In the gray of the early morning a young man walked across the country, near Winslow park. He was dressed like a respectable countryman, with a good plain fustian coat upon his back, and leathern gaiters on his legs. Robust and healthy, he went along at a quick pace; but yet his look was not joyous, and his brow was stern. The country rose gradually over gentle slopes at first, and then wooded hills. Soon it reached a barer region, where downs extended far and wide, and great hills were seen, scantily covered with short grass. No trees; but here and there a stunted hawthorn, or solitary fir; no hedgerows, no cultivated field were there, except where now and then the traces of the plough were apparent in a dell, promising a thin crop of barley or rye for the ensuing year. The air was cold and invigorating, the sky clear, and the curlew, with its arched wings, and wild whistle, skimmed away from the white patch of uncovered cliff as the wayfarer passed by, even at a distance. He walked on, five--ten miles; and then he passed through a gap in the hills where they had been cut precipitously down, through chalk and flint, to give passage to the cross-country road. When he had reached the middle of the gap, another country was before him, lying beautiful and soft in the blue morning. Cold might be the colouring, but dark, and fine, and clear. There were woods, and fields, and two or three villages; and a small river, down, down, several miles below. After walking on, gradually descending, for about a quarter of an hour, the traveller saw a finger-post, where the road divided. "To East Greys," said one limb. "To Northferry," said the other; and he took the latter path.
Two or three minutes after, he overtook an old man in very ragged robes. His face was both yellow and dirty, like a copper pot which had been used several times. In his hand he carried an old kettle without a spout, filled with charcoal, and under his arm a basket and a pair of bellows. He seemed very poor.
"Won't you give a poor man something to help him on?" he said, in a cracked voice, as the traveller turned round and looked at him.
"My good friend, I am nearly as poor as yourself," replied the other; "however, there is sixpence for you.
'For the poor man alone,To the poor man's moan,Of his morsel a morsel will give, well a' day!'"
The travelling tinker took the money, and put it in his pocket, saying, "Thank you, Sir. Do you know where a man could get something to eat, and a pint of beer?"
"No, indeed," answered the other; "I do not know this side of the hills at all; and was just going to ask you the same question you have put to me. I want very much to find some place where I can get food and drink, for I am very hungry; and information, for I have several questions to ask."
The tinker winked his eye; and, with his peculiar intonation, which from cold, or crying for half a century, "Old pots to mend!" was half a whisper, and half a scream, he said, "I think I know where we can find all, if you are not afraid to come with me."
"Why should I be afraid?" asked the other. "I have very little to lose but my skin, and it is not worth taking."
"I don't know that," said the tinker. "It would do finely to mend my bellusses. But, come along; your skin shall be quite safe, and all the rest too. You shall have your sixpenn'orth, for giving the sixpence kindly."
The traveller walked on with him without deliberation, saying, "You are going to a party of your own people, I suppose?"
"Ay," answered the other; "there are two or three of our families down here--some of the best of them; Stanleys, and others. They can't be far; somewhere out of the way of the wind."
With a few short sentences of this sort they went on for a mile and a half further, and wound in amongst the woods and sandy lanes, which now took place of the downs and chalk hills. Presently, the old man pointed with his free hand, saying, "They are down there."
"You must have known that before," said his companion.
"Not I," rejoined the tinker. "I can see things that you cannot."
In five minutes more Chandos was seated near the entrance of a gipsey-tent, with his comrade of the way by his side; about a dozen yellow people, of all ages, around; and a wild shaggy horse or two cropping the scanty grass hard by. They were a set of people he made himself at home amongst in a moment; and his introduction by the tinker was quite sufficient to obtain for him a supply of provisions, better than what his sixpence would have procured in any other place, and more than double in quantity. There was one good-looking comely dame, of about six-and-twenty, who seemed to regard him with peculiar interest, and took care to see that his wants were attended to liberally, both with meat and drink. But the curse of all small communities, curiosity, was upon them; and every one asked him, instead of answering his questions. Where he came from, whither he was going, what was his business, what the object of his journey, was all inquired into without the least ceremony. His answers were cheerfully given, to all appearance. He told them, that he had come from a good distance, that he was going to Northferry, and that he was about to seek the place of head-gardener at the house of Mr. Arthur Tracy.
"Oh, it is a beautiful place, surely," answered the brown lady, who took so much care of him, and sat on his left hand.
"And a capital farm-yard there is," rejoined a stout merry young vagabond just opposite. "Such hens and turkeys, my eye!"
