“The Saint’s Feast is kept upon the Dedication Day, by every
householder of the parish, within his own dores, each entertaining such
forrayne acquaintance as will not fayle, when their like turne cometh
about, to requite them with the like kindness.”—Carew’s Survey of
Cornwall.
Many persons of Penzance and its neighbourhood, whose memories take
them back fifty years or more, may recollect an aged man, usually
called Dick Rastram, who for some weeks before Christmas, and after it,
used to be heard calling around the market,—
“Moore’s almanacks new,
Some lies and some true.”
The almanacks he sold were supplemented with advertisements of patent
medicines and other special articles kept by his master.
On the whole Dick must have been a good servant, or his master would
never have had the patience to bear with his provoking ways for so many
years as he did. Dick was very fond of arguing the point as to the best
mode of doing any job he was set about, and the time wasted in settling
the matter was more than would have sufficed to do the work many times
over; but he would exert himself with double vigour when allowed to
have his own way. Sometimes, however, the master becoming tired of his
man’s pig-headedness, would say “do the work as thou art told to;
whether right or wrong no blame will rest on thy shoulders.” Then Dick
would keep a sharp look-out for a mistake, and if his master made any,
by a “slip of the tongue,” he would be sure to execute it to the very
letter.
One morning this precious man-servant was sent to the bake-house in
Back Lane, for a twopenny loaf of the proper age for mixing with other
ingredients in making pills. In a few minutes he returned, placed the
pence on the counter, and said “there’s no bread there stale enough;
where must I go next?” Then he was told some other place, and as often
returned without bread, asking each time where he was to go next? So he
dawdled away great part of the forenoon, when everyone knew that if he
had a mind he would find a suitable loaf in some shop best known to
himself, in a few minutes. The last time he returned with the two-pence
and asked, “Where must I go next?” his master, provoked beyond measure,
said go to —, naming a place said to be very hot; and to soften the
angry expression, added the word “stone” in a lower voice; but the man
heard this cooling word, took up the pence, and went out to get the
bread, it was supposed from some shop of his own choice. Night came,
however, but no Dick; and the following day passed without his having
been seen or heard of in Penzance.
A little after the usual closing time Mr. Harvey was in his shop with a
few of his neighbours, wondering what had become of his man, and
getting rather uneasy at not having had any tidings of him, and was
about to have his shop closed, when Dick entered, put a two-penny loaf
on the counter, and said, “Here’s a loaf that’ll please ’e I ’spose.
I’ve ben where you told me to go for ut. You will, of course, pay me
for what it cost me in lodgings in Helston last night, and for meat and
drink on the road. I went as cheap as I cud; ’tes only two and twenty
pence; seeman to me you have kept the shop open very late, and all the
lamps burnan, when every shop round the market es shut up except the
two grocers’ that are always the last.”
Dick then put up the shutters, turned down all the lamps except one
near his master’s desk, and asked if there was anything more for him to
do that night. “If there esn’t,” said he, “I’d like to go home and go
to bed at once, that I may rise early in the mornan.”
Dick’s master being one who always saw the humourous side of a
matter—and who had a keen relish for it, couldn’t, for his life, keep a
stern look when he replied, “go into the kitchen and get thy supper and
don’t let me see thee any more to night.”
Yet, with all the man’s deviltry, he was extremely proud of his
master’s repute as a skilful chemist and a clever man; as well as of
the old-established business, to which he regarded himself as a most
important adjunct.
The warehouses where Dick reigned supreme, as far as he could, were
extensive and somewhat scattered. The shop was a large one for those
times, with groceries on one side and drugs on the other. Grocers’
kitchens were then the usual places in which their regular country
customers left their baskets when their marketing was finished; and
there, too, boiling water was kept that country-folks might make
themselves tea, after which the warehouseman helped them take their
marketing to the inn-yard, at which their horses were left
(market-carts were but few then.) All were anxious to keep in with
Dick, to have his assistance, for he was as “ugly” as sin with some who
gadded about to new shops, that they might pick up things sold cheap as
a draw for a short time.
