“Stop Sammy!” and she said—
“Husht, Sammy! Feyther’s speaking. Dunna you forget as you can only call
to mind other folks’ words, but Feyther makes it all up new as he goes
on.”
She settled down again to watching Sexton, for all the world like a cat
watching a whirring wheel.
“I say we’ve had a good day, and Sarn’s had a good harvest, and I ask ye
for why? Because he’s industrious, people, and his sister’s industrious,
and his mother’s industrious. You couldna find in ten parishes a more
industrious family. Not like some I could mention, as never do a hand’s
turn, coddling about with old ancient wicked books. Ah! There’s some I
could mention, as I dunna see the face of here to-day, that a bit of
work would be the saving of. Well, neighbours, we all know as God helps
those that help theirselves, and when we look at all them grand ricks of
grain, I’m sure we see it’s true. And we wish you well, Sarn. And I’m in
behopes the young woman’ll be industrious too. For I hear tell the next
randy we come to at Sarn is to be a wedding. And may it bring more
prosperation and not less, though of course we may think our thoughts,
knowing where she’s from and what’s bred in the bone’ll come out in the
flesh—”
But fortunately there was a stir when he got to that, and a call from
the other tables—
“There’s two riders at the gate.”
And there was the young squire, and Miss Dorabella with him. They rode
across the orchard, and the young man called out, “Give you good
evening, folks, and luck to the corn!”
For he was ever hail-fellow-well-met with all men, I’ll say that for un,
and it made him well liked.
Miss Dorabella seemed quite to forget she’d quarrelled with Gideon. She
drew up by his table and smiled, sparkling her black eyes.
“Well, Sarn,” she said, “you’ve worked your will with the farm, I see.
You’ve got a desperate good crop. Are you going to offer us a drink of
harvest beer, to drink your health?”
I could see she admired him for a strong man, which he was. I never met
but one stronger. And I could see that the Squire had told her to make
it up with Gideon, and very likely sent young Mister Camperdine to see
she did it for it was common property that she’d sarved him wi’ sauce at
the _Mug o’ Cider_, and the Squire couldna afford to lose a man that was
like to do well. Gideon looked at her straight and sullen, but she kept
on smiling for all that, a bit conquering and a bit pleading. Then they
gave her up the best pewter measure full of ale, and she says—
“Health and prosperation, Sarn!”
Then she tossed it off, for she could drink ale with any man, and in
those days it wunna so long since ale was a lady’s only breakfast drink.
Then she gave back the measure and leaned down, holding out her hand,
stripping off the grand gauntlet, and she says—
“Your hand, Sarn!”
Well, he was done then, for he couldna refuse a lady’s hand. So he took
it in his great fist, and young Mister Camperdine nodded, as if to say
she’d done enough now, and she put on her glove again. All the while I
saw Jancis looking at her in a way that meant she was frit of her, and
also that she couldna abide her. But looking at Miss Dorabella, with
that sort of stony handsomeness she’d got, and then at Jancis, so soft
and pinky-sweet, it didna seem to me that Jancis had much to be afraid
of. They gave young Mister Camperdine some ale then, and when he’d
wished well and drunk it, he said—
“I thought maybe Beguildy was here, but I don’t glimpse him.”
Missis Beguildy stood up and curtsied.
“No, sir, he inna here, though a should be. And you’d best not look for
’im at home, sir, for I doubt you wouldna find ’im. But if you come
to-day’s a week——”
I thought that was right clever of Missis Beguildy. She wanted to give
Gideon and Jancis time, and to keep the young gentleman away as long as
she durst, while she thought how to manage Beguildy.
“Right!” calls out the young fellow as they rode off.
“To-day week, and mind Venus is there!”
Jancis began to giggle at that. She always did at any mention of the
silly affair. And it seemed so funny to her that he should be enquiring
so anxious after the very woman his cousin had sarved wi’ sauce, and she
at table all the while. But I crouched down on the bench, to seem short,
and not to let him see my shape, so that Jancis went off into a fit of
laughter again, and said I looked for all the world like a broody hen.
We had some sport together over the young squire. Then up came Missis
Beguildy, very put-about, wondering what to do with Beguildy till the
wedding day was safely come. All of a sudden she thought of summat, and
laughed and slapped herself till I thought she’d be took ill.
“Dear now, I’ve thought of it!” she says. “I’ll ask my cousin from
Lullingford, as is here by the mercy of God, to send a message to my
maister this very night, to say as hers is took ill (I mun think what
he’s to have. Summat cruel bad!) and as there’s no cure but the old
famous cure, to eat seven loaves baked at one baking by the seventh
child of a seventh child, and she’s to offer good money (you can pay
after you be wed, Jancis, for you’ll be having butter-money or summat)
and off he’ll go, dang-swang, to look for a seventh of a seventh, and
it’ll go hard but we’ll be in peace till Michaelmas.”
“Oh, mother,” says Jancis, giving her a kiss, “you’d ought to have been
a great general to ride along with Lord Wellington and lay traps for
Frenchmen!”
It was all fixed up before the games and dancing began, and I felt sorry
for Beguildy till I remembered what a wicked old man he was, wanting to
sell his child unwilling.
By this it was near dark, and the moon rising, big and raddled. They got
together a dozen fellows, mostly middle-aged or old, to whistle for the
dancing. They danced in the rickyard, among the stacks of golden corn,
sweeping up the straw with besoms first. Old Callard had been chosen for
a whistler, and very proud he was, for being the oldest he chose the
tunes and set the measure, and so he could feel that all the merry life
in a manner depended on him, which is pleasing to old folks.
“_Barley Bridge!_” he says.
The pretty tune sounded out clear on the quiet air.
I was standing under one of the stacks, watching. It was a gay thing to
see. Gideon was dancing, holding Jancis close and strong. Missis Sexton
was sailing about, and Felena too, jimp as a fairy. Even Mother made
shift to dance a few steps.
The twelve were whistling like a nest of throstles, sitting in one of
the empty waggons—
“_Open the gates as wide as the sky. . . ._”
when Kester found me.
“So that’s where you be,” he said. “Not dancing?”
“No.”
“For why?”
“I amna like other girls.”