"I shall have nothing to do with the farm-yard," answered Chandos, with a smile and a nod; which the other understood right well, and laughed at in return.
"And so you are a gardener," whispered the woman, while the rest were talking loud. "I've a notion you have had other trades in your day."
"I never was of any other trade in my life," answered Chandos, boldly. The woman looked at him through her half-closed eyes for a moment, and then shook her head.
"Are you fondest of roses or lilies?" she asked in the same tone. "Lilies, I should think, by the colour of your hands."
"There you are mistaken," said Chandos; "I prefer roses, much. But tell me what you know of the place. Are they good, kind people there?"
"Oh, yes!--Two queer coves are the old men; (Did you never see them?) but good enough for that matter," was the brown lady's reply. "They are not over fond of persecuting, and such things. And then, the two girls are well enough to look at. The eldest seems cold and proud, and I dare say she is; but she gave little Tim there a shilling one day. She didn't know he was a gipsey, as they call us, because he's so white; or she wouldn't, I dare say. But I can tell you what, my lad: if you do not understand your gardener's trade well, I'd advise you not to go there; for the old Squire knows every flower in the garden, they tell me, by its christened name."
Chandos laughed, and saying, "He won't puzzle me, I think," rose from the turf. "I must go," he continued; "for you say it is three miles yet, and I havn't time to spare."
To say the truth, he did not feel quite sure that he would be permitted to depart so easily; for it was very evident to him, that one at least of the party had found out that his profession of gardener was assumed for the nonce; and he might well fancy that she suspected him of having more money on his person than he really had. No opposition was made, however; and the old tinker, who seemed to be a man of consideration with his clan, sent one of the boys to show the traveller on his way to a finger-post, which would direct him further.
The real distance in a straight line was not, in fact, more than two miles; but the various turnings and windings which the road took rendered it little less than the woman had said; and it was about ten o'clock when he reached the back door of Northferry House, and stating his object, asked for admission. The butler brought him into the hall, and went, as we have seen in the preceding chapter, to ask if his master would see the applicant. While he stood there, he gazed around with some interest on the wide vestibule, the broad stone stairs, the handsome marble columns, and the view through a pair of glass doors into the garden beyond; but, whether he admired or not, his contemplations were soon interrupted. The door of the breakfast-room opened again, and while the butler held it back, two beautiful girls came out, laughing gaily. There was a column in the way, which made them separate, and the younger took the side of the hall, where he was standing. Her eyes fell upon him, rested on his face, as if spell-bound, and then her cheek turned first pale and next red. She passed on in haste; but Chandos could see that she lingered behind her sister on the stairs, and walked with her eyes bent down in deep thought. He saw it with a faint smile.
"Come with me, master," said the butler, as soon as he had closed the door; "Mr. Tracy will see you in a minute."
It was a large, fine room, into which Chandos was led, supported by six marble columns like those in the hall. On three sides there were books; on one, three windows down to the ground. And having been introduced, he was left there to follow his own devices. His first impulse was, to throw himself into a large easy chair; but then, recollecting that was not exactly a gardener's place, and that it was a gardener's place he was seeking, he rose up again, and walked to the window, out of which he looked for about three minutes. That was all very well, if he had remained there; for the windows fronted the gardens, and he might be supposed to be contemplating the scene of his expected labours. But Mr. Tracy did not appear very soon; the time grew tedious; and once more forgetting what he was about, Chandos walked up to one of the bookcases, and took out a large folio book, in a vellum cover. He first looked at the title-page, where, printed in all the luxury of amateur typography, stood the words--"Villa Bromhamensis." He had never heard of the Villa Bromhamensis; and turning over the leaves, he began to read some very fair Latin verses, descriptive of the countryseat of a noble family now, I believe, extinct.
While he was thus engaged, the door opened behind him. He was not too deeply interested not to hear it, and recalled to himself in a moment, he was hurrying to put the book back in its place, with an air of some confusion, when the bland voice of Mr. Tracy stopped him, saying, "What have you got there, my good man? Do not be alarmed, I like that people should take every opportunity of instructing themselves; but I should wish to see the subject of your studies."
Chandos gave up the book into his hands, with a low bow, and some doubt as to the result of the investigation; but he was not altogether without ready wit, and when Mr. Tracy exclaimed, with some surprise, "Latin! Do you read Latin?" he answered, "Certainly, Sir. How should I know my business else, when so many books are written upon it in Latin?"
"True, true," said Mr. Tracy, whose humour, by a lucky accident, was exactly fitted by such a reply; and at the same time, he looked the soi-disant gardener over, from head to foot. "You have made a good choice, too," he added; "for my old friend here, has given a very pretty description of a very nice place."
