M. E. Francis

“ On this fine October evening then, many, many years ago, Molly Rainford was setting the house-place to rights, before the return of her father and his men from the wheatfield, where they had been at work since dawn. It was worth while growing wheat in those days, as Farmer Joe could tell you, but it took long to cut, and the arms grew weary that wielded the sickle, and the sweat poured down the brown faces. Old Winny the servant, and even Susan, the lass who occasionally came in to help, had been all day in the field too, helping with other women-folk to bind the sheaves. ”

“ Jinny, unexpectedly confounded, fell to re-bolting the door again without speaking, and her lodger, triumphant in the consciousness of having had the last word, marched up to bed.
Luke was awake early on the following morning, yet, when he came downstairs to draw up a bucketful of water from the well, he found that his hostess must have been astir long before him. The kitchen had been scrubbed and sanded, a bright fire burnt on the hearth, and a most savoury smell of coffee and bacon greeted his nostrils. Moreover, Miss Whiteside, kneeling before the fire, was toasting a large round of bread. ”

“ It is nearly a hundred years ago now since that golden October evening which made such a change in Molly Rainford’s life; the blue-eyed children to whom she used to tell the story have long since been laid to rest, and her grandchildren—old men and women now—have almost forgotten it. Even the neighbours have ceased to wonder at the odd name which they bear, and do not realise that were it not corrupted and mispronounced, it would have a still stranger sound in their ears. ”

“ A few minutes later a whirlwind-like form burst into the room where Lizzie and Alice Bellamy still lay, wrapped in slumber.
“Get up, ’tis past the time, an’ there’s a deal to be done.”
Lizzie sat up, at first very cross, but recovering good humour as recollection came with increasing consciousness.
“Here, Hannah, wait a bit, what be in sich a stew for?” She poked Alice, who still lay under the blankets, with her elbow. “Have anythin’ strange happened? You do look so queer—an’ I do declare you’ve a-made yourself quite smart.” ”

“ It is in November when days are at their shortest, when the earth is at its barest, when cold rain falls, and not infrequently sleet or “snow-stuff,” as it is locally called, that the misguided younglings of the flock look their first upon a sodden and gloomy world. Midway in October their quarters are got in readiness, preferably in a corner of some upland field; the shepherd’s wheeled hut takes up its position in the midst of a sheltered space in the lewth of the hedge, straw-padded hurdles mark the enclosure, and sundry pens are made ready for the new arrivals and their dams. ”

“ On the evening of the third day, work being finished, and Jean outstripping his mates, and finding Molly alone in the kitchen, was greeted by her so cordially that somehow—he never quite knew how—he found his arm round her waist, and words of love leaping to his lips. She was an angel, a darling; he would never love anyone but her, and she must love him too ”

“ And then he went away and left her, and presently old Molly came, all in a flutter of wonder and delight.
“’Tis herself, sure,” she cried, peering into the beautiful pensive face of the visitor; “’tis Lady Lucy. Master come to me and says, says he, ‘Get tea ready, and everything of the best,’ he says, ‘A lady has come who must be well attended to’; but he didn’t never say it was your ladyship. Dear, my lady, what a merry company you was, to be sure. Do you mind how you all made your own beds. I’ll wager your ladyship has never made your bed since.” ”

“ How could I, plain John Cotley, the unpretending country gentleman, with threadbare clothes and light purse, hope to make my way into the circles which you will adorn. You, who will be courted by the highest in the land, admired by all the fashionable world. ”

“ He soon found, indeed, that these noble folks were as affable in manner as gay in humour. Sir Harry proceeded to pour out foaming beakers of ale for as many of the company as desired to partake of it; and, somewhat to John’s surprise, everyone with the exception of Lady Lucy accepted this homely beverage; even Her Grace the Duchess quaffed her tumbler with unfeigned approval. Lord Tuftington served the ham and eggs, and Lady Olivia, with great good-humour and a firm hand, cut slices from the crusty loaf which she laughingly tossed across the table to each member of the party. ”

“ Your labourers are all known to you? No ragged-looking fellow has come to the door to beg for alms?”
Molly had been shaking her head vigorously.
“No, sir! oh no, sir!” she now cried eagerly. “There’s nobody about but our own folks as has worked for us ever sin’ I can remember; and there’s nobody in this house but my father and mysel’, and old Winny the servant, and my sweetheart there.”
“Oh!” said the officer, laughing, “that’s your sweetheart, is it? He seems a likely lad. Why isn’t he out fighting for his country?” ”