Amongst the old regular customers, to whom Dick paid much attention,
was Mary Angwin, or Chygwin, the wife of a well-to-do miner in St. Just
Churchtown, who also cultivated a few acres of land, in his spare time.
A few weeks before Hallantide [3] Mary invited Dick to come out the
Feasten Sunday, and he promised to come.
On Feasten Eve, Mary and Jackey, her husband, were both in Penzance, to
get meat and other things for the feast. They didn’t want to kill their
pig for winter’s store before it was fat, and sell one side of it on
the Thursday before the Feast, as many did that they might buy beef and
other good things for the Tide. “Be sure you come early, in time to go
to Church,” said Jackey, when his wife had reminded Dick of his promise
to come. St. Just folks, and others in Feasten time, were proud to show
a goodly number of visitors in Church. “And now, Dick,” said she, when
ready to leave the shop, “if you will take one side of the basket, with
me, Jackey will shoulder the sack of meat. The basket is heavy with
Hallan apples, the largest I could get, and with other things; the old
mare will groan and grunt at some rate, all the way home, as she always
do, the creature, when there’s a few pounds more than usual on her
back.”
After Mary had jogged away, seated on a bow-pad, with the heavy basket
on her knees and the sack across the beast, Jackey stayed awhile
waiting for some comrades who were going to tramp it home as well as
himself. “You can find our house, mate, without any trouble,” said he
to his expected feaster, “’tes nearly the first you will come to on
entering Churchtown by the Penzance road; and you will know et by the
largest turf-rick you’ll see close to the end of et, and ’tes sure to
be sanded all about, from the door to the turf-rick and pigs’ crow.
I’ve ben along to Percurnow on purpose for a load; none else will
please Mary, for the Feast, but the sand from that Cove; and I brought
home ‘gard,’ (decomposed granite) from the Tinpit Hill, in St. Levan,
too, that she may scour the life out of tembran things,—the dairy door
and all, as well as the benches; she’s a capital wife, she es. Now good
night, and be sure to come early.”
By 10 o’clock Dick arrived, and was treated to a dram, first thing,
whilst Mary laid before him a substantial breakfast. The only one there
before, except those belonging to the house, was an old maid, a
mantua-maker of Kelynack; she was a staid old dear, yet not out of
hopes of getting married. Hearing that Dick Rostram was expected she
had invited herself to come and help Mary cook the feasten dinner; and
it was funny to see this dry old creature “setting her cap” at old Dick
all the time he was there. Next came an elderly couple from Sancras;
then two blooming damsels, sisters, from Morvah. And when all those
expected were come, Mary said, “Jackey, my son,” (though speaking to
her husband) “es time for thee to take our Feasters to Church, for I
and Cousin Gracey want all the room to cook dinner. You’ll stop a spell
in the public-house as usual, and all will be ready to place on the
board by the time you come in.”
Though late for service in Church they had one comfort, as Jackey said,
“they would be out as soon as the rest.”
About two o’clock the feasters came home and found the big crock lifted
off the brandes (trivet) on to the hearth. In the large vessel were
boiled a rump of beef, a couple of fowls, and a nice piece of streaky
pork to eat with them; as well as turnips, carrots, and other
vegetables, all in kipps (net-bags) to keep them separate and for
convenience in taking up. The vegetables were placed to drain on bars
called “kipp sticks,” placed across the crock; the beef was dished up
on a round pewter platter; the fowls had melted butter and parsley—some
of the butter poured on them, the rest served in a boat. A rabbit-pie
was steaming on the chimney stool; and a baked figgy (plum) pudding was
on the dresser, turned out of the baker on to another pewter platter,
and powdered over with white sugar. On one end of the hearth, over a
few embers, stood a little pot, the very model of the larger vessel but
not more than a tenth of its size, containing choice red-apply
potatoes, steaming under a cloth, all the water having been poured off.
At the sight of this Dick clapped his hands and cried “what a dear
little crock!”
When the female guests came down, with their dresses pinned up, that
they mightn’t be foust (soiled or rumpled) they found dinner served.