"This, I should think, had the advantage, in point of ground, Sir," replied Chandos, in a well-chosen tone, neither too humble nor too elevated: "as that young plantation grows up, to cover the bare hill side, it will be very beautiful."
"I planted those trees five years ago, many of them with my own hands," said Mr. Tracy, with pride in his own work, which he feared might appear too plainly. "It is not very well done. You see, those larches in another year, will hide that beautiful bit of distance."
"One can never tell, Sir, how trees will grow up," answered Chandos, who was now completely in his part; "but that will be easily mended. Cut the back trees down that stand highest; and if you want to thicken the belt below, plant it up with a few quick-growing pines. You can move them at almost any age, so as to have it done without anybody knowing it, except by seeing the hills again."
"You seem to be a young man of very good taste," said Mr. Tracy; "but come out with me, and we will see more clearly what you mean." He opened the library window as he spoke, and they walked forth over the lawn. Mr. Tracy asked many questions as they went, cross-examined the applicant upon botany, and upon the more minute and practical part of his art; found him at least theoretically proficient, and ended by fearing that, notwithstanding his homely dress, he would prove too complete a gardener for the wages which he intended to give. It was a delicate point; for Mr. Tracy had a fondness for money. He was not a miser, far from it; he was not even one of those men--they are almost always vulgar men, in mind, if not in station--who love an economical ostentation, who are lavish for show, and stingy in secret. But there are a thousand shades in the passion of avarice, as well as in every other, from the reasonable, the just, and the wise, to the senseless self-abandonment to an all-consuming desire. Mr. Tracy had in his life known what it is to need money; he had felt in youth the pressure, not of actual want, but of straitened circumstances; and when his maternal uncle's death put him in possession of a fortune, greatly superior to his elder brother's, he retained a strong sense of the value of money, and a passion for rapidly acquiring more.
"Well, my good friend," he said, as they approached the house again, "I am quite satisfied with your knowledge and experience in these matters; and, I dare say, you have got testimonials of your character; but I fear that you have imagined the place you are now applying for to be better than it really is. It is merely that of head-gardener, in the service of a gentleman of very moderate fortune. You would have an under-gardener, and three labourers to assist; but your own wages would not be so large as, perhaps, your acquirements may entitle you."
Chandos replied, that whatever had been given to his predecessor would content him; and produced a letter from Mr. Roberts, the steward of Sir John Winslow, giving a high testimony to his general conduct, and to his skill as a practical gardener. All was then soon arranged; Mr. Tracy was anxious that his new servant should enter upon his duties as soon as possible, for the predecessor had been dead some weeks; but Chandos claimed four days for preparation, and made one or two conditions; and having been shown the cottage which he was to inhabit, took his leave, with the contract complete.
It was done; the plan he had proposed to himself was so far executed: and when, after quitting Northferry, he sat down in a small solitary room of a little road-side inn, he began to laugh, and reconsider the whole with calmer, and less impassioned thoughts, than he had previously given to the subject. How different a thing looks when it is done, and when it is doing! As soon as Fate buys a picture from any man, she turns it with its face to the wall, and its back to the seller, writes INEVITABLE upon it, with a piece of black chalk; and the poor fool can never have the same view of it again.
Chandos was a gardener--a hired servant--in that balanced state where thirty shillings a-week is thrown into the scale against slavery, just to prevent freedom from kicking the beam. A great many things had entered into the concoction of the notable scheme which he had pursued. There was the first vehement impulse of a noble but impetuous disposition; a good deal of pride, a little philosophy, and a touch of romance. He had determined to taste for a while the food of an inferior station, to know feelingly how the lowly earn their bread, and spend their lives; to see the things of humble condition not with a telescope from a height, but with the eye close to the object, and with a microscope, should need be. He had long been of opinion that it would be no misuse of time, were every young man even of much higher rank and pretensions than his own, to spend a year or more amongst the labouring classes of society, taking part in their toils, sharing their privations, learning in the school of experience their habits, wants, wishes, feelings. Our ancestors used to send their children out to a healthy cottage to nurse during their infancy, and, in many cases, (not all,) ensured thereby to their offspring robust and hardy constitutions, which could not have been gained in the luxurious dwellings of the great and high. Chandos had fancied often that such training might be as good for the mind as the body, had longed to try it, had thought it would do him good, especially when he found false views and cold conventionalities creep upon him, when he felt his judgment getting warped to the set forms of class, and his tastes becoming fastidious. Accident had fixed his resolution, and accident had given the direction in which it acted. But there were difficulties, inconveniences, regrets, which he had not thought of. We never embrace a new state without remembering with longing some of the advantages of the old one. He thought of being cut off from all refined society, with sensations not pleasurable; he thought of being discovered by old acquaintances with some sort of apprehension. But then he remembered that he was little likely to be brought into immediate contact with any of the great and high. He repeated to himself that no one had a right to question his conduct, or control his tastes. And in regard to refined occupations, to relieve the monotony of manual labour, had he not books? could he not converse with the dead? Besides, he had made one stipulation with Mr. Tracy--well nigh the only one--that he should have a month's holiday in the dead time of the year--to see his friends; such was the motive assigned. But Chandos' purpose was to spend that month in London; to re-appear for that period in his real character; to renew in it all those ties that were worth maintaining, and to enjoy the contrasts of a double life, combining the two extremes of society. His means might be small, but for that purpose they were quite sufficient; and with these consolatory reflections he finished his humble meal, and set out upon his way again.
