FLOOD AND FIELD.
"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky," sung loudly by his bedside, woke
Jack on the following morning, and, opening his eyes, he encountered
those of Tom Wingfield, who, as soon as he saw that he had effected his
purpose--to wit, waking Jack--said: "How's the head, old man? It's a
ripping fine morning; tumble up. Here's the shaving-water," as the
footman entered the room. "I've called Simpson. By Jove, what a bore
that man is! he told me last night exactly how much he had given for
everything he possessed. However, Phillips, whom I saw just now, says
his four hundred guineas worth looks a nailer, but I doubt if our
friend's heart is in the right place."
"Heart be blowed!" growled Jack; "the only heart he knows of is the
heart of the City. Clear out, Tom, though; its late, and I shall never
be dressed in time for breakfast."
However, he was, and as he entered the dining-room he thought he had
never seen Milly look so well as, in her well-fitting and workmanlike
habit, she dispensed the honours of the tea.
Simpson was simply gorgeous, and evidently fancied himself considerably,
though as the clock marked the hour of ten and the first contingent
arrived, his rubicund features went many degrees paler at the thought of
Belton brook and his four-hundred-guinea hunter.
Punctual to the minute the hounds arrived, and after a quarter of an
hour, during which time refreshment for man and horse was in full swing,
the signal to move off was given.
"Mornin', Master Jack," said old Jim the Huntsman, as Jack came out of
the stable-yard, his mount bucking like an Australian. "I'm main glad to
see you wi' us again; we shall soon find summat to take the play out o'
you" (alluding to the horse). "If I mistake not, you mean a-showing 'em
what for, and I'm sure I hope you will."
"Jim, you get younger every day. They tell me you are going to be
married again and give up hunting; is it true?" was Jack's reply.
"Get along with you; you're no better than you used to be, Master Jack,"
retorted the old man, who was fast nearing his seventieth year.
At this moment the Colonel rode up, accompanied by Mildred and Mr.
Simpson, the latter, it must be confessed, looking far from comfortable.
"Jim," said he, "we will draw the osiers first, please, up-wind, and
send Williams" (the First Whip) "down to the corner. Mr. Wilton and
myself will stop by the gate and view him if he tries back. Mr. Talbot"
(the Master) "has gone on to the wood, and wished me to tell you."
"Right, Colonel," replied the Huntsman, lifting his cap; and with a
"Coop, coome away!" he trotted off down to the bottom end, the hounds
clustering all round his horse.
"This way, Milly," said Jack. "Come on, Simpson and Tom," and the
quartet established themselves out of sight at the top end of the
osier-bed. Presently old Jim was heard cheering his hounds, and a
whimper from old Solomon proclaimed the fox to be at home, as usual.
"Eugh, at him!" cheered Jim, and as the whimper swelled into a chorus a
regular traveller slipped out close to Mr. Simpson, and headed straight
over the dreaded brook.
"By gad, he's off!" said Jack, and "Gorne awa-a-y!" proclaimed his
departure to the expectant field. The hounds tumbled out of covert all
of a heap, and plunging into the brook in a body were away on the other
side in a trice, with a scent breast high.
"Miss Vivian, for goodness' sake don't attempt the brook," implored
Simpson; "I will stop and look after you."
But Mildred, vouchsafing him not so much as a look, caught the impatient
Birdcatcher by the head, and with Jack and Tom on either side the trio
rattled down at the water, which was negotiated with safety.
"Bravo!" said Jack; "here comes Simpson;" and come he did, for his
perfect hunter was not made of the stuff to be left behind if he could
help it, and seeing his three companions careering away down the
opposite field, he, to use a nautical expression, "took charge," and,
before his rider knew what had happened, had landed him safely on the
other side of the obstacle.
"Down the lane," said Jack to Mildred as they popped over the fence that
led out of the meadow; "it's straight for Boltby big wood. Here you
are, Jim," as the Huntsman came up to where the hounds had checked for a
moment in the lane; "they made it good as far as this. Hark for'ard!
Minstrel has it;" and away they went a cracker, turning sharp to the
right into some rolling grass-fields.
By this time Mr. Simpson was beginning to pluck up his courage, and in
company with those who had not been so favoured at the start was going
fairly well. Ten minutes more brought them to the stiles that had been
the subject of discussion at dinner the previous evening, and
nasty-looking objects they were. The first was not so bad, but the
second was a regular teaser--hog-backed, with a yawning ditch, spanned
by a footboard on the far side.
"Steady, Milly," said Tom, as Birdcatcher rushed at No. 1.
"By gad, she'll be down if she goes at that pace," shouted Jack in an
agony, his horse, a young 'un, having refused.
At this crisis Mr. Simpson appeared on the scene, the rest of the field
preferring the safer course down the lane. Tom managed the hog-back
successfully, and was too much occupied with the hounds, now racing a
field ahead, to think of Mildred, who had evidently got as much as she
could manage in the thoroughly-roused Birdcatcher.