Mary took from the dresser pewter flagons, which shone like silver and
were only used on grand occasions, to serve the ale. If the feasters
didn’t make a good dinner it was from no fault of their entertainers,
for it was “cut and come again” till all declared they were “choke full
and ready to burst.” Then they had a nip of brandy all round, to settle
their stomachs. Jugs of hot toddy were next placed on the board, with a
little tray of shag tobacco and long pipes. Crocks and pans put away,
the fire was gathered to one end of the hearth; fresh turves put on;
and the chimney-stool put back to its place on the other end of the
roomy hearth, that those who liked best to smoke in the chimney corner
might sit there. The men being made comfortable as their hearts could
desire, Mary and her female friends went upstairs to have a cosy chat
to themselves; and there they had a bottle of old sweet-drink (mead)
which had been kept for the feast. Didn’t their tongues go, two or
three together, talking over the births and marriages that had lately
taken place or were likely soon to occur amongst their acquaintances;
the new dresses seen in Church; and scores of other matters dear to
female hearts.
When weary of being without the men, down they came to have a look
round the “hale” (hall?) Jackey asked if they,—the two blooming
ones—would like to have a run down to the Cape? “No thank ’e, Jackey
dear,” said the elder, “’tes too cold a place this time of the year,
but well enow in summer. After we have warmed ourselves a bit we want
to see the pretty things in your hale, brought home, from over sea, by
your cousin, Tom Hattam.” “You shall, my dears, and take a glass of hot
toddy to warm ’e all through. I spose your sweethearts will be here
soon?” “No not yet, for hours,” said the elder again; “es time enow for
them to come here when we want to be going home, and that won’t be yet
awhile. But I shouldn’t wonder if Nanny’s Tom es here before long to
know where he shall meet you and some other San Tusters to-morrow to go
rabbit shooting. You must come over to Morvah, he said, for he can tell
you where a hare’s likely to be found and rabbits in plenty. Her boy,
Tom es roving mad sometimes to get married and be off over sea to a
place where many of his comrades went some years ago, and are doing
well there, so Tom says. What’s the place called Nancy, that thee art
always dreaman about?” “Dodgeville,” replied the younger; “es near
Mineral Point.”
Jackey having set the Morvah girls a-talking about their sweethearts,
and the subject of their discourse being of little interest to any but
themselves, the Sancras man, taking Jackey’s two elder children, went
to visit some relatives of his and theirs in another part of
Churchtown. His wife was asleep on Mary’s bed, being tired after her
walk from Trannack and a hearty meal. At last when the girls paused a
moment they and the rest went to look at the pretty things in Mary’s
hale.
Whether Jackey Angwin’s best room be called a hale or a parlour, it was
a very neat little place,—almost too bright and nice and full of
nick-nacks for one’s eyes to rest on anything.
The mantel-shelf was so crowded with china cattle, chiefly cows and
sheep, with a shepherd and shepherdess under a tree, taking care of
them, that they had scarcely room either to lie or to stand amidst
crystals of quartz, or Cornish diamonds, and other choice specimens,
and foreign shells. There were also two circus horses, red and white
ones, rearing on their hind legs, on either end of the shelf, and ready
for a spring down on the floor.
Hanging on the walls over the mantel was that red-hot picture of
Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples, which seamen so often bring home from
some Levantine port to let their friends know something of the wonders
they have seen. “Come here, Dick, and the rest of ’e, and tell us about
this picture and other foreign things that Cousin Jack brought home on
his return from his first voyage abroad.” Dick looked at the picture
and said, “This is the same that one may see in almost every house in
Capens Row, and in many on Sandy Bank. Sailors all tell a story about
it and say that a long while ago, a vessel was becalmed for three days
and two nights within sight of that burning mountain. About one
o’clock, or earlier, on the third night, they heard a loud voice,
coming from that mountain, say, ‘the hour es come, but the man esn’t
come.’ Lookan to windward just after, the sailors saw a black cloud
rising from out over the sea and coming straight towards them. When
just over the main-tops they saw plainly that what they had taken for a
cloud was a company of infernal spirits, carrying off among them a man
they had known. He was a Barbary pirate whose vessel they had sunk with
all on board not long before. The men heard dreadful cries as the
infernal spirits bore the pirate away right to the mountain that had
only ben smoakan for days before; but as the infernals approached and
took the man down et blazed up and roared like thunder. Then a gale
sprung up and brought the ship into port—thereabouts, where you see the
red-lookan housen,” said Dick pointing to Naples.