He did not pursue the same way back which he had taken to come to Northferry, for he was anxious to save time; and he had learned at the public-house that there was a coach which passed upon the high-road at about two miles distance, which would spare him a walk of ten miles, and do in one hour what would take him two. He wound on then along lanes, through which he had been directed for about ten minutes, and was still buried in reveries, not altogether sweet, when he was suddenly roused by a loud and piercing shriek. There was a break in the hedge about fifty yards distant, showing, evidently, by the worn sandy ground before it, the opening of a foot-path. The sound came from that side, and Chandos darted towards it without further consideration.
There was a narrow broken path up the bank. There was a high stile at the top. But Chandos was up the one and over the other in a moment. He did not like to hear a scream at all, and still less a scream from a woman's lips. When he could see into the field, a sight presented itself not altogether uncommon in England, where we seldom, if ever, guard against an evil till it is done, and never take warning by an evil that is done. More than twelve years ago, a pamphlet was printed, called, "What will the Government do with the Railroads?"--and in it was detailed very many of the evils which a prudent and scientific man could foresee, from suffering railways to proceed unregulated. It was sent, I believe, by the author to a friend who undertook to answer it. The answer consisted of two or three sheets of paper, folded as a book, and bearing on each page the word "Nothing." The answer was quite right. Government didnothing--till it was too late.
People never tether dangerous bulls till they have killed someone; and when Chandos entered the field, the first sight that met his eyes was a tall, powerful old man on the ground, and two young and graceful women at some distance: one still flying fast towards a gate, under the first strong irresistible impulse of terror; the other, stopping to gaze back, and wringing her hands in agony. Close by the old man was an enormous brindled bull, with short horns, which was running slowly back, with its eyes fixed upon the prostrate figure before it, as if to make another rush at him as he lay; and at a short distance from the bull was a ragged little boy, of some eight or nine years old, who, with the spirit of a hero, was running straight towards the furious beast, shouting loudly, in the vain hope, apparently, that his infant voice would terrify the tyrant of the field.
Luckily, Chandos had a stout sapling oak in his hand; and he, too, sprang forward with the swift fire of youth. But before he could reach the spot, the bull, attracted by the vociferations of the boy, turned upon his little assailant, and with a fearful rush caught him on his horns, and tossed him high into the air. The next moment, however, Chandos was upon him. He was young, active, tremendously powerful, and, though not quite equal in strength to bull-bearing Milo, was no insignificant antagonist. He had a greater advantage still, however. He had been accustomed to country life from his early youth, and knew the habits of every beast of the field. The bull, in attacking the boy, had turned away from both the old man and Chandos, and, with a bound forward, the latter seized the savage animal by the tail, striking it furiously with his stick. The bull at first strove to turn upon him, or to disengage himself; but Chandos held on with a grasp of iron, though swung round and round by the efforts of his antagonist; and all the time he thundered blows upon it as thick as hail; now upon its side, now upon its head, but oftener upon its legs; and still he shouted--as, in the desperate conflict, his eyes passed over the figures of the two ladies, or the old man, who was now rising slowly from the ground--"Run! run!"
How the combat was to end for himself, of course he knew not, for, though staggering, and evidently intimidated by so sudden an attack, the bull was still strong and furious; but Chandos had all his senses in full activity, and when, after several fierce plunges to escape, the animal again swung itself round to reach him, he aimed a tremendous blow with his full force at the fore-knee, on which its whole weight rested. The leg gave way under the pain, and the monstrous beast rolled prostrate on the ground.
