"Caleb!" said Mr. Fogo on the morning after Miss Limpenny's party.
"Aye, aye, sir!" Caleb paused in his carpentering to look up.
"It is a lovely morning; I think I will take my easel and go for a walk. You are sure that the crowds have gone at last?"
"All gone, sir. Paice and quiet at last—as Bill said when he was left a widow. Do 'ee want me to go 'long wi' 'ee, sir?"
"No, thank you, Caleb. I shall go along the hills on this side of the river."
"You'd best let me come, sir, or you'll be wool-gatherin' and wand'rin' about till goodness knows what time o' night."
"I shall be back by four o'clock."
"Stop a minnit, sir; I have et. I'll jest put that alarmin' clock o' yourn in your tail-pocket an' set et to ha'f-arter-dree, an' that'll put you in mind when 'tes time to come hom'. 'Tes a wonnerful in-jine, this 'ere clock," reflected Caleb as he carefully set the alarum, "an' chuck-full o' sense, like Malachi's cheeld. Lor', what a thing es Science, as Jenifer said when her seed the tellygrarf-clerk in platey buttons an' red facin's to his breeches. Up the path, sir, an' keep to the left. Good-bye, sir! Now, I'd gie summat," soliloquised Caleb as he watched his master ascend the hill, "to be sure of seein' him back safe an' sound afore nightfall. Aw dear! 'tes a terrable 'sponsible post, bein' teetotum to a babby!"
With this he walked back to the house, but more than once halted on his way to ponder and shake his head ominously.
Mr. Fogo meanwhile, with easel and umbrella on his arm, climbed the hill slowly and with frequent pauses to turn and admire the landscape. It was the freshest of spring mornings: the short turf was beaded with dew, the furze-bushes on either hand festooned with gossamer and strung with mimic diamonds. As he looked harbourwards, the radiance of sky mingling with the glitter of water dazzled and bewildered his sight: below, and at the foot of the steep woods opposite, the river lay cool and shadowy, or vanished for a space beneath a cliff, where the red plough-land broke abruptly away with no more warning than a crazy hurdle. Distinct above the dreamy hum of the little town, the ear caught the rattle of anchor-chains, the cries of an outward-bound crew at the windlass, the clanking of trucks beside the jetties; the creaking of oars in the thole-pins of a tiny boat below ascended musically; the very air was quick with all sounds and suggestions of spring, and of man going forth to his labour; the youthfulness of the morning ran in Mr. Fogo's veins, and lent a buoyancy to his step.
By this time the town was lost to view; next, the bend of Kit's House vanished, and now the broad flood spread in a silver lake full ahead. On the ridge the pure air was simply intoxicating after the languor of the valley. Mr. Fogo began to skip, to snap his fingers, to tilt at the gossamer with his umbrella, and once even halted to laugh hilariously at nothing. An old horse grazing on an isolated patch of turf looked up in mild surprise; Mr. Fogo blushed behind his spectacles and hurried on.
He had gone some distance when a granite roller lying on the ploughed slope beneath a clump of bushes invited him to rest. Mr. Fogo accepted the invitation, and seated himself to contemplate the scene. The bush at his back was comfortable, and by degrees the bright intoxication of his senses settled to a drowsy content. He pulled out his pipe and lit it. Through the curls of blue smoke he watched the glitter on the water below, the prismatic dazzle of the clods where their glossy surface caught the sun, the lazy flap-flap of a heron crossing the valley, and he heard along the uplands the voice (sweetest of rural sounds, and, alas! now obsolete) of a farm-boy chanting to his team, "Brisk and Speedwell, Goodluck and Lively"—and so sank by degrees into a soothing sleep.
When he awoke and looked lazily upwards, at first his eyes encountered gloom. "Have I been sleeping all day?" was his first thought, not without alarm. But under the darkness a bright ray was stealing. Mr. Fogo put up his hand and encountered his umbrella, carefully spread over his face for shade.
This was mysterious; he could swear the umbrella was folded and lying at his side when he dropped asleep. "It must be Caleb," he thought, and stared around. No Caleb was in sight, but he noticed that the sun was dropping towards the west, and noticed also, not fifty yards to the left, and quietly cropping a tuft of bushes, a red bull.
Now Mr. Fogo had an extreme horror of bulls, especially red bulls, and this one was not merely red, but looked savage, to boot. Mr. Fogo peered again round the corner of his umbrella. The brute luckily had not spied him, but neither did it seem in any hurry to move. For twenty minutes Mr. Fogo waited behind his shelter, and still the bull went on cropping.
It was already late, and the brute stood full in the homeward path to Kit's House. It was only possible to make a circuit around the ridge, as the cliff's edge cut off adetouron the other side. Weary of waiting, Mr. Fogo cautiously rose, pushed his easel under the bushes, and began to creep up towards the ridge, holding his umbrella in front of him as a screen. This was rather after the fashion of the ostrich, which, to avoid being seen, buries its head in the sand; nor was it likely that the beast, if irritated at sight of a man, would acquiesce in the phenomenon of an umbrella at large, and strolling on its own responsibility. But as yet the bull's back was towards it.
Stealthily Mr. Fogo crept round. He had placed about seventy yards between him and the animal, and had almost gained the summit when a dismal accident befell.
"Cl'k—Whir-r-r-r-roo-oo-oo!"
It was the alarum in his tail-pocket. The bull looked up, gazed wildly at the umbrella, snorted, lashed out with his tail, and started in pursuit. Quick as thought, Mr. Fogo dropped his screen, and, with a startled glance around, dashed at full speed for the ridge, the infernal machine still dinning behind him.
Luckily, the bull's onset was directed at the umbrella. There was a thundering of hoofs, a dull roar, and the poor man, as he gained the summit and cast a frantic look behind, saw a vision of jagged silk and flying ribs. With a groan he tore forwards.