[This sounds much like an old kmonish legend, and it probably is one
adapted from the ancient myth which tells of Etna and Vesuvius being
the chimney-tops of Tartarus.]
“Can that story be true?” asked Gracey, looking at the picture as if
she expected to see the cloud of infernals. “I don’t know I’m sure,”
Angwin replied, “for Jack told us the same; but sailors spin such queer
yarns, and so besmeared with their tarbrush, that one can’t ever tell
what’s in them of truth. Now when Jack brought us this picture (and
other things we’ll see bem by) Granny was here. She put on her
spectacles to have a good look, but couldn’t make out what it was. When
Jack told her et was a burnan mountain she said ‘Hold thy tongue; I’ll
never believe that; es a bad picture of a house a fire I spose.’ ‘Well,
old dear,’ replied he, ‘you won’t credit me weth haven sen many things
that you havn’t. You wan’t believe praps that when on the Red Sea
shores I seed the axle-trees of Pharoah’s chariots stickan out of the
sand weth the linch-pins still in them. The wheels and the other tember
was rotten and washed away.’ ‘Perhaps I may believe that,’ said she.
‘An old ship-mate of mine,’ continued Jack, ‘who had ben a long way
inland told me he had sen Lot’s wife turned into rock-salt. ’Tes still
standan in that dry climate, and he cracked off the little finger of
her right hand. It’s grown again: fingers and toes shoot out, or sprout
anew, during a flowing tide.’ ‘Why what is become of the finger?’ asked
she. ‘That, at the bottom of the sea, now,’ replied he, ‘weth many
other strange things, such as Eve’s apples, very fair to see but all
full of ashes within jest like ‘colebrands’ (smutty ears of wheat.) His
ship was sunk with a blow from a whale’s tail, and he wed a ben
drowned, ef by good luck he hadn’t a got hold of a dolphan, which he
mounted when sinkan, and the good fish, always friendly to sailors,
bore him safe to shore.’ ‘Now I wan’t heer any more of thy stories,’
said Granny, ‘for one can’t tell what to believe of them.’”
When Jackey ceased talking the company passed on towards a large table,
with turned-down leaves, which stood against the wall opposite the
window. Resting on this table and supported by the wall was an oval
mahogany tea tray of the old fashion, and above it pictures of the four
Evangelists, seemingly painted on glass. The saints’ raiment was of as
deep a dye as the lurid flames of Vesuvius or the purple waters of
Naples Bay. In front of the tea tray was a pile of books, and at either
end a large foreign shell, so turned as to show the delicate pink of
its inner surface. “Put one of these to your ear, my dear,” said Dick
to the younger Morvah damsel, “and you will hear waves surging on the
shores from which they were brought, and that’s over the water which
you expect soon to cross.” Nancy having placed a shell to her ear and
listening, said, “I surely hear it murmuring as if in grief to be taken
from its old home and companions. What do you hear, sister?” “Much the
same, I think,” replied the other sister. “Oh, what a lot of things you
townsmen know,” said Gracey; “I should dearly love to live in Penzance;
one can hear and see so much more there than in the country.” “Come and
live with me then, my dear,” said Dick; “I’ve a lot of pretty things to
show ’e and we’re a suitable couple,—just of a height,” continued he,
taking Gracey’s arm in his, whilst she looked down and simpered in a
way she thought would seem modest.
Leaving the table, all Mary’s guests came to a corner-cupboard or
“buffet,” as it was usually called. About a third of its height was
closed with doors; over which were three open shelves. On the lower
shelf, or cupboard-bed, was a rare old china punch-bowl, turned on its
mouth, with old china plates lining the sides, and around the bowl,
basins and small cups, without handles, all of rare old India china. On
the middle shelf was a china tea-set. On the upper one many curious old
glasses, some of them coloured, with high twisted stems, and patterns
cut on their inner surfaces. Whilst looking over these, Gracey spoke of
her feet being cold, and the gallant Dick led her to the kitchen fire.
