"'Owever will you manage?" Only the shelf on which Wastralls--house,
yard and garden--stood, was flat.
"I..." Sabina hesitated. The brightness had died cut of her face. "I
don't know if Leadville will carry out my wishes or no."
"Well, you can 'ardly expect 'un to."
"I dun't see why 'e shouldn't. 'Tis my land, why shouldn't 'e do as I
want for'n to do?"
"'Cos 'e's so obstinate in 'is way as you are in yours."
"My dear life, I bain't obstinate. 'Ow can 'ee say so? I only do same
as my father and granfer did. I'm sure they wouldn't like for me to
alter it."
"No, I don't 'spose they would," said Mrs. Tom, "still..."
Sabina was troubled, but not on account of Isolda's mistaken view of her
character. That she had already forgotten. "Well, I've got th' old
George Biddick. I'm sure 'e'll do what I want for'n to do, if Leadville
won't."
"Still that isn't like seein' for yerself."
"I shall 'av to take the chance of that," but she did not seem happy
about it. She mused with knit brow for some seconds, then changed the
subject. "Isolda, I'd like for Mrs. Bate to put my bed up in the big
room."
This--the old Justice Room--occupied one end of the house. For many
years it had been used as a storeroom, but underneath dust and litter
lay evidence, in painted panelling and marble mantelpiece, of former
state.
"'Tis a proper old lumber-shop," said Mrs. Tom, "but that doesn't
matter."
"You see," explained Sabina, "I can't go overstairs."
"I wonder 'ow Leadville'll like sleepin' on the ground floor?"
"Well, he must like it or lump it." She spoke with the confidence of
one whose marriage had been a success. "We'll get the room to rights for
yer."
"And Isolda, I don't want to keep on Mrs. Bate, nor I don't want her
Jenifer nor her Janey."
"'Ow'll 'ee manage then?"
"I want some one of my own flesh and blood. I should love to 'av one of
your li'l maids. Why couldn't I 'av Gray? We've always 'greed like
chickens."
"Well, I don't know I'm sure." Mrs. Tom had been expecting this, she
had even schemed for it. She had five daughters, pretty maidens all of
them, and Gray was the eldest. What more suitable than that she should
fill a daughter's place at Wastralls? Nevertheless it would not be wise
to jump at the offer. "She's young to go from 'ome."
"Wastralls is only next door and she'll be all right with me."
"An' 'as you've none of yer own," agreed Mrs. Tom, "Gray's the nearest."
Whatever Sabina's intentions, however, she would not promise to make the
girl her heir. "'Twill be for the maid's good," she said vaguely.
"I'll see what Tom got to say about it." Gray was eighteen and, with
Richbell coming on, could well be spared. No doubt Mrs. Constantine
Rosevear would think Wastralls ought eventually to go to one of her
sons; but, in this world, a hen scratched up what she could for her own
chicks.
"Gray think more 'bout 'ome than Richbell," Sabina said thoughtfully.
"She's not after the chaps so much."
The mother's pride was touched. "Whenever she go up round the parish,
there's always three or four pairs of eyes lookin' at Gray. She can
always 'av a chap if she like, but she don't trouble whether she do or
no."
"Is there any special young man, do 'ee think?"
"Well now, I don't care to say..."
Sabina's curiosity was aroused. "Now Isolda, there's somethin' gone on
since I come in 'ere. Who is it?"
Mrs. Rosevear had spent some of the happiest hours of her life,
discussing her children with this trusty friend. "No stranger," she said
smilingly.
"Who then?"
"One of your 'inds."
The other opened her eyes. "My dear life, didn't she ought to be
lookin' for some one better off?"
"She don't think anything of money."
"They don't at that age, we got to do that for'm. Who is it then?"
"Why, Jim Rosevear, the yard-man."
Mrs. Byron knitted her brows in an endeavour to recall the young man's
face. "Jim Rosevear? He come just before my accident. I can't think
who 'ee is."
"Why, iss you do. You know, Jack Rosevear of Treketh's son."
"Jack Rosevear--th' old chap who's so contrary?"
"That's of'm. When he get in a temper, you know, 'ee take off 'is 'at,
swing'n around, and fling'n down and stamp on it."
"Oh iss, I know, I remember." She meditated. "That 'edn't as bad after
all."
"No, 'tedn't bad, though 'ee've quarrelled with's father. But Mrs.
Andrews over to Gentle Jane is 'is auntie and, as she's nobody of 'er
own and 'er man's dead, there's a farm there and Jim's nothing to do but
go in and 'ang up 'is 'at."
"Then what's ah doin' at Wastralls?"
Isolda smiled, that secret smile of the mother. "Well, you needn't ask
me that. Ed'n Wastralls next door to Hember?"
"So that's it, is it?"
"There was heaps o' maidens after 'im, for 'e's a pretty boy and, at
Christmas Tree last New Year, 'e ad some mistletoe in's cap and they all
astin' for't; but Gray was the one 'e gived it to. And that's 'ow 'e
come to you as yard-man."
"And do she think anything 'bout 'im?"
"I believe she do, but she don't go round and tell everybody what she's
doin'. She's so meek as a mouse."
"Then tedn't known?"
"You're the first I've told anything to about it."