“ Mrs Spencer now—she called here yesterday—”
“She did,” said Jim, beginning to laugh a little. “Well, I’ll tell you the truth, Sally, the notion did come from her. Ye mustn’t be vexed, my dear; but I think ’twas a good notion. ‘If ever any folks should bear one another’s burdens,’ says the mistress, ‘it’s husband and wife.’ Come, Sally, I’ll do my best for you if you’ll do your best for me.” ”

“ You’ll find a pitchfork in that shed yonder. Be sprack and get it, and follow the rest o’ the folks up along.”
He chuckled as he watched her cross the yard and dive into the shed, reappearing in a twinkling with a pitchfork as tall as herself. Having seen her shoulder this and hasten away with it, he put his horse to a trot, and presently forgot all about Mrs Crumpler in attending to more weighty matters.
The little woman’s appearance in the field was greeted with a shout of laughter; but, nothing daunted, she made her way to the nearest waggon. ”

“ If you’ll keep your word to me, Maimie, I’ll keep mine to you. ’Tis a bit hard to turn out of the old place after bein’ brought up to look for somethin’ so different, an’ I doubt you’ll find it a bit hard too, my lass, to settle down in a little small cottage—I doubt if your mother were alive—or my poor feyther, as thought such a dale o’ me—”
He broke off, choking; there were tears in his blue eyes.
Mrs Wharton could stand it no longer; rising hurriedly from her chair, she pushed the farmer on one side, and, squeezing herself round the table, threw her arms round Luke’s neck. ”

“ Is a worthy country gentleman for that obliged to hold aloof? Sir, I tell you in the great world of London there are many places where a man may see the object of his admiration. There are, to begin with, places of entertainment, such as Vauxhall, Ranelagh, and the like, and then there are the playhouses. Now, as a matter of fact, did you chance to be at Sadler’s Wells Theatre on this day se’en-night you would see me there.”
“At a playhouse!” cried simple John, all in a turmoil of emotion. ”

“ Barnes, who had by this time reached Mrs Wharton’s chair, gave her a warning nudge with his elbow, and winked again.
“Nay, lad, me an’ your mother is not for turnin’ ye out, but if you an’ our Maimie have settled everything between yourselves we haven’t nothin’ to say, have we Lizzie? ’Tis a very good thing for young folks to earn their own livin’—a very good thing.” ”

“ John stared in alarm. What was he to do now? Phoebe had not given him any instructions as to what he should say if her mother suggested going out to see to the pens.
“They young pheasants,” went on Lizzie, talking rapidly to herself, “they be terr’ble nesh. If a heavy starm of rain was to come on they mid all be dead in the marnin’. Where be the lantern?”
She rose hurriedly, looking round her with a startled air. John rose too, thoroughly frightened.
“Missis!” he shouted, “Phoebe! come down this minute! Here be the old lady a-wantin’ to go out!” ”

“ Nay now, a favour’s a favour, an’ I’d never be one for to ax too much.”
Jess stared hard, scratching his jaw, and the other resumed.
“I’ve a-heerd o’ folks going on strike before, but I will say I did never hear of a man what acted so goodnatured. There, most strikers do look on the masters as they’ve a-left, as regular enemies. ’Tisn’t many as ’ud offer to do a good turn on a busy day same as you be a-doin’. Your missus did ought to allow ye a glass o’ beer to-day,” continued the farmer handsomely. “I’m sure ye do deserve it.” ”

“ There, when she do laugh she be the very image of her grammer, what used to drive a little donkey-cart wi’ rags and bwones, an’ sich, an’ what died in the Union.”
“The child can’t help that, an’ neither can Ned,” said Alice, with a sudden flash in her eyes. “The poor body did die when he were quite a little chap. ’Twas none of his fault if she did die in the Union. So soon as he could work he kept hisself.” ”

“ I d’ ’low ’tis enough to make a body envy the dumb brutes.”
Farmer Old fixed him with his expressionless gaze.
“Well, Jess,” he returned, with a provoking mildness which added fuel to Jess’s wrath. “I b’ain’t a onreasonable man, I hope. I have no objection at all to your goin’ an’ standin’ in the pond to cool your legs and refresh yourself. ’Ees, I’ll allow ye five minutes.”
The men’s laughter rang out loudly at this sally; the distant rattle of the hay-rake ceased for a moment as Stuckey drew rein, and turned in his seat in the hope of ascertaining the nature of the joke. ”

“ The gate creaked violently on its hinges, and swung to with a re-echoing bang behind the master, whose long legs carried him towards the idlers at a prodigious pace, while, as he strode along, he kept up a flow of sarcastic admonitions.
“I d’ ’low you folks do seem to think ’tis safe to let the grass grow under your feet these times, but I tell ye I do want to save this crop afore thinkin’ about another. . . . Jim Stuckey, I hope ye be restin’ yerself so well as the harses. Well, Jess, ye be awaitin’ for the rain to fall, I d’ ’low.” ”

