"Here! halloo! hi! Hobbs! I say," shouted Mr Sudberry, running out at
the front door, after having swept Lucy's work-box off the table and
trodden on the cat's tail. "Where has that fellow gone to? He's always
out of the way. Halloo!" (looking up at the nursery window), "Mrs
Brown!"
Mrs Brown, being deeply impressed with the importance of learning,
(just because of Mrs Sudberry's contempt thereof), was busily engaged
at that moment in teaching Miss Tilly and Master Jacky a piece of very
profound knowledge.
"Now, Miss Tilly, what is the meaning of procrastination?" ("Ho! hi!
halloo-o-o-o," from Mr Sudberry; but Mrs Brown, supposing the shout is
meant for any one but herself; takes no notice of it.)
_Tilly_.--"Doing to-day what you might have put off till to-morrow."
("Halloo! ho! don't you hear? hi!" from below.)
_Mrs Brown_.--"No, you little goose! What is it, Jacky?"
_Jacky_.--"Doing to-morrow what you might have put off till to-day."
("Hi! halloo! are you deaf up there?")
_Mrs Brown_.--"Worse and worse, stupid little goose!"
_Jacky_, (indignantly).--"Well, then, if it's neither one thing nor
t'other, just let's hear what _you_ make it out to be--" ("Hi! ho!
halloo! Mrs Bra-a-own!")
"Bless me, I think papa is calling on me. Yes, sir. Was you calling,
sir?" (throwing up the window and looking out.)
"Calling! no; I wasn't `calling.' I was shrieking, howling, yelling.
Is Hobbs there?"
"No, sir; 'Obbs is not 'ere, sir."
"Well, then, be so good as to go and look for him, and say I want him
directly to go for the letters."
"'Ere I am, sir," said Hobbs, coming suddenly round the corner of the
house, with an appearance of extreme haste.
Hobbs had, in fact, been within hearing of his master, having been,
during the last half-hour, seated in McAllister's kitchen, where the
uproarious merriment had drowned all other sounds. Hobbs had become a
great favourite with the Highland family, owing to his hearty good
humour and ready power of repartee. The sharp Cockney, with the
easy-going effrontery peculiar to his race, attempted to amuse the
household--namely, Mrs McAllister, Dan, Hugh, and two good-looking and
sturdy-limbed servant-girls--by measuring wits with the "canny Scot," as
he called the farmer. He soon found, however, that he had caught a
Tartar. The good-natured Highlander met his raillery with what we may
call a smile of grave simplicity, and led him slyly into committing
himself in such a way that even the untutored servants could see how far
the man was behind their master in general knowledge; but Hobbs took
refuge in smart reply, confident assertion, extreme volubility, and the
use of hard words, so that it sometimes seemed to the domestics as if he
really had some considerable power in argument. Worthy Mrs McAllister
never joined in the debate, except by a single remark now and then. She
knew her son thoroughly, and before the Sudberrys had been a week at the
White House she understood Hobbs through and through.
She was wont to sit at her spinning-wheel regarding this intellectual
sparring with grave interest, as a peculiar phase of the human mind. A
very sharp encounter had created more laughter than usual at the time
when Mr Sudberry halloed for his man-servant.
"You must be getting deaf; Hobbs, I fear," said the master, at once
pacified by the man's arrival; "go down and fetch--"
"Pray do not send him away just now," cried Mrs Sudberry: "I have
something particular for him to do. Can you go down yourself, dear?"
The good man sighed. "Well, I will go," and accordingly away he went.
"Stay, my dear."
"Well."
"I expect one or two small parcels by the coach this morning; mind you
ask for 'em and bring 'em up."
"Ay, ay!" and Mr Sudberry, with his hands in his pockets, and his
wideawake thrust back and very much on one side of his head, sauntered
down the hill towards the road.
One of the disadvantageous points about the White House was its distance
from any town or market. The nearest shop was four miles off, so that
bread, butter, meat, and groceries, had to be ordered a couple of days
beforehand, and were conveyed to their destination by the mail-coach.
Even after they were deposited at the gate of Mr McAllister's farm,
there was still about half a mile of rugged cart-road to be got over
before they could be finally deposited in the White House. This was a
matter of constant anxiety to Mr Sudberry, because it was necessary
that someone should be at the gate regularly to receive letters and
parcels, and this involved constant attention to the time of the mail
passing. When no one was there, the coachman left the property of the
family at the side of the road. Hobbs, however, was usually up to time,
fair weather and foul, and this was the first time his master had been
called on to go for the letters.
