Geoffrey Trethick found that his were very pleasant quarters at the
cottage, for Mrs Mullion seemed to take quite a motherly interest in
his welfare, while her daughter Madge formed an excellent lieutenant,
having evidently been won over by the young man's frank, pleasant ways
as much as by his looks.
"If there is any thing I can do to make you more comfortable, Mr
Trethick, I hope you'll say so," said Mrs Mullion, one morning as
Geoffrey was just going out. "Both Madge and I have got so used to
waiting on gentlemen that it comes quite natural to us."
"I'm sure you are very kind," said Geoffrey.
"Buttons on and darning, and that sort of thing, of course, we'll see
to. I used to do all that for our late clergyman, Mr Owen--a very
nice, genuine man. He used to put me so in mind of poor Madge's father.
Ah!" she continued, sadly, "very different he was to his brother, Mr
Paul--half-brothers, you know. Dear Edward never spoke like Thomas--Mr
Paul--does. I don't say but what he would be out of temper sometimes,
all gentlemen will be, but he used to say his bad words inside like, so
that you could not hear them."
"A very good plan," said Geoffrey, smiling.
"Thomas--Mr Paul, you know--says very strange things sometimes, but he
means well, and he is a very, very good man."
"Yes, so I believe," replied Geoffrey.
"Our Mr Owen, too, was a very good man, and they were great friends. I
liked him better than this Mr Lee. I went to hear him on Sunday, but I
could not really make out what he meant, but I've no doubt he meant
well."
"Yes, of course," said Geoffrey, "most clergymen do."
"To be sure," assented the amiable little woman. "Have you seen the
Rumseys yet?"
"I've met the doctor," replied Geoffrey.
"A very clever man," said Mrs Mullion, "and his wife means well, but
she drills the children so. She's very proud, and thinks they have come
down; but, as I say to my Madge, if she would not drill those poor
children quite so much, and use a pocket-handkerchief to their noses, it
would be so much better. Yes, Madge, I'm coming directly."
Geoffrey wished she would go, for he wanted to write a letter; but the
little lady kept prattling on.
"I want to see you get a good colour, Mr Trethick. You look Londony,
you know. You must let me cook you a chop or a steak for breakfast--
underdone, you know. Dr Rumsey says there's nothing like it. So much
better for you than fish; and I will say that of our butcher, he does
have good meat. His only fault is that, as Mr Paul says, he seems to
have a knife that will cut two pounds when you want one."
"A common failing with butchers, I believe," laughed Geoffrey.
"Yes," said the little woman, innocently. "We get our milk there, and--
to be sure! Now, look here, Mr Trethick, before you go out for those
early morning walks of yours--"
"Mamma!"
"Yes, Madge, I'm coming! Bless the child! how impatient she is when I'm
here. But, as I was going to say, you must let me beat you up a
new-laid egg in a glass of fresh milk. Lornocks have got a new cow, an
Alderney, with such a beautiful bust, and I never saw richer milk in my
life."
"But, my dear Mrs Mullion, I'm not an invalid!" laughed Geoffrey. "The
only consumption I suffer from is that of the pocket."
"Hallo! You here?" said old Mr Paul, stumping in.
"Yes, Thomas. I was advising Mr Trethick about his health."
"Stuff! He's all health! Don't take any notice of her, Trethick, or
she'll want to put you in a poultice every night! There, be off,
woman!"
"Yes, dear, I'm going," said the little woman, gently.
"She'll be giving you beef-tea and arrow-root till you can't see,"
growled the old fellow. "I believe she was a nurse once."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, before she was born what she is."
Geoffrey stared.
"And that she'll be a hen next, like Mrs Rumsey, to set on eggs and
cluck over chickens."
"Metempsychosis?" said Geoffrey.
"Hah! yes! The niggers out in Poonah are right as right about that."
"Very likely," said Geoffrey. "Now, what do you suppose you'll be
next?"
"Don't know," said the old man, sharply; "but I've no doubt you'll be a
dog."
"May I ask why?"
"Because you're an impertinent puppy now!"
"Just as you like," said Geoffrey, smiling. "But you look cross."
"No, sir; things are not just as I like," said the old man, seating
himself upon Geoffrey's table, but only to get off, go quickly to the
door, open it softly, and then dash out--to come back disappointed, for
there was no one listening. "Look here, Trethick, I want to ask you a
plain question."
"Go on, then."