Not a minute was to be lost: the bull was struggling up again; but the instinct of self-preservation is strong, and in a moment Chandos drew a knife from his pocket, and cut a sinew of the leg--although it was with pain and a feeling almost of remorse that he did it. The animal gave a sort of shrill scream, and instantly rolled over on its side again.
"There, that is done," said the young man, speaking to himself; and then running up to the old gentleman, he inquired, "Are you hurt, Sir?--Are you much hurt?"
"A little--not much," said General Tracy; "but the boy--the boy! You are a gallant fellow, upon my life; but so is that poor boy."
The General received no reply, for Chandos was already by the side of the boy. He gazed into his face as the little fellow lay upon his back motionless. The dark hazel eyes were clear and bright, and the complexion, bronzed with exposure, still showed a good ruddy glow in the middle of the check.
"He cannot be much hurt," thought Chandos, as he bent earnestly over him; "there is none of the paleness of bodily suffering; and, thank God! the after-crop of grass is long and thick. Well, my boy," he continued aloud, "what has the bull done to you?"
"Given me a skylarking," answered the boy, in a good strong voice.
"But has he hurt you anywhere?" asked Chandos; while General Tracy moved slowly up, and the two young ladies stood, trembling and out of breath, at a distance.
"No," said the little fellow; "he didn't poke me; he guv me a thump under the arm, and I went over his head."
"But why do you not get up then?" inquired Chandos.
"Because it is comfortable to lie here; and because, when I try to get up, my shoulder twinges," was the boy's answer.
"Let me look," said Chandos; and turning him upon his side, he pulled down the collar of the ragged jacket, when he evidently saw a protuberance which was never put upon any mortal shoulder by nature. It was dislocated. The grief of General Tracy was great for the poor boy's misfortune, incurred in his defence; but he gave it no exuberant expression.
"You are a good boy," he said; "a very good boy; and you shall be rewarded. Your shoulder will soon be well, and I will take care of you. Who are your father and mother? We must send and let them know;" and as he spoke, he looked round towards the bull, who, with a true philosophical spirit, seemed, by this time, to have made up his mind to his fate, and was lying quite still, with his fore quarters in the natural position of a bull at rest, and his hind quarters thrown over on one side, not altogether easy. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, too.
"My mother is Sally Stanley," answered the boy; "and who my father is I don't know."
"Right," said the General, laconically; "right, to a proverb."
"Did not I see you with the gipseys this morning?" inquired Chandos. "Are you not little Tim?"
"Yes," answered the gipsey boy; and the moment after he added, "there comes farmer Thorpe. He'll be precious angry with you for hocking his bull."
"Then you are not the owner of the bull?" said General Tracy, turning quickly to Chandos.
"Oh, no, Sir," answered the other; "I was only passing by chance, and heard a lady scream, which made me run to give help. I have just been engaged as head-gardener to Mr. Arthur Tracy."
"He should have engaged you as bull-driver," said the General, "as bull-fighter, as matador."
"Perhaps he may not have much work in that way, Sir," answered Chandos; and was about to retire; but the General exclaimed, "Stay, stay! What can we do with this poor lad? He is a fine fellow. I must take care of him for life; for I rather think he has saved mine at the risk of his own. I wish we could get him down to my brother's place; for we must have his shoulder looked to, in the first instance."
At that moment, a stout, black-browed, middle-aged man came across the field, looked down at the bull for a moment, and then advanced, with a sturdy and determined look, to General Tracy and Chandos, without saying a word till he was close to them, when he exclaimed, with a very menacing air, "Holla, Sirs, what have you been doing with my bull?"
"What has your bull, if that one be yours, been doing with us? is the question which should be asked," replied General Tracy, turning sharp upon him; but wincing dreadfully, as if the sudden movement gave him great pain.
"That's by the mark," answered the farmer, staring at the General first, and at Chandos afterwards; as if the spirit of his own bull had entered into him, and he was determined to toss them both. "He is a brute beast, and accountable to no un; but them as ha' hocked un are reasonable creeturs, and accountable to I. So, I say, what ha' you two been doing with my bull?"
"The first thing I did with him," answered Chandos, "was what I will do to you, if you are insolent, master farmer. I gave him a good thrashing. And in the next place, as there was no chance of saving my life, and that of others, from him, if I spared him, I was obliged to cut the tendon of his leg, in self-defence."
"Oh! you thrashed un, did you?" said the farmer, pulling off his coat; "and you'll thrash me, will you? Now, let's see."
