The simplicity and enjoyments of a country life depicted.
A quiet day was Sunday on Southwood Farm. Joe used to slumber in the
meadows among the buttercups, or in the loft, or near the kitchen-fire,
as the season and weather invited. That is to say, until such time as,
coming out of Sunday School (for to Sunday School he sometimes went) he
saw one of the fairest creatures he had ever read about either in the
Bible or elsewhere! It was a very strange thing she should be so
different from everybody else: not even the clergyman's daughters--no,
nor the Squire's daughters, for the matter of that--looked half so nice
as pretty Polly Sweetlove, the housemaid at the Vicar's.
"Now look at that," said Joe, as he went along the lane on that Sunday
when he first beheld this divine creature. "I'm danged if she beant
about the smartest lookin o' any on 'em. Miss Mary beant nothing to her:
it's a dandelion to a toolup."
So ever since that time Joe had slept less frequently in the hay-loft on
a Sunday afternoon; and, be it said to his credit, had attended his
church with greater punctuality. The vicar took great notice of the
lad's religious tendencies, and had him to his night-school at the
vicarage, in consequence; and certainly no vicar ever knew a boy more
regular in his attendance. He was there waiting to go in ever so long
before the school began, and was always the very last to leave the
premises.
Often he would peep over the quick-set hedge into the kitchen-window,
just to catch a glance of this lovely angel. And yet, so far as he could
tell, she had never looked at him. When she opened the door, Joe always
felt a thrill run through him as if some extraordinary thing had
happened. It was a kind of jump; and yet he had jumped many times before
that: "it wasn't the sort of jump," he said, "as a chap gits either from
bein' frit or bein' pleased." And what to make of it he didn't know.
Then Polly's cap was about the loveliest thing, next to Polly herself, he
had ever seen. It was more like a May blossom than anything else, or a
beautiful butterfly on the top of a water-lily. In fact, all the rural
images of a rude but not inartistic mind came and went as this country
boy thought of his beautiful Polly. As he ploughed the field, if he saw
a May-blossom in the hedgerow, it reminded him of Polly's cap; and even
the little gentle daisy was like Polly herself. Pretty Polly was
everywhere!
Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin, on a fine Sabbath afternoon, would take their
pastime in the open air. First Mr. Bumpkin would take down his long
churchwarden pipe from its rack on the ceiling, where it lay in close
companionship with an ancient flint-gun; then he would fill it tightly,
so as to make it last the longer, with tobacco from his leaden jar; and
then, having lighted it, he and his wife would go out of the back door,
through the garden and the orchard, and along by the side of the quiet
river. By their side, as a matter of course, came Tim the Collie (named
after Mrs. Bumpkin's grandfather Timothy), who knew as well as possible
every word that was being said. If Mrs. Bumpkin only asked, "Where is
Betsy?" (that was the head Alderney cow) Tim would bark and fly across to
the meadow where she was; and then, having said to her and to the five
other Alderney cows and four heifers, "Why, here's master and missus
coming round to look at you, why on earth don't you come and see them?"
up the whole herd would come, straggling one after the other, to the
meadow where Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin were waiting for them; and all would
look over the hedge, as much as to say, "How d'ye do, master, and how
d'ye do, missus; what a nice day, isn't it?" exactly in the same manner
as men and women greet one another as often as they meet. And then there
was the old donkey, Jack, whom Tim would chaff no matter when or where he
saw him. I believe if Tim had got him in church, he would have chaffed
him. It was very amusing to see Jack duck his head and describe a circle
as Tim swept round him, barking with all his might, and yet only laughing
all the while. Sometimes Jack, miscalculating distances--he wasn't very
great at mathematics--and having no eye for situations, would kick out
vigorously with his hind legs, thinking Tim was in close proximity to his
heels; whereas the sagacious and jocular Tim was leaning on his
outstretched fore-feet immediately in front of Jack's head.
Then there was another sight, not the least interesting on these
afternoon rambles: in the far meadow, right under "the lids," as they
were called, lived the famous Bull of Southwood Farm. He was Mrs.