When they had passed out Mary opened the cupboard doors and took out a
variety of such trifles as sailors usually bring home from foreign
parts; and these were, most of them, either from Quebec or South
American ports, to which ships in the timber trade resort. Amongst the
former were moccasons and pouches of curious patterns, worked by the
squaws of Indian Lorrett, about ten miles from Quebec; strings of those
rare seeds called Indian shot, the product of Canadian plants. (The
larger ones, looking like bits of pear-shaped porcelain, and just as
hard, are often strung for rosaries: although so hard that their sides,
when dry, cannot be pierced with steel, they have a natural cavity from
end to end, running lengthwise, through which a fine needle and thread
may be passed.) Next a clear broad-mouthed bottle, full of smaller
foreign products, was taken out and brought to the window, when Mary
noticed that the day was darkening, and, looking up at the old
eight-day clock, which stood beside the fireplace, was surprised to
find it so late, and said she must be off to get tea, opened the door a
little, then closed it, and came back and said to Jackey, “I be hanged
ef old Gracey and Dick ain’t upon the chimney-stool sitting as close as
they can get, head to head, courtan. Who but they! She’s ben tryan all
she cud do in that way ever since Dick es here.”
Mary then went to the dairy to make a cake. The window being darkened
by many choice plants, chiefly roses, they brought the bottle of
wonders up to the kitchen table and turned out its contents.
One may remark, before going farther, that the clock was made by
Matthew Wearne, of St. Erth, early in the last century. Many of them
are still in this neighbourhood, keeping good time.
Suspended from a beam, near the middle of the room, was a
silvered-glass globe reflecting objects around. Against vacant places
on the walls were placed the usual six chairs and two armed ones, all
furnished with neat, patch-work covered cushions. The bottle being
emptied on the table, there were found various small tropical shells
and seeds, strung together like necklaces; also some of those
bean-shaped seeds frequently picked up on our sands, and on all shores
laved by the Gulf Stream. In the West Country these have no particular
name that we know of, but they were often perforated, strung, and hung
from children’s necks to make them cut their teeth easily; and were
worn as amulets for preventing diseases. It is pretty well known that
those seeds of tropical trees being found on many shores of Europe, and
not being those of any known trees in the Old World, learned men
concluded before the time of Columbus, that they must be produced in
lands either in, or beyond, the Atlantic; consequently, they had
something to do with the discovery of America.
The bottle repacked and put away tea was ready and all the guests
assembled.
Besides the heavy cake just baked,—black with currants, and too rich
with cream for any one to eat much of, there were risen cakes; and
apple-cakes, baked on Saturday; with bread, cream, and honey.
Tea being over, the old Sancras couple left. They wern’t much missed,
for they were a dull old pair, who passed nearly all their time either
eating, drinking, or sleeping. The old man had walked down to
Nancherrow, ’tis true, but then he went to visit an old acquaintance,
were he was sure to have more drink; yet he tasted every thing on the
table at tea-time, finishing with bread and honey, as he said the cream
was too “quaffing” (luscious) to eat with honey.
In the meantime Jackey had placed on the embers a faggot of furze, and
on it a few heathy turves, to keep in the flames and gradually kindle
the whole. Then a high-backed settle was brought to the hearth from the
stair-rail against which it usually stood. The settle-back could be
turned down to rest on the ends, so as to form a table if wanted. Mary
sat back by the table, feeling too warm, with all her moving about, to
sit nearer the fire; and looked around with pride on her
dresser-shelves, full of rare old earthenware (the queer faces in her
old clome jugs grinned with joy in the warm firelight;) then on her
bright brass warming-pan, candlesticks, pewter flagons, and other
things on the chimney-piece, and she was not less pleased to see the
white “valance,” called the chimney-cloth, which hung along the
“cravel” (mantel-stone or tree.) Old housewives were just as careful to
have clean chimney-cloths as caps. They kept everything about their
fire-places as clean as if they venerated the hearth as an altar.
Come to Mary’s house at any time, you would always find this room dry
and comfortable. All sloppy work was done in a pretty large room at the
back, under a lean-to roof all the length of the dwelling.
