Two village mothers exchanged glances of tender approbation, for,
clinging to Corporal Baverstock's hand, and taking preposterously long
steps in the endeavour to keep pace with his strides, was Tilly Ann,
in her best starched white frock, and with her yellow hair curled in a
greater profusion of corkscrew ringlets than her granny had ever yet
achieved.
"Bain't it a pictur'?" one pair of motherly eyes seemed to say to the
other, and I think many of the good simple folk performed their
devotions all the better because of the consciousness of the two happy
hearts, the man's and the little child's, beating in their midst.
The service once over, friends and neighbours gathered round the young
soldier outside the church door. Those nearest spoke to him; those
less fortunate, on the outskirts of the little crowd, contented
themselves with admiring comments.
"He d' seem to have filled out, though he have been punished so
terrible out yonder."
"My dear, they did tell I as his poor leg was all one solid wownd.
D'ye mind how Mrs. Baverstock did take on, pore 'ooman. And well she
mid."
"Well she mid, indeed. Ah! 'tis a comfort to see as Corporal
Baverstock d' seem able to walk so well as ever. I see Mrs. Baverstock
didn't come to church--'tis a wonder."
"Nay, no wonder at all. It bain't likely as the poor body could leave
her Sunday dinner the very first day her son be a-comed home. She's
busy, that's what she be."
"Ah! to be sure. There, Lard now, look at Tilly Ann! He've a-got her
up in his arms. Dear, to be sure, 'tis a beautiful sight, they two
faces side by side. The maid doesn't favour her daddy a bit--nay, 'tis
the very pictur' o' the pore wife."
"'E-es; she had that yellow hair, and them great big blue eyes. There,
I've a-got a china cup at home what be jist the same colour. 'Tisn't
nat'ral for a maid to have eyes that blue. I wouldn't mention it to
Mrs. Baverstock, nor yet to Dick, but I shouldn't wonder at all if
Tilly Ann was to follow her mother afore very long, pore little maid."
"Ah! they do say as when a young mother be took like that, as often as
not she'll keep on a-callin' and a-callin', till the pore little thing
she've a-left behind fair withers away."
While this cheerful line of prognostication was being followed up
beyond her ken, Tilly Ann sat bolt upright in her father's arms,
looking round her with a proprietary air, and occasionally patting his
cheek with a broad dimpled little palm. She was a tall, well-made
child, plump and fair, with rosy cheeks and sturdy limbs that would in
themselves have given the lie to any dismal croakings; it was no
wonder that "daddy's" eyes perpetually rested on her with a glow of
pride.
"And she were quite a little 'un when ye did last see her, weren't
she, Corporal?" said some one. (In Branston the good folk were
punctilious with regard to titles.) "Ye'd scarce ha' knowed her I d'
'low if ye'd met her on the road."
"Know her," said Corporal Baverstock, "I'd know her among a thousand!
'Tis what I did write to my mother. Says I, 'I'd pick her out
anywheres, if 'twas only by the dimple in her chin.'"
The bystanders nodded at each other; they remembered that particular
letter well, and had much appreciated the phrase in question.
"To be sure, Corporal, so ye did, so ye did. And the maid have a
dimple sure enough. There, 'tis plain for all folks to see."
Tilly Ann turned up her little face, and her father kissed the cleft
chin with sudden passion. Then he tossed her up in his arms and
laughed.
"Many a time I've a-thought o' that dimple," he observed, in rather an
unsteady voice, "and wondered if I'd ever set eyes on it again."
"And look at her curls," said a woman admiringly. "They be a-sheenin'
like gold to-day. She thinks a deal o' they curls, don't 'ee, Tilly?
If anybody axed her for one she'd al'ays say she was a-savin' on 'em
up for daddy--didn't 'ee, Tilly?"
Tilly Ann, overcome with coyness, buried her face in her father's
shoulder, and giggled, wriggling her little fat body the while, and
drumming on his side with her lace-up boots.
"Hold hard there!" cried he. "Them boots of yourn be so bad as a
pom-pom. Come, we must be lookin' up the wold lady. Say Ta-ta, and
we'll be off."
