THE VICARAGE--KEZIAH--THE DEAR BOYS--THE COOK--A YORKSHIRE
TEA--BED-FELLOWS.
It was Midsummer. The heavy foliage brushed our faces as "the old mare,"
with slack reins upon her back, drew us soberly up the steep drive, and
stood still, of her own accord, before a substantial-looking house,
built--"like everything else," I thought--of stone. Huge
rose-bushes--literal _bushes_, not "dwarfs" or "standards"--the growth
of many years, bent under their load of blossoms. The old "maiden's
blush," too rare now in our bedding plant gardens, the velvety "damask,"
the wee Scotch roses, the prolific white, and the curious "York and
Lancaster," with monster moss-rose trees, hung over the carriage-road.
The place seemed almost overgrown with vegetation, like the palace of
the Sleeping Beauty.
As we turned the corner towards the house, Eleanor put out her left hand
and dragged off a great branch of "maiden's blush." She forgot the
recoil, which came against my face. All the full-blown flowers shed
their petals over me, and I made my first appearance at the Vicarage
covered with rose-leaves.
It was Keziah who welcomed us, and I have always had an affection for
her in consequence. She was housemaid then, and took to the kitchen
afterwards. After she had been about five years at the Vicarage, she
announced one day that she wished to go. She had no reason to give but
that she "thought she'd try a change." She tried one--for a month--and
didn't like it. Mrs. Arkwright took her back again, and in kitchen and
back premises she reigns supreme to this day.
From her we learned that Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright, who had gone away for a
parson's fortnight, were still from home. We had no lack of welcome,
however.
It seems strange enough to speak of a fire as comfortable in July. And
yet I well remember that the heavy dew and evening breeze was almost
chilly after sunset, and a sort of vault-like feeling about the rooms,
which had been for a week or more unused, made us offer no resistance
when Keziah began to light a fire. While she was doing so Eleanor
exclaimed, "Let's go and warm ourselves in the kitchen."
Any idea of comfort connected with a kitchen was quite new to me, but I
followed Eleanor, and made my first acquaintance with the old room where
we have spent so many happy hours.
We found the door shut; much, it seemed, to Eleanor's astonishment. But
the reason was soon evident. As our footsteps sounded on the stone
passage there arose from behind the kitchen door an utterly
indescribable din of howling, yowling, squealing, scratching, and
barking.
"It's the dear boys!" said Eleanor, and she ran to open the door. For a
moment I thought of her brothers (who must, obviously, be maniacs!), but
I soon discovered that the "dear boys" were the dogs of the
establishment, who were at once let loose upon us _en masse_. I have a
faint remembrance of Eleanor and a brown retriever falling into each
other's arms with cries of delight; but I was a good deal absorbed by
the care of my own small person, under the heavy onslaught of dogs big
and little. I was licked copiously from chin to forehead by the more
impetuous, and smelt threateningly at the calves of my legs by the more
cautious of the pack.
They were subsiding a little, when Eleanor said, "Oh, cook, why did you
shut them up? Why didn't you let them come and meet us?"
"And how was I to know who it was at the door, Miss Eleanor?" replied an
elderly, stern-looking female, who, in her time, ruled us all with a rod
of iron, the dogs included. "Dear knows it's not that I want them in the
kitchen. The way them dogs behaves, Miss Eleanor, is _scandilus_."
"Dear boys!" murmured Eleanor; on which all the dogs, who were settling
down to sleep on the hearth, wagged their tails, and threatened to move.
"Much good it is me cleaning," cook continued, "when that great big
brown beast of yours goes roaming about every night in the shrubberies,
and comes in with his feet all over my clean floor."
"It makes rather pretty marks, I think," said Eleanor; "like
pot-moulding, only not white. But never mind, you've me at home now to
wipe their paws."
"They've missed you sorely," said the cook, who seemed to be softening.
"I almost think they knew it was you, they were so mad to get out."
"Dear boys!" cried Eleanor, once more; and the dogs, who were asleep
now, wagged their tails in their dreams.
"And there's more's missed you than them," cook continued. "But, bless
us, Miss Eleanor, you don't look much better for being in strange parts.
That young lady, too, looks as if she enjoyed poor health. Well, give me
native air, there's nothing like it; and you've not got back to yours
too soon."
Eleanor threw her arms round the cook, and danced her up and down the
kitchen.
"Oh, dear cookey!" she cried; "I am so glad to be back again. And do be
kind to us, and give us tea-cakes, and brown bread toast, and let the
dogs come in to tea."
Cook pushed her away, but with a relenting face.
"There, there, Miss Eleanor. Take that jug of hot water with you, and
take the young lady up-stairs; and when you've cleaned yourselves, I'll
have something for you to eat; and you may suit yourselves about the
dogs,--I'm sure I don't want them. You've not got so much more sensible
with all your schooling," she added.
We went off to do her bidding, and left her muttering, "And what folks
as can edicate their own children sends 'em all out of the house for,
passes me; to come back looking like a damp handkerchief, with dear
knows what cheap living and unwholesome ways, and want of native air."
Cook's bark was worse than her bite.
"She gives the dear boys plenty to eat," said Eleanor; and she provided
for us that evening in the same liberal spirit.
What a feast we had! Strong tea, and abundance of sugar and rich cream.
We laid the delicious butter on our bread in such thick clumps, that
sallow-faced Madame would have thought us in peril of our lives. There
was brown bread toast, too; and fried ham and eggs, and moor honey, and
Yorkshire tea-cakes. In the middle of the table Keziah had placed a
large punch-bowl, filled with roses.
And all the dogs were on the hearth, and they all had tea with us.
After tea we tried to talk, but were so sleepy that the words died away
on our heavy lips. So we took Keziah's advice and went to bed.
"Keziah has put the chair-bed into my room, Margery dear," said Eleanor.
"I am so glad," said I. "I would rather be with you."
"Would you like a dog to sleep with you?" Eleanor politely inquired. "I
shall have Growler inside, and my big boy outside. Pincher is a nice
little fellow; you'd better have Pincher."
I took Pincher accordingly, and Pincher took the middle of the bed.
We were just dropping off to sleep when Eleanor said, "If Pincher
snores, darling, hit him on the nose."
"All right," said I. "Good-night." I had begun a confused dream, woven
from my late experiences, when Eleanor's voice roused me once more.
"Margery dear, if Growler _should_ get out of my bed and come on to
yours, mind you kick him off, or he and Pincher will fight through the
bed-clothes."
But whether Pincher did snore, or Growler invade our bed, I slept much
too soundly to be able to tell.