Now his reason for driving in the spring-cart became apparent. He had
been commissioned to purchase a supply of pots, and mugs, and dishes,
and plates, for home use. Honor also made purchases at this stall, and
the young man carried them for her to his cart, as well as his own
supply. Then she lingered at a drapery stall, and bought some strong
material for frocks for the youngest sisters. Whilst she was thus
engaged, Larry went to a stall of sweetstuff, presided over by a man in
white apron, with copper scales, and bought some twisted red and white
barbers' poles of peppermint. Immediately the atmosphere about the
little party was impregnated with the fragrance of peppermint.
A few steps beyond was a menagerie. A painted canvas before the
enclosure of vans represented Noah's ark, with the animals ascending a
plank and entering it by a door in the side. In another compartment was
a picture of a boa-constrictor catching a negro, and opening his jaws to
swallow him. Over this picture was inscribed, 'Twine, gentle
evergreen,' and the serpent was painted emerald. In another
compartment, again, was a polar scene, with icebergs and white bears,
seals and whales.
'Oh, we must see the wild beasts!' exclaimed Kate.
A consultation ensued. Larry wished to treat the whole party, but to
this Honor would not agree. Finally, it was decided that Kate, Joe, and
Pattie should enter, and that Honor should remain without with the
children. Accordingly the three went in with Larry, and presently
returned disappointed and laughing. The menagerie had resolved itself
into a few moulting parrots, a torpid snake in a blanket, two unsavoury
monkeys, and an ass painted with stripes to pass as a zebra.
Adjoining the menagerie was another exhibition, even more pretentious.
Three men appeared before it on a platform, one with a trumpet, another
with cymbals, the third with a drum. Then forth leaped clown, harlequin
and columbine, and danced, cut jokes, and went head over heels. The
clown balanced a knife on his nose; then bang! toot, toot! clash! bang,
bang, bang! from the three instruments, working the children into the
wildest speculation. Honor had spent the money laid aside for
amusement, and could not afford to take her party in, and she would
accept no further favours from Larry.
Just then up came Charles.
'Halloo, mates! you all here!' he shouted, elbowing his way to them.
'That is prime. I will treat you; I've a yellow boy,' he spun a
half-sovereign in the air and caught it between both palms. 'Come
along, kids. I'm going to treat half a dozen young chaps as well. Shall
I stand for you, Larry?' he asked contemptuously, 'or have the thistles
and rushes sold so well you can afford to treat yourself?'
Larry frowned. 'I see my father yonder signing to me,' he said. 'I
must go to him.'
Then Hillary worked his way to the rear, offended at the insolence of
Charles, red in face, and vowing he would not do another kindness to the
family.
Old Nanspian was in the long-room of the 'King of Bells,' at the window.
He had caught sight of his son, whose flowered satin waistcoat was
conspicuous, and was beckoning to him with his clay pipe; he wanted to
know whether he had bought the crockery--_vulgo_ 'cloam'--as desired,
and what he had paid for it.
'Come on, you fellows!' called Charles to some of his companions. 'How
many are you? Six, and myself, and the two girls, that makes nine
sixpences, and the little tins at half-price makes five threepences.
Temperance is a baby and don't count. That is all, five-and-nine;
shovel out the change, old girl, four-and-three.'
He threw down the gold coin on the table, where a gorgeous woman in red
and blue and spangles, wearing a gilt foil crown and huge earrings, was
taking money and giving greasy admission tickets. The circus was small.
The seats were one row deep, deal planks laid on trestles. Only at one
end were reserved places covered with red baize for the nobility,
gentry, and clergy, who, as a bill informed the public, greedily
patronised the show. On this occasion these benches were conspicuously
empty. The performers appeared in faded fleshings, very soiled at the
elbows and knees; the paint on the faces was laid on coarsely; the
sawdust in the ring was damp and smelt sour.
The clown cut his jests with the conductor, carried off his cap, and
received a crack of the whip. He leaped high in the air, turned a
somersault, and ran round the arena on hands and feet, peering between
his legs.
A dappled horse was led out, and the columbine mounted and galloped
round the ring. Every now and then the hoofs struck the enclosing
boards, and the children shrank against Honor and Kate in terror. Then
a spray of sawdust was showered over the lads, who roared with laughter,
thinking it a joke.
