"We nearly drove over somebody; but the pony shied, fortunately. There
he is; I can just see him moving."
"Why, I do believe it's poor silly Dick Green!" exclaimed Sam. "Is it
you, Dicky? Speak out, man! How came you here?"
"Yes, it be I," said the idiot. "Can't I sleep here? It's very
comfortable--all clean and nice--no smoke, no noise."
"Why, you would be frozen to death, man, if you did," answered Sam.
"But, I ask, what brought you here?"
"That's a secret I bean't a-going to tell thee," whispered the idiot.
"But just do thee stop here; thee'll foind it very pleasant."
"No, thank you; we'd rather not," said Sam. "But just do thee get into
the carriage alongside Master William there, and we'll take thee to the
Hall, and give thee some supper--that's what thee wants, lad."
"Well, now, that's kind like," simpered the idiot. "I know thee well,
Sam Barnby; thee had'st always a good heart."
"Well, well, lad, don't stand talking there, but scramble in at once,"
cried Sam, as he forced the poor creature down by my side.
Soon afterwards we passed a woodman's or a keeper's hut, from the window
of which a gleam of light streamed forth on the idiot's face, and a
creeping feeling of fear stole over me as I caught his large lack-lustre
eyes peering into mine, the teeth in his ever-grinning mouth looking
white and shining under his upturned lip. I knew that he was said to be
perfectly harmless and good-natured, but I would have given anything if
Jack would have changed places with me. I did not drop off to sleep
again, that is very certain. The way seemed far longer than I had
expected, and I almost fancied that Sam must have mistaken his road--not
a very likely thing to occur, however.
As we neared the lodge-gate of Foxholme, I shut my eyes, lest the light
from the window should again show me the poor idiot's face staring at
me. All disagreeable feelings, however, speedily vanished as we drove
up in front of the chief entrance, and the hall-door was flung open, and
a perfect blaze of light streamed forth, and the well-known smiling
faces of Purkin, the butler, and James Jarvis, the footman, appeared;
and the latter, descending the steps, carried up our trunk and hat-boxes
and a play-box we had brought empty, though to go back in a very
different condition, we had a notion. Then we ran into the
drawing-room, and found our uncle Sir Hugh, and our kind, sweet-smiling
aunt, and our favourite Cousin Julia--she was Sir Hugh's only daughter
by a first marriage--and our little Cousin Hugh--his only son by the
present Lady Worsley; and there, too, was Cousin Peter. He was Sir
Hugh's cousin and Aunt Worsley's cousin, and was cousin to a great
number of people besides--indeed everybody who came to the house called
him cousin, it seemed.
Some few, perhaps, at first formally addressed him as Mr Peter, or Mr
Peter Langstone; but they soon got into the way of calling him Mr
Peter, or Cousin Peter, or Peter alone. He wasn't old, and he couldn't
have been very young. He wasn't good-looking, I fancy--not that we ever
thought about the matter. He had a longish sallow face, and a big mouth
with white teeth, and lips which twisted and curled about in a curious
manner, and large soft grey eyes--not green-grey, but truly blue-grey--
with almost a woman's softness in them, an index, I suspect, of his
heart; and yet I don't think that there are many more daring or cool and
courageous men than Cousin Peter. He had been in the navy in his youth,
and had seen some pretty hard service, but had come on shore soon after
he had received his promotion as lieutenant, and, for some reason or
other, had never since been afloat. Sir Hugh was very much attached to
him, and had great confidence in his judgment and rectitude; so that he
tried to keep him at Foxholme as much as he could. He might have lived
there and been welcome all the year round.
I have said nothing yet about Cousin Julia. She was about twenty-two,
but looked younger, except when she was about any serious matter. I
thought her then the most lovely creature I had ever seen, and I was not
far wrong. There was a sweet, gentle, and yet firm expression in her
face, and a look--I cannot describe it--which would have prevented even
the most impudent from talking nonsense or saying anything to offend her
ear.
Our uncle, Sir Hugh, was tall and stout, with a commanding and dignified
manner. No one would have ventured to take liberties with him, though
he was as kind and gentle as could be. He had been in the army when he
was young, and seen service, but had given it up when he succeeded to
Foxholme, and the duties attached to its possession. "I should have
been ill serving my country if I had remained abroad and left my tenants
and poor neighbours to the care of agents and hirelings," I heard him
once observe. He was very fond of the army, and it was a great trial to
him to leave it.
Our aunt was a very pretty, lively, kind, amiable woman, and devotedly
attached to our uncle. She was small, and slight, and young-looking,
though I don't think that she was so very young after all.
Hugh was a regular fine little chap, manly, independent, and yet very
amiable. He might have been rather spoilt, because it was a hard matter
not to make a good deal of him. People couldn't help thinking of him as
the long-wished-for heir of the old place and the old title, and what
joy he had brought to Sir Hugh's heart and what pride and satisfaction
to that of his mother, and that he would some day be the master of
Foxholme (all hoped that day might be far distant); and they prayed that
he might worthily represent his honoured father.
After all, however, there was no one we thought so much about as Cousin
Peter. How full of life and spirits and fun he was! A shade, however,
of gravity or melancholy occasionally stole over him. He had an inner
deeper life of which we boys knew nothing. We used to be surprised,
after he had been playing all sorts of pranks with us, to go and see him
sit down as grave as a judge along with Sir Hugh, and talk as seriously
as anybody else. Then he would jump up and say something quiet and
confidential to some young lady, and crack a joke with some old one; and
again he would be back among us, baiting the bear, standing on his head,
or doing some other wonderful out-of-the-way thing. I remember that
even then I more than once remarked that whenever he drew near our
Cousin Julia, there was a greater sobriety and a wonderful gentleness
and tenderness in his manner; and often, when she was not looking, and
he thought no one else was looking, his eyes were turned towards her
with a look which older people would easily have interpreted. I thought
myself, "He must be very fond of her; but that is but natural--everybody
is."