There was a hedge about fifty yards away, and for this he made with panting sides and tottering knees. If he could only stop that alarum! But the relentless noise continued, and now he could hear the bull in fresh pursuit. However, the umbrella had diverted the attack. After a few seconds of agony Mr. Fogo gained the hedge, tore up it, turned, saw the brute appear above the ridge with a wreck of silk and steel upon his horns, and with a sob of thankfulness dropped over into the next field.
But alas! in doing so Mr. Fogo performed the common feat of leaping out of the frying-pan into the fire. For it happened that on the other side a tramp was engaged in his legitimate occupation of sleeping under a hedge, and on his extended body our hero rudely descended.
"Hi!" said the tramp, "where be you a-comin' to?"
Mr. Fogo picked himself up and felt for his spectacles; they had tumbled off in his flight, and without them his face presented a curiously naked appearance. The alarum in his pocket had stopped suddenly with the jerk of his descent.
"I beg your pardon," he mildly apologised, "but a bull in the next field—"
"That's no cause for selectin' a gentl'm'n's stomach to tumble 'pon, growled the tramp.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," repeated Mr. Fogo; "you may be sure that had time for selection been allowed me—"
"Look 'ere," said the tramp with sudden ferocity, "will you fight?"
Look 'ere,' said the tramp . . . 'will you fight?"Look 'ere," said the tramp … "will you fight?"
Look 'ere,' said the tramp . . . 'will you fight?"Look 'ere," said the tramp … "will you fight?"
Mr. Fogo retreated a step.
"Really—"
"Come, look sharp! You won't? Then I demands 'arf-a-crown."
With this the ruffian began to tuck up his ragged cuffs, and was grimly advancing. Mr. Fogo leapt back another pace.
"Cl'k—Whir-r-r-r-roo-oo-oo!"
This time the alarum was his salvation. The tramp pulled up, gave a hasty terrified stare, and with a cry of "The Devil!" made off across the field as fast as his legs would carry him. Overcome with the emotions of the last few minutes Mr. Fogo sat suddenly down, and the alarum ceased.
When he recovered he found himself in an awkward predicament. He knew of but one way homewards, and that was guarded by the bull; moreover, if he attempted to find another road he was hampered by the loss of his spectacles, without which he could not see a yard before his nose.
However, anything was better than facing the bull again; so he arose, picked the brambles out of his clothing, and started cautiously across the field.
As luck would have it he found a gate; but another field followed, and a third, into which he had to climb by the hedge. And here he suffered from a tendency known to all mountaineers who have lost their way in a mist; unconsciously he began to trend away towards the left, and as this led him further and further from home, his plight became every moment more desperate.
At last he struck into a narrow lane, just as the sun sank. He halted for a moment to consider his direction.
"Pat—pat—pat."
He looked up. A little girl in an immense sun-bonnet was toddling up the lane towards him. She swung a satchel in her left hand, and at sight of the stranger paused with her unoccupied forefinger in mouth.
Mr. Fogo advanced straight up to her, stooped with his hands on his knees, and peered into her face. This behaviour, though necessitated by his shortness of sight, worked the most paralysing effect on the child.
"Little girl, can you tell me the way to Kit's House?"
There was no answer. Mr. Fogo peered more closely.
"Little girl, can you tell me the way to Kit's House?"
Still there was no answer.
"Little girl—"
"Cl'k—whir-r-r-r-roo-oo!"
The effect of the alarum was instantaneous.
"Boo-hoo!" yelled the little girl, and broke into a paroxysm of weeping.
"Little girl—"
"Boo-hoo! Take me home. I want mammy!"
Boo-hoo! I want mammy!"Boo-hoo! I want mammy!"
Boo-hoo! I want mammy!"Boo-hoo! I want mammy!"
"Dear me," cried Mr. Fogo wildly, "this is the most appalling situation in which I have ever been placed." He thought of running away, but his humanity forbade it. At length the alarum ran down; but the child continued to scream—
"I want mammy! Take me home!"
"Hush! hush! She shall go to mammy—ickle tootsey shall go to mammy. Did-ums want-ums mammy?" shouted Mr. Fogo, with an idiotic effort to soothe.
But it was useless. The screams merely increased in volume. Mr. Fogo, leaning against the hedge, mopped his brow and looked helplessly around.
"What on earth is to be done?"
There was a sudden sound of light footsteps, and then, to his immense relief, Tamsin Dearlove stood before him. She looked as fresh and neat as ever and carried a small basket on her arm.
"Whatever is the matter? Why, 'tis little Susie Clemow! What's the matter, Susie?" She set down her basket and ran to the child, who immediately ceased to yell.
"There now, that's better. Did the big strange gentleman try to frighten her? Poor little maid!"
"I assure you," said Mr. Fogo, "I tried to do nothing of the kind."
Tamsin paid no attention.
"There now, we're as good as gold again, and can run along home. Give me a kiss first, that's a dear."
The little maid, still sobbing fitfully, gave the kiss, picked up her satchel, and toddled off, leaving Tamsin and Mr. Fogo face to face.
"Why did you frighten her?" the girl asked severely. There was an angry flush on her cheek.
"I did not intentionally. It was the alarum. First of all I was chased by a bull, and then—" Mr. Fogo told his story incoherently. The angry red left Tamsin's cheek, and a look of disdain succeeded.
"And you," she said very slowly, when he had finished, "think you are able to despise womankind."
It was Mr. Fogo's turn to grow red.
"And to put up a board," she continued, "with that silly Notice upon it—you and that great baby Caleb Trotter—setting all women at naught, when you never ought to be beyond tether of their apron-strings. Why, only this morning you'd have caught a sun-stroke if I hadn't spread your umbrella over you."
"Did you do that?"
"And who else do you suppose? A man, perhaps? Why, there isn't a man in the world would have had the sense—'less it was Peter or Paul," she added, with a sudden softening of voice, "and they're women in everything but strength. And now," she went on, "as I am going that way, I suppose you'll want me to see you home. Will you walk in front or behind, for doubtless you're above walking beside a woman?"
