As yet Bettesworth's cottage by the stream still suited him fairly
well, but he had not lived there for two years without finding out
that it had disadvantages. Of these perhaps the worst was that the
owner was himself only a cottager--an old impoverished man who never
came near the place, and was unable to spend any money on repairing
it. Difficulties were therefore arising, as I learnt one Monday
morning. The reader will observe the day of the week.
_December 9, 1901._--"Didn't it rain about four o'clock this mornin'!"
Bettesworth began, with an emphasis which provoked me to question
whether the rainfall had amounted to a great deal, after all. But he
insisted: "There must ha' bin a smartish lot somewhere. The lake's
full o' water, down as far as Mrs. Skinner's. When the gal come after
the rent yesterday...."
This day being Monday, I exclaimed at his "yesterday." Did he mean it?
"Yes, they always comes Sundays. She says, 'Gran'father told me I was
to look to see whether you'd cleaned out the lake in front of the
cottage.'"
In fact, a fortnight previously a message from the owner had reached
Bettesworth requesting him to do this. The answer given then was
repeated now: "You tell your gran'father he may come an' do it
hisself. I shan't."
"'Oh,' she says" (I continue in Bettesworth's words), "'Mr. Mardon'"
(the tenant of the next cottage) "'said he'd do some.'"
"'He may come and do this if he mind to,' I says. ''Twon't flood
_me_.'" Mardon's cottage was certainly in danger of flooding, should
there come prolonged rain.
"Then I said to her, 'How about our well, then? We en't had no water
ever since I spoke to you 'bout it before.'
"'Oh,' she says, 'they come an' looked at the well Saturday. But
gran'father says 't 'll cost too much. 'T 'll want a lot o' bricks an'
things. If he has it done, he says he'll have to put up your
rent--yours and Mr. Mardon's--'cause you be the only two as pays
anything. En't it a shame?' she says. 'There's that old Mileham--he
earns good money every week, and never pays a ha'penny.'"
At this point I foolishly interrupted, and being told how Mileham
"won't pay, and poor old Mrs. Connor, she en't _got_ it to pay," I
interrupted again, not understanding.
"Hasn't _got_ it to pay? How do you mean?"
"Why, what _have_ she got, sir? All the time her husband was alive,
drawin' his pension, the rent was paid up every pension day. But now
she en't got nothin' comin' in, and that lout of a boy of hers don't
do nothin'. So there's only me and Mardon pays any rent."