then he closed
his eyes to think.
“Good Uncle Reuben,” I said to him, “you have been a long way to-day,
sir. Let me go and get you a glass of good wine. Cousin Ruth knows where
to find it.”
“How do you know how far I have been?” he asked, with a vicious look
at me. “And Cousin Ruth! You are very pat with my granddaughter's name,
young man!”
“It would be hard upon me, sir, not to know my own cousin's name.”
“Very well. Let that go by. You have behaved very badly to Ruth. She
loves you; and you love her not.”
At this I was so wholly amazed--not at the thing itself, I mean, but at
his knowledge of it--that I could not say a single word; but looked, no
doubt, very foolish.
“You may well be ashamed, young man,” he cried, with some triumph over
me, “you are the biggest of all fools, as well as a conceited coxcomb.
What can you want more than Ruth? She is a little damsel, truly; but
finer men than you, John Ridd, with all your boasted strength and
wrestling, have wedded smaller maidens. And as for quality, and
value--bots! one inch of Ruth is worth all your seven feet put
together.”
Now I am not seven feet high; nor ever was six feet eight inches, in
my very prime of life; and nothing vexes me so much as to make me out a
giant, and above human sympathy, and human scale of weakness. It cost
me hard to hold my tongue; which luckily is not in proportion to my
stature. And only for Ruth's sake I held it. But Uncle Ben (being old
and worn) was vexed by not having any answer, almost as much as a woman
is.
“You want me to go on,” he continued, with a look of spite at me, “about
my poor Ruth's love for you, to feed your cursed vanity. Because a
set of asses call you the finest man in England; there is no maid (I
suppose) who is not in love with you. I believe you are as deep as you
are long, John Ridd. Shall I ever get to the bottom of your character?”
This was a little too much for me. Any insult I could take (with
goodwill) from a white-haired man, and one who was my relative; unless
it touched my love for Lorna, or my conscious modesty. Now both of
these were touched to the quick by the sentences of the old gentleman.
Therefore, without a word, I went; only making a bow to him.
But women who are (beyond all doubt) the mothers of all mischief, also
nurse that babe to sleep, when he is too noisy. And there was Ruth, as I
took my horse (with a trunk of frippery on him), poor little Ruth was
at the bridle, and rusting all the knops of our town-going harness with
tears.
[Illustration: 531.jpg Little Ruth was at the bridle]
“Good-bye dear,” I said, as she bent her head away from me; “shall I put
you up on the saddle, dear?”
“Cousin Ridd, you may take it lightly,” said Ruth, turning full upon me,
“and very likely you are right, according to your nature”--this was
the only cutting thing the little soul ever said to me--“but oh, Cousin
Ridd, you have no idea of the pain you will leave behind you.”
“How can that be so, Ruth, when I am as good as ordered to be off the
premises?”
“In the first place, Cousin Ridd, grandfather will be angry with
himself, for having so ill-used you. And now he is so weak and poorly,
that he is always repenting. In the next place I shall scold him first,
until he admits his sorrow; and when he has admitted it, I shall scold
myself for scolding him. And then he will come round again, and think
that I was hard on him; and end perhaps by hating you--for he is like a
woman now, John.”
That last little touch of self-knowledge in Ruth, which she delivered
with a gleam of some secret pleasantry, made me stop and look closely
at her: but she pretended not to know it. “There is something in this
child,” I thought, “very different from other girls. What it is I cannot
tell; for one very seldom gets at it.”
At any rate the upshot was that the good horse went back to stable, and
had another feed of corn, while my wrath sank within me. There are two
things, according to my experience (which may not hold with another man)
fitted beyond any others to take hot tempers out of us. The first is
to see our favourite creatures feeding, and licking up their food, and
happily snuffling over it, yet sparing time to be grateful, and showing
taste and perception; the other is to go gardening boldly, in the spring
of the year, without any misgiving about it, and hoping the utmost of
everything. If there be a third anodyne, approaching these two in power,
it is to smoke good tobacco well, and watch the setting of the moon; and
if this should only be over the sea, the result is irresistible.
Master Huckaback showed no especial signs of joy at my return; but
received me with a little grunt, which appeared to me to mean, “Ah, I
thought he would hardly be fool enough to go.” I told him how sorry I
was for having in some way offended him; and he answered that I did well
to grieve for one at least of my offences. To this I made no reply, as
behoves a man dealing with cross and fractious people; and presently he
became better-tempered, and sent little Ruth for a bottle of wine. She
gave me a beautiful smile of thanks for my forbearance as she passed;
and I knew by her manner that she would bring the best bottle in all the
cellar.
As I had but little time to spare (although the days were long and
light) we were forced to take our wine with promptitude and rapidity;
and whether this loosened my uncle's tongue, or whether he meant
beforehand to speak, is now almost uncertain. But true it is that he
brought his chair very near to mine, after three or four glasses, and
sent Ruth away upon some errand which seemed of small importance. At
this I was vexed, for the room always looked so different without her.