"I think you are treating me very hardly."
"Maybe I am, and maybe I meant to. Maybe you didn't know that that Notice of yours might hurt people's feelings. Don't think I mean mine," she explained quickly and defiantly, "but Peter's and Paul's."
There was a pause as they walked along together.
"The board shall come down," said he; "and now may I carry your basket?"
"My basket? Do you think I'd trust a man to carry eggs?" She laughed, but with a trace of forgiveness.
He did not answer, but seemed to have fallen into a fit of troubled contemplation. They walked on in silence.
Presently she halted.
"I doubt you've had trouble in your time, and I've hurt your feelings and spoken as I oughtn't to have spoken to my betters; but I've seen that Peter and Paul were hurt in mind, and that made me say more than I meant. Yonder's your way down to Kit's House. Good-night, sir."
Mr. Fogo would have held out his hand, but she was gone quickly down the road. He stood for a minute looking after her; then turned and walked quickly down the path to Kit's House.
Caleb met him at the door.
"So you'm back, an' I hopes you enj'yed your walk, as Sal said when her man comed home from France. I was just a-comin' to luk for 'ee. Where's your easy-all and your umbrella?"
Mr. Fogo told his story.
"H'm!" said Caleb, "an' Tamsin saw 'ee home?"
"Yes; and by the way, Caleb, you may as well take down that notice to-morrow."
"H'm!" muttered Caleb again. "You're quite sure thicky coddysel won't do?"
"Quite."
"Very well, sir," said Caleb, and began to busy himself with the evening meal. But he looked curiously at his master more than once during the evening. Mr. Fogo spent most of his time in a brown study, smoking and gazing abstractedly into the fire. Caleb also smoked (it was one of his privileges), and finally, with an anxious glance, and two or three hard puffs at his pipe, broke the silence—
"The bull es a useful animal, an' when dead supplies us wi' rump-steaks an' shoe-horns, as the Sunday-school book says: but for all that there's suthin'lackin'to a bull. 'Tain't conviction: you niver seed a bull yet as wasn' chuck-full o' conviction, an' didn' act up to hes rights, such as they be. An' 'tain't consistency: you drill a notion into a bull's head an' fix et, an' he'll save et up, may be for six year, an' then rap et out on 'ee till you'm fairly sick for your own gad-about ways. 'Tes logic he wants, I reckon—jest logic. A bull, sir, es no more'n a mass o' blind onreas'ning prejudice from horn to tail. Take hes sense o' colour: he can't abide red. Ef you press the matter, there ain't no more reas'n for this than that hes father afore him cudn' abide et; but how does he act? 'Hulloa!' says he, 'there's a party in red, an' I don't care a tinker's cuss whether 'tes a mail-cart or a milisha-man: I'm bound to stop this 'ere taste for red ef I dies nex' minnit.' And at et he goes accordin'. Ef he seed the Scarlet Woman about in his part o' the country, he'd lay by an' h'ist her, an' you'd say, 'Well done!' an' I don't say you'd be wrong. But jest you stop an' ax hes motives, an' you'll find 'taint religion. Lor' bless 'ee, sir, a bull's got no more use for religion than a toad for side-pockets. 'Tes obstinacy—that's what 'tes. You tells me a jackass es obstinate. Well, an' that's true in a way; and so's a hog. Ef you wants quiet contrariness, a jackass or a hog'll bothsit outa bull; an' tho' you may cuss the pair till you sweats like a fuz'-bush on a dewy mornin', 'tes like heavin' bricks into a bott'mless pit. But a bull ups an' lets 'ee know; there aint no loiterin' round an' arrangin' yer subjec' under heads whenhe'sabout. You don't get no pulpit; an', what's more, you don't stop to touch your hat when you makes your congees. 'Tes just pull hot-foot, and thank the Lord for hedges; 'cos he's so full o' his own notions as a Temp'rance speaker, an' bound to convence 'ee, ef he rams daylight in 'ee to do et. That's a bull. An' here's anuther p'int; he lays head to ground when hes beliefs be crossed, an' you may so well whissle as try the power o' the human eye—talkin' o' which puts me i' mind o' some curious fac's as happ'n'd up to Penhellick wan time, along o' this same power o' the human eye. Maybe you'd like to hear the yarn."
"Eh?" Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction. "Yes, certainly, I should like to hear it."
Caleb knocked his pipe meditatively against the bars of the grate; filled it again and lit it; took an energetic pull or two, and then, after another hard look at his master across the clouds of smoke, began without more ado.
"Well, sir, et all happen'd when I lived up to Penhellick, an' worked long wi' Varmer Mennear. Ould Lawyer Mennear, as he was a-nicknamed—a little cribbage-faced man, wi' a dandy-go-russet wig, an' on'y wan eye: leastways, he hadn' but wan fust along when I knowed 'n. That's what the yarn's about, tho'; so us'll go slow, ef you plaise, an' hush a bit, as Mary Beswetherick said to th' ingine-driver.
"Now, Lawyer Mennear was a circuit-preacher, o' the Wesleyan Methody persuash'n, tho' he'd a-got to cross-pupposes wi' the rest o' the brethren an' runned a sect all to hissel', which he called th' United Free Church o' 'Rig'nal Seceders. They was called 'Rig'nal Seceders for short, an' th' ould man had a toler'ble dacent followin', bein' a fust-class mover o' souls an' powerful hot agen th' unregenrit, which didn' prevent hes bein' a miserable ould varmint, an' so deep as Garrick in hes ord'nary dealin's. Aw, he was a reg'lar split-fig, an' 'ud go where the devil can't, an' that's atween the oak an' the rind."
"I see," said Mr. Fogo.
