A HOME-COMING.
The mistal at the rear of Gabriel Hirst's house was noisy, this May
evening, with the clatter of milking-pails, the mooing of cattle in
their stalls, and the semi-audible running comments of Jose Binns.
Jose, it will be remembered, in addition to looking after the chapel
and giving sound advice to the preacher, was Gabriel's right hand in
the management of the farm.
Now the Ling Crag folk were keen as nails in their bargainings with the
Almighty, and they were just as keen in their conduct of more carnal
transactions. Jose Binns, indeed, had a really remarkable aptitude
for trafficking of both sorts; it was his favourite occupation, while
milking or engaged in any other work that left his thoughts free, to
drive imaginary bargains with non-existent purchasers touching property
which was not his to sell. This was his substitute for the reading of
fiction, and it certainly betokened a higher order of intelligence than
that of the merely practical man who chaffers with realities.
The mistal door stood open to-night. Jose and the roan cow he was
milking showed vague at the far end of the byre; the honey-rich flavour
of kine mingled with the summer dusk within. The roan cow was more
patient than usual, and Jose, feeling himself in consequence at liberty
to take a little imaginative run, dropped his mumbled adjurations. His
voice grew distinct and earnest as he commenced a spirited duologue,
with one William Feather as second party, Jose acting as sponsor for
William in that individual's absence.
"Now, William, I've getten a grand beäst for sale. What mud tha be
after gieing?"
"Nay, I see nowt so mich i' her. Nay, I'm noan so set on naming a
price."
"Lad, tha'rt daft, letting sich a chance go by. She gi'es sixteen quart
a day, that she does--eight i' th' morn, an' eight at neet. She hesn't
a bad trick wi' her, an' milks quiet as a lamb. Now, come, William;
she's dirt cheap at twelve pun ten."
"Twelve pun ten, say'st 'a? What! for a ill-fettled beäst like yon?
Fiddle o' that tale! I'll gie thee nine pun, an' mak thee shut on a bad
bargain for old sake's sake."
"Nay, nay, I willun't tak a ha'penny less nor twelve pun. There's not
another like her i' Ling Crag--nay, nor for twenty mile round, nawther.
She's muck cheäp, I tell thee, at twelve pun. Only yestermorn Dick o'
Rag war here, an' he tried to beat me down to eleven pun; but I warn't
sich a softy, I warn't, an' I telled Dick he could tak her at twelve
pun ten or lump it, just as it suited him. I'll mak it twelve, though,
as it's thee, lad, an' that's more nor I'd do for Dick. He'll be back
to-morn, likely, wi' th' brass i' his pocket; an' a sorry chap tha'll
be, William, when tha sees thy bargain goan."
The argument went on briskly till Jose was nearly through with his last
pair of udders; William had certainly the lesser half of the talking
to do, but this was a pardonable human trait in old Binns. Finally, a
compromise was effected at ten pounds, and Jose Binns got up from his
stool. He smacked the roan cow's flanks, uttering the while a quiet
cackle of delight.
"Tha girt lanky bitch," cried he, "tha artn't worth seven pun, let
alone ten. Tha knows tha kicks th' pail ower ivery time ony but me
shapes to milk thee, an' oftens then; tha ho'ds thy milk; tha's as full
o' jade's tricks as a egg is full o' meät. Eh, lass! but William mun
ha' bin doiting when he gie ten pun for thee."
"Is that my cow you're selling, Jose?" asked the preacher, from the
doorway.
"Ay, I war doing part bargaining. I selled th' owd roän cow for ten
pun. Eh, it war grand--grand! He's noan what he war at a bargain, isn't
William."
Gabriel laughed, as one accustomed to these visionary sales.
"I want the trap to-morrow. See that it's well cleaned--spick and span
as you can make it."
"Isn't it allus well cleäned?" grumbled Jose, settling himself to the
last of the cows.
"Well, yes; but this is a special occasion. Mr. Lomax comes home with
his wife in the afternoon, and I'm going to meet them at Heathley. It
isn't every day, Jose, I have to meet a honeymoon couple."
"Not _sich_ a couple," said Jose, slowly.