Jack's feelings can be better imagined than described as he saw Milly
rush at the stile and Birdcatcher turn a complete somersault, sending
his mistress flying, happily, some yards away from where he fell.
"Come up, you brute," he yelled, driving his spurs home and fairly
lifting the astonished young 'un over both fences. Scarcely had he
landed over the hog-back than he was off his horse and kneeling by Milly
in a paroxysm of grief.
"My darling child, are you hurt? My God, she's dead!" he cried, as he
tried to lift her.
But she was only stunned for the moment, and to his ineffable joy Milly
opened her eyes and said: "It's all right, Jack; I'm not hurt. Catch my
horse and let's get on."
The "Thank God" came from the bottom of his heart as he caught the two
nags and lifted her on; but the agonised expression on his face told
Mildred plainer than any words the "old old tale," and in her inmost
heart she blessed the fall for the revelation.
The fox meanwhile, who had been headed by a labourer, turned short back,
and as they came round, about two fields above the spot where the
accident took place, everyone was much amused at the sight of Mr.
Simpson, who, unable to muster up courage to ride at the place, and
thinking that no one was likely to see him, had got off his horse, and
having promised a yokel a sovereign to catch him on the other side, was
doing his best, with the aid of his hunting-whip, to induce his four
hundred guineas' worth to take it by himself. No further mishap
occurred, and in half an hour, after running hard all the time, they
viewed and killed their fox in the open, Mr. Simpson arriving just as
the last morsel disappeared down old Solomon's throat.
By this time Mildred was feeling the effects of her fall, and Simpson
was only too glad to offer to be her escort home; an opportunity which
he took advantage of to propose in due form, the effect of his
solicitations being somewhat marred by the aversion his horse displayed
to walking.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Simpson," said Mildred, in reply to his entreaties
that she would consent to be the "Co.," "I'm very sorry, but it can
never be."
"There's some other fellow in the case; I _will_ know who. It's that
horrid cousin of yours," said the man of money with his innate
vulgarity, for he could not understand any girl refusing his gold.
"Mr. Simpson, you have no right to speak to me like that; and seeing
that my cousin picked me up when I fell, while you were too much alarmed
for your own safety, _I_ have no reason to consider him horrid," was
Mildred's cutting reply, after which she refused to speak till they
arrived at the Hall.
Whether it was the rebuff that he had received, or joy at finding
himself safe, I cannot say, but at dinner Simpson drank more than was
his custom, and was proportionately talkative and bombastic in
consequence, and towards the end he entertained the company with a
description of how he got over the most enormous places.
"You--ah--see, my horse" (he called it "'orse"' now that the wine was
in) "refused that stile where Miss Vivian fell, and Mr. Ward told me it
was no use riding him at the same thing twice, so I had to look
out--ah--for another place. I saw there was nothing for it but the fence
at the side" (it was an overgrown blackthorn, with a six-feet post and
rails run through the middle), "and--ah--by Jove! my horse cleared it
without touching a twig--ah."
"My word, Simpson, that was a jump--almost as big as the cow took when
it vaulted over the moon," said Tom.
"Fact, sir, 'shure you," replied he of the City, when the butler came up
behind his chair and in an audible voice said: "I beg pardon, sir, but
there's a man downstairs who says you told him to call--says you
promised him a sovereign for catching your horse when you turned it over
the stile."
It may have been rude, but the guilty look of Simpson and the utter
ludicrousness of the whole affair was too much, and everybody, including
the Colonel, fairly shrieked with laughter, during which Mr. Simpson
bowed himself out to see about this "tale of the sovereign," as he
called it.
Later on the butler appeared a second time, bearing in his hand a yellow
envelope, which he handed to Jack.
Opening it carelessly he read: "As agents to John Sandford, acquaint you
of his death. Yourself left sole heir. Telegraph instructions. Money and
securities, eighty thousand. Three large tea estates, besides other
property. Letter follows.--Kirkman and Co., Calcutta."
I am afraid Jack's face did not express great sorrow for his deceased
uncle. Indeed, as he glanced across at Milly, a great look of joy came
into his eyes, and after dinner he found an opportunity to ask her a
question, receiving a very different answer to that vouchsafed to Mr.
Simpson.
Christmas morning he interviewed "papa in the study" without fear of the
butler, and that evening the Colonel, with tears in his eyes, made a
long speech, wherein he gave his daughter to his favourite nephew, with
solemn injunctions to take care of her.
Jack, in returning thanks, said he would do his best to see that she did
not break her neck; he had already had a turn he should never forget;
but as it was somewhat instrumental in helping him to gain Milly, he
begged to propose the health of The Hog-backed Stile.
Simpson, when he saw the game was lost, turned out a much better fellow
than anyone gave him credit for, and Milly found on her table a pearl
necklace and a card, on which was written: "With T. Simpson's best
wishes and apologies for rudeness."
Now, whenever he meets Jack and his wife, he tells them that the lesson
he got at Belton taught him that money and bluster were not everything
in this merry world of ours.
THE END.
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.