be wishful for them to be axed; but of course nothing in the world would
be done by mother that could hurt your feelings.--Too tender herself for
that. So I was to find out if you were for it or against it; and I was
to learn if there was any other folk as you’d like specially invited
that we mightn’t hap to know."
"There’s four or five must be there," said Mrs. Bowden. "God knows I
don’t want ’em; but even at a wedding it ban’t all joy, and people often
have to be axed for the sake of the unborn, though not for their own
sakes by any means."
"I met with the ’Dumpling’ up over a bit ago," said Mr. Bowden. "Going
shooting he was--might have been going to shoot hisself from the look of
him; for a mournfuller man never throwed a shadow. But we had a tell,
and I hear as Bartholomew Stanbury means to give a handsome party."
Margaret smiled.
"So he does then. ’Tis wonnerful how father’s coming out. Of course
the farm’s too small and too far off from the neighbours; but Mr. Moses
has very kindly given us the loan of his shop nigh the church--the big
room."
"’Twill smell of cobbler’s wax, but that will be forgotten when
Shillabeer takes the covers off," declared Mr. Bowden. "As for him, I
could find it in my heart to wish he wasn’t going to be there at all,
for ’twill remind him of his wife and cast him down till he’ll blubber
into the plates, but of course he must be on the spot as he provides the
dinner. And Charles Moses must be asked, if he’s going to lend his big
room, though, to be honest, I never liked the man since he made all that
fuss about the fight. Pious it may have been, but godly it weren’t, for
fighting be the backbone of human nature, and you’ll find that the
Lord’s chosen hadn’t got far before He set ’em at it, hammer and tongs."
"But about the Crockers," said Margaret; "and if I may say so, I hope
there’s no objection, for David and Bartley be very good friends now,
and I’m sure Bartley’s terrible sorry he so far forgot hisself as to
kiss Rhoda."
"He can come and kiss her again for all I care," replied Elias. "All
the nation may be at the wedding and welcome. There’s only one living
man won’t be there if I’m anybody. But Crocker’s welcome, and his
managing mother, and his Aunt Susan also."
"I don’t like Nanny Crocker myself," confessed Mrs. Bowden. "She’s a
thought too swallowed up in vain-glory and seems to think that her
family be something special and above common earth. But I had the best
of her in argument when my twins was born, and I can afford to be
large-minded. As for Susan, there’s plenty of sense in her, only she
don’t dare to show it."
"Bartley’s learnt upholstering," said Madge. "He could earn two pound a
week in the world now at any time, and he’s going to look out for a
wife."
"All to the good and all sound sense," replied the warrener. "Well, us
had better ask him to tea. Here’s plenty here for all markets--our
Sophia, with all the larning of a widow and youth still on her side, and
our Rhoda--though ’twill have to be a frosty pattern of man to take her
fancy, and our Dorcas--not much to look at, but very anxious to get
married seemingly."
"’Tis Screech--that bowldacious ragamuffin!" burst out Mrs. Bowden. "To
think such a man should dare to offer for any daughter of mine. A
poaching, ragged rascal--more like one of they tramps than a respectable
man. Faither’s going to lay his horsewhip round the fellow’s shoulders
if he comes up here again--ban’t you, faither?"
"Yes," said Elias, "I am. And don’t you ask him to the wedding,
Margaret, because I wouldn’t have it."
Margaret was true to herself.
"Poor chap," she said. "I’m very sorry he can’t have Dorcas, but of
course you know best. Perhaps he’ll mend some day."
"That sort don’t mend. But they’ve a terrible power to mar--like one
rotten apple will soon spoil a bushel. And if Dorcas grumbles to you
about it, as she will, because you’re the sort that hears all the
trouble of the world, then you mind and talk sense to her. I’m a
reasonable man and I wouldn’t say ’no’ to a hedge-tacker so long as he’s
honest; but William Screech don’t have no child of mine."
The subject changed and Sarah spoke of all that David’s departure meant
to her.
"Can’t see the place without him for tears," she said. "’Tis weak, but
they will flow every time I say to myself ’one day less.’ You see, it
ban’t as if we was all here, then I’d say nought. But Sophia, though
she went, was soon back again; and let faither say what he pleases about
Joshua, Joshua can’t stand to work day and night like David, and Dorcas
won’t look after the dogs like Rhoda. ’Tis a great upheaval, look at it
which way you will. If my son Drake had only been spared, of course all
things would have fallen out differently."
