A letter from home.
"I wonder," said Mrs. Oldtimes, "who this letter be for; it have been
'ere now nigh upon a week, and I'm tired o' seein' it."
Miss Prettyface took the letter in her hand and began, as best she could,
for the twentieth time to endeavour to decipher the address. It was very
much blotted and besmeared, and presented a very remarkable specimen of
caligraphy. The most legible word on it seemed "Gouse."
"There's nobody here of that name," said the young lady. "Do you know
anybody, Mr. Bumpkin, of the name of Gouse?"
"Devil a bit," said he, taking the letter in his hands, and turning it
over as if it had been a skittle-ball.
"The postman said it belonged here," said Mrs. Oldtimes, "but I can't
make un out."
"I can't read the postmark," said Miss Prettyface.
Mr. Bumpkin put on a large pair of glasses and examined the envelope with
great care.
"I think you've got un upside down," said Mrs. Oldtimes.
"Ah! so ur be," replied the farmer, turning it over several times.
"Why," he continued, "here be a _b_--and a _u_, beant it? See if that
beant a _u_, Miss, your eyes be better un mine; they be younger."
"O yes, that's a _u_," said Miss Prettyface, "and an _m_."
"And that spell _bum_."
"But stop," said Miss Prettyface, "here's a _p_."
"That's _bump_," said Mrs. Oldtimes; "we shall get at something
presently."
"Why," exclaimed Bumpkin, "I be danged if I doant think it be my old
'ooman's writin': but I beant sure. That be the way ur twists the tail
of ur _y_'s and _g_'s, I'll swear; and lookee 'ere, beant this _k i n_?"
"I think it is," said the maid.
"Ah, then, thee med be sure that be Bumpkin, and the letter be for I."
"Yes," said the young lady, "and that other word which looks more like
Grouse is meant for Goose, the sign of the house."
"Sure be un," exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin, "and Nancy ha put Bumpkin and Goose
all in one line, when ur ought to ha made two lines ov un. Now look at
that, that letter might ha been partickler."
"So it may be as it is," said Mrs. Oldtimes; "it's from Mrs. Bumpkin, no
doubt. Aren't you going to open it?"
"I think I wool," said Bumpkin, turning the letter round and round, and
over and over, as though there was some special private entrance which
could only be discovered by the closest search. At length Mrs. Oldtimes'
curiosity was gratified, for he found a way in, and drew out the many
folded letter of the most difficult penmanship that ever was subjected to
mortal gaze. It was not that the writing was illegible, but that the
spelling was so extraordinary, and the terms of expression so varied.
Had I to interpret this letter without the aid of a dream I should have a
long and difficult task before me. But it is the privilege of dreamers
to see things clearly and in a moment: to live a lifetime in a few
seconds, and to traverse oceans in the space of a single respiration.
So, in the present instance, that which took Mr. Bumpkin, with the help
of Mrs. Oldtimes and the occasional assistance of Lucy an hour to
decipher, flashed before me in a single second. I ought perhaps to
translate it into a more civilized language, but that would be impossible
without spoiling the effect and disturbing the continuity of character
which is so essential in a work made up of various actors. Mr. Bumpkin
himself in his ordinary costume would be no more out of place in my Lord
Mayor's state carriage than Mrs. Bumpkin wielding the Queen's English in
its statelier and more fashionable adornment. So I give it as it was
written. It began in a bold but irregular hand, and clearly indicated a
certain agitation of mind not altogether in keeping with the even
temperament of the writer's daily life.
