_April 17, 1902._--We pass on to April, when bird-notes were sounding
through all the gardens.
"Hark at those starlings!" I said to Bettesworth. And he, "Yes--I
dunno who 'twas I was talkin' to this mornin', sayin' how he liked to
hear 'em. 'So do our guv'nor,' I says. I likes 'em best when there's
two of 'em gibberin' to one another--jest like 's if they was talkin'.
An' they lifts up their feet, an' flaps up their wings, an' they
nods." The old man's words ran rhythmically to suit the action he was
describing; and then, dropping the rhythm, "I likes to hear 'em very
well. And I don't think they be mischieful birds neither, like these
'ere sparrers and caffeys" (chaffinches). "They beggars, I shouldn't
care so much if when they picked out the peas from the ground they'd
eat 'em. But they jest nips the little green top off and leaves it.
Sims as if they does it reg'lar for mischief."
_April 28._--This sunny, objective side of Bettesworth's temperament
may be remembered in connexion with some other remarks of his on a
very different subject. There was at that time a man living near us
whose mere presence tried his patience. The man belonged to one of
the stricter Nonconformist sects, and had the reputation of being
miserly. "Looks as miserable, he do" (so Bettesworth chanced to
describe him), "as miserable as--as sin. I never see such a feller."
At this I laughed, admitting that our neighbour certainly did not look
as if he knew how to enjoy himself.
"He _don't_. Don't sim to have no pleasure, nor 'sociate with anybody.
There! I'd as lief not have a life at all, as have one like his. I'd
do without, if I couldn't do no better'n that."
Bettesworth's judgment was possibly in error; for there is no telling
what mystical joys, what dreams of another world, may have illuminated
this man's inner life, and made him suspicious of people like
Bettesworth and me. But if there were such compensation, Bettesworth's
temperament was incapable of recognizing it, and the point is
instructive. His own indomitable cheerfulness was of the objective
pagan order. The field of his emotions and fancies had never been
cultivated. His thoughts did not stray beyond this world. From such
deep sources of physical sanity his optimism welled up, that he really
needed, or at any rate craved for, no spiritual consolation. Like his
remote ancestors who first invaded this island, he had the habit of
taking things as they came, and of enjoying them greatly on the whole.
He half enjoyed, even while he was irritated by it, the odd figure
presented by this Nonconformist.
_May 7._--A week afterwards he exhibited the same sort of aloof
interest, annoyed and yet amused, in a jibbing horse. A horse had
brought a ton of coal a part of the way down the lane, and then
refused to budge farther; and Bettesworth could not forget the
incident. It tickles me still to recall with what a queer look on his
face he spoke of the noble animal. The expression was the result of
his trying to say his word for _horse_ (not _'oss_, but _'awss_),
while a facetious smile was twitching at the corners of his mouth.
This was several days after the event. At the time of its occurrence,
someone had remarked that the horse had no pluck, and Bettesworth had
rejoined indignantly, "_I'd_ see about his pluck, if I had the drivin'
of 'n!" But after a day or two his indignation turned to quiet gaiety.
"Won't back," he said, "and he won't draw."