“Liar! Liar! Parson called but now, to say was there sickness, there
being nobody at church. You’ve not only taken dog’s leave and lied, but
you’ve made game of _me_.”
His face went from red to purple, and all veined, like raw meat. It was
awful to see. Then he reached for the horsewhip and said—
“I’ll give you the best hiding ever you had, my boy!”
He came across the kitchen towards Gideon.
But suddenly Gideon ran at him and bunted into him, and taking him by
surprise he knocked him clean over.
Now whether it was that Father had eaten a very hearty supper, after a
big day’s work with the bees, or whether it was him being in such a
rage, and then the surprise of the fall, we never knew. However it was,
he was taken with a fit. He never stirred, but lay on his back on the
red quarries, breathing so loud and strong that it filled the house,
like somebody snoring in the night. Mother undid his Sunday neck-cloth,
and lifted him up, and put cold water on his face, but it was no manner
of use.
The awful snoring went on, and seemed to eat up all other sounds. They
went out like rushlights in the wind. There was no more ticking from the
clock, nor purring from the cat, nor sizzling from the rasher, nor
buzzing from the bee in the window. It seemed to eat up the light, too,
and the smell of the white bush-roses outside, and the feeling in my
body, and the thoughts I had afore. We’d all come to be just a part of a
dark snoring.
“Sarn, Sarn!” cried Mother. “Oh, Sarn, poor soul, come to thyself!”
She tried to put some Hollands between his lips, but they were set. Then
the snore changed to a rattle, very awful to hear, and in a little while
it stopped, and there was a dreadful silence, as if all the earth had
gone dumb. All the while, Gideon stood like stone, remembering the
horsewhip Father meant to beat him with, so he said after. And though
he’d never seen anyone die afore, when Father went quiet, and the place
dumb, he said in an everyday voice, only with a bit of a tremble—
“He’s dead, Mother. I’ll go and tell the bees, or we met lose ’em.”
We cried a long while, Mother and me, and when we couldna cry any more,
the little sounds came creeping back—the clock ticking, bits of wood
falling out of the fire, and the cat breathing in its sleep.
When Gideon came in again, the three of us managed to get Father on to a
mattress, and lap him in a clean sheet. He looked a fine, good-featured
man, now that the purple colour was gone from his face.
Gideon locked up, and went round to look the beasts and see all well.
“Best go to bed now, Mother,” he said. “All’s safe, and the beasts in
their housen. I told every skep of bees, and I can see they’re content,
and willing for me to be maister.”