Outwardly his religion sat lightly on him, but inwardly it was solid
and real. He took to reading aloud one chapter of the Gospel every
night, and soon made a habit of adding a brief extempore prayer for
the benefit of Mary, Norah Veale, and Mrs. Goudie, who regularly came
from the kitchen to hear him. His reading and praying formed, of
course, a marked innovation; but beyond it there were very few
perceptible changes that could be traced to the fresh phase of mind
into which he had now entered. And these few changes were traced or
perceived by only one person, his wife.
Mavis saw with satisfaction that the gentlefolk did not seemed to be
huffed. Orders came in from several of those old-fashioned people who
had hitherto held aloof, but who perhaps were at present generous
enough to think that if you don't go to church, the next best thing is
to go to chapel. The Baptists were not therefore standing in his way:
they had caused no check to his success.
He bought all the corn and hay which the neighboring farms could spare
to sell, so that what others had grown and cut for miles round was
carted straight into his rick-yard. During the hay harvest he appeared
especially grand, riding about the fields on his horse, grave and
watchful, really like a prince with vassals hard at work for him as
far as the eye could see. On the last day he entertained the farmers
to dinner in the best parlor, and afterward they all stood in the
front garden, smoking cigars and praising Mrs. Dale's roses and
carnations.
Mavis too gave parties; but she as a rule exercised her hospitality at
the back of the house, where the little court and the petitioners'
bench near the kitchen door were more fully occupied than ever. Here
took place the annual summer tea-party for the cottage women, when
Mavis was quite like some squire's wife, being courtesied to,
receiving votes of thanks, and taking innocent pleasure in the
proudness of her position. A far bigger and more difficult affair was
when she invited all the children from the Orphanage. Long trestle
tables for the girls were set out on the grass paths of the kitchen
garden, with a separate and more stately table for the matrons and
governesses; urns had been borrowed, seats hired, mountains of food
and fruit got ready; and nevertheless the heart of Mavis almost failed
her when the two-and-two procession of blue-coated orphans began to
arrive. It seemed endless, an army, and she felt that she had
attempted something too big for her resources. However, everything
went off splendidly. The orphans whooped for joy as they broke their
formation and spread out, through the garden, far into the meadows.
Out there they looked like large bluebells; and at tea, when their
cloaks had been removed and their brown frocks showed, they looked
like locusts. Locusts could scarcely have eaten more. After tea Dale's
men came from the yard and brought the piano out of the house, and
Mrs. Dale played with stiff fingers while Norah Veale, Rachel, and the
orphans danced on the flags and up and down the grass paths. The poor
little orphans stayed late, and left regretfully. They said it had
been the treat of their lives.
But the most interesting party and the one that Mavis enjoyed most
came upon her unexpectedly.
One week Mr. Druitt the higgler failed to pay his usual visit, and
there was conjecture in the Vine-Pits kitchen as to the reason of his
absence. He had never before allowed a week to pass without a call.
Mavis asked Mary if he had written to her explaining his absence; and
Mary said no, and that she felt very anxious.
But next week he turned up, gay, jovial, looking ten years younger. He
stood just inside the kitchen door, smiled at all, and winked most
archly at Mary.
"See this, Mary?" And he pointed to the band of black crape on his
arm. "Know what that means, Mary?" Then he turned to Mavis. "I call
her Mary now, because I can do it with a clear conscience, ma'am. I
buried Mrs. Druitt yesterday."
This meant a marriage feast for Mary; nor would the higgler permit of
the least delay in its preparation. He was ardent to taste the
felicity that had been so long postponed, and refused to listen to any
appeals that might be addressed to his sense of propriety, the respect
due to the departed, and so forth. Dale, inclined to say he would not
put up with Druitt's nonsense, was overborne; chiefly because Mary,
having been greatly scared by a facetious remark of her lover, at once
took his part in the dispute. He had said, when she pleaded with him
for a reasonable breathing-space, that he knew of as many other
red-cheeked maids as there were morris-apples at akering-time. Mary
then bustled with her trousseau, of which the cost was defrayed by the
Dales.