"Deer Tom" (the letter began), "I ope thee be well for it be a long time
agoo since thee left ere I cant mak un out wot be all this bother about
a pig but Tom thee'll be glad to ear as I be doin weel the lamin be over
and we got semteen as pooty lams as ever thee clapped eyes on The weet
be lookin well and so be the barly an wuts thee'll be glad Tom to ear wot
good luck I been avin wi sellin Mister Prigg have the kolt for twenty
pun a pun more an the Squoire ofered Sam broked er in and ur do look
well in Mrs. Prigg faten I met un the tother day Mr. Prigg wur drivin un
an he tooked off his at jist th' sam as if I'd been a lady Missis Prigg
din't see me as her edd wur turned th' tother way I be glad to tell ee
we sold the wuts ten quorter these was bort by Mister Prigg and so wur
the stror ten load as clane and brite as ever thee seed Mr. Prigg be a
rale good custumer an a nice man I wish there was moore like im it ud be
the makin o' th' Parish we shal ave a nice lot o monie to dror from un at
Miklemes he be the best customer we ever ad an I toold th' Squoire wen ur
corled about the wuts as Mister Prigg ad orfered ten shillin a quorter
for un more un ee Ur dint seem to like un an rod away but we dooant o un
anythink Tom so I dont mind we must sell ware we ken mak moast monie I
spose Sampson be stronger an grander than ever it's my belief an I thinks
we shal do well wi un this Spring tell t' Joe not to stop out o' nites or
keep bad kumpany and to read evere nite wat the Wicker told un the fust
sarm an do thee read un Tom for its my bleef ur cant 'urt thee nuther."
"Humph!" said Bumpkin, "fust sarms indade. I got a lot o' time for
sarms, an' as for thic Joe--lor, lor, Nancy, whatever will thee say, I
wonder, when thee knows he's gone for a soger--a sarm beant much good to
un now; he be done for."
And then Mr. Bumpkin went and looked out of the window, and thought over
all the good news of Mrs. Bumpkin's letter, and mentally calculated that
even up to this time Mr. Prigg's account would come to enough to pay the
year's rent.
Going to law seemed truly a most advantageous business. Here he had got
two shillings a quarter more for the oats than the Squire had offered,
and a pound more for the colt. Prigg was a famous customer, and no doubt
would buy the hay. And, strange to say, just as Mr. Bumpkin thought
this, he happened to turn over the last page of the letter, and there he
saw what was really a Postscript.
"Halloo!" says he, "my dear, here be moore on't; lookee 'ere."
"So there is," answered Lucy; "let's have a look." And thus she read:--
"The klover cut out well it made six lode the little rik an four pun
nineteen The Squoire ony offered four pun ten so in corse I let Mister
Prigg ave un."
"Well done, Nancy, thee be famous. Now, thic big rik'll fetch moore'n
thic."
Such cheering intelligence put Mr. Bumpkin in good heart in spite of his
witness's desertion. Joe was a good deal, but he wasn't money, and if he
liked to go for a soger, he must go; but, in Mr. Bumpkin's judgment, he
would very soon be tired of it, and wish himself back at his fireside.
"Now, you must write to Mrs. Bumpkin," said Lucy.
"Thee'll write for I, my dear; won't thee?"
"If you like," said Lucy. And so, after dinner, when she had changed her
dress, she proceeded to write an epistle for Mrs. Bumpkin's edification.
She had _carte blanche_ to put in what she liked, except that the main
facts were to be that Joe had gone for a horse soger; that he expected
"the case would come on every day;" and that he had the highest opinion
of the unquestioned ability of honest Lawyer Prigg.
And now another surprise awaited the patient Bumpkin. As he sat, later
in the day, smoking his pipe, in company with Mrs. Oldtimes, two men,
somewhat shabbily dressed, walked into the parlour and ordered
refreshment.
"A fine day, sir," said the elder of the two, a man about thirty-five.
This observation was addressed to Mr. Bumpkin.
"It be," said the farmer.
The other individual had seated himself near the fire, and was apparently
immersed in the study of the _Daily Telegraph_. Suddenly he observed to
his companion, as though he had never seen it before,--
"Hallo! Ned, have you seen this?"
"What's that?" asked the gentleman called Ned.
"Never read such a thing in my life. Just listen."
"'A YOUNG MAN FROM THE COUNTRY.'
"EXTRAORDINARY STORY.
"A man, apparently about sixty-eight, who gave the name of Bumpkin,
appeared as the prosecutor in a case under the following
extraordinary circumstances. He said he was from the country, but
declined to give any more particular address, and had been taken by a
friend to see the Old Bailey and to hear the trials at that Court.