"I insist upon nothing of this kind taking place," said General Tracy, seeing Chandos quietly deposit his stick on the grass. "Rose, my love, run by that gate, to the Plough and Harrow public-house. The landlord is a constable. Tell him to come here. I intend to give this man into charge. I recollect hearing before of this bull being a dangerous animal, and of farmer Thorpe having been warned to take proper precautions. Be quick, Rose; for I will punish this man if I live."
"Oh, that's to be the way, is it?" said the rude farmer, in a tone not less insolent than ever; "if folks can't fight without constables for their bottle-holders, that's not my plan; but I can tell you one thing, old Tracy--for I know you well enough--I'll have the law of you for doing a mischief to my bull; and this fellow I'll thrash heartily the first time I can get him without a constable to back him. So, good day to you all, and be damned."
With this just, eloquent, and courteous speech farmer Thorpe resumed his coat, and returned to the side of his bull. While General Tracy remarked dryly to the two young ladies, who had now joined him, "We came out, my flowers, to see a specimen of the real English peasant, and we have found one, though not a very favourable one, it must be confessed. But now, what is to be done with the poor boy. If I could but get him down to the house, we would send for old Andrew Woodyard, the surgeon."
"I'd rather go home to mother," said the boy; "she'll put my shoulder all right, in a minute."
"Your mother is no more capable of putting that shoulder right, than she is of flying through the air on a broomstick," replied the General.
"I will carry him down, Sir," said Chandos; "I was going to catch the coach; but I must put off my journey till to-morrow, I suppose; for the poor lad must be attended to."
He accordingly lifted him up off the grass, and was about to carry him down to Northferry House, in his arms; but little Tim, though by the grimaces he made it was evident he suffered much pain, declared he would rather walk, saying, that it did not hurt him half so much as being "lugged along by any one." Chandos, who knew something of the habits of his people, exacted a solemn promise from him, that he would not attempt to run away; and, in return, assured him that his mother should be sent for instantly. With this little Tim seemed satisfied; and as they walked along, the General entered into consultation with his nieces and Chandos, as to what was best to be done with the boy, on his arrival; for he suddenly remembered a very fierce and intractable prejudice which his brother had against all copper-coloured wanderers. "The boy might pass well enough," he said, "for he's as fair (very nearly) as an Englishman; but if his mother and all his anomalous kindred, are to come down and visit him, we shall have brother Arthur dying of gout in the stomach, as sure as if he ate two Cantalupe melons before going to bed."
It was finally settled, however, on the suggestion of Chandos, that little Tim should be taken down to the head-gardener's cottage, which was at some distance from the house, and he himself promised to remain there the night, till the injuries the boy had received could be properly attended to.
In the council of war, which ended in this determination, it must be remarked that Rose Tracy took no part, though her sister Emily did. Rose said not one word, but came a little behind the rest, and more than once she looked at Chandos, with a long earnest gaze, then dropped into silent thought.
About two o'clock in the day, Chandos sat in the cottage, which was destined to be his future abode for some time, with the gipsey-boy Tim seated on a chair beside him. The old General had gone up to the house to send off a servant to the village surgeon; and the two young ladies had accompanied their uncle, promising to dispatch the housekeeper immediately to aid Chandos in his task. The boy bore the pain, which he undoubtedly suffered, exceedingly well. He neither winced nor cried; but remained quite still in the chair, and only repeated, from time to time, that he should like to go to his mother. Chandos soothed and quieted him with great kindness, and was in the midst of a story, which seemed completely to engage the little man's attention, when the door suddenly opened; and a tall, thin old man entered, whose whole dress and appearance, showed him at once to be an oddity. His head was covered with what much better deserved the name of a tile, than that which sometimes obtains it, in our good city of London. It was a hat with enormous brims, and the smallest possible portion of crown, so that it was almost self-evident that the organs of hope and veneration, if the old gentleman had any, must be somewhat pressed upon by the top of the shallow box into which he put them. From underneath the shelter of this wide-spreading beaver, floated away a thin wavy pigtail of white hair, bound with black ribbon, which, as all things have their prejudices, had a decided leaning to his left shoulder in preference to his right. He had on a coat of black, large, easy, and wrinkled, but spotless and glossy, showing that its original conception must have been vast, and that the disproportion between its extent, and the meagre limbs it covered, was not occasioned by those limbs having shrunk away from the garment, with which they were endued. The breeches fitted better: and, indeed, in some parts must have been positively tight; for a long line of snow-white cambric purfled up, like the slashings of a Spanish sleeve, which appeared between the top of the breeches and the remote silk waistcoat, showed that the covering of his nether man maintained itself in position by the grasp of the waistband round his loins. An Alderney cow can never be considered perfect, unless the herd can hang his hat on her haunch-bone, while he makes love to Molly, milking her; and the haunch-bones of worthy Mr. Alexander Woodyard, Surgeon, &c. were as favourable to the sustentation of his culottes, without the aid of other suspenders. Waistcoat and breeches were both black; and so, also, were the stockings and the shoes, of course. These shoes were tied with a string, which was inharmonious; for the composition of the whole man denoted buckles. Round his neck, without the slightest appearance of collar, was wound tight, a snowy white handkerchief of Indian muslin. In fact, with the exception of his face and hands, the whole colouring of Sandy Woodyard, as the people improperly called him, was either black or white. His face, though thin and sharp as a ferret's, was somewhat rubicund. Indeed, if any blood ever got up there, it could not well get out again, with that neckcloth tied round his throat, like a tourniquet: and the hands themselves were also reddish; but by no means fat, showing large blue veins, standing out, like whipcord in a tangle.