"Yes," admitted Elias; "and if the moon had only been made of green
cheese--us should always have had plenty of maggots for fishing."
Upon this great aphorism Margaret Stanbury took her leave; and Dorcas,
who had been waiting for her, now approached in a mood neither lightsome
nor joyous.
"I’ve got the headache," she said. "I’ve been crying my eyes out for a
fortnight and I wish I was dead."
"Dorcas!"
"’Tis all along of Billy Screech--cruel and wicked I call it. But us
will be upsides with father and mother yet. Why for shouldn’t I marry
the man if I love him? Such a clever man as he is--full of ideas and
quite as able to make a living, I’m sure, as anybody else. And I want
for your mother to ax him to the wedding, Madge--just to pay father out.
If he sees Billy there his pleasure will be spoilt--and sarve him
right--the cruel old man!"
"Don’t feel so savage about it. Bide your time and tell Billy to stand
to work and get regular wages and make Mr. Bowden respect him. I’ve
often heard Bart say that Mr. Screech is wonnerful clever in all sorts
of queer ways, and ’tis only the poaching makes your father angry, I
expect."
"He’s given all that up long ago. Will you ax him to your wedding?"
"I can’t, Dorcas. Mr. Bowden has just expressly forbidden it. I’m
very, very sorry. Perhaps after I’m married I shall be able to help
you; but it rests with Billy."
"I’ll marry him," said Dorcas. "And not a thousand fathers shall stop
it; and I’ll tell you another thing: it won’t be long afore I do. Just
you wait and see."
*CHAPTER IV*
*THE WEDDING*
"’Tis the difference in our natures," said David Bowden’s mother. "Some
folk haven’t never ended their work, and some don’t never begin theirs.
I’ve known men and women--as thought they were busy people too--who died
without ever tasting what I call a day’s work."
Sarah walked between Nanny Crocker and Constance Stanbury, and the
matrons on her right and left admitted the truth of the remark. They
had all come from church; they had seen David and Margaret made man and
wife; and it was during a brief review of the immediate past and its
arduous duties that Mrs. Bowden uttered her philosophical observation.
"And rabbits going on all the time, mind you," she added. "Come what
may, in season, year in, year out, Sundays only excepted, the rabbits
goes over all--even a son’s wedding. ’Tis the ordering of nature and
we’ve got to bend under it."
"A very tidy little wedding," said Mrs. Crocker, who had pardoned all
parties on hearing that her son was to be best man. David owned no
close intimate of his sex, and since he and Bartley were now become
excellent friends, he thought upon this idea and his old antagonist
agreed to the proposal. For Nanny’s son could feel, but not deeply.
The past was past, and its disappointments had left no heavier scar on
his mind than David’s fist upon his face. He could view the prospect of
being best man at Margaret’s wedding without disturbing emotions, and he
accepted the invitation gladly. True he wished once to marry her and
would have been proud to do so; but when she chose elsewhere, his desire
towards her perished. Other interests had taken its place, and he found
himself well able to enjoy the friendship of David and Margaret without
any tinge of bitterness even when the past filled his mind. It seldom
intruded, for he was of the sort who lack much instinct of retrospection
and, childlike, trust all their future happiness on the hope and promise
of great to-morrows.
"A very tidy little wedding," repeated Mrs. Crocker, as though uttering
a challenge. The mothers of the bride and bridegroom had waited each
for the other to speak upon the first utterance of this graceful
compliment; but now Mrs. Stanbury responded.
"Thank you for that kind word, I’m sure," she said. "Coming from you it
will be a delight to all the parties to hear it, and I know Madge will
be proud when I tell her. We was up altering her dress till the small
hours, and it didn’t fit to the last. No doubt you noted that ruckle
right across the back of her stays, especially when she knelt down. But
I hope you won’t blame us. We did our best."
"A thing like that is of small account," declared Mrs. Crocker
graciously. "Lord! how they’m ringing the heart out of the bells, to be
sure. They never peal like that o’ Sundays."
Mr. Moses approached and shook hands with each of the women in turn.
"No," he said; "the fellows be ringing for the best beloved young woman
in the countryside to-day; that’s why you hear what you do in the bells,
my dears. Of a Sunday they’m ringing to worship and the glory of the
Lord, all steady and solemn. ’Twouldn’t be respectful to the Throne of
Grace to peal so free as that."
Then he became personal.