After leaving the Central Criminal Court, he deposed, that, walking
with his friend, he was accosted in the Street in the open daylight
and robbed of his watch; that he pursued the thief, and when near
Blackfriars Bridge met a man coming towards him; that he seized the
supposed thief, and found him wearing the watch which he affirmed had
been stolen. The manner and appearance of 'the young man from the
country' excited great laughter in Court, and the Lord Mayor, in the
absence of any evidence to the contrary, thought there was a _prima
facie_ case under the circumstances, and committed the accused for
trial to the Central Criminal Court. The prisoner, who was
respectably dressed, and against whom nothing appeared to be known,
was most ably defended by Mr. Nimble, who declined to put any
questions in cross-examination, and did not address his Lordship.
The case created great sensation, and it is expected that at the
trial some remarkable and astounding disclosures will be made. 'The
young man from the country' was very remarkably dressed: he twirled
in his hand a large old-fashioned white-beaver hat with a black band
round it; wore a very peculiar frock, elaborately ornamented with
needlework in front and behind, while a yellow kerchief with red ends
was twisted round his neck. The countryman declined to give his town
address; but a remarkable incident occurred during the hearing, which
did not seem to strike either the Lord Mayor or the counsel for the
defence, and that was that no appearance of the countryman's
companion was put in. Who he is and to what region he belongs will
probably transpire at the ensuing trial, which is expected to be
taken on the second day of the next Sessions. It is obvious that
while the case is _sub judice_ no comments can properly be made
thereon, but we are not prevented from saying that the evidence of
this extraordinary 'young man from the country' will be subjected to
the most searching cross-examination of one of the ablest counsel of
the English Bar."
The two men looked at Mr. Bumpkin; while the latter coloured until his
complexion resembled beetroot. Miss Prettyface giggled; and Mrs.
Oldtimes winked at Mr. Bumpkin, and shook her head in the most
significant manner.
"That's a rum case, sir," said Ned.
Silence.
"I don't believe a word of the story," said his companion.
Silence.
"Do you believe," he continued, "that that man could have been wearing
that watch if he'd stole it?"
"Not I."
"Lor! won't Jemmy Nimble make mincemeat of 'im!"
Mrs. Oldtimes looked frequently towards Mr. Bumpkin as she continued her
sewing, making the most unmistakeable signals that under no circumstances
was he to answer. It was apparent to everyone, from Mr. Bumpkin's
manner, that the paragraph referred to him.
"The best thing that chap can do," said Ned, "is not to appear at the
trial. He can easily keep away."
"He won't, you're sure," answered the other man; "he knows a trick worth
two of that. They say the old chap deserted his poor old wife, after
beating her black and blue, and leaving her for dead."
"It be a lie!" exclaimed Bumpkin, thumping his fist on the table.
"Oh!" said Ned, "do you know anything about it, sir? It's no odds to me,
only a man can't shut his ears."
"P'r'aps I do and p'r'aps I doant; but it beant no bi'niss o' thine."
"I didn't mean no offence, but anybody can read the paper, surely; it's a
free country. P'r'aps you're the man himself; I didn't think o' that."
"P'r'aps I be, and p'r'aps I beant."
"And p'r'aps your name is Bumpkin?"
"And p'r'aps it beant, and what then?"
"Why, you've nothing to do with it, that's all; and I don't see why you
should interfere."
"I can't have no quarrelling in my house," said the landlady. "This
gentleman's nothing to do with it; he knows nothing at all about it; so,
if you please, gentlemen, we needn't say any more."
"Oh! I don't want to talk about it," said Ned.
"No more do I," chimed in his companion; "but it's a pity that he should
take up our conversation when he hasn't anything to do with it, and his
name isn't Bumpkin, and he hasn't lost his watch. It's no odds to me; I
don't care, do you, Ned?"
"Not I," said Ned; "let's be off; I don't want no row; anybody mustn't
open his mouth now. Good day, sir."
And the two young men went away.