"What do you mean, man? You look as sour as a winter apple over it."
"I've heärd tales as are like to set a man's back up. Oh, ay, there's
been queer goings on up to Teewit House."
Partly from habit, partly from the spirit of the country, Gabriel was
wont to humour old Binns; but he frowned to-night as Jose touched on
matters about which he himself had been sorely exercised.
"Nonsense! I wonder at you, Jose, listening to such old woman's talk."
"Wondering won't shape things different, an' that's Bible truth. What
for doesn't th' Manor trap wend to th' station, i' place o' yourn?"
"Because," said the preacher, with an accent there was no
mistaking--"because I asked Mrs. Lomax to let me go and meet them.
There are too many idle tongues about; but I fancy folks know I
shouldn't run after wastrels--and it may be as well to show what I
think at once, and have done with it."
"I doan't hold wi' kissing," muttered Jose, doggedly--"leastways, while
thy wife's another chap's. Afore marriage, I allus did say, fowks ought
to think shame to kiss an' slaver ower one another; an' after ye're
wed--well, ye're noan so set on it, an' there's no harm done. Them's
_my_ views--gie ower, lass! Dost 'a want to upset th' pail, tha silly
wench?"
The set of Jose's shoulders indicated that the subject was closed,
so far as he was concerned; so Gabriel, with another reminder about
the conveyance, went back to the house, there to reckon up, for the
hundredth time, the twisted ways of his friend's wooing.
But the May sun was shining bravely as he drove to Heathley at three
of the following afternoon, and loyalty to Griff seemed just part and
parcel of the quickening landscape. Step by step with the loyalty ran
that unalterable egoism of the preacher's. If he could feel himself
singled out, now for Divine wrath, now for commendation at the Deity's
hands, how much easier was it for him to believe that Marshcotes and
Ling Crag set great store by his example? They knew him, all these
villagers who had been shaken by the scandal in their midst; they saw
in him a resolute and a God-fearing man, one whose opinion on a point
of morals was worth the having; how could it fail to make Griff's
road the smoother for him if he, Gabriel Hirst, ostentatiously went
forward to greet him on his arrival? Perhaps, then, it was almost a
disappointment to Gabriel when he reached Heathley and discovered that
certain daring minds had chosen to act on their own initiative. The
good coach "Airedale" ran from Landford to Heathley in those days,
and it had been noised abroad among those who knew Lomax that he and
his wife would reach the Spotted Heifer at two of the afternoon. The
preacher found the inn-yard black with chattering groups of Marshcotes
folk, gathered from widely different sections of the community. Some
had walked to Heathley, others had come by omnibus; all, by the look of
their faces, were prepared to give young Lomax as hearty a greeting as
he could wish for.
The same impulse which had moved the preacher to side with the weaker
cause was not likely to leave unmoved others of these sturdy dwellers
on the moors. The weak, the irresolute and the ultra-pious were dead
against Griff and his wife; they forgot old likings, and remembered
only what had been proved up to the hilt in a court of law. And this
attitude had roused the more independent men and women; they brought
to mind the fact that no one in Marshcotes had had a word to say
against Griff until this trouble came; none could urge that the lad's
treatment of Kate was simply a corollary of previous conduct of his;
but plenty of people were mindful of the open-handed way in which Griff
and his mother had gone in and out among their neighbours. Before the
trouble with Strangeway's wife, indeed, there had been a remarkable
unanimity in the mind of the countryside as to the Lomaxes. Some were
wont to style Griff "a raffle-coppin," meaning thereby a kind of
ne'er-do-weel whom everybody loved; but that was the worst name you
were likely to hear attached to him through the length and breadth
of Marshcotes parish. And though they had their faults--these upland
folk--forgetfulness of old friendships was not among their vices.
So the preacher, as he jumped from the trap and threw the reins to a
boy who chanced to be near, felt as though a little cold water had been
sprinkled over the fine warmth of his enthusiasm. He recommenced the
searchings of soul, the anxious appeals to Providence as to whether
he were doing the right thing, now that he stood as one of a band of
well-wishers, not as a solitary ally against a crowd of backbiters.
