Next morning Mrs. Marston came in from the kitchen with the toast,
which she would not trust anyone but herself to make, with a face
portending great happenings.
'Mind you see that they are all properly placed, Edward; they should be
all together in one part of the room.'
'Who'd that be?' Hazel inquired.
'1906, plums; 1908, gooseberries; 1909, cherries, sugarless. The
sugared ones are older.' Mrs. Marston spoke so personally that Hazel
stared.
'It's mother's exhibits, Hazel,' explained Edward.
'Yes. They've been to shows year by year, and very well they've stood
it. I only hope the constant travelling won't set up fermentation. I
should like those Morellas to outlive me. A receipt I had of Jane
Thorn, and she died of dropsy, poor thing, and bottled to the end.'
'Dunna you ever eat 'em?' asked Hazel.
This was blasphemy. To eat 1909 Morellas! It was passed over in tense
silence, allowances being made for a prospective bride. 'Poor thing!
she's upset.'
The exhibits, packed in a great bed of the vivid star-moss that grew in
the secret recesses of the woods, were waiting on the front step in
their usual box. There were some wonderful new jellies that made Hazel
long to be Mrs. Marston and have control of the storeroom. This was a
dim place where ivy leaves scraped the cobwebby window, and tall green
canisters stood on shelves in company with glass jars, neatly labelled,
and barrels of home-made wine; where hams hung from the ceiling, and
herbs in bunches and on trays sent out a pungent sweetness. In there
the magic was now heightened by the presence--dignified even in
deshabille--of a wedding-cake which was being slowly but thoroughly
iced.
People often wondered how Mrs. Marston did it. No one ever saw her
hurried or busy, yet the proofs of her industry were here. She worked
like the coral insect, in the dark, as it were, of instinct unlit by
intellect, and, like the coral insect, she raised a monumental
structure that hemmed her in.
They had to start early, driven by Edward's one substantial
parishioner, who was principal judge, chief exhibitor, and organizer of
the show. The exhibits must be there by ten; but Edward did not care in
the least how many hours he spent there. The day was only darkened for
him by one thing.
When the trap came round, and Hazel climbed in joyously, Edward forgot
the exhibits. He would have gone off without them had not Martha come
flying down the path shouting:
'Mr. Ed'ard! Mr. Ed'ard! Nineteen six! Nineteen nine! Jam!'
'What for's Martha cursing?' asked Hazel.
Edward, looking round, saw his mother's face in the doorway, dismayed,
surprised, wounded. He jumped out and ran up the path.
'Oh, mother! How could I?' he said miserably.
Mrs. Marston looked up; her mouth, that had fallen in a little,
trembling pitifully, and her eyes smarting with the thick, painful
tears of age.
'It wasn't you, my dear,' she said; 'you never forget; it was--the
young woman.'
One's god must at all hazards go clear of blame.
Edward kissed her, but with reserve, and when he got into the trap he
put an arm protectingly round Hazel.
'What a fool I am!' he thought. 'Now everything's spoilt.'
In the silent store-room, hour by hour, Mrs. Marston propelled the
mixture of sugar and egg through her icing syringe, building complex
designs of frosty whiteness.
Her back ached, and it seemed a long way round the cake, but she went
on until Martha, with a note of sympathetic understanding in her voice,
announced:
'Yer dinner's in, mum, and a cup of tea along of it.'
Mrs. Marston sighed gratefully.
'How nice and pleasant!' she said; 'but not as nice and pleasant as it
was--before.'
'Not by a long mile!' said Martha heartily. For Hazel had 'taken the
eye' of all the eligibles at the concert, and was altogether
disturbing.
'Perhaps, Martha,' said Mrs. Marston wistfully, 'when she's been here a
long while, and we're used to her, and she's part of the house--perhaps
it'll be as nice and pleasant as before?'
'When the yeast's in,' said Martha pessimistically, 'the dough's
leavened!'
* * * * *
As Edward and Hazel drew near the show-ground they passed people
walking and were overtaken by traps.
A man passed at full gallop, and Hazel was reminded of Reddin. Later,
she said:
'How'd you like it, Ed'ard, if somebody was after you, like a weasel
after a rabbit or a terrier at a fox-earth? What'd you do?'
'What morbid things you think of, dear!'
'What'd you do?'
'I don't know.'
'There's nought to do.'
Edward remembered his creed.
'I should pray, Hazel.'
'What good'd that do?'
'God answers prayers.'
'That He dunna! Or where'd the fox-hunting gents be, and who'd have
rabbit-pie? I dunna see as He _can_ answer 'em.'
'Little girls mustn't bother their pretty heads.'
'If you'd found as many creatures in traps as me, and loosened 'em, and
seed their broken legs, and eyes as if they'd seed ghosses, and onst a
dog caught by the tongue--eh! you'd bother! You would that! And feyther
killing the pigs Good Fridays.'