"Iss, sir. Why, the very fust day I tuk sarvice—I was a tiny tacker then—he says to me, 'Caleb, my boy, you'm lookin' all skin an' bones for the present, but there's no knawin' what Penhellick beef and pudden may do for 'ee yet, ef 'tes eaten wi' a thankful heart. Hows'ever, 'bout the work. I wants you to take the dree jackasses an' go to beach for ore-weed, an' as I likes to gie a good boy like you a vew privileges, you be busy an' carry so many seams[1]as you can, an' I'll gie drappence for ivery seam more'n twenty.'
"Well, sir, I worked like a Trojan, an' ha'f killed they jackasses; an' I tell 'ee 'twas busy all to carry dree-an'-twenty seam. In the eveling, arter work, I went to Lawyer Mennear an' axed 'n 'bout the nine-pence—I niver got ninepence so hard in all my born days. When he paid me, he looked so sly, an' says he—
"' You'm a nation clever boy, you be, an' I doan't gridge 'ee the money. But now I sees what youcando, of cou'se I shall 'spect 'ee to carry dree-an'-twenty seam ivery day, reg'lar: for the workman,' says he, 'es worthy of hes hire.'
"'Darn et!' thought I to mysel', 'this won't do;' an' I niver seed azackly the beef an' pudden th' ould man talked about. Hows'ever, I stayed wi' the psalmas-'untin' ould cadger, tho' et made me 'most 'mazed at times to hear the way he'd carry on down at the Meetin' House 'bout the sen o' greed an' the like, an' all the time lookin' round to see who owed 'n a happeny. 'My brethren,' he'd call out, 'my pore senful flock, ef you clings to your flocks an' herds, an' tents an' dyed apparel, like onto Korah shall you be, an' like onto Dathan an' Abiram, so sure as I be sole agent for Carnaby's Bone Manure in this 'ere destrict.' 'Tes true, sir. An' then he'd rap out the hemn, 'Common metre, my brethren, an' Sister Tresidder'll gie the pitch—"
'Whativer, Lord, us lends to TheeRepaid a thousan'fold'll be,Then gladly will us gie to Thee.'
'Whativer, Lord, us lends to TheeRepaid a thousan'fold'll be,Then gladly will us gie to Thee.'
'Whativer, Lord, us lends to TheeRepaid a thousan'fold'll be,Then gladly will us gie to Thee.'
"An' I reckon that was 'bout the size o't. Aw, he was an anointed ould rascal.
"All the same, Lawyer Mennear was reckon'd a powerful wrastler en the sperrit by the rest o' the Church-Membership; on'y there was wan thing as went agen 'un, an' that was he hadn' but wan eye; tho' Maria Chirgwin, as was known to have had experience, an' was brought under conviction by th' ould man, told me that et made 'n luk the more terrifyin'—"
"Like Polyphemus," put in Mr. Fogo.
"Polly which?"
"Never mind."
"I disknowledged the surname. But niver mind, as you say, sir; feelin's es feelin's, an' th' ould Mennear's wan eye went mortal agen 'un. Not but what he wudn' turn et to account now an' then. 'Tummas doubted,' he said wan day, 'an' how was he convenced? Why, by oracular demonstrashun—'"
"Ocular, Caleb."
"Right you are, sir, an' thankye for the correcshun, as the boy said to the pupil-teacher; 'by oc-u-lar demonstrashun,' says he. 'P'raps you dunno what ocular demonstrashun es, my brethren. Well, I'll tell 'ee. That's a wall, ain't et? An' I'm a preacher, arn't I? An' you be worms, bain't 'ee? Why, I can see that much tho' Ihan'tbut wan eye. An' that's ocular demonstrashun.'
"But, as I was sayin', wan eyeesa wisht business, howsomever you may turn et up'ards an' call et your thorn i' the flesh, an' the likes; an' more'n a few o' the 'Rig'nal Seceders fell away from th' ould man's Meetin' House, and became backsliders dro' fear o' being overlooked an' ill-wished, so they said. I reckon 'twas all quignogs, but etdidluk plaguey like th' evil eye, an' that there's no denyin'.
"Well, sir, matters went on i' this way for a brave time, an' the 'tendance got less, till Lawyer Mennear wos fairly at hes wits' end. He talked a' weak-kneed brethren, an' 'puttin' your han's to the plough,' an' dreshed the pilm[2]out o' cush'n afore 'un, an' kicked up a purty dido, till you cou'd hear the randivoose o' Sunday mornin's 'way over t'other side o' Carne hill; but 'twarn't no manner o' good. An' as for the childer at the Sunday-school—th' ould rapscallion laid powerful store by hes Sunday-school—'twas 'bear a hand ivery wan' to get mun to face that eye: an' you mou't clane their faces an' grease their hair as you wou'd, the mothers told me, an' see mun off 'pon the road to Meetin' House; but turn your back, an' they'd be mitchin'[3]in a brace o' shakes an' 'way to go for Coombe beach, an' playin' hidey-peep in their clane pinnyfores 'mong the rocks.
"Aw, 'twas shee-vo! 'mong the Church Members, an' no mistake; an' how 'twud ha' come round, there's no telling, ef et hadn' a-been for what Lawyer Mennear called a vouchsafement o' marcy. An' the way thicky vouchsafement comed about was this:
"Th' ould man was up to Plymouth wan day 'bout some shares he'd a-tuk in a tradin' schooner; for he'd a finger in most pies. Nuthin' i' the way o' bus'ness comed amiss to'n. Like Nicholas Kemp, he'd occashun for all."
"Who was Nicholas Kemp?" inquired Mr. Fogo.
"On'y a figger o' speech, sir. Well, ould Mennear had a-done bus'ness, an' was strollin' up Union Street 'long wi' his missus— Aunt Deb'rah Mennear, as her name was—a fine, bowerly woman, but a bit ha'f-baked in her wits; put in wi' the bread, as they say, an' tuk out wi' the cakes—when he fetches up 'pon a sudden afore a shop-windey. There was crutches inside, an' jury-legs fash'ned out o' cork, an' plaster heads drawn out in maps wi' county-towns marked in, an' bumps to show why diff'rent folks broke diff'rent Commandments, an' rows o' teeth a-grizzlin', an' blue spectacles, an' splints enough to camp-shed a thirty-acred field, an' ear-trumpets an' malignant growths—"
"Malignant growths?"