"That niece of mine goes out a great deal now--has gone out a great deal
since you've been here. Is it to meet you?"
Geoffrey had hard work to sit unmoved, for he thought of what he knew,
and wondered whether he ought to speak out: and he felt that the old man
was watching him searchingly.
"No!" said Geoffrey, shortly. "It is not!"
"That's right, I'm glad of it," said the old man, taking a chair, and
apparently more at his ease. "She'll be a cat one of these days, hang
her! But look here, boy. Don't you look at her. The jade's ready to
lead on everybody she sees. If I were not her uncle, I believe she'd
set her cap at me. Now, look here: I told you at first, and I tell you
again, I'll have no fooling."
"Give me one of those cigars of yours," said Geoffrey, rather bluntly,
and apparently without paying any heed to the old man's words. "I want
a smoke."
"Humph! Things are going crooked with you, then, are they?"
"Very!" said Geoffrey. "But come out to the summer-house, and let's
feel the free air."
"Here, catch hold!" cried the old man, holding out a black cheroot.
"That's the only good trait in your character, boy, you do know a good
cigar. He, he, he! You should try some I keep for Rumsey, and fellows
like that."
"Thanks, no," said Geoffrey.
"Ah! I told you how it would be," continued the old man, as they
entered the look-out and took their seats. "I told you how it would be.
I knew it well enough. So I did."
They sat looking at each other for a few moments.
"You can't get an engagement then, my lad, eh?"
"No," said Geoffrey, lighting up; "not yet."
"No; nor you won't. That you won't," chuckled the old man, as Geoffrey
sat himself on the summer-house table, and, thrusting his hands in his
pockets, began swinging one leg backwards and forwards.
"I've tried at twenty mines in the month I've been here," said Geoffrey,
"and pointed out ways of saving that would pay me a good salary ten
times over, and put money in the proprietors' or shareholders' pockets."
"Yes, and they laugh at you, don't they?"
"Confoundedly," said Geoffrey.
"Keep that leg still," said the old man, poking at the swinging member
with his cane.
Geoffrey gave the cane a kick, and sent it flying out on to the
grass-plot, making Uncle Paul turn white with rage; but the young man
got leisurely down and picked it up, retaining it in his hand as he
reseated himself, and began making passes with it at a knot in the wood.
"Give me my cane," said the old man, angrily.
"They're as blind as moles to their own interests," said Geoffrey.
"Do you hear? Give me my cane."
"And treat all my advances as if I were trying to trick and defraud
them."
"I say, give me my cane!" cried the old man.
"They flatly tell me that my plans are new-fangled and foolish, and that
they'll have none of them."
"Confound you, you insolent puppy! Will you give me my cane?"
"They're as hard to move as so many mules," said Geoffrey, handing the
cane, and smiling in the old man's face.
Uncle Paul snatched the cane, and made a threatening gesture as if about
to strike, when Geoffrey held out one hand, school-boy fashion, for a
cut on the palm, and the old man made as if to give it a vicious blow;
but, as the other did not flinch, he checked the fall of the cane, and
sat showing his yellow teeth.
"I'm glad of it, very glad," he snarled. "I told you so; and now you
may pack up and be off, for I'm sick of you, and want to see your back."
"But I'm not going," said Geoffrey, coolly. "I wouldn't move for the
world. You do me so much good."
"I do you good, puppy?"
"To be sure you do. I get as bilious and acid, and put out with my
ill-luck as can be, and then I come and take a dose of you, and it seems
to put me right again."
"You're--you're the most insolent, cool, impertinent puppy I ever met?"
cried the old man; "and--and I wish you all the ill-luck you can get."
"Thanky," said Geoffrey. "Well, good-by for the present. I'm going to
take a walk down to the Cove."
"Of course," snarled Uncle Paul. "Hi! here. Madge! Madge!"
"Yes, uncle," she cried, running eagerly out of the porch, and across
the grass-plot.
"Yes, uncle," he snarled. "You jade. You were listening, and waiting
for a chance for another look, or a word, with this puppy here."
"Oh, uncle!" cried the girl, colouring up, for the old man had guessed
the truth.
"Pray don't protest, my dear Miss Mullion," said Geoffrey, coolly. "Say
you were. There's no harm in it."
"Harm in it?" cried the old man, fiercely, "harm? Why, you don't
suppose I'm going to let you, a mining adventurer, flirt and play tricks
with my brother's child, and then go off and never come back?"
