Martha seemed in nowise delighted with the appearance of the pretty
cottage farm, with its low thick thatch and dense ivy, which covered the
walls like a cloak. Neither was she excited by the sight of the
old-fashioned garden, gay with homely flowers; but she did accept a
rosebud, and a sprig of that pleasant herbaceous plant which Brother
William called "Old Man," pinning them tightly at the top of her dress
with a very large pin, which her host took out of the edge of his
waistcoat.
"That _is_ a pretty dress," he said admiringly. "One o' my favourite
colours. There's nowt like laylock and plum."
"I'm glad you like it," said Martha quietly; and she then followed
Brother William into the clean, homely keeping-room, where Joe's wife--
Joe being one of Brother William's labourers--who did for him, as he
expressed it, had prepared the tea, which was spread upon one of the
whitest of cloths. Beside the ordinary preparations for the infusion of
the Chinese leaf, there was an abundance of country delicacies--ham of
the host's own growing and curing; rich moist radishes; the yellowest of
butter, so sweetly fresh as to be scented; the brownest of loaves, and
the thickest of cream.
Martha looked round at the bright homely furniture of the room, the
bees'-waxed chairs, the polished bureau of walnut inlaid with brass, the
ancient eight-day clock, and the side-table with its grey-and-red check
cotton cover, highly decorated tea-tray, set up picture-fashion, and a
few books.
"Ah," said Brother William, seeing the direction of his visitor's eyes,
"I haven't got many books. That's the owd Bible. Got mine and Fanny's
birthdays in. That's mother's owd hymn-book; and here's a book here, if
you like. If Fanny would lay that up by heart, 'stead o' reading them
penny gimcracks, she'd be a-doing herself some good." As he spoke, he
took up a well-used old book in a brown cover, which opened easily in
his hand. "That's Bowcroft's _Farmer's Compendium_, that is. I'll lend
it to you, if you like. Stodge-full of receipts for cattle-drinks and
sheep-dressings; and there's a gardener's calendar in it too. I
wouldn't take fi' pound for that book, Martha. There ain't many like
it, even up at Sir James Scarlett's, I'll be bound. That's litrichur,
that is."
Fanny did not enter with them. She preferred to have a good look at the
garden, she said; and she lingered there for some time, her "good look
at the garden" taking in a great many protracted looks up and down the
lane, each of which was followed by a disappointed frown and a sigh.
"Won't you take off your bonnet and jacket, Martha Betts?" said Brother
William. "You can go up to Fanny's old bedroom, or you can hang 'em up
behind the door on the Peg."
Martha thought she would hang them up on the peg that was behind the
door; and Brother William looked stolidly on, but in an admiring way, as
he saw the quick deft manner in which his visitor divested herself of
these outdoor articles of garb, made her hair smooth with a touch, and
then brought out an apron from her pocket, unrolled it, and from within,
neatly folded so that it should not crease, one of those natty little
scraps of lace that are pinned upon the top of the head and called by
courtesy a cap.
"Hah!" said Brother William, as the cap was adjusted and the apron
fastened on; "the kettle is byling, but we may as well look round before
you make the tea."
"Thank you," said Martha calmly.
"This is the washus," said Brother William, opening a door to display a
particularly clean whitewashed place, with red--brick floor. There was
a copper in one corner; at one side, a great old-fashioned open
fireplace with clumsy iron dogs, and within this fireplace, in what
should have been the chimney corner, an iron door, nearly breast high.
"That's the brick oven," said Brother William, noticing the bent of his
visitor's eyes. "We burn fuzz in it mostly; but any wood does. Them
hooks is when we kill a pig. The water in that there pump over the
sink's soft: there's a big tank outside. That other pump you see
through the window's the drinking-water. It never gets dry. Nice
convenient washus; isn't it?"
"Very," said Martha quietly; "only there ought to be a board put down
front of the sink, for a body to stand on."
"There is one outside. Mrs Badley must ha' left it there when she
cleaned up," cried Brother William eagerly; and Martha said "Oh!"
Then he led the way back into the keeping-room, and opened a second
door, while Martha's quick eyes were taking in everything, not an
article of furniture escaping her gaze; not that she was admiring or
calculating their quality or value, but as if she were in search of some
particular thing that so far she had found absent; this object being a
spot of dirt.
"This here's the dairy," said Brother William, entering, and holding
open the double doors of the cool, dark, shady place--brick-floored,
like the washhouse, but with a broad erection of red-brick all round
like a rough dresser, upon which stood rows of white-lined pans, with a
large white table in the middle, and the churn, scales, and beaters, and
other utensils used in the preparation of the butter, along with the
milk-pails at one end.
Martha's wandering eyes were as badly off as Noah's dove in the early
days after the flood; they could find no place to rest, for everything
was scrupulously clean. The cream looked thick and heavy and almost
tawny in its yellowness; and upon two large dishes were a couple of
dozen rolls of delicious-looking butter, reposing beneath a piece of
while muslin, ready for taking to market on the following day.
"Myste and cool, isn't it?" said Brother William. "You see it's torst
the north, and I've got elder-trees to shade the window as well."