"Iss, sir—in speerits o' wine. But what tuk th' ould man's notice were a trayful o' glass eyes put out for sale i' the windey, an' lookin' so nat'ral as life—blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes as black as a sloan,[4]an' others, they told me, as went diff'rent colours 'cordin' as you looked at mun. Anyway, ould Mennear pulled up short an' clinched Deb'rah by the elbow.
"'Like onto the fishpools in Heshbon!' says he; an' wi' that he bounses into the shop.
"'How much for them eyes?' he axes.
"'Do 'ee want the lot?' says the chap in the shop, a reg'lar little dandy-sprat, an' so pert as a jay-pie in June. ''Cos us makes a reducshun on takin' a quantity,' says he.
"'Wan'll do for me,' says Lawyer Mennear.
"'They be two pund-ten apiece,' says the whipper-snapper, 'an' ten shillin' for fixin'.'
"Well, sir, you may fancy th' ould man's face when he heerd the price. He sot down, like as ef the wind was tuk out of hes sails, an' says he—'I'll gie thirty shillin.'
"The shopman wudn' ha' this; so at et they went, higglin' an' hagglin' on til 'twas agreed at las' he shud ha' the eye for two pund-five, fixin's included. 'Twas like drawin' blood from a stone; but th' ould man had done a stroke of bus'ness that day, so in th' end he pulls out hes bag an' tells out the money 'pon the counter.
"'An' now,' says the whipper-snapper, 'which'll 'ee ha'? Grey's the colour, I reckons, ef you wants a match.'
"'Drat the colour!' says ould Mennear, 'I've a-paid my price, an' I'll ha' the biggest, ef et be bassomy-red.'[5]
"Well, the shopman laffs, o' cou'se, but lets 'n ha' hes own way; an' th' ould man picked out the biggest—bright blue et was, suthin' the colour of a hedgy-sparrer's egg, an' shiny-clear like a glass-alley. They was a brave long while gettin' et fixed, 'cos 'twas so big. Ef he'd a-been content an' took a smaller wan, he'd ha' done better: but he was bound to be over-reachin', was th' ould varmint, an' so he comed to grief, as you shall hear. There's many folks i' this world be knowin' as Kate Mullet."
"I never heard of that lady," said Mr. Fogo.
"There's not much to know, sir, 'cept that they say her was hanged for a fool. Hows'ever, to shorten the yarn, ould Mennear got hes eye fixed at las', an' went home wi' Aunt Deb'rah so pleased as Punch.
"Nex' Sunday 'twas Hamlet's Ghost 'mong the 'Rig'nal Seceders, an' no mistake! Some o' the female members fell to screamin' so soon as iver they clapped eyes on th' ould man, an' Sister Trudgeon was tuk wi' a fit, an' had to be carr'd out wi' two deacons to her head an' two to her heels, an' kickin' so that Deacon Hoskins cudn' master hes vittles for up a fortni't, he was that hurted internally. An' the wust was, that what wi' the rumpus an' her singin' out 'Pillaloo!' an' how the devil was amongst mun, havin' great wrath, the Lawyer's sarmon about a 'wecked an' 'dulterous generation seekin' arter a sign' was clean sp'iled. Arter the sarvice, too, there was a deal of discussin'. Some said 'twas senful to interfere wi' Natur' i' that way, an' wrong in a purfessin' Christian like Mennear; an' all agreed the new eye gave 'n a janjansy[6]kind o' look, 'as ef,' said Deacon Hoskins, 'he was blinchin'[7]fifty ways for Grace.' There was some talk, too, about axin' the old man to resign; but nuthin' came o't. An' arter a time, when the congregashun got a bit reconciled, folks began to allow the new eye improved Mennear's pulpit manner, an' guessed that, arter all, et mou't be a powerful engine for effectual salvashun. Et had adeadappearance, ef you understands me, sir, and yet a sort o' gashly wakefulness, like a thing onhuman, 'cos o' cou'se et niver winked; th' ould man cudn' ha' winked, not for a fi'-pund note, for the thing was that big et strained his eyelid like a drum. 'Sides which, et had a way o' keepin' order 'mong the worshippers that you cudn' believe onless you seed it; for, let alone the colour o't, you niver knawed whether 'twas fixed on you or ten pews off, but somehow felt dead-sure 'twas you all the time, an' cudn' ha' moved, not if you had a blue-tailed fly inside the back o' your collar.
"Well, sir, nat'rally the Meetin' House began to fill agen, at fust out o' curiosity, but by-'m-by the list of Admitted Members began to fill up. Folk cudn' hold out when th' ould Lawyer ramped on 'bout t' other world an' there was that eye fixin' mun an' lookin' as though et hadbeen there. I needn' tell 'ee th' ould man wore et ivery Sunday: 'deed, he wore et most days, but tuk et out o' nights, I've heerd, for 'twudn' shut when he slep', but used to scare ould Deb'rah Mennear fairly out of her sken o' moonshiny nights, when the light comed in 'pon et. An' even when her got 'n to lave et off, her used allays to put a tay-cup 'pon top o't afore closin' an eye.
"So et went on, sir, till wan Sunday mornin', when the Lawyer was fairly warmin' to hes work over the weckedness o' backsliders an' the wrath to come, he whacks the cush'n more'n ord'nary vi'lent, an' I reckon that made the eye work loose. Anyway, out et drops, and clatters down along the floor o' the Meetin' House.