At one end of this scullery, or back kitchen, a portion was screened
off for a dairy. Over this, and projecting a few feet, was a “talfat”
(loft) where some of the children’s beds were placed. At the other end,
a few feet were taken up with a spence; near which was an outer door
opening to a court, with the peeth, large stone-trough, fuel-ricks, &c.
Shortly after the old Sancras “pigs’” departure, in came two sturdy
young fellows,—one from the north of St. Just, the other from Morvah.
“Will ’e have a cup of tea? We’ve only just finished” asked Mary. “They
don’t care for the women’s drink,” Jackey answered for them; “make a
jug of toddy.” “They had no business to come yet,” said that talking
elder sister, “we shan’t go yet for a good while.” “But Tom and I must
go early,” said Hannibal, that sister’s sweetheart; “Tom to be up early
and after the rabbits. I must work the first core to bal or be spaled
(fined.) Es hard that a worken man can’t have a day or two once a year,
to hold the Feast, when those we work for have a feast every day, all
the year round. Besides, we’ll all be here early to-morrow evening that
we may dance altogether. Perhaps it’ll be the last time for many
years.”
“My dear Nanny,” said Tom to the younger sister, as she laid her head
on his shoulder and wept, “what art a-cryan for? Thinkan about beean
far away from father and mother, next year this time? Cheer up, my
darling, for we shall soon have a comfortable home there and they will
come to us, perhaps, before next Feast; who can tell? Older folks than
they are going away to their children every day, and taking much longer
voyages too. Come now, when over there thy Tom may hunt better game
than any here, without so much as askan leave or licence, and you will
make venison pasties instead of dry ‘fuggans’ or ‘hoggans.’”
“Catch thy dears first,” said the teasing elder sister.
“Well, Nelly,” replied he, “west a believe what Simon Mitchell wrote
home? He’s only been there about two years and he said that he wouldn’t
be home agen for the fee of Boscarn, and that workan men there may, and
do, have turkeys on their tables oftener than we can get rabbits. Now
I’ll tell thee, sister Nell,” continued he, rising and taking Nanny to
the door, “ef I’d been in thy Honny’s place I’d jest say ef thee
westn’t go thee may’st stay, and then we should hear another tune.”
“Never mind her, Tom,” replied Hannibal, “es only that I may court her
the more.”
Soon after they had settled on a place to meet next morning with
Jackey, the blooming damsels and their lovers left, with a promise to
come again early to-morrow evening.
Shortly after the young peoples’ departure Dick got out of his warm
corner on the chimney-stool and said “Es time for me to be goan, for
I’ve further to go than any of your other feasters.”
“No, no,” said Mary, “stop over to-morrow and till servy day” (Feasten
Wednesday) “if you will, and go with me and Grace to the fiddler, for I
can shake my shoes in a three-handed reel yet and shall for years to
come, I hope.”
“I trust thee west,” said Jackey, “for my old grandmother danced of a
Feasten Monday till she was eighty-two, and a better woman there never
was. Now do ’e stop,” said he to the guest, “and keep a ‘Mazed Monday’
for once. Master won’t mind et. Whilst I’m after the rabbits, only for
a few hours, early in the morning, the boy will go with you to see the
youngsters’ games. To be sure they arn’t kept up now like in old times
when there was hurling and wrestling, and all the gentle folks of the
parish came to see, or join in the sports; a hundred years ago there
were many of their old family seats occupied by the owners (one may
count five or six of them now, let as farm houses, at no great distance
from the road leading through St. Just, from Sennen to Morvah,
beginning with Brea and ending with Pendeen.) The prize-wrestling was
left till Feasten Monday, the standards having been all made many weeks
before hand. Though the weather was often bad and grass wet and
slippery, the youngsters in their well barked canvas jackets, didn’t
mind a trifle of mud, and the ladies encouraged their lovers’ or
brothers’ manliness.