To gaze upon him, he was a very awful looking person; to hear him talk, one would have supposed him an embodied storm; so fierce were his denunciations, so brutal his objurgations. But he had several good qualities, with a few bad ones. He was an exceedingly good surgeon, a very learned man, and the most sincere man upon earth--except when he was abusing a patient or a friend, to their face. Then, indeed, he said a great deal that he did not mean; for he often told the former, when refractory, that they would die and he hoped they would, when he knew they would not, and would have given his right-hand to save them; and, the latter, he not unfrequently called fools and blackguards, where, if they had been the one or the other, they would not have been his friends at all.
When Mr. Alexander Woodyard entered the room, in the head-gardener's cottage, he gazed, first at the boy, and then at Chandos, demanding, in a most irate tone, "What the devil have I been sent here for?--Who is ill?--What's the matter, that I should be disturbed in the very midst of the dissection of a field-mouse in a state of torpidity?"
"If you are the surgeon, Sir," replied Chandos, "I suppose it was to see this little boy that you were disturbed. He has--"
"Don't tell me what he has," replied Mr. Woodyard. "Do you suppose I don't know what he has better than you. Boy, put out your tongue.--Does your head ache?--Let me feel your pulse."
The boy did not seem to comprehend him at all; neither put out his tongue, nor his wrist, and gazed at the old man with big eyes, full of terror.
"There, don't be a fool, little man," said the surgeon, taking him by the arm, and making him shrink with pain. "Oh, oh! that's it, is it? So, you have luxated your shoulder. We'll soon put it in, my dear. Don't be afraid! You are a brave boy, I dare say."
"That he is," answered Chandos; "for it was in endeavouring to defend General Tracy from a bull, which had knocked him down, that he got tossed and hurt."
"Plague light upon that old fool!" cried the uncourteous doctor; "he's always getting himself, or some one else, into a scrape. It is just two years ago I had to cut four holes in his leg, where he had been bit by a mad dog, because he was as mad as the dog himself, and insisted that the beast was quite sane, contrary to the opinion of the whole village. When doggy bit his best friend, however, he became convinced he was mad--though, if biting one's friends were a sign of madness, we should have to cage the whole world. I had my revenge, however, for I cut away deep enough--deep enough, till the old fool writhed. He wouldn't roar, as I wished; but never a bullet went into his old carcase, (nor ever will,) that made a larger hole than either of the four that I made.--And now he has had to do with a mad bull! I will answer for it, he went up and patted its head, and called it a curly-pated old coxcomb--Didn't he, boy?"
"No," replied little Tim, boldly, "he didn't. He knocked at farmer Thorpe's big bull with his stick, when it ran after the ladies; and the bull poked him down; for it did not get him on his horns, like it did me."
"That's a good boy--that's a good boy," replied the old man; "always tell the truth, whoever says the contrary. Now, master what's your name, we'll have his jacket off; for, though there seems but little of it, still it may be in the way. You look strong enough, and can help, I dare say; though I don't know who the devil you are--but mind, you must do exactly what I tell you, neither more nor less. If you do, I'll break your head, and not mend it. Put your arms round the boy's waist."
Chandos did as he was directed, after having taken the little fellow's jacket off; and the worthy surgeon then proceeded to replace the dislocated arm in the socket, an operation which required more corporal strength than his spare frame seemed to promise. He effected it skilfully and powerfully, however, giving the poor boy as little pain as possible; but, nevertheless, making him cry out lustily.