"Now Deacon Hoskins i' them days had charge o' the Sunday-school boys. He was a short-sighted man, the Deacon, tho' that were hes misfortun'; but he had faults as well, an' wan o' these was a powerful knack o' droppin' off to sleep durin' sarmon-time. Hows'ever, he managed very tidily, for he knawed he was bound to wake hissel' so soon as he began to snore, an' then he'd start up sudden an' fetch the nighest boy a rousin' whistcuff 'pon the side o' the head to cover the noise he'd made, an' cry out, 'I've a-caught 'ee agen, ha' I? I'll tache 'ee to interrup' the word o' Grace wi' your gammut[8]an' may-games!'—an' he'd look round like as ef he'd say, 'Sorry to interrup', brethren, but desceplin' es desceplin'!' Many's the time I've a-seed 'n do this, an' you may take my word, sir, 'twas so good as a play!"
Now this morning Deacon Hoskins was takin' forty winks as ushul, when the clatter made by th' ould Mennear's eye makes 'n set up, wide-awake an' starin'. This time, jedgin' by the noise, he tuk a consait that the boys had been a-playin' marbles sure 'nuff; so he takes two at haphazard, knacks their heads togither, an' then looks about. Fust thing he sees es th' eye lying out 'pon the aisle an' lookin' for all the world like a big shiny glass-alley.
"I told 'ee, sir, the Deacon were short o' sight. He hadn' a doubt by this time the boys had been foolin' about wi' marbles, so he reaches out, grabs the eye, an' slips et into hes trowsy-pocket; an' then he takes a glance round, so much as to say, 'I reckon the owner of this 'ere glass-alley'll ha' to wait afore he sees 'n agen.'
"In cou'se, the rest o' the brethren knawed what had happened, an' wan or two fell to titterin' a bit; but altogether there was a kind o' breathlessness for a moment or so, an' then th' ould Mennear sings out from the pulpit—
"'Brother Hoskins, I'll trouble you to kindly pass up that eye.'
"Deacon Hoskins stared a bit, but was too short o' sight to see what the matter was.
"'Eh?' says he.
"'Hand up that eye, ef you plaise.'
"'What eye?' says the Deacon.
"Th' ould Mennear stamped and seemed fit to swear.
"'Why,myeye, you nation bufflehead!' The Lawyer didn't mind much what he said when hes back was up; an' arter all 'twere, in a kind o' way, 'scuseable.
"'Look 'ere,' answers back the Deacon, 'ef you've drapped your eye, an' be that fond o' the cheap-jack thing that you can't get on wi'out et, send round Deacon Spettigue to hunt, an' not a man as can't see sax inches afore hes nose. Et's out o' reas'n,' he said, 'an' you ort to know better.'
"In cou'se, tho', when he found out hes mistake an' lugged the thing out o' hes pocket, there was Bedlam let loose, for up five minnits, ivery mother's son chitterin' an' laffin, an' the Deacon lookin' like a pig in a fit. He desarted the Seceders that very week, an' niver darken'd the Meetin' House door agen to the day o' hes death.
"Well, the fuss got calmed over, but somehow the Lawyer cudn' niver trust hes eye as he used to. He said 'twarn't fully dependable; an', sure 'nuff, within a month et slipped out agen, and th' ould man was forced to go to Plymouth an' buy another, a bit smaller. So he lost by his mean ways arter all. He tried to trade back th' ould eye, but the shopman wudn'; so he brought et home in hes pocket, and laid it by in the chaney cupboard, 'long wi' the cloam,[9]an' there et bided.
"An' now, sir, I'm a-comin' to the most curiosest part o' my yarn: an' you can believe or no, as you thinks fit, but I'll tell 'ee jest what I knows an' no more.
"Some two year arter, Lawyer Mennear tuk a corner out o' the twenty-acred field—a little patch to the right o' the gate as you went in—an' planted et wi' green peas. Six rows he planted, an' beautiful peas, too, on'y the birds wudn' let mun ha' a chance. Well, at las' th' ould man got mad, an' stuck me 'pon top o' the hedge wi' a clapper to scare the birds away; 'sides which, to make sure, he rigged up a scarecrow. 'Twas a lovely scarecrow: two cross-sticks an' the varmer's own coat—'twas the coat he'd a-got married in forty year afore. He gied et to me when the scarecrow had done wi' et, an' the tails were so long as an Act o' Parlyment. 'Top o' this was a whackin' big turmut by way o' face, wi' a red scarf round the neck—from Aunt Deb'rah's petticoat—an' wan o' th' ould man's left-off wigs 'pon the crown, an' a high-poll hat, a bit rusted wi' Sunday obsarvance, to finish. Did I say 'to finish'?
"Well, then, I said wrong. 'Cos jest when I'd a-rigged 'n up, down comes Aunt Deb'rah an' cries out, 'Aw, Caleb, here be suthin' more! Do 'ee fix et in, that's a dear; an' ef et don't scare away any bird as iver flied, then,' says she, 'I'm wuss nor any bird'; an' wi' that she opens her hand an' gies me the Lawyer's cast-off eye.
"So I outs wi' my pocket-knife an' digs a hole in the turmat face, an' inside o' ten minnits there was the scarecrow finished off. Aw, sir, 'twas a beautiful scarecrow; an' when us stuck et up, I tell 'ee that from the kitchen windeys, three hundred yards away, et seemed like life itsel'.
"Well, sir, fust day 'twas stuck there, I sot beside the hedge, round the corner, watchin', and while I sot two queerish things happen'd— tho' the fust warn't so queer nuther, but jest human natur', when you comes to consider et. 'Twas this. I hadn' been there an hour aforetwo score an' dree wimmen—I knows, 'cos I kep' count—came, wan arter anuther, down to the gate to make sheep's eyes at that scarecrow, havin' heerd as there was a well-dressed lad down among the peas. An' that's true, ef I swears et 'pon the Book."
"Ah!" was Mr. Fogo's only comment.
"Iss, sir; an' well you may say so. But the nex' thing I noticed was a sight queerer. In fac' I dunno but et's the queerest go I iver heard tell 'bout. But you may jedge for yoursel'.