But the waiting groups were unmistakably glad to see Gabriel Hirst come
into the inn-yard. If they had failed to look to him for inspiration
to perform a kindly act, they were at least deeply sensible of the
sanction given to that act by the presence of one who was pre-eminently
a man of God. Even Jack o' Ling Crag, with his satellites, Will
Reddiough and the rest, warmed to the conviction "that Gabriel Hirst
war noan sich a bad sort of a chap, when he left his praching-tackle
behind him."
The coach was late, according to a precedent not unknown at Heathley;
but no diminution of good spirits was apparent in the jolly crowd
that thronged the yard. The demonstration had none of the dreary
formality peculiar to organized gatherings. Each little handful of
men and women had come here on its own account, expecting to be the
sole representative of the village, and casting uneasy glances at its
neighbours as it set off down the village street, lest its destination
should be guessed and commented on; each little knot, on arriving at
the inn, looked at the next group, first with surprise, then with
broadening grins. Every one--with the exception of the preacher--felt
that it was pleasant to have company while arguing for the doubtful
side of a moral question.
As for Jack o' Ling Crag, he was all a-bubble with suppressed glee.
When Reddiough observed that there was a fine welcome in store for the
travellers, Jack winked very knowingly, and, "Thee bide a bit," he
answered darkly; "happen there's summat i' th' way on a extra surprise
i' store."
At last the coach came in, with a mighty screech of the horn and a
rattling of horses' hoofs on the cobbles. Gabriel Hirst sent his
self-communing to the winds as he saw Griff--old Griff--standing on
the top of the coach, his head somewhere up about the level of the
Spotted Heifer's chimney-stacks, his face one comprehensive laugh of
satisfaction. Three-times-three went up from the crowd, and old Jim,
of cheery memory, gave a gallant blast from his horn, and a mixed
collection of children, dogs, and loafers gathered round the outskirts
of the throng, to see what all the fuss was about.
"I've brought the trap for you; we'll be at the Manor in no time, with
the chestnut between the shafts," said the preacher, salutations over.
"Axing your pardon, sir," interrupted Jack o' Ling Crag, "th' chestnut
isn't no longer atween th' shafts; there's shanks's mare i' place o'
horseflesh, if so be as Mr. Lummax----"
"Here, I say!" broke in Griff, with a jolly laugh; "a joke's a joke,
Jacky boy, but it's four good miles to Marshcotes Manor; you can't pull
us all the way?"
"An' a home-coming's a home-coming, an' a welcome's a welcome,"
answered mine host of the Dog and Grouse; "an' what's four mile to
Marshcotes lads? We'll tak turn an' turn about; there's plenty on us
for that little journey."
"And there's a house-side called Marshcotes main street at the end of
it. Have you thought of that, boys?" said Griff, still laughing.
"Tak what the Lord gi'es ye, sir, an' mak no bones about it. Up ye get,
an' away we go; an' if we're as willing as your wife's bonny, ye won't
be lang on th' roäd."
Jack o' Ling Crag, having exhausted himself in this effort of
gallantry, ran forward and took his place at the left shaft of the
conveyance. Kate was a little bewildered, and vastly pleased, by the
unexpected symptoms of good-will; but her confusion did not signify in
the least, since she was only expected to blush rosy red and look her
best. They had cheered for Griff, and they had cheered for Kate, this
crowd of hard uplanders, who could let themselves out for a holiday
on occasion. So up went another three-times-three for the "little
pracher," and Gabriel found himself swung by mighty arms on to the back
seat of the trap. Jack was joined by five other stalwart volunteers,
and away they rattled through the market-place, along the rutty, narrow
streets, and so into the smooth highway that led to Marshcotes. All who
had come on foot kept pace beside the gig; a little behind followed the
green omnibus from the Bull, and the red 'bus from the White Hart just
across the way.
At the foot of Marshcotes main street was the surprise which old
poacher Jack's innocent heart had devised, as likely to give his
comrade about as much pleasure as a man could hold without unduly
stretching his anatomy. The local band struck up its own private
version of the wedding-march, and headed the triumphal procession with
a vigour that was unimpeachable.