"Youth is the time for folly, Mr Paul."
"Yes; but there shall be no follies here, sir. Look here, Madge, this
fellow's not to be trusted. He's always going over to the Cove, to make
eyes at handsome Bess Prawle; so don't you listen to him."
Madge looked at Geoffrey inquiringly.
"It's quite true, Miss Mullion," said Geoffrey, bowing assent to the old
man's words, "I am going over to the Cove; and I dare say I shall see
Miss Prawle the pretty. By the way, Mr Paul, are women any the better
for being pretty?"
"You--you impudent jackanapes! You, you--There, ha, ha, ha! Look at
her!" he cried, chuckling at the effect of his words. "She's run
indoors in a huff, and she'll cry as soon as you're gone."
"Then I hope you feel happy, sir?"
"I do," said the old man, rubbing the ivory top of his cane. "Look
here, boy, do you mean any thing by being so civil to that girl?"
"What girl, sir?"
"Don't aggravate me, boy. Her--Madge--that smooth-faced, good-looking
cat."
"I don't mean any thing but to be civil."
"Not marriage?"
"Well, seeing that I can barely keep myself," said Geoffrey, laughing,
"no."
"Marry Miss Pavey, then," chuckled the old man, maliciously. "Sweet
creature. False teeth, false hair, false ways, false voice--falsetto.
Lovely woman. See what a dresser she is. What a useful piece of
furniture for a house."
"Marry her yourself," said Geoffrey; "you are an old bachelor."
"Bah!" exclaimed the old man. "But look here, sir. My niece!"
"Still harping on my daughter."
"No, I'm not, Polonius Junior; but upon my niece. You say she don't go
out to meet you."
"No, she does not."
"Then don't be civil to her. Marriage is folly. My brother married
Jane Mullion there, and she worried his life out with being so stupid,
and then he died and left her and her child paupers."
"Hang that word!" cried Geoffrey, warmly. "How I do hate it."
"Then don't go and make a race of paupers," said the old man. "Bah! A
young fellow has his work cut out in life, and starts on his journey by
sticking a load of woman on his back. Then she sticks a load of baby on
her back, and most likely goes on banging children all over him till the
burthen gets too heavy to be borne, when the poor wretch breaks down and
dies. Look at me, sir. I never married; but saved enough to live on,
and keep other people. Follow my example."
"And grow as cantankerous."
"Do you want to quarrel, puppy?"
"Not I. I haven't time."
"What are you crying about?" said the old man, roughly, as he found that
Mrs Mullion, attracted by his loud voice, had come to see what was the
matter, and had heard a part of his last speech.
"At what you said, dear," sobbed the poor woman.
"Don't you mind what he says, Mrs Mullion," said Geoffrey; "he doesn't
mean it. I'll be bound to say he's got a very soft spot in his heart
somewhere."
As he spoke Geoffrey walked out of the garden, whistling, and made for
the cliff path, drinking in the deliciously-fresh sea-breeze as he went
along.
"This place keeps one from having the dumps," he said to himself, "it is
so fresh and bright; but really, in spite of my vainglorious boasting,
I'm afraid I am wasting time here. _Nil des_, though; I'm not beaten
yet. Old Paul is glorious as a dose of bitters, if he didn't give one
quite so much about Brown Maudlin. Pretty girl, very; but wants ballast
horribly. Hang the old man, he goes just the way to make a fellow think
about her. But he's a fine old boy. Now I'll go and have a dose of
resignation from poor old Mrs Prawle.
"That old lady always does me good," he said, as he went on. "What sane
man could grumble who has all his faculties, just because he cannot make
filthy lucre, when he has that patient old lady ready to face him with
her calm, subdued ways. Hang it, there's a very pathetic side to her
life!"
He did not see that he, too, was watched, as he went swinging along; but
went right ahead in his thorough way, setting his mind on a certain
goal, and hardly heeding any thing else; but he had not passed one clump
of rocks far, when Amos Pengelly came out, and stood watching him till
he disappeared, and then followed slowly, to make sure that Geoffrey
went down to the Cove.
The rough miner's face was very white and drawn, and he uttered a low
moaning sigh as he satisfied himself that the man whom he was watching
had gone straight to the Cove, and then he limped back some little
distance, and, with a heavy frown settling on his massive face, he
seated himself on a rock waiting for Geoffrey's return, his fingers
crooking and clenching into fists, and the ruined mine shaft not far
behind.