"I'd been a-settin' there for the best part o' two hour, an' keepin' count o' how wan bird arter another comed up for they peas, an' turned tail at sight o' the scarecrow. For et didn' seem like no ord'nary scarecrow, sir, wi' that eye a-glintin' in the sunshine. I cou'd see 't from where I sot—an' so the birds thought. Well, wan arter another, they steps up an' flies off as ef hurried for time, when by-'m-by 'long comes an ould rook.
"He jest sa'ntered up quite leisurable, did this rook, an' lit 'pon a pea-stick to take a blinch round. Nat'rally he cotches sight o' the scarecrow, an' nat'rally I looked for 'n to turn tail, like the rest. But no, sir.
"Where he was, the scarecrow's back was t'wards 'un, an' th' ould bird jest looks et up an' down, an' this way an' that, an' cocks his head 'pon wan side, an' looks agen an' chuckles, for all the world as ef to say, 'Et looks like a man, an' 'tis fixed like a man; but dash my wig! ef 'tain't a scarecrow an' no more, I ain't fit to live in an age o' imitashuns.'
"Well, he jest sot an' sot, an' arter a while he began for to taste the flavour o' the joke, an' then he lay back an' laffed, did that bird, till he was fit to sweat. I reckoned I'd a-heerd birds laff afore this, but I made an error. My 'ivens, sir! but he jest clinched on to that pea-stick, an' shook the enj'yment out of hissel' like a conjurer shellin' cannon-balls from a hat. An' then he'd stop a bit, an' then fall to hootin' agen, till I was forced to laff too, way back behind the hedge, for cumpanny. An' ivery time he noted a fresh bit o' likelihood in the scarecrow he'd go off in a fresh fit. I thought he'd niver ha' done.
"But in a while he hushed, an' waited a bit to calm hes nerves, an' stepped down off the pea-stick. Thinks I, 'What es he up to now?' An' I stood up to see, but quiet-like, so's I shudn' scare 'n.
"I hadn' long to wait. He jest steps up behind the scarecrow, makes a leg, so grave as you plaise, an' commences for to dance round 'un— fust 'pon wan leg, then 'pon t'other—like as ef 'twas a haythen dancin' round a graven image. But the flauntin' ins'lence o't, sir! The brazen, fleerin' abusefulness! Not a feather, ef you'll believe me, but fairly leaked wi' ribaldry—jestleaked.
"Th' ould bird had got ha'f-way round, a-mincin' an' japin', an' throwin' out hes legs this way an' that an' gettin' more boldacious an' ondacent wi' ivery step, when he cocks his head askew for a second, jest to see how the pore image was a-takin' o't, an' that moment he catches the scarecrow's eye.
"Aw, sir, to see the change as comed over that bird! The forthiness[10]went out o'n for all the world like wind out 'n a pricked bladder; an' I reckon nex' minnit there warn't no meaner, sicklier-lookin' critter atween this an' Johnny Groats' than that ould rook. There was a kind o' shever ran through 'n, an' hes feathers went ruffly-like, an' hes legs bowed in, an' he jes' lay flat to groun' and goggled an' glazed up at that eye like a dyin' duck in a thunderstorm. 'Twas a rich sight, sir; an' how I contrived not to bust mysel' wi' laffin', es more'n I can tell 'ee to this day.
"So he lay for up ten minnits, an' then he staggered up 'pon hes feet an' sneaked out o' them peas like a chuck-sheep dog, an' the repent'nce a-tricklin' out 'n ivery pore. He passed me by that close I cou'd ha' knacked 'n over wi' a stick, but he didn' see me more'n ef I'd a'been a pisky-man.[11]All hes notiss, I reckon, were for that gashly eye; an' he looked back ivery now and agen, like as ef he'd say, 'I be but worms; an', wuss nor that, I've a-been a scoffin', lyin', Sabbath-breakin' ould worms; but do 'ee let me off this wance, an' I'll strive an' wrastle,' he seemed to say, 'an' do purty well all a rook can to be gathered to the fold.' An' wi' that he slinks over th' hedge an' out o' sight.
"Well, sir, I didn' see 'n agen nex' day, nor for many days arter; but on Sunday-week, as et mou't be, i' the mornin' I'd a-took French lave an' absented mysel' from Meetin' House, an' were quietly smokin' my pipe up in the town-place,[12]when I hears a chitterin' an' a chatterin' like as 'twere a little way off; an' lookin' down t'wards the twenty-acred field, I seed 'twere black wi' rooks—fairly black, sir—black as the top o' your hat. Thinks I, 'I reckon here's some new caper,' an' I loafes down to see the fun.
"I stales down the lane, an' looks over the gate, an' when I takes in, at las', what 'tes all about, my!—you mou't ha' knacked me down wi' a feather! 'Twas a prayer-meetin' them rooks was a-holdin', sir, as I'm a senner. The peas was fairly hid wi' the crowd, an' 'twas that thick I counted sax 'pon wan pea-stick. An' in the middle, jes' onder the scarecrow, stood up th' ould rook I'd a-seen afore, an' told hes experiences. He ramped, an' raved, an' mopped, an' mowed, an' kep' a-noddin' his head t'wards the scarecrow, to show how hes salvashun was worked; an' all the time the rest o' the rooks sat still as mice. On'y when he pulls up to breathe a bit, they lets out an' squalls, as ef to say, 'Amen. 'Tes workin'—'tes workin'! Pray strong, brother!' an' at et he'd go agen, same as hemust. An' at las', when 'twas 'hold breath or bust' wi' 'un, he ups an' starts a hemn, an' they all jines in, till you mou't hear the caprouse[13]two mile off. That were the finish, too; for arter the row died away, there was a minnit or so o' silent prayer, an' then the whole gang gets up off they pea-sticks an' sails away for Squire Tresawsen's rookery, t'other side o' the hill.