"When I seed you three ladies come through the coffin gate, ’My stars,’
I said, ’there’s a bit of summer flower garden come back into winter!’
’Twas your bonnets, you must know. Such flowers I never did see out of
nature, or in it for that matter. And in church--when the sun comed
through Christ washing the Apostles’ feet--as it do about mid-day at
this season, and fell on your bonnet, Mrs. Crocker, ’twas as though a
dazzling rainbow had broke loose in the holy place."
Mr. Bowden joined them and whispered to his wife. He was clad in Sunday
black, but, to mark the great occasion, wore a blue-green tie with an
old-fashioned garnet breastpin and chain in it.
"Did you see that scamp, Billy Screech, in church?" he asked.
"No," she answered; "but ’tis a free country: us couldn’t forbid him to
come there."
Rhoda, the widowed Sophia in a sentimental spirit, and Dorcas followed
together. All were clad in new finery and all were quite silent. Mr.
Hartley Crocker approached them and took off his hat. He remarked their
moods and observed that Rhoda only was cheerful. She looked superb, he
thought, in her purple cloth dress and little hat of squirrel fur.
"Cheer me up," he said. "I’ve got to propose the bride and bridegroom
after the wedding, and I’m horribly frighted to have to do it. I’d
almost sooner be fighting again, Miss Rhoda."
"I doubt you’ll come well out of it," she said
"Did I hand David the ring all right?"
"I suppose so. The ring’s in its proper place now--that’s all that
matters."
She was indifferent, but not absolutely cold. She had, he thought,
forgiven him, and that made the day pleasant to him. It was the first
time since the tragic moment at the Pixies’ House that she had directly
spoken to Mr. Crocker; and the sound of her voice, though not very
mellow, yet gave him the greatest satisfaction.
"Did you take the best man’s kiss when you was in the vestry?" asked
Dorcas.
The interrogation was far from being a happy one; yet Bartley made a
masterly answer, intended for other ears than those of the questioner.
As a matter of fact, he had forgotten the immemorial privilege or most
certainly he had exercised it. But now he was glad that he had
forgotten.
"No," he answered. "There’s a lot of silly old customs better left out,
Miss Dorcas. ’Tis not a comely thing for any male to kiss a bride but
her father or her husband."
This virtuous sentiment was directed at Rhoda, but she made no sign save
a perceptible pursing of her lips.
Then the party, led by bride and bridegroom, passed through rows of the
folk and swiftly reached the workshop of Mr. Moses near the bull-ring.
It had been cleared for the occasion, and certain busy, kindly spirits
had decorated it and concealed its somewhat naked and austere
proportions with garlands of holly and laurel and trophies of coloured
tissue paper. The place smelt of leather and cobbler’s wax; but, as Mr.
Bowden had prophesied in the past, these harmless odours vanished when
the meal began.
Thirty people sat down to dinner, and Reuben Shillabeer, with his
immense back view presented to the company, carved at a side table. To
the windows of the chamber small, inquisitive boys and girls succeeded
in climbing. They pressed their noses and cheeks flat against the
glass, the better to see the glories within; and, thus distorted, their
small faces made an unlovely decoration. From time to time Ernest
Maunder wiped his mouth, rose from his seat at the table near the
entrance, and drove the little ones away with vague threats familiar in
his calling; but they feared him not and all climbed up again when he
returned to his plate.
There were present the whole family of the Bowdens, the family of the
Stanburys and the family of the Crockers. Mr. Moses occupied a seat
beside the bride’s mother, and strove, without success, to rouse a
spirit of complacence and satisfaction in her; Mr. Timothy Mattacott, as
Mr. Maunder’s friend, sat by Mr. Maunder; and he showed extreme
deference to everybody, because this was the greatest social experience
of his life; while as for Simon Snell, who had also been invited, his
beard shone with pomatum, and he experienced a real satisfaction in
finding himself exactly opposite Rhoda, and in regarding the meal that
she made and the two full glasses of beer that she drank with it.
"Will there or won’t there be wine?" secretly asked Mrs. Crocker of Mr.
Moses.
"From the large way in which everything has been carried out so far, and
the loads of food over, I believe Bartholomew Stanbury has run to it,"
he murmured under his breath.
And he was right.
"Afore we come to the healths, I’ll thank you to open they six bottles
of brown sherry wine, Reuben," cried out the giver of the feast in a
hearty voice, when the apple tarts and cream began to be eaten.