“I’d like to stay and see anything like it now,” said Dick; “but our
people have been expectan goods for a long time. Only yesterday the
Furley came in and Captain Hosking es goan to have the cargo broken out
to-morrow. So I must be home to stow our things in the warehouses; else
I shall find everything in a ‘migle-cum-por’ (confusion or mess.) You
see the weight of the business es upon my shoulders. How shud’na be,
for I’ve ben weth our people all my life-time—, weth my present
master’s father first, when I was no bigger than your boy Jackey; so I
must love ’e and leave ’e, and you will be sure to come in and see me
Madron Feasten Sunday won’t ’e Mary? You shall go to our grand Church
and hear the organ. Lots of people go a purpose to hearn, and you’ll
see grand folks and things sure nuf.”
“Well, thank ’e,” said Mary, “I’d like to go very well, but don’t see
how I can leave Jackey; he’d be like a fish out of water of a Sunday,
home without me.”
“Jackey must come too,” replied Dick, “and little Mary and John, ef you
will.”
“The four younger ones,” said Mary to her husband, “might be left with
their grandmother, the same as to-day, ef she’ll be troubled weth them
agen so soon, for I should dread to leave them here weth anybody but
myself. They will be always playan weth the fire when they arn’t
ploshan in the water, and our wood-corner is a dangerous one.”
“Now I’ll tell ’e how you can manage et,” said Grace. “The Sunday I’ll
come over early, to see that you are all to-rights, and the children
shall go home weth me; then you can put out the fire, turn down the
brandes on the bakan-ire, cross the fire-hook and prong, sweep up the
hearthstone, put on it a basin of spring water, for the ‘Smale People
(fairies) and good luck,’ like as the old folks ded, and some do still
before leaving their houses shut up, then touch the cravel before
crossing the drussel, lock the door, and away to Feast. I’ll come and
see that you are all smart and tidy to go to Penzance Church and hear
the organ. I’ll come over very early and titevate ’e off, for the
credit of the parish, before you go to Penzance Feast to see grand
people and things; and I’m sure you’ll be made very welcome weth
Mr. Rostram.”
“Oh cuss ’e,” cried Dick, “that esn’t my name; that’s a nickname some
blackguards put upon me, years ago, and fools keep it up still. I’d as
soon hear thunder.”
“Oh laws,” sighed Gracey, “I ded’n know that, and have ben thinkan all
day what a pretty name that es and how I shud like to be called by’n.”
“Then take’n and welcome,” said Dick, going outside the door.
“Stop a minute,” said Mary “for me to put on my bonnet and shawl;
Jackey and I will go along wh’y to the North Road or farther.”
They didn’t offer a parting dram, knowing that he had taken enough for
his old crazy head to bear, nor try to detain him, lest Gracey might
shoot more fools’ bolts. Among other talk, by the way, Dick remarked
that the elder Morvah damsel seemed unwilling to leave home with the
rest.
“That’s only her way of teazing those best liked by her,” Mary replied,
“ef Honney were less eager to go with Tom and Nancy then the other
would urge him to go, for she likes her sister, and the two men have
always been the same as twin brothers.”
“And capital fellows they are,” said Jackey, “to get on in any land
where their native tongue is known. Hannibal es as good a man for
underground work as may be found; besides, he can do any rough
carpenters’ work better than many who served a time to learn the trade,
and can make a strong wall in the old fashion by laying the stones to
bind each other, without mortar, like they were in our old castle
walls, such as Choon; and Tom, besides beean a good miner es very handy
with blacksmiths’ tools and so well acquainted with a fire-engine that
he’s often trusted to work her, in place of the regular engineman.
There’ll few be found in Yankey-land to beat them. And their intended
wives can turn their hands to any kind of work fit for women.”
“Well ef I’m never married in this world, I’ll never have old snuffy
Gracey,” said Dick to himself. “How can one after seean such dear
Morvah maidens?”
“We’re on the great road now to Penzance,” said Jackey, “and I think,
mate, that you’ll get home very well ef you don’t try to make any short
cuts across the fields. The longest way round is often the shortest way
home.”
“Good night, and I wish ’e well,” said Dick. “You’r coman in to Madron
Feast, and be sure you come early one and all of ’e.”
After parting, Dick called back several times, “Be sure to come early
Madron Feasten Sunday.”