Muggerbridge is a straggling, picturesque little midland village, with
one principal street, an old church, a market-place, and a pound. Its
population, all told, does not number a thousand, the majority of whom
are engaged in agriculture; its houses are for the most part old-
fashioned and poor, though clean; and altogether its general character
and appearance combine to proclaim the village an unpretending English
hamlet, with nothing whatever but its name to distinguish it from a
hundred others like it.
It was here I found myself duly installed in the window of the village
jeweller's--held out as a bait to the purses of Muggerbridge. The
countryman who had purchased me was a big enough man in his own place,
though very little had been made of him in the "Central Mart." He was
jeweller, silversmith, church warden, postmaster, and special
Muggerbridge correspondent to the London _Thunderbolt_ all in one here,
and appeared to be aware of his accumulated dignities!
It was his custom twice a year to visit London for the purpose of
replenishing his stock. It was the common talk of the place that he
always returned from such expeditions with prodigies of bargains, which
went far to encourage the popular tradition as to the prodigal wealth of
the metropolis. People who knew him in town, on the other hand, always
laughed at him, and were unkind enough to hint that he never by any
chance bought an article at less than its full price, and often paid an
extremely fanciful ransom for his purchases.
The churchwarden and postmaster of Muggerbridge would have been very
indignant had such an insinuation ever reached his ears. It never did,
happily, and the worthy man was consequently always well satisfied with
his purchases; which--whatever he gave for them--he always contrived to
sell at a very respectable profit.
It was with a view to this profit that I found myself looking out of Mr
Argent's window, in the High Street of Muggerbridge, with a ticket round
my neck, conveying the (to me) very gratifying information that "this
superb watch was to be disposed of for the moderate amount of £4 10
shillings only," and a parenthesis below further indulged my vanity by
volunteering the information that I was worth £6. It _did_ occur to me
to wonder why, if I was worth £6, Mr Argent should be such a donkey as
to sell me for only three-quarters of that sum. Either he was a very
benevolent man, or he was in immediate want of £4 10 shillings, or he
had his doubts as to my alleged value. I somehow fancied the last was
the true reason, and was half afraid he was right too.
Well, I looked out of Mr Argent's windows for two months, and by that
time became acquainted with nearly all the inhabitants of Muggerbridge.
On my first arrival I was an object of a good deal of curiosity and
admiration, for any change in a country shop window is an excitement,
and when that change takes the form of a £6 "superb" watch offered for
£4 10 shillings, it was no wonder the honest Muggerbridgians gaped in at
me and read my label.
But in a very little time familiarity had bred contempt, and I lay
almost unheeded by the outside world. The grocer opposite, with his
triumphal arch of jam-pots monopolised all the wonder, and most of the
admiration, and I had the mortification of seeing passers turn their
backs on me, and step over the way to contemplate that vulgar structure.
I had, however, one or two constant admirers. One of these was a youth,
scarcely more than a boy, with a very pale, thoughtful face. He was
poorly dressed, but respectable. A book was generally tucked under his
arm, and very often I could see his lips moving, as if repeating
something to himself.
He paid me more attention than anybody. Every time he passed the shop
he halted and looked at me, as I thought, wistfully, and usually
appeared relieved to find me still in my place.
"George Reader's took a fancy to the new watch, I can see," I heard Mr
Argent say one day to his wife.
He spoke, let me observe, in a very broad country dialect, which I do
not feel equal to reproducing here.
"Poor lad!" said Mrs Argent; "I dare say he'd like to have it in his
pocket when he goes to college."
"He is going, then?"
"Yes, for certain; the clergyman says it would be a sin for a boy of his
cleverness not to go, and so I think."
"Well, learning's a great thing; and when a gamekeeper's son does take a
fit of it, I suppose it's all right to humour it. But you and I, wife,
can get on very well without it."
"Speak for yourself," retorted Mrs Argent; "I wish you had half as much
in your head as that boy has got, that's all!"
"And I suppose you wish you'd got the other half, eh? Stuff!"
And after this little tiff the worthy couple were silent for a while.
Presently Mrs Argent again spoke. "I wonder what they'll do about the
church organ when George's gone?"
"Ah! you may say so," said the husband, with a touch of importance in
his voice which became a churchwarden when speaking of church matters;
"it'll be hard to fill his place there."
"So it will. Did you stay after the service on Sunday?"
"No; you know I had to go round to the curate's. Why?"
"Just because if you'd heard him play you'd have been glued to your
chair, as I was. It was beautiful. I couldn't have got up from that
chair if I'd tried."
"Good job you didn't try, if you were glued down, especially in your
Sunday gown. I shouldn't care to have to buy many of them a month."
"Now, John, you know I've not had a new gown for nearly a year."
And then the talk took a departure over a range of topics to which I
need not drag my unoffending reader. This short conversation sufficed
to satisfy my curiosity in part as to the boy who was paying me such
constant attention; and another event which shortly happened served to
bring me into still closer acquaintance with George Reader. One day
there entered the shop a party consisting of half a dozen persons. One
of them was a young man in the dress of a clergyman, and the others I
knew well by sight as respectable and respected villagers.
"Good-morning, Mr Argent," said the curate, for the clerical gentleman
was none other; "we've come to see you on a little matter of business."
"Hope there's nothing wrong with the heating stoves in the church, sir,"
said Mr Argent, with an anxious face, "I was always against them being
used at all."
"The stoves are quite well, I believe," said the curate, smiling; "our
business is of quite a different kind. We've come to make a purchase,
in fact."
Mr Argent's face brightened considerably, partly at the assurance as to
the salubrity of the gas-stoves and partly at the prospect of business.
"What can I do for you, sir?" he said, no longer with his churchwarden's
voice, but as the Muggerbridge silversmith.