One blue eye peeped out shyly from beneath the forest of curls, one
little sunburnt hand was waved comprehensively; a smothered voice
uttered the necessary "Ta-ta," with an accompaniment of chuckles and
wriggles, and the soldier, clasping his burden more tightly, and
nodding laughingly right and left made his way towards home.
No one, looking at Mrs. Baverstock as she stood at her doorway in her
neat black stuff gown, the sleeves of which were decently drawn down
to her very wrists, would have guessed at the magnitude of the
culinary labours in which she had been employed. The beef was now done
to a turn, the "spuds" boiled to a nicety; she had made pastry of the
most solid description, which was even now simmering in the oven--I
use the word "simmering" advisedly, for in the generosity of her heart
she had not spared the dripping. The tea was brewed, hot and strong,
the teapot, singed by long use, standing on the hob. There was a
crusty loaf, a pat of butter indented in the middle with one of Dick's
regimental buttons, and a plate of cakes, hard as the nether--millstone
and very crumbly, having been purchased from the distant town at the
beginning of the week in expectation of this auspicious day.
"Well, mother, this be a spread!" cried the soldier, good-humouredly,
as he set the child upon her legs. "I haven't sat down to such a meal
as this since I left old England. 'Tis fit for a king."
Mrs. Baverstock rubbed her bony hands together; and laughed
deprecatingly. She was a little woman, with very bright, beady black
eyes, and hair that was still coal-black in spite of her wrinkled
face. Her son was like her, but taller and better looking. One had but
to glance at the child to realise that she must be the image of her
mother.
"Nay, now," said the widow; "I do do my best for 'ee, Dick, but I d'
'low it bain't so very grand. I'd like to do 'ee honour. There bain't
nothin' too good for 'ee to my mind, if I could give it 'ee."
"I tell 'ee, mother, some of the poor chaps out yonder 'ud give summat
to sit down to this 'ere dinner. Bully beef wi' a pound or two o' raw
flour, what you haven't got nothin' to cook wi'--it do make a man feel
a bit sick, I can tell 'ee, when it do come day arter day."
"Dear heart alive," groaned his mother, "a body 'ud think they mid
manage a bit better! Lard, to think on't! Tis all along o' the poor
dear Queen bein' dead, ye mid be sure! There needs to be a woman at
the head o' things! I reckon the Government be all made up o' men
folks now, and men never has any notion o' doin' for theirselves.
There, I did use to say to father many a time, 'If I was to leave 'ee
to yourself I d' 'low ye'd go eatin' any kind o' rubbish.' There wants
to be a sensible woman or two i' th' Government--no woman 'ud ever
think o' sendin' out the poor chaps' bit o' food raw. There bain't a
hedger or ditcher but has his bit o' dinner put ready for en, and I
reckon soldiers have got stummicks much same as other folks."
Dick had only half attended to this speech; he had been standing by
the door intently gazing up the village street, and shading his eyes
with his hand.
"Why, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed. "Here's a mate o' mine ridin' this
way! Yes, so it be. I thought he was goin' a-coortin'. Hullo, Billy!"
A bicycle wheeled round abruptly, and the rider alighted at the
cottage door. A big young man, with the bronzed face which would have
announced his recent return from the front, even had not his khaki
uniform proclaimed the fact.
"I thought I'd look 'ee up," he explained, shaking hands with his
friend with a somewhat sheepish air. "You and me bein' mates, d'ye
see, and me feelin' a bit dull over yonder."
"Why, what's become o' she?" interrupted Dick, with a grin.
"Don't talk about her! She be just like the rest--'Out o' sight out o'
mind'--took up wi' a civilian soon as my back were turned. I reckoned
I'd come and have a look at _your_ maid."
"Yes, to be sure!" cried Dick jovially. "My sweetheart han't a-took up
wi' anybody else--she've a-been faithful and true."
"What's that?" inquired Mrs. Baverstock, coming forward, her little
black eyes looking ready to start from her head.
"Tis a kind of a little joke what me and Billy have a-got between us
about my sweetheart. There, he can tell 'ee the tale while we're
eatin'. This 'ere be my mother, Billy. This be Mr. Billy Caines--a
Darset man same as myself. Him and me was reg'lar pals out there,
wasn't we, Bill?"