"Ay, that's right; roar!" cried the doctor. "That's the very best thing you can do. It eases the diaphragm, my lad, and keeps the lungs in play. I never saw any good come of a silent patient, who lets you cut him up without saying a word. They all die; but your roarer is sure to get well. There--there, it's in! Now, give me that bandage, my man; we must keep it down tight, for the muscles have had an awful wrench. It's all over, my dear--it's quite done, and you shall have a shilling for bellowing so handsomely. You're a good little man for not kicking me in the stomach, as a great lubber once did, who should have known better. How do you feel now?"
"Oh, quite comfortable since it wentsnack," answered the boy.
The old gentleman laughed, saying, "Ay, 'snack' is a pleasant sound in a case of dislocation. You see it is when the round end of the bone--;" and he was going on to explain to Tim and Chandos the whole process and causes of going 'snack,' which is very different, it would seem, in the plural and singular number, when a voice was heard without, exclaiming "Where's my boy?--What has happened to my boy?", and the gipsey woman who had sat next to Chandos when he was at the encampment in the lane rushed in, with her glittering black eyes flashing like stars with excitement and agitation. "Where's my boy?" she screamed again, before she had time to look around; and then, seeing the little fellow in the chair, she exclaimed, "Oh, Tim, what are they doing to you?" and was running forward to catch him to her heart, when Mr. Woodyard waved her back with his left hand, while he held the last fold of the bandage with his right. "Keep back, you tawny baggage," he cried, "If you come near him till I've done, I'll bruise you. Sit still, you little infernal bit of Egypt, or I'll strangle you with the end of this thing. Hold him tight, young man, or he'll have the joint out again, by--!" And the old gentleman, who had been a naval surgeon in his day, added a very fierce nautical oath: one of those which were unfortunately current in all mouths on board ships of war in his youthful years.
The gipsey woman stopped at once, and made a sign to the boy, who was instantly as still as a ruin; but the old surgeon continued to abuse her most atrociously, till he had finished bandaging the arm, calling her every bad name that a fertile imagination and a copious vocabulary could supply. It is wonderful, however, how quick is sometimes the conception of character amongst the lower classes, especially those who are subject to any kind of persecution. The poor woman stood perfectly calm; a faint smile crossed her lip at the old man's terrible abuse, as if a feeling of amusement at his affected violence crossed the deeper emotions which filled her large black eyes with tears. She said not a word in reply; she showed no sign of anger; and when at length all was done, and, patting the boy's head with his broad skinny hand, Mr. Woodyard said, in another voice, "There, you little dog, you may go to your mammy now," she started forward, and kissed the surgeon's hand--even before she embraced her child. She had understood him in a moment.
A short time was passed by mother and son in tenderness, wild and strange, but striking; she kissed his eyes and his lips, and held him first at a distance, then close to her heart; she put her hands upon his curly head, and raised her look upwards, where hope and thankfulness seek Heaven. Then she asked all that had happened; and with simple prattle the boy told her how he had seen the bull attack the old General, and had run to frighten it. And the woman laughed and cried at her child's courage and his folly. But when he went on to say--after relating how he had found himself flying in the air,--"Then that man came up, and caught him by the tail, and whacked him till he tumbled down," she turned to Chandos, and kissed his hand too.
"But the best of it all, mammy," cried the boy, who entered into the spirit of his own story, "was when farmer Thorpe came up, and bullied the two men as they were looking at me; and how that one told him he would whack him as he had whacked the bull, if he did not cut his quids."
"So farmer Thorpe bullied, did he?" cried the woman, "He's a tiger: but snakes even bite tigers." And she added something in a low voice, which sounded to Chandos's ear, "Let him look to his farm-yard."
Certain it is that the next night passed distressfully to the poultry of farmer Thorpe. When he looked in the morning, where many a turkey had been fattening for Christmas, and capons and fowls strutted proud, he found feathers but not fowls. The geese, indeed, were spared, Heaven only knows why; but from the imperial black bubblyjock down to Dame Partlet's youngest daughter, all the rest were gone. Yet there was a large fierce dog in the yard, as fierce as his master or his master's bull. There are, however, always in this worldmoyens de parvenir; and the fierce dog was found to have made himself very comfortable during the cold wintry night with feathers which must have been plucked off his tender flock under his nose. What a picture of
"A faithless guardian of a charge too good!"
However, putting the morality of the thing out of the question, the fact is curious, as the first recorded instance of a dog using a feather-bed.
The whole of the last paragraph is a huge parenthesis; and as it is not easy to get back again after such an inordinate digression without a jump or an hiatus, we will take the latter, and end the chapter here.