"Well, in cou'se I tells the tale, an' was called a liard for my pains. But the same thing happen'd nex' Sunday, an' the Sunday arter—an' not a pea stolen all the time—an' a good few people comed down behind the hedge to see, an' owned up as I were right. Et got to be the talk o' the country; an' how 'twud ha' ended, goodness on'y knaws, ef I hadn' a-spi'led the sport mysel'. An' how I did so, you shall hear.
"Wan day I tuk a consait as 'twud be a game to take away the scarecrow's eye an' see what happen'd. So, late 'pon a Sat'rday night, down I goes an' digs out the eye wi' my jack-knife, an' lays et careful down 'pon the ground beside et, an' so off to bed.
"Nex' mornin' I were down waitin' some time afore the rooks was due, an' by-'m-by, about 'leven in the forenoon, 'long they comes by the score, an' takes the sittin's 'pon the pea-sticks. They was barely settled, when out steps my ould rook an' walks up to the scarecrow to lead off same as ushul.
"He gives a shake o' the head to set hes jawin'-tacks loose, casts a glance up'ards t'wards the eye, jes' to fetch inspirashun, an' starts back like as ef shot. You cou'd see the 'stonishmentclinch'n, an' the look o' righteousness melted off hes face like snow in an oven. For that bird hadgifts, sir; an' wan o' these was a power o' fashul expresshun. Well, back he starts, an', with the same, cotches sight o' the eye lyin' 'pon the ground an' starin' up all heav'nly-blue an' smilin'.
"There was a pause arter this, jes' about so long as you cou'd count twenty; an' the rest o' the congregashun began to fidget an' whisper round that suthin' was up, when all 'pon a sudden my ould rook straightens hissel' up an' begins to cuss and to swear. What's that you say, sir? Rooks don't swear? Don't tell me. Blasphemin'? Why, in two minnits the air was stiff wi' blasphemy—you might ha' cut et wi' a knife. An' oaths? Why, you cou'dfeelthe oaths. An' there he sot an' cussed, an' cussed an' sot, an' let the hatefulness run out like watter from a pump.
"In cou'se, 'twarnt long afore the rest gather'd round to larn what the mess was, an' then there was Chevychace. They handed round the eye, an' looked at et this way an' that, an' 'splained what had happen'd wan to t'other; an' then they hushed an' stood quiet while their dasayved brother cussed hissel' out. Not a smile 'mongst the lot, sir; not a wink, as I be a truthful man.
"At las' he'd a-done, an' not too soon for hes lungs; an' then the lot sat down an' conseddered et out, an' still not a word for minnits togither. But all to wanst up starts a youngish-lookin' rook, an' makes a speech.
"'Twarn't a long speech, sir, an' nat'rally I didn't understand a word: but I cotched his drift in a minnit, tho'. For they rooks started up, walked back to their seats, an' what do 'ee think they did?"
"I couldn't pretend to guess," said Mr. Fogo.
"They jes' started that sarvice agan, sir, an' paradised et from start to finish. They mixed up ow jests wi' the prayers, an' flung in fancy yarns wi' their experiences, an' made a mock at th' exhortashun; an' what they sung in place o' the hemn, I don't know; but Idoknaw this much—et warn't fit for a woman to list'n to.
"Well, I laffed—I was forced to laff—but arter a while et grew a bit too strong, an' I runned up to th' house to fetch down a few folks to look. I warn't away 'bove ten minnits; but when I comed back there warn't no rook to be seen, nor no eye nuther. They'd a-carr'd et off to Squire Tresawsen's rookery, an' et's niver been seen fro' that day to this."
There was silence for a few moments as Caleb finished his story and lit another pipe. Finally Mr. Fogo roused him to ask—
"What became of your master, Caleb?"
"Dead, sir—dead," answered Caleb, staring into the embers of the fire. "He lived to a powerful age, tho' albeit a bit totelin'[14]in hes latter days. But for all that he mou't ha' been like Tantra-bobus—lived till he died, or at least been a centurion—"
"A what?"
"Centurion, sir; otherwise a hundred years old. But he went round land[15]at las', an' was foun' dead in hes bed—o' heart-break, they did say, 'long o' his gran'-darter Joanna runnin' away wi' an army cap'n."
"Ah!" said Mr. Fogo, pensively, "she was a woman, was she not?"
"To be sure, sir; what elst?—a female woman, an' so baptised."
There was a moment's silence; then Caleb resumed—
"But contrari-wise, sir, the army cap'n was a man."
"Ah! yes, of course; let us be just—the army captain was a man. Caleb," said Mr. Fogo, with a sudden change from his pensive manner, "has it ever occurred to you to guess why I—not yet an old man, Caleb—am living in this solitude?"
"Beggin' your pard'n, sir, an' makin' so free as to guess, but were it a woman by any chance?"
"Yes," said his master, rising hurriedly and lighting his candle, "it was a woman, Caleb—it was a woman. You won't forget that Notice to-morrow morning, will you?—the first thing, if you please, Caleb."
[1] A cart-load.(return)[2] Dust.(return)[3] Playing truant.(return)[4] Sloe.(return)[5] Heather-coloured.(return)[6] Two-faced. Qy. from Janus?(return)[7] Prying, looking about.(return)[8] Nonsense.(return)[9] Crockery. Drinking in Troy is euphemistically called "emptyin' cloam."(return)[10] Boldness, forwardness.(return)[11] A fairy.(return)[12] Farm-yard.(return)[13] Noise, tumult.(return)[14] Demented, imbecile.(return)[15] Died.(return)
[1] A cart-load.(return)[2] Dust.(return)[3] Playing truant.(return)[4] Sloe.(return)[5] Heather-coloured.(return)[6] Two-faced. Qy. from Janus?(return)[7] Prying, looking about.(return)[8] Nonsense.(return)[9] Crockery. Drinking in Troy is euphemistically called "emptyin' cloam."(return)[10] Boldness, forwardness.(return)[11] A fairy.(return)[12] Farm-yard.(return)[13] Noise, tumult.(return)[14] Demented, imbecile.(return)[15] Died.(return)