"Well, we have been asked to select a small present to be given by the
choir and congregation of our church to George Reader, who, I suppose
you know, is going next week to college."
"I have heard tell of it, sir," said Mr Argent, "and my wife and I were
only wondering the other day what was to become of the music at the
church when he's gone."
"We don't like to think of it," said one of the party. "It would want a
good one to take his place," said another.
"We shall all miss him," said the curate; "and we are anxious before he
leaves us to present him with some little token of our regard. We have
kept the thing from you, Mr Argent, as of course we should have to come
to you to procure whatever we decided on getting, so your contribution
to the gift will have to be some good advice on the matter we are still
undecided about--what to get."
"I shall be very glad to help--have you decided--er--I mean--has
anything been said--that is--about what--"
"About how much? Well, we have nearly four pounds--in fact, we might
call it four. What have you about that price that would be suitable?"
Oh! how my heart fluttered, for I could guess by this time what was
coming.
Mr Argent looked profound for a minute, and then said, "There's one
thing, I think, would do."
"What?" asked the deputation.
He pulled me out of the window and laid me on the counter.
"A watch! Dear me! we thought of all sorts of things, but not once of
that!"
"It would be a suitable present," said one of the party; "but this one
is £4 10."
"That needn't matter," said Mr Argent; "if you like it my wife and I
will settle about the difference."
"That's very kind of you, Mr Argent. Does any one know if George has a
watch?"
"I know he hasn't," said one of the party. "And what's more, I've heard
him say he wishes he had one."
"And I can answer for it he's been looking in at my window at this very
one every day for the last month," said the silversmith.
"Well, what do you say to getting this, then? We needn't ask you if
it's a good one, Mr Argent."
"No, you needn't, sir," replied the smiling Mr Argent, who, as I had
remained run down since the day he bought me, could not well have
answered the question more definitely.
"You'll clean it up, will you, and set it going, and send it to me this
afternoon?" said the curate;--"and perhaps you would like to come with
us to Reader's cottage this evening, when we are going to present it?"
Mr Argent promised to form one of the party, and the deputation then
left.
I was swiftly subjected to all the cleaning and polishing which brushes,
wash-leather, and whiting could give me. I was wound up and set to the
right time, and a neat piece of black watered ribbon was attached to my
neck, and then I waited patiently till the time came for my presentation
to my new master.
The gamekeeper's cottage to which I was conducted in state that evening
was not an imposing habitation. It boasted of only three rooms, and
just as many occupants. George, the hero of the occasion, was the son
of its humble owner and his wife, and, as will have been gathered, had
turned out a prodigy. From his earliest days he had displayed a
remarkable aptitude for study. Having once learned to read at the
village school, he became insatiable after books, and devoured all that
came within his reach.
Happily he fell into the hands of a wise and able guide, the clergyman
of the parish, who, early recognising the cleverness of the boy, strove
to turn his thirst for learning into profitable channels, lent him
books, explained to him what he failed to understand, incited him to
thoroughness, and generally constituted himself his kind and helpful
adviser.
The consequence of this timely tuition had been that George had grown
up, not a boisterous, over bearing prig, showing off his learning at
every available chance, and making himself detestable, and everybody
else miserable, by his conceited air, but a modest, quiet scholar, with
plenty of hidden fire and ambition, and not presuming on his talents to
scorn his humble origin, or be ashamed of his home and parents--on the
contrary, connecting them with all his dearest hopes of success and
advancement in the world.
They, good souls, were quite bewildered by the sudden blaze of their
son's celebrity. They hardly seemed to understand what it all meant,
but had a vague sort of idea that they were implicated in "Garge's"
achievements. They would sit and listen to him as he read to them, as
if they were at an exhibition at which they had paid for admission, and
it is not too much to say "Garge" was, in their eyes, almost as dreadful
a personage as the lord of the manor himself.
Among his fellow-villagers George was, as the reader will have gathered,
somewhat of a hero, and not a little of a favourite. This distinction
he owed to a talent for music, which had at a very early age displayed
itself, and had been heartily encouraged by the rector. In this
pursuit, which he followed as his only recreation, he had made such
progress that, while yet a boy, he became voluntary organist at the
church, and as such had won the hearts of the neighbours.
They didn't know much about music, but they knew the organ sounded
beautiful on Sundays, and that "Garge" played it. And so it was a real
trouble to them now that he was about to leave Muggerbridge.
You may imagine the state of excitement into which this unexpected visit
threw simple Mr and Mrs Reader. The good lady was too much taken
aback even to offer her customary welcome, and as for the gamekeeper, he
sat stock still in his chair, with his eyes on his son, like a hound
that waits the signal for action.
"We are rather an invasion, I'm afraid," said the curate, squeezing
himself into the little kitchen between a clothes-horse and a dresser.
"Not at all," said George, looking very bewildered.
"Perhaps you'll wonder why we've come?" added the curate, turning to the
gamekeeper.
"Maybe you've missed something, and thinks one of us has got it," was
the cheerful suggestion.
The curate laughed, and the deputation laughed, and George laughed, and
George's mother laughed, which made things much easier for all parties.
"No, we haven't missed anything, Mr Reader," replied the curate, "but
we expect to miss _somebody_--George, and that is the reason of our
visit."
And then the curate explained what the business was, and one of the
churchwardens made a speech (the composition of which had kept him awake
all the previous night), and then I was produced and handed over. And
George blushed and stammered out something which nobody could
understand, and George's mother began to cry, and George's father,
unable otherwise to express his sense of the occasion, began to whistle.
And so the little business was satisfactorily concluded, and the
deputation withdrew, leaving me in the pocket of a new master. Three
days afterwards both of us took our departure for Cambridge.