Martha nodded, and continued her search for that spot of dirt which her
reason told her must be somewhere; but certainly it was not hiding
there.
"There's four cows in full milk now, Martha. Cream's rich; isn't it?
Wait a moment."
"Where do you get your hot-water to scald the churn and things?" said
Martha sharply, checking Brother William as he was moving towards the
open door.
"There's a big byler in the kitchen," said Brother William, eager to
make the best of things; and then, as Martha said no more, but went on
with her dirt quest, he left the dairy, and came back directly after
with an old-fashioned, much worn, silver tablespoon.
"I thought you wouldn't mind tasting the cream, Martha. This here is
'bout the freshest," he said, going to one of the broad shallow pans,
inserting the spoon, which, Martha had seen at a glance, was beautifully
clean, and gently drawing the cream sidewise, so that it crinkled all
over, so thick was it and rich, and the spoon came out piled up as it
were with the luscious produce of the little farm.
Martha's face was perfectly solemn, as she watched Brother William's
acts, and she did not move a muscle till he spoke.
"Open your mouth," he said seriously--"Wide."
Martha obeyed, and did open her mouth--wide, for it was rather a large
mouth; but the lips were well shaped and red, and the teeth within were
even and white.
Brother William carefully placed the spoonful of cream within; and
Martha closed her lips, solemnly imbibing the luscious spoonful, when,
as a small portion was left visible at one corner, Brother William
carefully removed it with an orange silk pocket-handkerchief; and Martha
quietly said: "Thank you."
"Would you like to look at the cows now, or have tea?" said Brother
William; whereupon Martha opined that it would be better to have tea, as
Fanny would be expecting them.
But Fanny was evidently not expecting them, and did not come in until
Martha had made the tea and cut the bread-and-butter, Brother William
leaning his arms on the back of the big, well bees'-waxed Windsor chair,
and gazing at her busy fingers, as she spread the yellow butter and cut
a plateful of slices.
"Seems just as if you were doing it at home," said Brother William;
"only it looks nicer here."
Then Fanny was summoned, and Martha made way for her to preside at the
tea-tray.
"No; you'd better pour out," the girl said absently. "I'd rather sit
here."
"Here" was where she could see through the open window out into the
road; and there she sat while the meal was discussed, little attention
being paid to her by her brother, who divided his time between eating
heartily himself, and pressing slices of ham upon Martha, who took her
place in the most matter-of-fact way, and supplied her host's wants,
which were frequent, as the teacups were very small. In fact, so
occupied with their meal were Brother William and Martha, that they did
not notice a slow, deliberate step in the road, passing evidently down
the lane; neither did they see that Fanny's face, as she bent lower over
her cup, became deeply suffused, and that she did not look up till the
step had died away, when she uttered a low sigh, as if a burden had been
removed from her breast.
After that, though, they did notice that she became brighter and more
willing to enter into conversation, seeming at last to take quite an
interest in her brother's account of the loss of a sheep through its
getting upside down in a ditch; and she also expressed a feeling of
satisfaction upon hearing that hay would fetch a good price in the
autumn, so many people having had theirs spoiled.
"Never mind me," said Fanny, as soon as, between them, she and Martha
had put away the tea-things: "I shall go into the garden and look
round."
Brother William evidently did not mind her, for, in his slow deliberate
way, he took off Martha to introduce her to the cows; after which she
had to scrape acquaintance with the pigs, visit the poultry, who were
somewhat disturbed, inasmuch as they were settling themselves in the
positions that they were to occupy for the night, and made no little
outcry in consequence. Then there were the sheep; and there was last
year's haystack, and this year's, both of which had to be smelt, Brother
William pulling out a good handful from each, to show Martha that there
was not a trace of damp in either. This done, a happy thought seemed to
strike Brother William, who turned to Martha and exclaimed: "I wonder
whether you could churn?"
"Let's try," said Martha, with the air of one who would have made the
same answer if it had been the question of making a steam-engine or a
watch.
Brother William gave one of his legs a vigorous slap, and marched Martha
back into the house, through into the dairy. Then he fetched a can of
hot-water to rinse out and warm the churn. There was a pot of lumpy
cream already waiting, and this was carefully poured in, the lid duly
replaced, with the addition of a cloth, to keep the cream from splashing
out, and then he stood and watched Martha, who was busily pinning up her
dress all round. She then turned up her sleeves and took out a clean
pocket-handkerchief, which she folded by laying one corner across to the
other, and then tied it over her head and under her chin, making her
pleasant comely face look so provocative, that Brother William drew a
long breath, took a step forward, and was going to catch Martha in his
arms; but he recollected himself in time, gave a slew round, and caught
hold of the churn handle instead, and this he began to turn steadily
round and round, as if intending to play a tune.
"I thought _I_ was to make it," said Martha quietly.
"Oh, ah, yes, of course," he said, resigning the handle; and then he
drew back, as if it was not safe for him to stand there and watch, while
Martha steadily turned and turned, and the cream within the snowy white
sycamore box went "wish-wash, wish-wash, wish-wash," playing, after all,
a very delicious tune in the young farmer's ears, for it suggested
yellow butter, and yellow butter suggested sovereigns, and sovereigns
suggested borne comforts and savings, and above all, the turning of that
handle suggested the winning of just the very wife to occupy that home.