Bumpkin's pet. She had had him from a baby, and used to feed him in his
infant days from a bottle by the kitchen fire. And so docile was he
that, although few strangers would be safe in intruding into his
presence, he would follow Mrs. Bumpkin about, as she said, "just like a
Christian." The merits of this bull were the theme, on all appropriate
occasions, of Mrs. Bumpkin's unqualified praise. If the Vicar's wife
called, as she sometimes did, to see how Mrs. Bumpkin was getting on,
Mrs. Bumpkin's "baby" (that is the bull) was sure to be brought up--I
don't mean by the nurse, but in conversation. No matter how long she
waited her opportunity, Mrs. Goodheart never left without hearing
something of the exploits of this remarkable bull. In truth, he was a
handsome, well-bred fellow. He had come from the Squire's--so you may be
sure his breed was gentlemanly in the extreme; and his grandmother, on
the maternal side, had belonged to the Bishop of Winchester; so you have
a sufficient guarantee, I hope, for his moral character and orthodox
principles. Indeed, it had been said that no dissenter dared pass
through the meadow where he was, in consequence of his connection with
the Establishment. Now, on the occasions when Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin took
their walks abroad through the meadows to see their lambkins and their
bull skip, this is what would invariably happen. First, Mrs. Bumpkin
would go through the little cosy-looking gate in the corner of the
meadow, right down by the side of the old boat-house; then Mr. Bumpkin
would follow, holding his long pipe in one hand and his ash-stick in the
other. Then, away in the long distance, at the far end of the meadow (he
was always up there on these occasions), stood "Sampson" (that was the
bull), with his head turned right round towards his master and mistress,
as if he were having his photograph taken. Thus he stood for a moment;
then down went his huge forehead to the ground; up went his tail to the
sky; then he sent a bellow along the earth which would have frightened
anybody but his "mother," and started off towards his master and mistress
like a ship in a heavy sea; sometimes with his keel up in the air, and
sometimes with his prow under water: it not only was playful, it was
magnificent, and anybody unaccustomed to oxen might have been a little
terrified by the furious glare of his eyes and the terrible snort of his
nostrils as he approached.
Not so Mrs. Bumpkin, who held out her hand, and ejaculated,
"My pretty baby; my sweet pet; good Sampson!" and many other expressions
of an endearing character.
"Good Sampson" looked, snorted, danced, plunged and careered; and then
came up and let Mrs. Bumpkin stroke and pat him; while Bumpkin looked on,
smoking his pipe peacefully, and thinking what a fine fellow he, the
bull, was, and what a great man he, Bumpkin, must be to be the possessor
of "sich!"
Thus the peaceful afternoon would glide quietly and sweetly away, and so
would the bull, after the interesting interview was over.
They always returned in time for tea, and then Mrs. Bumpkin would go to
evening service, while Mr. Bumpkin would wait for her on the little piece
of green near the church, where neighbours used to meet and chat of a
Sunday evening; such as old Mr. Gosling, the market gardener, and old
Master Mott, the head gardener to the Squire, and Master Cole, the
farmer, and various others, the original inhabitants of Yokelton;
discussing the weather and the crops, the probability of Mr. Tomson
getting in again at the vestry as waywarden; what kind of a highway rate
there would be for the coming year; how that horse got on that Mr. Sooby
bought at the fair; and various other matters of importance to a village
community. They would also pass remarks upon any striking personage who
passed them on his way to church. Mr. Prigg, for instance, the village
lawyer, who, they said, was a remarkably upright and down-straight sort
of man; although his wife, they thought, was "a little bit stuck up like"
and gave herself airs a little different from Mrs. Goodheart, who would
"always talk to 'em jist the same as if she was one o' th' people." So
that, on the whole, they entertained themselves very amicably until such
time as the "organ played the people out of church." Then every one
looked for his wife or daughter, as the case might be, and wished one
another good night: most of them having been to church in the morning,
they did not think it necessary to repeat the performance in the evening.