A second horse was led out to be ridden by the harlequin, but the clown
insisted on mounting it, and was kicked off. Then the harlequin ran
across the area, whilst the horse was in full career, and leaped upon
its back, held the columbine's hand, and round and round they went
together. All was wretchedly poor. The jokes of the clown were as
threadbare as the silks, and as dull as the spangles on the equestrians.
Poverty and squalor peered through the tawdry show. But an audience of
country folk is uncritical and easily pleased. The jests were relished,
the costumes admired, and the somersaults applauded. All at once a
commotion ensued. The queen in red and blue, who had sold the tickets
of admission, appeared in a state of loud and hot excitement, calling
for the manager and gesticulating vehemently. The performance was
interrupted. The horses of harlequin and columbine were restrained, and
were walked leisurely round the arena, whilst the lady in gauze (very
crumpled) seated herself on the flat saddle and looked at the
spectators, who curiously scrutinised her features and compared opinions
as to her beauty. Presently the clown ran to the scene of commotion.
The queen was in very unregal excitement, shaking her head, with her
pendant earrings flapping, very loud and vulgar in voice; some of the
audience crowded about the speakers.
Then Honor was aware that faces and fingers were pointed towards the
bench which she and her party occupied, and in another moment the
manager, the crowned lady-manageress, the clown, now joined by the
harlequin, who had given his horse to a boy, and a throng of inquisitive
spectators, came down--some across the arena, others stumbling over the
deal benches--towards the little party.
'That's he!' shouted the lady in crimson and blue, shaking her black
curls, puffing with anger, and indicating with a fat and dirty hand,
'That's the blackguard who has cheated us.' She pointed at Charles.
The columbine drew rein and stood her horse before the group, looking
down on it. She had holes in her stockings, and the cherry silk of her
bodice was frayed. Kate saw that.
'Look here, you rascal! What do you mean by trying to cheat us poor
artists, with horses and babies to feed, and all our wardrobe to keep in
trim, eh? What do you mean by it?'
Then the clown in broad cockney, 'What do you mean by it, eh? Some one
run for the constable, will you? Though we be travelling showmen we're
true-born Britons, and the law is made to protect all alike.'
'What is the matter?' asked Honor, rising, with the frightened
Temperance in her arms clinging to her neck and screaming, and Charity
and Martha holding her skirts, wrapping themselves in her red cloak and
sobbing.
'Ah, you may well ask what is the matter!' exclaimed the queen. 'If
that young chap belongs to you in any way, more's the pity.'
'It is an indictable offence,' put in the manager. 'It is cheating
honest folk; that is what it is.'
Charles burst out laughing.
'I've a right to pay you in your own coin, eh?' he said contemptuously,
thrusting his hands into his pockets, and planting a foot on the
barrier.
'What do you mean by our own coin?' asked the angry manageress, planting
her arms akimbo.
'Giving false for false,' mocked Charles.
'It is insulting of us he is!' exclaimed the columbine, from her vantage
post. 'And he calls himself a gentleman.'
'Pray what right have you to invite the public to such a spectacle as
this?' asked Charles. 'You have only a couple of screws for horses, and
an old girl of forty for columbine, a harlequin with the lumbago, and a
clown without wit--and you don't call this cheating?'
'Turn him out!' cried the lady in crumpled muslin, 'it's but
twenty-three I am.'
'What is this all about?' asked Honor, vainly endeavouring to gather the
cause of the quarrel and compose the frightened children at the same
time. The bystanders, indignant at the disparagement of the
performance, hissed. All those on the further side of the arena, losing
their awe of the sawdust, came over it, crowding round the gauzy
columbine and her horse, asking what the row was about, and getting no
answer.
The columbine was obliged to use her whip lightly to keep them off.
Boys were picking spangles off the saddle-cloth, and pulling hairs out
of the mane of the horse.
'How many was it? Fourteen persons let in?' asked the manager.
'And I gave him back change, four-and-three,' added the manageress.
'You shall have your cursed change,' said Charles. 'Get along with you
all. Go on with your wretched performance. Here are four shillings,
the boys shall scramble for the pence when I find them.' He held out
some silver.
'No, I won't take it. You shall pay for all the tickets,' said the
woman. 'You ain't a-going to defraud us nohows if I can help It. Let's
see, how many was you? Four-and-three from ten makes five-and-nine.'
