'And I am sure that's the truth. It is my business to reason with the girl,' murmured Mrs. Janet to herself, as she clambered up to her high seat with a struggle; 'she's got neither father nor mother, and a good bit of plain speaking does nobody any harm.'
'Gee up, Dobbin,' said Farmer Foster, shaking the horse's reins, and the next moment I stood at the cross roads, looking with wondering eyesafter Mrs. Janet, who, driven by Farmer Foster himself, was disappearing in the high-backed gig round the well-known corner of the road to Morechester.
All the day I felt guilty whenever I met Master Caleb's eye, thinking that he would insist on knowing whither his sister had betaken herself in so unwonted a way. But he was quite satisfied with my first confused sentence about business, and Farmer Foster, and in truth seemed to have little heart for inquiring after anybody.
Afternoon came, but without bringing Mrs. Janet. Evening drew on, school broke up, and Master Caleb, who had kept hard at work all day, sat down with his head leaning on his hands, and gave himself up unresistingly to his sad thoughts.
At last, after I had stood for full an hour leaning over the garden gate, listening eagerly, but in vain, for the sound of wheels, one of the farm boys from Farmer Foster's came sauntering—taking his time about it too—over the stile and along the lane from Furzy Nook.
Mrs. Janet was there, and had sent for me. Conscious of being mixed up in a plot, and standing in wholesome awe of Mrs. Janet, I was dismayed when Master Caleb got up wearily, saying that if Janetwas at the Farm he supposed he might as well go and fetch her home. Would not the secret of Mrs. Janet's journey come out somehow, if Master Caleb went with me? and then whatever was to become of me? Much troubled in mind, but quite unable to stop him, I followed his footsteps across the fields.
The sun was setting over Furzy Nook, reddening the old house and making its many lattice windows shine like gold.
Dame Foster met us at her garden gate, her apron, as of old, quite full of flowers. 'You are kindly welcome, Master Caleb,' she said; 'yes, your good sister is here; will you go in and speak to her?'
I ran on in front. 'Mrs. Janet,' I began, pushing open the parlour door in a great hurry, 'Master Caleb is come too, and——'
I stopped short, for there stood Dorothy.
Master Caleb was close behind me, and at this moment, just when it was most needed, Mrs. Janet completely lost all presence of mind.
She tried to put herself before Dorothy, to hide her, but Master Caleb had already seen her, and stood at the door as if he were turned into stone.
There was a dreadful long minute, and thenDorothy came slowly forward. She had a colour in her cheeks that I had never seen before, but she spoke almost as quietly as ever—
'Master Caleb, Mrs. Janet brought me here.'
'Janet! and you let her—you came?'
'I came,' she said, the red flush deepening in her cheeks, 'because you asked me yesterday.'
'Did Janet say I was unhappy?'
'She said,'—he bent down, for he could scarcely catch the words—'she said you really wanted me.'
Master Caleb grasped both her hands.
'Dorothy, did you come to me because you pitied me?'
'No, Master Caleb,' she said simply, 'because I was glad to come.'
It was not the words only, but something in her voice, that made him say suddenly, 'Oh Dorothy! oh Dorothy!'
Until that moment we had quite forgotten, Mrs. Janet and I, that we ought not to be there. But now, as he bent his head down lower and lower over the clasped hands he held, Mrs. Janet with a sudden pull drew me out into the passage, and shut the door upon them.
'Bless their foolish hearts, poor dears,' she ejaculated drying her eyes vehemently in the passage.
'Oh Mrs. Janet,' I could not help saying, in the fulness of my heart, 'how glad I am that it has come right.'
'Come right!' she echoed, turning round on me.
'Come right! of course it has, Willie Lisle. Who ever thought it wouldn't? There were no two ways about it.'
Master Caleb and Dorothy were married from Furzy Nook.
A wedding was of all things in the world the most delightful to Farmer Foster and his wife. A few hours only were needed to make them take Mistress Dorothy home to their hearts as if she had been a grandchild of their own. The sweet quiet face, the black gown, and the little touch of romance in the story of her presence there, won their own welcome.
Every one was soon persuaded, very willingly, that it would be simple madness for Dorothy to go back alone to the sad house at Morechester.
'We couldn't think for an instant of suffering such a thing, Mrs. Janet, neither I, nor yet my master; and then, Furzy Nook will be so handy, "somebody" can get to see her every day!' andthe old dame nodded slyly to Master Caleb, who did not see her, and then looked across kindly at the farmer, remembering how he used to come a-courting in the summer evenings, so many, many years ago.
The troth plight had scarcely been given and received—the engaged pair had but half begun to realise that they were to belong to each other some day, before Dame Foster had mentally frosted over the huge wedding-cake, and doomed to death the fat capons that were to grace the marriage feast.
It was a proud day on which Master Caleb brought his betrothed to see the Castle. He whispered to me that he had waited for a fine day. Truly he had chosen happily. The ruins were all a-glow with burning sunlight. Our grey towers looked set in warmth and colour. Orange wall-flower, tufts of scarlet poppies, feathery silver grasses, golden dandelions, had forced their way through crevices in the old walls; downy thistles shone with their purple blossoms, crimson woodbine went climbing where it would. Covering all grew the many-hued mosses and lichens, russet and grey, golden, red and brown.