"Only got to say the word," responded Shillabeer.
"All’s ready."
He was near Margaret as he spoke, and she put up her hand and stopped
him.
"And you’ve got to drink too, mind," she said. "You’ve done everything
as only you could do it. I never did dream of such a wonderful dinner
in all my days; and to see all these beautiful wreaths and ribbons on
the ceiling! I want to be thanking everybody. ’Tis almost too much
kindness."
"Never!" he answered. "If I could put gold and diamonds in the food for
you, I would; and them as hung up the adornments never did a bit of work
with better appetite."
The wine was opened and poured into thirty glasses.
"There’s only one health, or I should say two in one, to be drunk,"
explained Mr. Stanbury; "and Mr. Crocker here have kindly consented to
do the speechifying."
Mrs. Bowden, rather to her own surprise, grew lachrymose with the
dessert. She cheered up, however, when Bartley rose to propose the
health of the bride and bridegroom. To the habitually taciturn folk
about him, his flow of speech appeared astounding, and not a few agreed
that, though Crocker never did any work, yet his native talents were
extraordinary and might have led him to any height of achievement.
"Upon my word," admitted the bridegroom’s father, "it can’t be denied
that the chap--light-minded though he may be, here and there--has got
amazing gifts. In fact, to be honest, he can turn his hand to
anything--larn a trade, fight a great fight and run into mouth-speech as
easy and flowing as a parson. He’s a wonder--though I say it to your
face, ma’am."
He made this handsome criticism to Bartley’s mother, and she explained
how that Sheepstor as yet knew but a fraction of the truth concerning
her son. That the warrener spoke thus, however, largely warmed Nanny
Crocker’s heart after her second glass of brown sherry; and she told
Susan later in the day that there was rather more in Elias Bowden than
met the eye.
Bartley received a cheer when he rose and a still louder round when he
sat down again.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I beg leave to ask you all to drink
long life and happiness to our friends David and Madge Bowden, who this
day have joined hands for holy matrimony. I know ’em both and can give
them both a very good character, I assure you. As for Madge, she’s just
a warm, loving heart on two legs--all heart; and if you want to know
what she is, don’t ask her, but ask the old people, and the terrible
poor people, and them that be badly off for food and friends. They’ll
tell you all about her. But you prosperous people, all sitting around
here waiting to have a dash at your sherry--you don’t know nothing about
her. She’s a good angel, that’s what Madge Stanbury have been ever
since she could run to pick up some baby smaller than herself; and
that’s what Madge Bowden will be to her dying day. As for David here,
last time him and me met in company, he was the best man, I believe. No
use for you to shake your head, David. Bested I was; but to-day I’m the
best man and he’ve got to sing second. And I tell him to his face that
he’s a right down good chap, and every good man be proud to know him.
And, for my part, I think such a lot of David that I’d challenge him to
fight again this day three months, but that I very well know what Madge
would say about it. Besides, there’s one or two other people in the
world besides David to be thought upon, and, though I know ’twould cheer
Mr. Shillabeer up a lot if we could get Mr. Fogo down again and have
another fight, I’m afraid we’re all too happy to want to go fighting;
and we can’t all hope to have David’s luck in the ring and out. Well,
he had one brave, beautiful woman in his corner when he fought me; and
she helped him to beat me without a doubt; and now he has got another
brave, beautiful woman in his corner, and she’ll help him to win
whatever battles he may have to fight. And here’s good luck and long
life and happiness and content for them and God bless the pair of ’em
from this day for ever!"
Everybody rose, and David and Madge in their ignorance also rose, but
were thrust back into their seats again. Immense applause welcomed
Bartley’s great oratory, but for his part he kept his eyes on one face,
while he drank the health that he had proposed. Rhoda, however, did not
return the gaze. She had blushed faintly at the sudden allusion to
herself and the cheer from the men that punctuated it; but Bartley’s
craft and rhetoric quite missed her. The man seemed all of a piece to
her: facile, unstable, untrustworthy--and his compliments touched her
even less than he imagined. He had prejudiced himself in her eyes for
ever, and it remained to be seen whether his own skill and pertinacity
would prove strong enough to conquer and destroy that prejudice. It was
true, as he had suspected earlier in the day, that her forgiveness was
real; but her attitude towards him had been radically changed, or rather
radically established, by his outrage. Before the event she had
entertained no opinion, good or bad, concerning him. She was henceforth
constitutionally unable to regard him as she regarded the bulk of men;
and he felt this; but he also felt that he must always interest her; and
there is no edifice of emotion that cannot be erected upon permanent
foundations of interest.