'I can't do it,' said Charles, becoming sulky. 'If you were the fool to
accept a brass token you must pay for the lesson, and be sharper next
time. I have no more money.'
'Cheat! cheat! Passing bad money!' the bystanders groaned, hissed,
hooted. Charles waxed angry and blazed red. He cursed those who made
such a noise, he swore he would not pay a halfpenny, he had no money.
They might search his pockets. They might squeeze him. They would get
nothing out of him. They might keep the brass token, and welcome, he had
nothing else to give them. He turned his pockets out to show they were
empty.
The whole assembly, performers in tights, muslin, velvets, ochre and
whitening, the spectators--country lads with their lasses, farmers and
their wives--were crushed in a dense mass about the scene of
altercation. Many of the lads disliked Charles for his swagger and
superiority, and were glad to vent their envy in groans and hisses. The
elder men thought it incumbent on them to see that justice was done;
they called out that the money must be paid.
Charles, becoming heated, cast his words about, regardless whom he hurt.
The manager stared, the queen screamed, the clown swore, and columbine,
who held a hoop, tried to throw it over the head of the offender, and
pull him down over the barrier. By a sudden movement the young man
wrenched the whip from the hand of the manager, and raising it over his
head threatened to clear a way with the lash. The people started back.
Then into the space Honor advanced.
'What has he done? I am his sister. Show me the piece of money.'
'Look at that--and turn yeller,' exclaimed the manager's wife. 'Darn it
now, if I ain't a-gone and broke one o' them pearl drops in my ear.
Look at the coin,' she put the token into the girl's hand. 'What do yer
say to that?' Then she whisked her head of curls about as if to
overtake her ear and see the wreck of pearl-drop--silvered glass which
had been crushed in the press. 'And this also, young man, comes of yer
wickedness. What am I to do with one pendant? Can't wear it in my nose
like an Injun. Now then, young woman in scarlet, what do yer call
that?'
Honor turned the coin over in her palm,
'This is a brass tradesman's token,' she said, 'it is not money. We
stand in your debt five-and-ninepence. I have nothing by me. You must
trust me; you shall be paid.'
'No, no! we won't trust none of you,' said the angry woman. 'We ain't
a-going to let you out without the money. Pay or to prison you walk.
Someone run for the constable, and I'll give him a ticket gratis for
this evening's entertainment.'
Then many voices were raised to deprecate her wrath. 'This is Honor.'
'Trust Honor as you'd trust granite.' 'Honor in name and Honor in
truth.' 'Honor never wronged a fly.' 'Red spider is a lucky insect.'
'Why don't the red spider spin money now?'
'Leave her alone, she's good as gold. She can't help if the brother is
a rascal.'
But though many voices were raised in her favour, no hands were thrust
into pockets to produce the requisite money.
Honor looked about. She was hot, and her brow moist; her lips quivered;
a streak of sun was on her scarlet cloak and sent a red reflection over
her face.
'We will not be beholden to you, madam,' she said, with as much
composure as she could muster. Then she unloosed her cloak from her
neck and from the encircling arms of Temperance. 'There,' she said,
'take this; the cloth is good. It is worth more money than what we owe
you. Keep it till I come or send to redeem it.'
She put the scarlet cloak into the woman's hands, then turned, gathered
the children about her, and looking at those who stood in front, said
with dignity, 'I will trouble you to make way. We will interrupt the
performance no longer.'
Then, gravely, with set lips and erect head, she went out, drawing her
little party after her, Kate following, flushed and crying, and Charles,
with a swagger and a laugh and jest to those he passed, behind Kate.
When they came outside, however, Charles slunk away. The six young men
whom Charles had treated remained. They had worked their way along the
benches to dissociate themselves from the party of the Luxmores, and put
on a look as if they had paid for their own seats. 'We needn't go, for
sure,' whispered one to another. 'We be paid for now out of Miss
Honor's red cloak.'
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*THE LAMB-KILLER.*
Honor could not recover herself at once. Her heart beat fast and her
breathing was quick. Her hands that clasped the children twitched
convulsively. She looked round at Charles before he slipped away, and
their eyes met. His expression rapidly changed, his colour went, his
eyes fell before those of his sister. He drew his cap over his face, and
elbowed his way through the crowd out of sight.