Glittering light here and there; violet shadows;brilliant butterflies hovering over the clover tufts; the warm fragrance of wild thyme; a few sheep cropping the short grass, one of them carrying a bell that tinkled lazily and pleasantly as he moved.
Yes, it was a good day for Mistress Dorothy, to see it all. Master Caleb took her round very slowly, stopping often. We saw him pointing and explaining, drawing lines in the air with a stick, to show where broken fragments of stone told of fallen buildings and grass-grown banquetting halls.
'Poor thing!' said Cuthbert, as we stood watching them from the mound.
'Why poor thing?' I asked indignantly.
'He's teaching her,' Cuthbert said, in a melancholy voice; 'I suppose he's always at it.'
'I tell you she likes it.'
Cuthbert looked at me, and began to whistle—that clear birdlike whistle of his, that no one could help listening to. I saw Mistress Dorothy turn round and look up towards him with a smile.
'Over the hills and far away,' he whistled gaily, and the birds sang the chorus, and the sun shone. Master Caleb and Dorothy went rambling in and out through shade and sunshine. I could not help thinking what a pleasant thing life was.
And next came the wedding day.
It was to be a very quiet one, because the little bride was still grieving for the kind old father who was not there to give her his blessing. So everybody kept on repeating that it must be quite quiet. That is to say, no one was to go to the church who could by any possibility be persuaded to stay away. But unluckily nobody could be so persuaded. Master Caleb belonged to all of us. No one—certainly not Dorothy—would have wished that the scholars, who had suddenly found out how fond they were of him, should not go to his wedding. They forgave him on that day all his strange love for three-syllabled words, and sums in Long Division. They forgot how hardly he had often used them in respect to learning things by heart, and only strove who could shout himself the most hoarse in his honour.
All the village was waiting round the porch long before the wedding party came out of church. How the sun shone that morning! What merry peals the bells sent out upon the golden air! How cheer after cheer rang forth, as Master Caleb, in such a coat, such black silk stockings, such shoe-buckles as Wyncliffe had never before dreamt of, came out bareheaded into the sunshine, from the deep shade of the porch, and led his bride by the hand allthrough the shouting crowd! The village girls, with Hildred at their head, showered baskets-full of red roses before Mistress Dorothy as she walked!
Master Caleb could get out nothing but 'I thank you, friends, I thank you;' and Dorothy held out both hands, right and left, to meet the eager ones stretched out to greet her.
Then we young ones climbed up trees and stood on the top of walls to give them one cheer more, as they drove off to Furzy Nook, and the old folk called down blessings on the sweet face that was bright with smiles and tears.
Another cheer when the bride, God bless her, waved her handkerchief to us just before they turned the corner. Another, when Farmer Foster bade all there come down to Furzy Nook to drink her health. Yet one more, a hearty one, for Mrs. Janet, arm-in-arm with the farmer; and then, again and again, for the old schoolhouse and its master. Thus we welcomed Mistress Morton home to Wyncliffe.
O little feet! that such long yearsMust wander on through hopes and fears—Must ache and bleed beneath your load;I, nearer to the wayside inn,Where toil shall cease and rest begin,Am weary thinking of your road!Longfellow.
Wandering Williepaused. The clock struck. The outer door of the farm-house kitchen opened. A gust of snowy wind rushed in, and the farmer followed, after stopping to shake the snow from his hat, and to stamp it off his long boots in the porch.
Another door opened too. In came 'mother,' proclaiming bed-time.
There was a general petition to be allowed to stay up a little longer.
'Only till the end of the story,' the children begged.
'For it's just done, mother,' said little Cecily, who had been fast asleep on the old man's shoulder for nearly an hour past. 'It's just done;' and her blue eyes tried in vain to keep wide open.
'Oh Cecily,' called the rest of the children indignantly, 'it isn't nearly done. And you've been asleep all the time. We big ones may stay, mother?'
But mother shook her head.
Then one of the little sisters said she did not so much mind going to bed, because nearly everybody in the story was grown up now, and stories about grown-up people were very dull. So she took Cecily's hand, and the two little maidens ran off together, laughing.
'It's as wild a night as ever I saw,' said the farmer, standing before the blazing fire. 'There'll be no getting across the moor to-morrow, Willie. You'll just have to be content and bide here.'
'And we shall hear the end of the story to-morrow evening,' said Lois.
When to-morrow evening came, the same group had gathered round the hearth. Again bed-time came round, and the little ones dropped off one by one, until only Lois and Roger were left to listen. But whenever the old man paused they said 'Go on, go on.' And he went on, drawn by their listening faces. By-and-by the mother came and joined them when she had seen that the children werewarm and safe in bed,—all the merry eyes closed and the restless limbs at rest.
She came and listened too, to hear what it was that had so moved her pretty Lois, that the tears were in her eyes; both she and Roger were holding Willie's hands and looking with kindly pity into the old man's face.
But the busy wife and mother, full of life's joys and cares, could see nothing to cry about in a story of what had come and gone so many years ago.
Only she listened patiently to the end, because she too loved Wandering Willie.