So he hoped on and when Mr. Charles Moses, to please Mrs. Crocker, and
to show the company that others of the hamlet also possessed a pretty
gift of words, arose to propose the good health of Bartley himself, he
listened in the best possible humour and made a reply that was full of
rough and ready fun.
Health drinking became the feature of the wedding feast, despite the
fact that it had been intended to eschew it. Everybody found himself or
herself toasted, and every man of the company was tempted or chaffed on
to his legs in turn. The wine running out, Mr. Shillabeer insisted upon
a personal contribution in this sort, and sent a pot-boy for certain
claret that had hung fire for some years and yet, owing to intrinsic
poverty of nature, could not be said much to improve with age. Nobody
liked it as well as the more generous and mellow brown sherry; but the
liquid was wine and free of cost: therefore the folk consumed it,
thanked the giver and invited him also to say a few words. Several shook
their heads at the prospect and foresaw that the ample spectre of Mrs.
Shillabeer must instantly rise to cast a chill upon the spirit of the
hour; but it was Mr. Bowden himself who urged the host to speak, and
Reuben straddled his legs, heaved a mighty sigh, crossed his arms and
addressed the company.
"Why for you want me to say anything, Elias Bowden, I’m sure I don’t
know; but I must do my share with the rest, I suppose, and I’m sure I
hope, as we all hope, that this here wedding will be the beginning of a
happy united life for bride and bridegroom. We, as have been in the
state and had the fortune to draw a prize, like Mr. and Mrs. Bowden
here, and Mr. and Mrs. Stanbury, and Mrs. Crocker, though she’s lost her
prop and stay these many years, and me--we know what marriage is. But
them as draw a blank, ’tis hidden from them, and the bachelor men and
spinster women sprinkled about--they don’t know neither. But perhaps
nobody in this company--widows or them as be still happily joined
together--ever felt to marriage what I felt to it. Time and again I
said to my dead partner that ’twas too good to last, and she’d laugh at
me and say I was the sort that always met trouble half way. And I seed
her fading out week after week; and I seed the wonnerful bulk of her
dwindling; and yet I couldn’t realise what was coming till it did come.
The last words she said to me--or rather she whispered ’em, for she was
got far beyond speech--the last words was, ’Don’t you take on too much,
Reuben. We shall meet again in the Better Land.’ And I’m sure I hope
it may be so, though I’m an unworthy creature. And I hope you won’t
think that I say these things to cast down any joyful member amongst us.
Far from it. I only want for these young people to remember that the
more they love, the worst must they suffer if things fall out
contrariwise. But whether David goes, or Margaret here be plucked off
untimely, ’twill be the joy and gladness of the one that’s left to
remember what it was to have a well-loved partner. And so, whatever
haps, they’ll never regret this day’s work. And I hope everybody have
eaten and drunken to their liking."
Then the bride insisted that Reuben should himself have some dinner.
"If ’twas anybody else proposed it, I should certainly refuse," he said;
"but since you want for me to do it, and my inwards are hollow as a
drum, I’m quite agreeable to pick a bone and drink a quart."
Bartholomew Stanbury now spoke. He thanked everybody for coming,
praised the dinner and the wine, declared it to be the second most
joyful day in his life, and explained that the first had been when he
himself was married. He confirmed Mr. Shillabeer’s view of matrimony,
staggered the publican by advising him to look round and find a second;
and concluded by proposing the health of Mr. Charles Moses, who was
among the oldest and best thought upon residents of Sheepstor, and who
to-day had specially distinguished himself by lending his famous shop
for the wedding breakfast. "Free of charge he done it, mind you,"
explained Mr. Stanbury, "just out of the goodness of his heart he turns
all his tools and leather and what not out of this here place, and lets
me have it for the feast; and I wish to publicly thank the man afore
you, neighbours, and let everybody know the sort he is."
In reply, Mr. Moses, who usually became reminiscent after successful
feeding, traced briefly the history of Sheepstor in so far as his own
family helped to make that history. In addition to being a staunch
Church of England man, Mr. Moses unconsciously subscribed to a still
more venerable creed. He worshipped his ancestors, and now detailed the
great and picturesque part played by his great-grandfather, his
grandfather and his father in the development and elevation of the
village.