JARRATT BECOMES A FATHER
Despite a promise, Hilary Woodrow did not visit the chapel of the
Luke Gospellers. He caught a chill and kept the house for a
fortnight. Then he decided that he must go immediately into the
milder climate of the coast, and left Lydford for Dawlish. John
Prout accompanied him and stopped for a few days.
At last the patience of Mary Weekes was rewarded, and she became
mistress of the ivy-clad house, and the orchard, and the sweet water
from the Moor that ran through her husband's little domain.
A child was to be born to her, and she felt glad that her own house
would see the event. Susan still remained as maid-of-all-work; but
she let it be understood that her services could not be depended upon
for more than a year at the utmost. Then a certain square-built
youth, called Bobby Huggins, one of Valentine's many grandchildren,
intended to marry her. A cottage and a wife would be within his
reach at the expiration of that time; and all men admitted that
Bobby's deserts embraced both. He was an under-gamekeeper, and no
more promising and steadfast spirit had ever shone in the great
family of Huggins.
It happened that the patriarch himself called on Philip Weekes three
days after Christmas, and accepted Hephzibah's invitation to stop and
eat a mouthful.
"Master ban't home yet," she said; "though I believe I've made it
clear to him for the last forty year that one o'clock's the
dinner-hour in this house. But there--time be a word to him. 'Time
was made for slaves,' he said once to me, in one of his particular
foolish moments. 'Go along with you, you silly old monkey!' I
answered him. 'Time was made for humans, and we was no more expected
to waste it like water, same as you do, than we was meant to waste
corn and food and greenstuff and money.' But there--you know him. A
watch he carries, but ain't got no more use for it than if he walked
in New Jerusalem, where night and day will be done away with for
evermore. Us'll begin, Mr. Huggins."
They ate and drank; then Philip joined them.
"I'm glad to see you," he said. "And I wish you a very happy New
Year, Val, and a good few more yet."
"Thank you, thank you," answered the veteran. "I hope so too, I'm
sure, for the balance of comfort in going on living be still my side,
and will be while I've got such a rally of friendly neighbours
wishing me to live. This be pretty drinking, sure enough. What do'e
call it, Mrs. Weekes, if I ban't making a hole in my manners to ax?"
"'Tis broth made from the rames[1] of the Christmas goose," said Mrs.
Weekes. "For richness there's nought like goose-bone soup--dripping
with fatness, you might say. The very smell of it is a meal."
[1] _Rames_--skeleton.
Presently Philip pressed Mr. Huggins to take a slice of cold
plum-pudding, but the guest reluctantly refused.
"Daren't do it, though with all the will in the world, my dears," he
declared. "Hot plum-pudding be death, but cold's damnation--using
the word in its Bible sense. When you'm up home fourscore, such
things must be passed by. Not but what I've had my share, and ate it
without fear till seventy; but there's nowhere age tells crueller
than in the power of the frame to manage victuals. Well I mind the
feast when my granddarter, Hester--now Mrs. Gill--was married. Gill
was to work at a wine merchant's in them days, and his master give
him a bottle of glittering wine."
"Champagne, no doubt," said Mrs. Weekes.
"So it was then; and nothing would do but I must top up my other
beverages with a glass of it, when it came to be taken at the end of
the feast. Next day I wasn't hungry till four in the afternoon!
''Tis age upon me,' I said to myself. 'Tis the sure hand of age.
Time was when I could have tossed off a quart of that frothy rubbish
an' thought no more of it than a cup of tea; now the organs is losing
their grip of liquid food, an' any fancy drinking defies them.' 'Tis
the same with solids. If I was to partake of that Christmas pudden,
'twould harbour, like a cannon-ball, under the small ribs on my left
side and stick there, very likely, till the spring, unless doctor
could dislodge it."
"'Tis a bad thing to have the inner tubes out of order--nobody knows
that better'n what I do," confessed Mrs. Weekes. "My unfortunate
spasms be all owing to some lifelong failure in the tubes."
"Through peppermint comes salvation, however," murmured Philip.
He had just uttered this great truth when Susan rushed wildly upon
them, and in doing so precipitated one of those identical agitations
her aunt had just deplored.
"Lord save us, you little fool!" cried Philip. "Bursting into a room
so--all endwise, like a frightened fowl! Don't you know your aunt
better?"
"'Tis cousin Mary--she's took. Jar's gone for doctor, and Mrs.
Taverner's along with her, and of course I come for Aunt Hepsy."
"Took! So like as not you're lying. 'Tis a fortnight afore the
time."
"Don't know nothing about that," answered Susan. "But took she
is--for good or evil--so you'd better come, I reckon. Anyway, she
cried out for you the moment she got bad."