Walking down the road, Mr Sudberry whistled an extremely operatic air,
in the contentment of his heart, and glanced from side to side, with a
feeling amounting almost to affection, at the various objects which had
now become quite familiar to him, and with many of which he had
interesting associations.
There was the miniature hut, on the roof of which he usually laid his
rod on returning from a day's fishing. There was the rude stone bridge
over the burn, on the low parapet of which he and the family were wont
to sit on fine evenings, and commune of fishing, and boating, and
climbing, and wonder whether it would be possible ever again to return
to the humdrum life of London. There was the pool in the same burn over
which one day he, reckless man, had essayed to leap, and into which he
had tumbled, when in eager pursuit of Jacky. A little below this was
the pool into which the said Jacky had rushed in wild desperation on
finding that his father was too fleet for him. Passing through a
five-barred gate into the next field, he skirted the base of a high,
precipitous crag, on which grew a thicket of dwarf-trees and shrubs, and
at the foot of which the burn warbled. Here, on his left, stood the
briar bush out of which had _whirred_ the first live grouse he ever set
eyes on. It was at this bird, that, in the madness of his excitement,
he had flung first his stick, then his hat, and lastly his shout of
disappointment and defiance. A little further on was that other bush
out of which he had started so many grouse that he now never approached
it without a stone in each hand, his eyes and nostrils dilated, and his
breath restrained. He never by any chance on these occasions sent his
artillery within six yards of the game; but once, when he approached the
bush in a profound reverie, and without the usual preparation, he
actually saw a bird crouching in the middle of it! To seize a large
stone and hit the ground at least forty yards beyond the bush was the
work of a moment. Up got the bird with a tremendous whizz! He flung
his stick wildly, and, hitting it, (by chance), fair on the head,
brought it down. To rush at it, fall on it, crush it almost flat, and
rise up slowly holding it very tight, was the result of this successful
piece of poaching. Another result was a charming addition to a dinner a
few days afterwards.
At all these objects Mr Sudberry gazed benignantly as he sauntered
along in the sunshine, indulging in sweet memories of the recent past,
and whistling operatically.
The high-road gained, he climbed upon the gate, seated himself upon the
top bar to await the passing of the mail, and began to indulge in a
magnificent air, the florid character of which he rendered much more
effective than the composer had intended by the introduction of
innumerable flourishes of his own.
It was while thus engaged, and in the middle of a tremendous shake, that
Mr Sudberry suddenly became aware of the presence of a man not more
than twenty yards distant. He was lying down on the embankment beside
the road, and his ragged dress of muddy-brown corduroy so resembled the
broken ground, on which he lay that he was not a very distinct object,
even when looked at point-blank. Certainly Mr Sudberry thought him an
extremely disagreeable object as he ended in an ineffective quaver and
with a deep blush; for that man must be more than human, who, when
caught in the act of attempting to perpetrate an amateur concert in all
its parts, does not _feel_ keenly.
Being of a sociable disposition, Mr Sudberry was about to address this
ill-favoured beggar--for such he evidently was--when the coach came
round a distant bend in the road at full gallop. It was the ordinary
tall, top-heavy mail of the first part of the nineteenth century. Being
a poor district, there were only two horses, a white and a black; but
the driver wore a stylish red coat, and cracked his whip smartly. The
road being all down hill at that part, the coach came on at a spanking
pace, and pulled up with a crash.
The beggar turned his face to the ground, and pretended to be asleep.
Mr Sudberry noticed this; but, being interested in his own affairs,
soon forgot the circumstance.
"Got any letters for me to-day, my man?"
Oh, yes, he has letters and newspapers too. Mr Sudberry mutters to
himself as they are handed down, "Capital!--ha!--business; hum!--
private; ho!--compasses; good! Any more?"
There are no more; but there is a parcel or two. The coachman gets down
and opens the door of the box behind. The insides peep out, and the
outsides look down with interest. A great many large and heavy things
are pulled out and laid on the road.
Mr Sudberry remarks that it would have been "wiser to have stowed _his_
parcels in front."
The coachman observes that _these_ are _his_ parcels, shuts the door,
mounts the box, and drives away, with the outsides grinning and the
insides stretching their heads out, leaving Mr Sudberry transfixed and
staring.
"`One or two small parcels,'" murmured the good man, recalling his
wife's words; "`and mind you bring 'em up.' One salmon, two legs of
mutton, one ham, three dozen of beer, a cask of--of--something or other,
and a bag of--of--ditto, (groceries, I suppose), `and mind you bring 'em
up!' How! `_that_ is the question!'" cried Mr Sudberry, quoting
Hamlet, in desperation.