'Why Good Fridays, of all days?'
'That was the day. Ah! every Good Friday I was used to fight feyther!'
'My dear child!'
'You would if you'd seed the pig that comforble and contented, and
know'd what it'd look like in a minute. I'd a killed feyther if I
could.'
'But why? Surely it was worse of you to want to kill your father than
of him to want to kill the pig?'
'I dunno. But I couldn't abear it. I bit him awful one time, and he hit
me on the head with a rake, and I went to sleep.'
Edward's forehead was damp with sweat.
'Merciful God!' he thought, 'that such things should be!'
'And when I've heard things screaming and crying to be loosed, and them
in traps, and never a one coming to 'em but me, it's come o'er me to
won'er who'd loose _me_ out if I was in a trap.'
'God would.'
'I dunna think so. He ne'er lets the others out.'
Edward was silent. The radiant day had gone dark, and he groped in it.
'What for dunnot He, my soul? What for dun He give 'em mouths so's they
can holla, and not listen at 'em? I listen when Foxy shouts out.'
At this moment Edward saw Abel approaching, swaggering along with the
harp. He had never been glad to see him so far; now he was almost
affectionate.
'Laws, Ed'ard!' said Abel, straining the affection to breaking-point,
'you'm having a randy, and no mistake! Dancing and all, I s'pose?'
'No. I shall go before the dancing.'
'You won't get our 'Azel to go along of you, then. Dance her will, like
a leaf in the fall.'
'You'd rather come home with me on your wedding-eve, Hazel, wouldn't
you?'
Abel, seeing Hazel's dismayed face, laughed loudly. Edward hated him as
only sensitive temperaments can, and was conscience-stricken when he
realized the fact.
'Well, Hazel?' he asked gently, and created a situation.
'I dunno,' said Hazel, awkwardly. A depressed silence fell between
them; both were so bitterly disappointed. Abel, like an ancient
mischievous gnome, went off, calling to Hazel:
'Clear your throat agen the judgin's over!'
The judges were locked into the barn where the exhibits were. They took
a long while over the judging, presumably because they tasted
everything, even to the turnips (Mrs. James was partial to early
turnips). Edward and Hazel passed a window and looked in.
'Look at 'em longing after the old lady's jam!' said Hazel. 'It's a
mercy the covers are well stuck on or they'd be in like wasps! Look at
Mr. Frodley wi' the eggs! Dear now, he's sucking one like a lad at a
throstles' nest! Oh! Father'd ought to be there! He ne'er eats a cooked
egg. Allus raw. Oh! Mr. James has unscrewed a bottle of father's honey
and dipped! Look at 'im sucking his fingers!'
'Do people buy the remnants?' asked Edward, amused and disgusted.
'Ah! What for not?'
The judges are now making a hearty meal off some cheeses.
'I wonder whose cheeses they are?' Edward mused.
They were, in fact, Vessons'. He always insisted on making cheeses for
some obscure reason; possibly it was the pride of the old-fashioned
servant in being worth more than his wages. Vessons certainly was. He
made stacks of cheeses, and took them to fairs and shows without the
slightest encouragement from his master, who, when Vessons returned,
red with conflict, and said, planking down the money with intense
pride--''Ere it is! I 'ad to labour for thre'pences, though,' would
merely nod uninterestedly. But still the Undern cheeses went to shows
labelled 'John Reddin, Esquire, per A. Vessons.'
At last the judges came out. The mere judging did not take long, for
Mr. James usually considered his exhibit the best, and said so; the
others, being only small-holders, were generally too polite to gainsay
him.
Edward and Hazel went into the barn where the exhibits were set out
with stern simplicity, looking brave and beautiful with their earthly
glamour. There were rolls of golden butter, nut-brown eggs, snowy
bouquets of broccoli, daffodils with the sun striking through their
aery petals, masses of dark wallflower where a stray bee revelled.
There was Abel's honey, with a large placard drawn by himself
proclaiming in drunken capitals:
ABEL WOODUS. BEE-MAN.
COFFINS. HONEY. WREATHS.
OPEN TO ENGAGEMENTS TO PLAY THE HARP AT
WEDDINGS, WAKES AND CLUB-DAYS.
The golden jars shone; the sections in their lace-edged boxes, whitely
sealed, were as provocative as the reserve of a fair woman.
Edward bought one for Hazel. 'To open on your wedding-day,' he said.
But the symbolism, so apparent to him, was lost on Hazel.
Between the judging and the tea hour was a dull time. The races had not
begun, and though an ancient of benign aspect announced continually,
'I'll take two to one!' no one responded.
The people stood about, taking their pleasure like an anaesthetic, and
looking like drugged bees. Now and then an old man from a far hill-side
would meet another old man from a farther one, and there would be
handshaking lasting, perhaps, a quarter of an hour.