"A pretty darling, and well she might!" said Mrs. Weekes. "Thank the
watching Lord she's in her own house, and the schoolmaster ain't
there to add another terror to the scene."
"He is there," answered Susan. "He's in the parlour, calculating
exactly how long 'twill be in minutes afore Dr. Hext can get up from
Bridgetstowe."
"Us'll soon have _him_ out, anyhow," said Hephzibah. "Fetch down my
grey shawl and black bonnet, and the basket as you'll find in the
corner of my bedroom, Susan. All be there that's called for."
"One of the fore-handed ones, you," said Mr. Huggins with admiration.
"I believe so," she answered. "You've got to be fore-handed in
matters of body and soul, Valentine Huggins; and them as ban't, get
left behind in this world and forgot in the next."
She kicked off her slippers and drew on a pair of elastic-sided boots
which stood by the fire. Then Susan brought her shawl and bonnet.
"Take the basket and I'll be after you," said Mrs. Weekes. "And as
for you, Philip, you'll do well to wash up, bank the fire, put the
kettle on the hob just near, to catch heat without boiling, and then
come across to Jarratt's to see if there's anything I can set you
upon. And, for the sake of pride, put a little more uprightness into
your bearing. You slouch like a bachelor--always have; and yet afore
another morning, if God so wills, you'll be a grandfather."
She whirled away, and the men were left alone. Mr. Huggins mopped
his forehead.
"Lord, what a masterpiece among women! Don't she often bring the
perspiration out on your brow?" he asked.
"Not now," answered Mr. Weekes. "I'm long past that."
Towards night the market woman's prophecy came true, and Philip was
permitted to hold a granddaughter in his arms. The grandmother had
saved the situation in her own opinion, and she only returned home,
utterly exhausted in mind and body, at midnight. But Philip was even
later, and the kitchen clock had rattled the hour of two before he
left his son and returned to his wife. She slept heavily, but he
ventured to wake her.
"Thought you'd like to know they be going to call the child
'Hephzibah,'" he said.
She uttered sleepy sounds.
"Jar's idea, I lay. I'm glad."
"'Twas my idea--I would have it," answered Philip.
"Mary's prettier, however. Better you hadn't interfered. But
there'll be plenty of others. A long family they'll get, mark me.
Don't you talk no more. I'm three parts dead to-night, and I wish
you hadn't woke me."
He felt a wound and sighed. He had expected a little praise.
Sarah Jane was among the first who came to visit the new mother. She
said many kind things of the child, spent an hour with secret
thoughts in the house where Hilary Woodrow had lived, and then
departed homeward again.
The day was stern and fresh. Easterly winds blew over the cradle of
the New Year, and February had not thus far emptied her usual
libation upon the earth. The Moor slept in the colours of mourning,
and the wind seemed to bite into the very granite and shrivel up the
humble life that dwelt thereon. Hazes hid the horizon, but the
adjacent hills stood darkly out, clean-cut against the steel-grey
sky. Lyd shrilled along her ways and beside the water a carrion crow
or two sat with feathers puffed out. They rose heavily as Sarah Jane
approached to cross the stepping-stones. Then, under Doe Tor, a man
met her. He was riding a rough horse and bound for home; but now he
stopped, and turned, and went back a part of the way to Ruddyford
beside her.
"I've just been seeing Mary," she said. "I'm sure you're very
fortunate. Nobody never had a braver li'l one."
"How are you?" he asked. "Why, 'tis six months since I've seed
'e--to speak to--or more."
"Very well, thank you."
"And your man and your youngster?"
"Well as possible."
He looked down at her and thought of the past, and smiled to himself.
"'Tis funny to you, no doubt, being in my house again. You must have
missed Mr. Woodrow a bit, I should think."
"'Twas funny."
"What's the news of him? Do you ever go down to Dawlish to have a
chat with him?"
Sarah Jane remembered that this man warned her husband against
Woodrow. From that moment her attitude towards him had changed. And
she had just heard another thing from his wife. Mary was anxious
that Sarah Jane should be her child's godmother and Jarratt refused
to permit it. He gave no reasons, but explained that he wished
others to fill that position. This fact Brendon's wife had learned
within the hour from her friend.
"Daniel and Mr. Prout go down from time to time and bide a night or
two. I haven't," she said.
"Of course not. Yet I'm sure you miss him."
"Yes, I do."
"I never could see much in the man myself."
"You wouldn't. You'd never understand why anybody could overpay you
for your house. To you that would be a fool's trick. No doubt you
despise him for paying more for a thing than 'twas worth."
He laughed and shook his head.
"Oh no, Sarah Jane. That didn't surprise me at all, I assure you.
He had his reasons. It suited--his health very well. 'Twas money
well spent from his point of view; and well earned from mine. A
lucky man--a very lucky man."