"Now, sir, hes Marshcotes gi'en ye a welcome, or hesn't it?" demanded
Jack, relinquishing his post at the shaft and going to Griff's side.
"It has that! We'll not forget to-day, Kate, will we?"
"Durn it, it's nowt so mich to crack on--on'y we thowt as we'd just try
our best, Mr. Lummax," muttered Jack, and dropped modestly to the rear
of the procession.
Mrs. Lomax was at the Manor gate when they arrived. She had heard
the shouting, and a tune that seemed vaguely connected with wedding
festivals, and the clatter of clogs on the stones; but she could
scarcely believe her eyes when she saw the fashion of Griff's
home-coming, nor her ears when she heard the shouts of good fellowship.
The old lady's eyes dimmed with tears; it was good to believe in such
friendliness as had prompted these rackety demonstrations.
Much would have more, and up went three cheers for the mother. Griff
helped Kate down, kissed his mother, and turned to the crowd.
"We can't entertain you all here," he laughed, "but come in, as many as
can squeeze a way."
"An' them as can't, will find quarters at th' Dog an' Grouse!" cried
Jack o' Ling Crag.
"An' th' Bull can mak room for a two or three," chimed in the rival
landlord.
After the noisy crowd had been got rid of, they had supper, the three
of them; and after that Griff lit his pipe, and stretched out his long
legs to the blaze, and looked from the mother on one side of the hearth
to the wife on the other--wondering the while that this vexed problem
of marriage worked itself out so exceeding smoothly in practice.
It seemed odd to Kate to find herself once again in that firelit
parlour, where she had waited till Griff might return to claim her,
where she had sickened with dread lest an ever-watchful Providence
should snatch the coming happiness from her grasp. She had forgotten,
in the midst of her dread, that it is only the things we fear most
abjectly which never happen; keen terror would seem to act as a buffer
between its object and its fulfilment, but she had not stopped to think
of that. And now she was here, with Griff beside her--with an earnest,
too, from those she had known, her life through, that they were minded
to esteem her a woman of honour. Impulsively she put her arms round
Griff's neck and drew his face down.
"I had never dreamed such things could be," she whispered.
The honeymoon had left her with her illusions sweet and sound. She was
no girl, to be outraged by necessities, to quiver under the little
jars that make up the wear and tear of a privacy shared with another.
Her idols were a woman's; her hopes of the new life were of tougher
fabric than the girl's peach-bloom romanticism, to be rubbed bare by
any passing sleeve; and those two months they had had together, she
and Griff, had given her no cause to doubt the future. Whether the
Providence she held in superstitious dread had chosen prose instead of
poetry, had elected to rob her, hour by weary hour after she had once
settled into her new life, of the happiness that now almost hurt her
by its intensity--whether Providence thought surfeit a subtler cruelty
than the mere dashing away of an untasted cup, remained to be seen--but
Kate's dreads did not lie that way, and her home-coming had not a drop
of bitter in among the sweets.
The mother's keen eyes took stock of them both, and the doubt in her
face resolved itself slowly as she watched. Like all homely women, she
had a quick scent for harmony or discord between married people, and
she felt that Kate and Griff were "all right."
"Well, mother?" said Griff, when Kate had left them.
"That is a big question to ask, dear, is it not? But you will do, I
fancy, the pair of you. I have been anxious, terribly anxious, about
the effect these eight weeks would have on you. You went away gaily
enough, boy, but _I_ knew that it was kill or cure."
"What do you mean, quite?"
"You would not have asked me that if the experiment had gone wrong.
Suppose you had made a mistake, Griff? Considering your impulsiveness,
it is the least one could have expected of you--to make a mistake.
Don't you think two months in each other's company, with no one to fill
up the gaps, would have made the truth clear to you?"
"If you knew Kate as I do, mother," said the son, with a ridiculous air
of possession, "you would see there _could_ have been no mistake."
"Very proper, dear. You sound just like a lover, and I wouldn't be in
any hurry, if I were you, to become a mere husband. Your father always
forgot, to the end of the chapter, that we hadn't tumbled into love
with each other the day before."