"I d' 'low we was," responded Private Caines, after ceremoniously
pumping Mrs. Baverstock's hand up and down. "We did fight side by
side, and we was wounded side by side, and we was a-layin' side by
side for weeks in the field hospital, wasn't us, Dick?"
"I reckon we had a bit too much o' that there hospital," responded the
Corporal, drawing forward a chair for his friend. "'Twas there we did
have so much talk about my sweetheart. Ha, ha, ye didn't know as I'd
a-got a sweetheart, did ye, old lady?" he inquired of his mother.
"Billy 'ull tell 'ee about that," and he winked surreptitiously at his
friend.
Mrs. Baverstock was evidently in a flutter. What between this sudden
arrival of six feet of khaki-clad humanity and the innuendoes which
had been recently thrown out, touching a subject on which she felt
strongly (the possibility of Dick's marrying again), she actually set
the pastry on the table in the place of the beef, and helped the two
soldiers to a cake each instead of a piece of bread.
"Why, you be wool-gathering, that you be. You've a-got everything in a
reg'lar caddie!" cried her son, as she paused to clack her tongue
remorsefully over her mistakes. "Business first and pleasure
arterwards. Up wi' the beef! Now then, Billy, fall to! A bit better
tasted nor bully, bain't it?"
Billy groaned appreciatively, with his mouth full, and silence ensued,
during which Mrs. Baverstock cut up Tilly Ann's dinner, and presented
her with a spoon.
Tilly Ann's eyes had been fixed unwinkingly upon the new comer since
his arrival, and she had now apparently classified him, for, after
successfully piloting one or two spoonfuls of beef and potato to her
little red mouth, she paused, drummed on the table with the handle of
her spoon, and remarked conclusively:
"Another daddy!"
"Dear, to be sure! Hark to the child," said granny, while the two men
laughed uproariously.
"The little maid's sharp, I can tell 'ee," announced Dick; "she do
know the difference between soldier and civilian a'ready. Never see'd
no soldier but I afore, and now, when another do come, says she to
herself, 'This must be another daddy.' Ho! ho!"
"She've a-got more sense nor many a wolder maid," returned Private
Caines gloomily; "she do know what's what--I d' 'low she wouldn't ha'
gone a-takin' up wi' a (qualified) civilian when you weren't to the
fore. She be a bonny little maid, too," he added reflectively, eyeing
the chubby pink and white face. "Yes, you've a-got good taste, as you
did tell I out yonder."
"Come, don't 'ee spoil the tale," cried the Corporal, laughing; "begin
at the right end. My mother here do want to hear about my sweetheart."
"I don't want to hear no sich thing," retorted the old woman,
querulously, but anxiously, too. "I do know 'ee better nor to think
you'd have any sich nonsensical notions; you as be a widow man, and
have a-buried sich a lovin' wife, what have a-left 'ee the darlingest
little maid to keep. Us do want no step-mothers; us do want all the
love, the wold mother and the little maid."
Dick's face twitched, and his eyes clouded, but before he could
answer, Private Billy Caines, who was not endowed with remarkably
acute perceptions, began his narrative in a loud and merry voice.
"Him and me was knocked over the same day--I shouldn't wonder but what
it was the same shell. I couldn't tell 'ee for sure about that, for I
were hit all to flinders, and for a bit they thought I was done for.
But when I did get a bit better, and did begin to look about, I'm
danged if the first thing I did see weren't poor old Dick's long white
face, lyin' there so solemn, wi' his girt hollow black eyes, a-starin'
and a-starin' straight i' front of en. I did use to watch en, and he
did always look the same--sorrowful and anxious, and one day I did
call out to en, soft like, 'What be thinkin' on, man? The us'al thing,
I s'pose?' He did scraggle his head a bit round on the pillow and
squint back at me. 'What mid that be?' says he. 'Why,' says I, 'the
girl I left behind me!' 'Be that what you be a-thinkin' on?' says he.
'O' course,' says I; 'what else?' 'What else, indeed?' says he, and he
did sigh same as if he had a bellows inside of en."
"Did he actually say he was a-thinkin' about soom maid?" interrupted
Mrs. Baverstock wrathfully.