She disliked his tone with its suggestion of insolent superiority.
He leant over and patted her shoulder, whereupon she started
indignantly away.
"Needn't be cross with me, my dear," he said. "Why, bless your life,
I feel that intimate--however, since you're not in an amiable mood
seemingly, I'll go my way. Give my respects to Daniel. He's calling
out for rain, I suppose."
She stopped and turned on him almost fiercely.
"Why for wouldn't you let me be godmother to your li'l girl?"
"Oh--that's it! What the mischief did Mary want to tell you that
for? No offence, no offence at all, and you mustn't take it so. The
reason--and yet I'm not sure if you'd understand. You're so out of
the common, you know--such a large mind--so--how shall I put it now?
'Tis the difference betwixt you and your husband--the difference in
your way of thinking. I'm a Christian man, Sarah Jane; but you--I
ban't quite sure that you're a Christian woman; so all's said. But
don't be angry about it; and don't tell Daniel, for 'twill only hurt
his feelings, you see."
"Don't you think it. He can read me like print, and he knows I'm a
better pattern of Christian than what you be, anyway. 'Tis a slight
you've put on me--not that I care a straw what you think of me."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Why should you care? But I wouldn't hurt you for anything, Sarah
Jane--much too fond of you for that. I know your virtues--nobody
better. If you'd like to be god-mother, you shall, bless your large
heart! And don't try to quarrel with me, because I'll never let you.
Them beautiful eyes--they make the sky ashamed these cold days!"
He rode away before she could answer, and left her in doubt of his
meaning. The words he said were nothing, but the easy familiarity of
his tone exasperated her. She determined with herself that now, even
if pressed to be his child's godmother, she would refuse.
And Jarratt Weekes, returning to Lydford, met another of the
Ruddyford folk. He was passing with a nod, when John Prout stopped
him. The ponies rubbed noses, and then Prout turned and rode for a
while beside the other.
"Funny I should chance on you," said Jarratt. "I've just been having
speech along with Sarah Jane Brendon. 'Tis the salt of life to me to
see that woman carry her lovely head so high--knowing what I know."
"Weekes," answered the old man, "I want to pray you by all that you
hold sacred, by the prosperity that's yours, by your wife and by your
child, and by your God--yes, by your God--to let this pass over.
Forget it you can't--no more can I--but don't let it be a part of
your life, or your thoughts. Don't let it enter into your mind, as a
thing to be used. Which of us can live his whole life with the blind
up? 'Twas a fatal accident, and I'm not saying a word against
sin--my hair be the greyer for it--but--oh, man, don't harbour it;
don't hug it, for God's sake--same as you be doing now. I know--I
know. I read it in your face every time you and me meet in company.
I----"
"Stop," interrupted Weekes. "You're wasting your wind, Prout. And
you're quite mistaking me. Everyone of us, if we keep our eyes open,
hoard a harvest in our memories and collect all sorts of things
gleaned up out of the world. Some of the gatherings may be useful,
some may not be useful. You never know. A man's memory be like a
woman's boxes--full of all sorts; and the wisest man keeps all in
order, so as he'll know where to put his finger on anything if he
wants it. He may die without using some of the things stored up--or
he may find he needs 'em in a hurry any minute. That's how 'tis with
me."
"What sort of Christian be that who hoards what he knows another
creature would dearly wish destroyed? You mean to strike these
people when the time comes and you hunger for the chance to do it."
"Not a bit. I'm in no hurry to roll 'em over, I do assure you.
'Live and let live' is a very good motto. And 'Let sleeping dogs
lie' be another worth remembering. But as to laughing at a good
joke--that I always shall do. And the cream of the joke is the fix
you be in. For if you wasn't here, I should have no witness; but
since you be here, I can blow Brendon to the devil when I like. 'Tis
amusing in itself to feel so much stronger than that very strong
chap."
"He's never wronged you--more have they--her and the master."
"How do you know that?"
"You'd never do it as a Christian man, Jarratt Weekes."
"As a Christian man I ought to do it. 'Twould be a good Christian
deed, surely, to let the light in on that darkness, and so save the
woman's soul alive. But it might be a tragical mess if it got out:
that I'm free to grant; and I've no intention whatever of saying a
word. I'm a very patient man, and can stand hard knocks as well as
most. We'll wait and watch, and see what sort of friend Brendon will
be to me presently. I've just offered Sarah Jane to be my baby's
gossip; so you see I don't harbour no ill-will against the dear
creature herself--who could? So long, and keep warm against this
piercing wind. Good men are scarcer every day, John Prout!"
Jarratt rode away, leaving in the old man's mind a deep uneasiness,
somewhat similar in quality to that he had just awakened in the soul
of Daniel Brendon's wife.