Honor felt keenly what had occurred; she was the sister of a rogue; the
honourable name of Luxmore was tarnished. How would her father bear
this? This, the family honour, was the one thing on which he prided
himself. And what about Charles? Would not he be forced to leave the
place she had found for him? Would Taverner Langford keep in his employ
a man who cheated?
But Honor took a more serious view of the occurrence than the general
public. Popular opinion was not as censorious as her conscience. Those
whom Charles had attempted to defraud were strangers--vagrants belonging
to no parish, and without the pale, fair game for a sharp man to
overreach. If the public virtue had protested loudly in the show, it
was not in the interests of fair dealing, but as an opportunity of
annoying a braggart.
Honor, wounded and ashamed, shrank from contact with her acquaintances,
and with Kate worked her way out of the throng, away from the fair, and
home, without seeing more of Larry.
Kate took Charles's misconduct to heart in a different way from Honor;
she was angry, disappointed because her pleasure was spoiled, and
fretted. But the children, as they trotted homewards, were not weary of
talking of the wonders they had seen and the enjoyment they had had.
In the evening Hillary drove up with his spring-cart, and called the
girls out to take their fairings from his trap, some crocks, a roll of
drapery, and some other small matters. Hillary was cheerful and full of
fun. He repeated the jokes of the cheap-jack, and told of the
neighbours that had been taken in. He mentioned whom he had met, and
what he had seen. He allowed the dappled horse to stand in the road,
with the reins on the ground, whilst, with one foot planted on the
steps, he lingered chatting with the girls before their door. He was so
bright and amusing that Kate forgot her vexation and laughed. Even the
grave Honor was unable to forbear a smile. Of the disturbance in the
circus caused by Charles he said nothing, and Honor felt grateful for
his tact. He remained talking for half an hour. He carried the girls'
parcels into the cottage for them, and insisted on a kiss from the tiny
ones. It almost seemed as if he were tarrying for something--an
opportunity which did not offer; but this did not occur to the girls.
They felt his kindness in halting to cheer them. Their father was not
yet returned from the fair. They were not likely to see Charles again
that day.
'By the way, Honor,' said Larry, 'you have some lambs, have you not?'
'Yes, five.'
'Can you fasten them and the ewes in at night?'
'No--we have no place. But why? They will not take hurt at this time
of the year.'
'Don't reckon on that,' said the young man; 'I've heard tell there is a
lamb-killer about. Farmer Hegadon lost three, and one went from
Swaddledown last night. Have you not heard? Watches must be set. None
can tell whose dog has taken to lamb-killing till it is seen in the
act.'
'A bad business for us if we lose our lambs,' said Honor. 'We reckon on
selling them and the ewes in the fall, to meet our debt to Mr. Langford
for the horse.'
'Then forewarned is forearmed. Lock them up.'
'It can't be done, Larry. You can't pocket your watch when you're
without a pocket.'
'In that case I hope the lamb-killer will look elsewhere. That is all.
Good-night. But before I go mind this. If you have trouble about your
lambs, call on me. I'll watch for you now you have not Charles at your
command. We're neighbours and must be neighbourly.'
'Thank you heartily, Larry. I will do so.'
Then the lad went away, whistling in his cart, but as he went he turned
and waved his hand to the sisters.
The children were tired and put to bed. Kate was weary and soon left.
Honor had to sit up for her father, whose van was in request that day to
convey people and their purchases from the fair to their distant homes.
After Oliver had come in and had his supper, Honor put away the plates,
brushed up the crumbs, set the chairs straight, and went to bed. Kate
and the children were sound asleep. Honor's brain was excited, and she
kept awake. She was unobserved now, and could let her tears flow. She
had borne up bravely all day; the relaxation was necessary for her now.
Before her family and the world Honor was reserved and restrained. She
was forced to assume a coldness that was not natural to her heart.
There was not one person in the house who could be relied on. Her
father was devoid of moral backbone. He remembered the commissions of
his customers, but his memory failed respecting his duties to his
children and the obligations of home. Kate had too sharp a tongue and a
humour too capricious to exercise authority. She set the children by
the ears. As for the little ones, they were too young to be supposed to
think. So Honor had to consider for her father and the other seven
inmates of the cottage, also of late for Charles--to have a head to
think for nine creatures who did not think for themselves. There was
not one of the nine who stood firm, who was not shiftless. There are
few occupations more trying to the temper than the setting up of
nine-pins on a skittle-floor. Honor did not become querulous, as is the
manner of most women who have more duties to discharge than their
strength allows. She was overtaxed, but she sheltered herself under an
assumption of coldness. Some thought her proud, others unfeeling. Kate
could not fathom her. Oliver took all she did as a matter of course.