“Come, Jack,” he said, “here's your health, young fellow, and a good and
obedient wife to you. Not that your wife will ever obey you though; you
are much too easy-tempered. Even a bitter and stormy woman might live
in peace with you, Jack. But never you give her the chance to try. Marry
some sweet little thing, if you can. If not, don't marry any. Ah, we
have the maid to suit you, my lad, in this old town of Dulverton.”
“Have you so, sir? But perhaps the maid might have no desire to suit
me.”
“That you may take my word she has. The colour of this wine will prove
it. The little sly hussy has been to the cobwebbed arch of the cellar,
where she has no right to go, for any one under a magistrate. However,
I am glad to see it, and we will not spare it, John. After my time,
somebody, whoever marries little Ruth, will find some rare wines there,
I trow, and perhaps not know the difference.”
Thinking of this the old man sighed, and expected me to sigh after him.
But a sigh is not (like a yawn) infectious; and we are all more prone
to be sent to sleep than to sorrow by one another. Not but what a sigh
sometimes may make us think of sighing.
“Well, sir,” cried I, in my sprightliest manner, which rouses up most
people, “here's to your health and dear little Ruth's: and may you live
to knock off the cobwebs from every bottle in under the arch. Uncle
Reuben, your life and health, sir?”
With that I took my glass thoughtfully, for it was wondrous good; and
Uncle Ben was pleased to see me dwelling pleasantly on the subject with
parenthesis, and self-commune, and oral judgment unpronounced, though
smacking of fine decision. “_Curia vult advisari_,” as the lawyers say;
which means, “Let us have another glass, and then we can think about
it.”
“Come now, John,” said Uncle Ben, laying his wrinkled hand on my knee,
when he saw that none could heed us, “I know that you have a sneaking
fondness for my grandchild Ruth. Don't interrupt me now; you have; and
to deny it will only provoke me.”
“I do like Ruth, sir,” I said boldly, for fear of misunderstanding; “but
I do not love her.”
“Very well; that makes no difference. Liking may very soon be loving (as
some people call it) when the maid has money to help her.”
“But if there be, as there is in my case--”
“Once for all, John, not a word. I do not attempt to lead you into any
engagement with little Ruth; neither will I blame you (though I may be
disappointed) if no such engagement should ever be. But whether you will
have my grandchild, or whether you will not--and such a chance is
rarely offered to a fellow of your standing”--Uncle Ben despised all
farmers--“in any case I have at least resolved to let you know my
secret; and for two good reasons. The first is that it wears me out
to dwell upon it, all alone, and the second is that I can trust you to
fulfil a promise. Moreover, you are my next of kin, except among
the womankind; and you are just the man I want, to help me in my
enterprise.”
“And I will help you, sir,” I answered, fearing some conspiracy, “in
anything that is true, and loyal, and according to the laws of the
realm.”
“Ha, ha!” cried the old man, laughing until his eyes ran over, and
spreading out his skinny hands upon his shining breeches, “thou hast
gone the same fools' track as the rest; even as spy Stickles went, and
all his precious troopers. Landing of arms at Glenthorne, and Lynmouth,
wagons escorted across the moor, sounds of metal and booming noises!
Ah, but we managed it cleverly, to cheat even those so near to
us. Disaffection at Taunton, signs of insurrection at Dulverton,
revolutionary tanner at Dunster! We set it all abroad, right well. And
not even you to suspect our work; though we thought at one time that you
watched us. Now who, do you suppose, is at the bottom of all this Exmoor
insurgency, all this western rebellion--not that I say there is none,
mind--but who is at the bottom of it?”
“Either Mother Melldrum,” said I, being now a little angry, “or else old
Nick himself.”
“Nay, old Uncle Reuben!” Saying this, Master Huckaback cast back his
coat, and stood up, and made the most of himself.
[Illustration: 534.jpg Master Huckaback cast back his coat]
“Well!” cried I, being now quite come to the limits of my intellect,
“then, after all, Captain Stickles was right in calling you a rebel,
sir!”
“Of course he was; could so keen a man be wrong about an old fool like
me? But come, and see our rebellion, John. I will trust you now with
everything. I will take no oath from you; only your word to keep
silence; and most of all from your mother.”
“I will give you my word,” I said, although liking not such pledges;
which make a man think before he speaks in ordinary company, against
his usual practices. However, I was now so curious, that I thought of
nothing else; and scarcely could believe at all that Uncle Ben was quite
right in his head.
“Take another glass of wine, my son,” he cried with a cheerful
countenance, which made him look more than ten years younger; “you shall
come into partnership with me: your strength will save us two horses,
and we always fear the horse work. Come and see our rebellion, my boy;
you are a made man from to-night.”
“But where am I to come and see it? Where am I to find it, sir?”
“Meet me,” he answered, yet closing his hands, and wrinkling with
doubt his forehead, “come alone, of course; and meet me at the Wizard's
Slough, at ten to-morrow morning.”