When Abel played, they remained stoical and silent, however madly or
mournfully the harp cried. They took good music as their right.
Then Hazel sang, gazing up at the purple ramparts of the hills that
hung above the show-ground, and Edward's eyes were full of tears.
A very old man, smooth-faced, and wondering as a baby, came, leaning on
his stick, and stood before Hazel, gazing into her mouth with the
steadfast curiosity of a dog at a gramophone. If she moved, he moved,
absorbed, his jaw dropped with interest. Hazel did not notice him. She
was free on the migratory wings of music. She did not see Vessons
looking across the crowd with dismay, nor know that he edged away,
muttering, 'That gel agen! Never will I!'
Edward was glad when the singing and collection were over, and he could
take Hazel into the shilling tent, where sat the elite, and give her
tea. People remained in a sessile state over tea for a long time
while the chief race of the afternoon was begun by the ringing of a
dinner-bell. The race took so long, the riders having to go round the
course so many times, that people went on complacently with their tea,
only looking out occasionally to see how things progressed, watching the
riders go by--one with bright red braces, one in a blue cotton coat,
two middle-aged men in their best bowlers, and one, obviously too well
mounted for the rest, in correct riding-dress. They came round each
time in the same order--the correct one, red braces, blue coat, and the
bowlers last. Evidently the foremost one knew he could easily win, and
the others had decided that 'it was to be.' In the machine-like
regularity of their advent, their unaltered positions, and leisured
pace, they were like hobby-horses.
'How many times have they bin round?' Hazel asked the waitress, who
poured tea and made conversation in a sociable manner.
'It'll be the seventh. They might as well give over. They're only
labouring to stay in the same place.'
'I want to see 'em come in,' said Hazel. They went out, but Abel
waylaid them, and took Edward off to show him a queen bee in a box
from Italy. Edward loathed bees in or out of boxes, but he was too
kind-hearted to refuse. Abel was so unperceptive that he touched pathos.
Hazel found a place some distance down the course where she could look
along the straight to the winning-post; she loved to hear them thunder
past. She leaned over the rail and watched them come, still fatalistic,
but gallant, bent on a dramatic finish, stooping and 'cutting' their
horses. The first man was on her side of the course. She stared at him
in amazed consternation as he came towards her. His strong blue eyes,
caught by the fixity of her glance or by her bright hair, saw her, and
became triumphant. He pulled the horse in sharply, and within a few
yards of the winning-post wheeled and went back, amid the jeers and
howls of the crowd, who thought he must be drunk.
'You've given me a long enough chase,' he said, leaning towards her.
'Where the devil _do_ you live?'
'Oh, dunna stop! He's coming.'
'Who?'
'Mr. Marston, the minister.'
'What do I care if he's a dozen ministers?'
'But he'll be angered.'
'I'll make his nose bleed if he's got such cheek.'
'Oh, he's coming, Mr. Reddin! I mun go.' She turned away. Reddin
followed.
'Why should he be angry?'
'Because we're going to be wed to-morrow'
Reddin whistled.
'And Foxy's coming, and all of 'em. And there's a clock as tick-tacks
ever so sleepy, and a sleepy old lady, and Ed'ard's bought me a box
full of clothes.'
'I gave you a box full too,' he said with a note of pleading. 'You
little runaway!'
Hazel was annoyed because he disturbed her so. She wanted to get rid of
him, and she desired to exercise her power. So she looked up and said
impishly:
'Yours were old 'uns. His be new--new as morning.'
He was too angry to swear.
'You've got to come and talk to me while they're dancing to-night,' he
said.
'I wunna.'
'You must. If you don't, I'll tell the parson you stopped the night at
Undern. Surely you know that he wouldn't marry you then?'
He was bluffing. He knew Vessons would tell Marston the truth if he
spoke. But it served his turn.
'You wouldna!' she pleaded.
He laughed.
'A'right, then,' she said, 'if you wunna tell 'un.'
'Will he stay for the dancing?'
'No. I mun go along of him.'
'You know better.'
He turned away sharply as Edward came up. He knew him for the minister
he had met near the Callow. Edward was tying up some daffodils for
Hazel, and did not see Reddin.
Scarlet braces, a fatalist no more, came trotting up.
'What went wrong?' he asked with thinly veiled triumph.
'Everything,' snapped Reddin, and calling Vessons, he went off to the
beer-tent to wait till the dancing began.
'These are for your room, Hazel,' Edward was saying, 'because the time
of the singing of birds is come.'
He was thinking that God was indeed leading him forth by the waters of
comfort.
Hazel said nothing. She was wondering what excuse she could make for
staying.
'Don't frown, little one. There are no more worries for you now.'
'Binna there?'
'No. You are coming to God's Little Mountain. What harm can come there?
Now look up and smile, Hazel.'
She met his grey eyes, very tender and thoughtful. What she saw,
however, were blue eyes, hard, and not at all thoughtful.