"Bide a bit," retorted Private Caines, wagging his head portentously;
"I be a-tellin' the tale so quick as I can. Well, I did get tired o'
watchin' en layin' there, starin' and sighin', so I did begin to tell
en about somebody _I_ did think a deal on then, but have a-changed my
mind about now; and he did listen and laugh a bit, but I could see he
were a-thinkin' about his own sweetheart all the time. So says I at
last, 'I d' 'low she be a vitty maid?' 'Who?' says he, scraggling
round again. 'The girl ye left behind ye,' says I. 'Ah, to be sure,'
says he. 'Yes, she be a reg'lar pictur.' 'Well, you mid tell us a bit
about her,' says I; 'I've a-told 'ee all about my maid. Blue eyes, I
s'pose?' Seein' as his own be so black as sloes, I reckoned 'twould
come naitral to en to take up wi' a fair maid. 'Yes,' says he, 'so
blue as the sky at home on a June day!' I made a good shot, I told en.
'A good bit o' colour, I d' 'low!' (Him bein' a sallow man, d'ye see.)
'A pair o' cheeks like roses,' he says; 'and a little neck as
white--as the snow--nay, that's too cold--'tis more like the white of
a white flower, bless her!'"
Mrs. Baverstock threw herself back in her chair and snorted.
"This here be a pretty kind o' story to tell your mother the very
first day as you do come home," she said, in trembling tones. "And the
poor, innocent child a-sittin' there a-listenin' to every word."
"Nay, now, ma'am, you must hear me to the end," cried Caines, bursting
into a guffaw; while Dick, looking somewhat conscience-stricken,
patted his mother's hand and besought her in a loud whisper not to
take on.
"Lard bless 'ee, that weren't all!" exclaimed Billy. "You should ha'
heerd the chap a-ravin' about her little hands, and her darlin' little
feet, and I don't know what all. 'And what colour mid her hair be?' I
axed him arter a bit, when he'd a-told me everythink else he could
call to mind. 'I s'pose her hair be fair?' 'I s'pose so,' says he,
lookin' a bit queer. 'Why, don't ye know?' says I. 'D'ye mean to say
ye've forgot the colour?' 'Why,' says he, 'to tell 'ee the truth,
mate, she hadn't much hair o' any kind when last I did see her.'
'Bless us!' says I. 'What be talkin' on? Ye haven't been and took up
wi' a bald wold maid?' 'She bain't so very old,' says he, and he did
pull blanket up o'er his mouth so as I shouldn't see en laughin'!"
Here the hero of the tale startled his mother by suddenly exploding,
and she turned upon him indignantly.
"I do really think as we've a-had enough o' this here nonsense. I
can't make head or tail on't. You and your friend do seem to be
a-keepin' up a regular charm, and I can't make out no sense in it."
"I be very nigh done now, missis," cried Caines jubilantly; "there be
but a little bit more. I did sit and stare at en when he did say his
sweetheart hadn't no hair, and at last I did ax en the question
straight out, 'How old mid she be when you did last see her?' 'About
two months,' says he. Ho, ho, ho! 'About two months!' Yes, I've a-been
away from England a good bit, an' when I left her she hadn't a hair on
her head, nor yet a tooth in her mouth.' And the two of us did laugh
and laugh till we did very nigh bust our bandages."
"'Twas the little maid I did mean," explained Dick, as his mother
still stared gapingly from one to the other. "'Twas my little maid as
I was a-thinkin' on when I did lie on that there wold stretcher what I
did think I should never leave again. I did think o' she and wonder
what 'ud become o' she if doctor couldn't make a job o' me. Come here,
Tilly. You be daddy's little sweetheart, bain't ye?"
The child ran to him, and climbed upon his knee, and he passed his
hand proudly through her mass of yellow curls.
"See here, mate; plenty o' hair here now."
He gathered up the thick locks half absently, twisting them clumsily
into a kind of knot, and, throwing back his head, surveyed her
pensively for a moment; then he kissed her just at the nape of the
neck, and let the curls drop again with a sigh.
Mrs. Baverstock's beady eyes became momentarily dim; she did not
possess by nature a very large amount of intuition, but love is a
wonderful sharpener of wits.
"Dear, yes," she said. "She be the very pictur' of her mother." Then,
suddenly bursting out laughing and clapping her hands together, "So
that were the girl ye left behind ye!"
[Illustration: THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM
'So that were the girl ye left behind ye']