At seven o'clock next morning John Grange felt better when he stood with
Daniel Barnett, old Tummus, and Mary Ellis's father at the foot of the
great cedar facing the house, a tree sadly shorn of its beauty by a
sudden squall that had swept down the valley, and snapped off the top,
where an ugly stump now stood out forty feet from the lawn.
Grange felt better, for in spite of his hectoring, triumphant manner, it
was plain to see that Daniel Barnett had not sped well with Mary's
father, whatever might have been his success with the lady herself.
James Ellis was no longer young, and early work before breakfast had
grown distasteful; still, he had come to see the broken stump sawn off.
The ladder had been raised, and got into position, but it was too short
by ten feet, and there was an awkward climb before the man who went up
could use the saw or attach the rope to keep the sawn-off stump from
falling with a crash.
"Well," said Ellis, "what are we waiting for?"
Old Tummus chuckled.
"Why when I first come to these here gardens five-and-forty years ago,
I'd ha' gone up there like a squirrel, Mr Ellis, sir; but these here
fine new-fangled gardeners can't do as we did."
"Better go up now," said Barnett.
"Nay, nay, my lad, sixty-eight's a bit too ripe for climbing trees, eh,
Master Ellis?"
"Yes, of course," said the bailiff. "Come, get it done."
"Do you hear, John Grange?" said Barnett. "Up with you. Better hitch
the rope under that big bough, and saw the next. Make it well fast
before you begin to saw."
"I thought Mrs Mostyn told you to go up and cut it?" said Ellis
pompously; "and I heard you tell her how you should do it?"
"Or have it done, sir. Here, up with you, John."
John Grange felt annoyed at the other's manner in the presence of the
bailiff. There was a tone--a hectoring way--which nettled him the more
that they were precisely equal in status at the great gardens; and,
besides, there were Mary and old Tummus's words. He had, he knew, let
this rather overbearing fellow-servant step in front of him again and
again, and this morning he felt ready to resent it, as the blood came
into his cheeks.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" cried Barnett. "Up with you!"
"If it was your orders, why don't you go?" retorted Grange.
Barnett burst into a hoarse fit of laughter, and turned to the bailiff.
"Hear that, sir? He's afraid. Ha-ha-ha! Well, well! I did think he
had some pluck."
"Perhaps I have pluck enough," said the young man, "even if it is an
awkward job, but I don't see why I'm to be bullied into doing your
work."
"I thought so," continued Barnett, "white feather! Talk away, John, you
can't hide it now."
Old Tummus showed his yellow stumps.
"He can't do it, Mr Dan," he chuckled. "You're the chap to go up. You
show him how to do it."
"You hold your tongue. Speak when you're spoken to," said Barnett
fiercely; and the old man chuckled the more as Barnett turned to John
Grange.
"Now then, are you afraid to go up? Because if so, say so, and I'll do
it."
John Grange glanced at the bailiff, and then stooped and picked up the
coil of rope, passed it over his shoulder, and then seized the saw. He
mounted the ladder, and clinging to the tree, stood on the last round,
and then climbing actively, mounted the remaining ten feet to where he
could stand upon a branch and attach the rope to the stump, pass the end
over a higher bough and lower it down to the others. Then rolling his
sleeves right up to the shoulder, he began to cut, the keen teeth of the
saw biting into the soft, mahogany-like wood, and sending down the dust
like sleet.
It was a good half-hour's task to cut it through, but the sturdy young
fellow worked away till only a cut or two more was necessary, and then
he stopped.
"Ready below?" he said, glancing down.
"All right!" cried Ellis. "Cut clean through, so that it does not
splinter."
"Yes, sir," shouted Grange; and he was giving the final cuts, when for
some reason, possibly to get the rope a little farther along, Barnett
gave it a sharp jerk, with the effect that the nearly free piece of
timber gave way with a sharp crash, just as John Grange was reaching out
to give the last cut.
Cedar snaps like glass. Down went the block with a crash to the extent
the rope would allow, and there swung like a pendulum.
Down, too, went Grange, overbalanced.
He dropped the saw, and made a desperate snatch at a bough in front, and
he caught it, and hung in a most precarious way for a few moments.
"Quick!" he shouted to Barnett; "the ladder!"
Ellis and old Tummus held the rope, not daring to let go and bring the
piece of timber crashing down. Barnett alone was at liberty to move the
ladder; and he stood staring up, as if paralysed by the danger and by
the thought that the man above him was his rival, for whose sake he had
been, only a few hours before, refused.
But it was only a matter of seconds.
John Grange's fingers were already gliding over the rough bark; and
before Barnett could throw off the horrible mental chains which bound
him, the young man uttered a low, hoarse cry, and fell headlong through
the air.