The charm of that party was its homelike, almost patriarchal
character. A Saturday had been chosen to suit everybody's convenience,
and the fickle June weather was kind to them. One long table was set
out on the flags, in the shade of the house wall, close to the kitchen
and the hot dishes; and the meal, which was substantial and lavish,
lasted from about half-past three till five o'clock. Dale sat at the
head of the table with his wife and the newly married couple; then
there were a coachman and his daughter, and the higgler's best man;
then Norah Veale and the children, and further off Mrs. Goudie, the
dairymaid, and all the men from the yard. Mr. Bates had been asked,
but he would not come. Abe Veale came unasked, to Nora's shame and
indignation.
"I thought," he said, "as Norrer's true farder, and owing my life to
him who is her adapted farder, and so well beknown to Miss Parsons,
that I wouldn't be otherwise than welcome."
"You are welcome," said Dale quietly. "Be seated." And Norah felt
intensely grateful to Dale and intensely disgusted with her parent.
They ate and drank and laughed; and Norah was sweet with the children,
taking them away before they had gorged themselves. Outside the shadow
of the wall one had the vivid beauty of flowers, the perfume of fruit,
and the lively play of the sunlight; with glimpses through the foliage
of smooth meadow, sloped arable, and distant heath; the firm ground
beneath them, the open sky above them, and all around them the
contented atmosphere of home. All these things together confirmed
Mavis in the feeling that she had reached the apotheosis of her
party-giving.
At the bottom of the table there was of course slight excess. The fun
down there became rather broad. And old Mrs. Goudie made jokes which
she reserved solely for weddings, and which she had better have kept
to herself even then.
Dale proposed the bride's health, and spoke in the dignified easy
style of a man who is accustomed to addressing large audiences, but
who is tactfully able to reduce the compass of his voice and the
weight of his manner for friendly informal gatherings. He was only
heavy--and not a bit too heavy--when he thanked Mary for the kindness
she had always shown to him and his. Then he pointed to the gold
locket that was his wedding present, and said that when she wore that
round her neck, as she was wearing it now, "it reposed on a loyal,
faithful heart." This caused Mary to weep.
The opening of the higgler's speech was in deplorable taste--all about
widowers making the best husbands. He said, "Widowers know what to
expect; so they ain't disappointed. And if they've suffered in their
first venture, it's an easy job for Number Two to please 'em;" and he
winked to right and left. Mavis and Dale were looking uncomfortable.
Fortunately, however, the speech improved toward the end of it.
"All I ask of Mary is to look nice--and that she can't help doing,
bless her bonny face; to speak nice--and that she can do if she tries,
and copies Mrs. Dale; and to act nice--and in that she'll have an
example under her eyes, for I mean to act uncommon nice to her."
When, winking and bowing, he resumed his seat by Mary's side, the
applause from the bottom of the table was vociferous. "Brayvo. He hev
a said it smart. Never 'eard it better worded. Well done, Mr. Druitt."
Half the flowers had lost their color in the extending shadow of the
house before Mr. and Mrs. Druitt drove away. The higgler's pony
groaned between the shafts of a cart that was much too big for him;
rice and old shoes struck the wheels; Mrs. Goudie made her last joke;
the men at the yard gate shouted; Norah and the children ran a little
way along the road--and then the party was over.
After a few days Mr. Druitt called exactly as usual to offer good
bacon. "Mornin', ma'am. Mary sends her love, and the message that
she's as happy as the day is long."
"And I hope," said Mavis, "that you are happy too, Mr. Druitt."
"Mrs. Dale," he said, "I don't reco'nize myself. When I think of the
past and the present--"
Mavis stopped him. He was of course going to disparage Number One, and
she felt that to be so horrid of him.