Five minutes, and there was a glow of colour in Martha's cheeks. Five
minutes more, and the colour was in her brow as well.
"You are tired now," said Brother William. "Let me turn."
"No; I mean to make it," she replied, tightening her lips and turning
steadily away.
Another five minutes, and there was a very red spot on Martha's chin,
and her lips were apart; but she turned away, with Brother William quite
rapt in admiration at the patient perseverance displayed; and in fact,
if it had been a question of another hour, Martha would have kept on
turning till she dropped. She did not speak, neither did Brother
William; but his admiration increased. Their eyes never met, for
Martha's were fixed steadfastly upon one particular red-brick; not that
it was dirty, for it was of a brighter red than the others; and she
turned and turned, first with one hand, then with the other, till there
was a change in the "wish-wash, wish-wash" in the churn, and then
Brother William exclaimed: "That's done it! Butter!"
"Hah!" ejaculated Martha, with a heavy sigh, and her breath came all the
faster for the exertion.
"Look at it!" cried Brother William, taking the lid off the churn. "Can
you see?"
Martha was rather short; hence, perhaps, it was that Brother William
placed his arm round her waist to raise her slightly; and he was not
looking at the butter, and Martha was not looking at it either, but up
at him, as he bent down a little lower, and somehow, without having had
the slightest intention of doing so the moment before, Brother William
gave Martha a very long and solemn kiss.
She shrank away from him the next moment, and looked up at him
reproachfully. "You shouldn't," she said. "It's so wrong."
"Is it?" he said dolefully. "I'm very sorry. I couldn't help it,
Martha. You made the butter so beautifully. Don't be cross."
"I'm not cross," she said, untying the handkerchief, and then proceeding
to take out the pins from her dress, holding them between her lips,
points outwards; "only you mustn't do so again."
Brother William said: "Well, I won't;" and then, as the pins were taken
from Martha's red lips--so great is the falsity of man--he bent down and
let his lips take the place of the pins, and Martha said never a word.
"Joe's wife said yesterday that she didn't mean to come and do for me
much longer," said Brother William suddenly.
"Why not?" said Martha.
"Because she said I'd best ask you."
"And are you going to ask me, William?"
"Yes. When will you come altogether?" he said softly.
Martha glanced round once more, as if in search of that spot of dirt
which would keep eluding her search. Then she raised her eyes to
Brother William's shirt front with a triumphant flash, feeling sure that
she would see a button off, or a worn hole; but there was neither; and
when she turned her eyes upon his hands, the wristbands were not a bit
frayed.
"I don't know," she said dubiously. "Do you want me to come?"
He nodded, and they went out of the dairy into the sitting room.
"I'll tell Fanny," he said. "I hope she'll be pleased."
But Fanny was not there; and when they went into the garden, she was not
there either, nor yet in the orchard.
"She must have gone down the lane," said Brother William--"down towards
the river. Let's go and see."
They went out together, with Martha making no scruple now about holding
on by Brother William's sturdy arm. But though they walked nearly down
to the river, Fanny was not there.
"She'll be cross, and think we neglected her," said Martha. "I am sorry
we went away."
"I'm not," said Brother William, trying to be facetious for the second
time that evening. "We've made half a dozen pounds o' butter, and a
match."
Martha shook her head.
"Let's go back and see if she went up to the wood," cried Brother
William.
"She's reading somewhere," said Martha as they walked back, to find
Fanny standing by the gate, looking slightly flushed and very pretty,
ready to smile and banter them for being away so long.
They soon ended the visit to the farm; for, after partaking of supper,
and eating one of Brother William's own carefully grown lettuces, they
walked slowly back, in the soft moist evening air, to the Rosery, when,
during the leave-takings, Brother William said: "Fanny, Martha's going
to be my wife."
"Is she?" said Fanny indifferently. "Oh!" And then to herself: "Poor
things! What a common, ordinary-looking woman Martha is. And Brother
William--Ah, what a degrading life this is!"
The degradation did not seem to affect the others, for Brother William's
cheeks quite shone, and the high lights on Martha's two glossy smooth
hands of hair seemed to be brighter than ever.
"Good-night," said Brother William. "Good-night, Martha."
"Good-night, William."
"You'll keep a sharp eye on Fanny till I fetch you away; won't you?"
"I always do, William; but I'm afraid her eyes are sharper than mine."
"What do you mean?" he said quietly.
"I'm afraid she's got a sweetheart."
"Who is it?" said Brother William sternly.
"I don't know yet. Sometimes I think it's a real one, and sometimes I
think it's all sham--only one out of her magazines that she talks about;
but I'm not sure."
"Then look here, Martha: you've got to be sure," said Brother William,
who was as business-like now as if he had been selling his hay. "You've
got to make sure, and tell me, for I'm not going to have anybody play
the fool with her. If any one does, there'll be something the matter
somewhere;" and shaking his head very fiercely, Brother William strode
away, giving a thump with his stick at every step along the road.
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