He neither spared her nor applauded her. Perhaps no one in the parish
was so blind to her excellence as her father. Kate was his favourite
daughter.
Honor dried her tears on the pillow. What would the end be? Kate was at
her side fast asleep. Honor leaned on her elbow and looked at her
sleeping sister. The moon was shining. A muslin blind was drawn across
the window, but a patch of light was on the whitewashed wall, and was
brilliant enough to irradiate the whole chamber. Kate's light silky
hair was ruffled about her head. She lay with one arm out, and the hand
under her head; her delicate arm was bare. Honor looked long at her;
her lips quivered, she stooped over Kate and kissed her, and her lips
quivered no more. 'How pretty she is,' she said to her own heart; 'no
wonder he went away whistling "Kathleen Mavourneen."'
All at once Honor started, as though electrified. She heard the sheep
in the paddock making an unwonted noise, and recalled what Larry had
said. In a moment she was out of bed, and had drawn aside the
window-blind. The sheep and lambs were running wildly about. Some
leaped at the hedge, trying to scramble up and over; others huddled
against the gate leading to the lane. Honor opened the casement and put
forth her head. Then she saw a dark shadow sweep across the field,
before which the clustered sheep scattered.
Honor slipped on a few garments, descended the stair, opened the kitchen
door, and went forth armed with a stick. The lamb-killer was in the
paddock, chasing down one of the flock that he had managed to separate
from the rest. Honor called, but her voice was unheeded or unheard,
owing to the bleating of the frightened sheep. She ran through the dewy
grass, but her pace was as nothing to that of the dog. The frightened
lamb fled from side to side, and up and down, till its powers were
exhausted; and then it stood piteously bleating, paralysed with terror,
and the dog was at its throat and had torn it before Honor could reach
the spot.
When she approached the dog leaped the hedge and disappeared through a
gap in the bushes at the top. The girl went about the field pacifying
the sheep, calling them, and counting them. They came about her skirts,
pressing one on another, bleating, entreating protection, interfering
with her movements. Two of the lambs were gone. One she had seen
killed; a second was missing. She searched and found it; it had been
overrun and had got jammed between two rails. In its efforts to escape,
it had become injured. Its life was spent with exhaustion and fear, but
it was not quite dead. It still panted. She disengaged the little
creature, and carried it in her arms into the house, followed by the
agitated ewes, whom she could hardly drive back from the garden gate.
Honor did not expect the dog to return that night, but she sat up
watching for a couple of hours, and then returned to her bedroom, though
not to sleep.
Here was a fresh trouble come upon the family. The loss of two lambs,
in their state of poverty, was a serious loss, and she could not be sure
that this was the end. The dog might return another night and kill
more, and that was a crushing loss to poor people.
Next morning, when Kate and the children heard the news, their distress
was great. Many tears were shed over the dead lambs. Kate was loud in
her indignation against those who let their dogs rove at night. She was
sure it was done on purpose, out of malice. It was impossible to
suppose that the owner of a lamb-killer was ignorant of the proclivities
of his dog. If they could only find out whose dog it was they would
make him pay for the mischief.
'I suppose, father, you will sit up to-night and watch for the brute?'
'I--I!' answered the carrier. 'What will that avail? I never shot
anything in my life but one sparrow, and that I blew to pieces. I
rested my gun-barrel on the shiver (bar) of a gate, and waited till a
sparrow came to some crumbs I had scattered. Then I fired, and a splash
of blood and some feathers were all that remained of the sparrow. No, I
am no shot. The noise close to my ear unnerves me. Besides, I am
short-sighted. No; if the dog takes the lambs, let him, I cannot
prevent it.'
'But you must sit up, father.'
'What can I do? If I saw the dog I should not know whose 't was. Honor
saw it, she can say whose it was.'
'I do not know. It struck me as like Mr. Langford's Rover, but I cannot
be sure; the ash-trees were between the moon and the meadow, and
flickered.'
'Oh! if it be Rover we are right.'
'How so, father?'
'Langford will pay if his dog has done the damage.'
'He must be made to pay,' said Kate. 'He won't do it if he can scrape
out.'