THAT very evening, so Jancis told us next day, Missis Beguildy gave
the pretended message, and the day after the love-carriage Beguildy set
out, full of importance, with his ash-wood kibba, to find the seventh
child and bring back the bread. I said it did seem a shame to deceive
the poor man so, but Jancis said, “No danger! It makes him happy, and
we’ll give him the money if he finds the seventh child, so what more is
to do?”
She was looking as pretty as a pink, was Jancis. She stayed a bit, to
help in the washing-up, and then she sat in the kitchen while I worked,
sewing a seam in her wedding clo’es. After tea when she was going,
Gideon said—
“Mind you dunna forget!”
She coloured up as pink as codlins-and-cream, and ran along the
wood-path. After supper Gideon said, careless like, “If I be late, Prue,
and you want to go to bed, put the key over stable door.”
I said I would, and no more. But I saw him shaving hisself very
particular, and putting on his Sunday stock, so I knew that whatever
date parson met have got fixed for the wedding, the wedding was now, and
I fetched a rose for his coat. He looked very bashful over that, but I
said that when a fellow went to see his girl so soon afore the wedding
he must always wear a flower. That seemed to make it all right, thinking
I guessed nought, and off he went, whistling loud and clear, up the wood
path where the leaves were turning rusty, and sighs were sounding here
and there, and the airs breathing autumn, and the brown cobs falling
with little thuds, for lads to play conquer to their own let and
hindrance. Sad, and very sad I thought it in the wood path when Gideon’s
tall figure was passed away, and the mere lapped, and the boat was
knocking on the steps, and an owl hooting. Why was it so sad, I
wondered, when the wedding was fixed so soon, and the glory roses
blooming, corn safe housed, and in my own heart the Maister come! Yet
there was that about the evening which you feel when summat has died. I
went the rounds to see if all was well. Mother was asleep, brown and
small and peaceful in the big bed. Bendigo was in stable, very
comfortable, for he was old and nesh, and we fetched him in before
October. All was well, and I wondered what the harm was, that I felt in
the air. I was to know afore long, though for a little while things kept
on as usual. Every night I put the key in the stable, but said nought.
Every morning Gideon’s bed was all tossed and tumbled, but I knew very
well he hadna slept in it. He whistled about the place as merry as any
other man, not under breath any more. I was glad for him, and glad to be
making ready for Jancis. They were to have the guest chamber, which, not
having been used for many years, was in very bad repair. So I’d bought a
few rolls of cheap paper out of the butter-money, and I was papering it
unbeknown to Gideon. Mother was in the secret, and she’d come and clasp
her hands and say, “Looks a pretty paper! Doing it right well you are,
my dear. Roses and all! Roses be lucky, to my mind. Your Aunt Dorcas had
roses in her bride-chamber, and not one of her children ever died, nor
ailed, nor cried. I mind she made a joke over that. ‘Neither die nor
cry,’ she says. I hope Sarn’s wunna cry much, for I canna bear to hear a
child cry. Sarn ud roar ever so, it was awful to hear un. Beat on the
cot, a would, summat cruel. Mun always get what a wanted very quick, but
if it tarried, he wouldna forget, he’d cry the day long, but he’d get
it.”
I’d got the paper on, and I was about putting a bit of glazed calico
round the dressing-table when Missis Beguildy came rushing to our place,
like a wild woman. It was such pleasant weather too, with little birds
in the new ricks and the first apples falling. It was early in the
morning when she came. I’d been churning. I hadna seen Gideon, for he’d
taken a crust out into the field where he was ploughing. I was in the
dairy when Missis Beguildy rushed in.
“Oh, my dear!” she cries out. “Oh, my dear, the worst as could happen’s
come to pass.”
“Goodness me, what?”