“ To expect a youth of twenty-two to accept a subordinate position on strange premises was too much.
“The Pit Farm is a very fine farm,” she remarked tentatively, after a pause. “The Whartons have lived there a good few year too. ’Tis but nat’ral as our Luke should look to steppin’ into his feyther’s shoes some day when I’m laid under ground. ’Tis what he’ve a right to expect.”
“Well, let the lad step into ’em now, then,” exclaimed Jim Barnes jovially. “Let him step away. I don’t want to be gaffer at the Pit Farm; all as I want, my dear, is for you to come an’ be missus here.” ”

“ Well, there, I’ve a-lived here all my life in this same little place as ye know—all the time I were a maid, an’ when I wed poor Bartlett—scarce a year wi’ he, an’ nigh upon farty wi’ Sweetapple, your father. By daylight I’m bustlin’ about, ye know, workin’ at one thing an’ workin’ at another, an’ I don’t seem to have no time for thinkin’, but at night, when bolt’s drawed an’ window shut, and I do sit here by myself, I do seem to see their shapes an’ hear their voices. ”

“ First off I’ve been thinkin’ a dale about your mother, Maimie. I miss her dreadful.”
“I’m sure ye do, feyther,” said the girl with a sob. “’Tis what we all do. Nobry can’t miss poor mother more nor me.”
“’Tis a twelvemonth or more since she was took,” continued Barnes, in the same sepulchral tone. “Ah, a twelvemonth ’twas last Sunday week—and the house don’t seem like itself at all. I don’t say but what you do your best, my lass, but things seem to be warsening every day. ”

“ Stop in th’ wash-house on Christmas Day, to be starved wi’ cowd, an’ clemmed wi’ hunger. ‘I dunno how yo’ can call yo’rsel’ a mon an’ say sich a thing—yo’, as is her feyther an’ all.”
“Eh, dear o’ me,” cried John, “’tis enough to drive a mon distracted, what wi’ one thing an’ what wi’ another. I ax naught but a quiet life. Jinny, hoo woke the babby, and the missus, hoo got in one of her tantrums, an’ the childer was all fightin’ an’ skrikin’, an’ the whole place upside down—eh, theer’s too many on ’em yonder an’ that’s the truth, but if I say a word hoo’s down on me.” ”

“ As the afternoon advanced she shrank more and more into her shell, for if the ill-will of the women had vexed and perturbed her, the boisterous admiration of the men annoyed her almost beyond endurance. ”

“ Mr Old himself was plying a rake. He looked up as Jess paused uncertainly on the other side of the hedge.
“Ye be hard at it still, I see, sir,” hazarded Jess.
“Ees, hard at it,” responded the farmer, cheerfully.
“’Tis to be ’oped as you wont upset yourself,” said Jess hesitatingly; he was anxious to ingratiate himself, but had no desire to bestow a further mead of service gratis.
“I d’ ’low it do do I good,” returned Old. “There, a man do never know how much he can do till he tries. I’stead o’ findin’ myself a man shart, I’m reg’lar vexed to think how long I’ve a-kept a man too many.” ”

“ The cart, indeed, now began to rattle down the path which led to the hollow, and presently Mrs Roberts pulled up.
“Bide there,” she whispered in Sol’s ear, “bide where ye be, an’ I’ll send her out to ye.”
“Must I unhitch Di’mond?” enquired Sally, appearing at the open door.
The firelight from within turned her fair hair to gold and outlined her slight figure. Sol felt the last trace of resentment melt as he looked at her.
“E-es, you can unhitch, my dear; an’ there’s a bit o’ rubbish in the cart what ye can have if ye fancy.” ”

“ You’m our own flesh an’ blood, as ye say yourself, an’ so’s the childer; father’d be fond enough o’ the childer if he was to have ’em nigh en. ’Tis but Ned as he’ve a-took again’.”
“Well, but I bain’t a-goin’ to desert Ned,” cried Alice, hotly. “My own ’usband what I’ve a-chose and what have a-been sich a good ’usband an’ sich a good father. I’m sure he’d work his fingers to the bwone for me an’ the childern!”
“Bide a bit, bide a bit,” returned Mrs Bolt. ”

“ Lizzie considered.
“Well, ’tis nice an’ cool,” she said falteringly. She was learning to be cunning. People looked so strange and spoke so sharp when she told her secrets that she was now resolved to keep them to herself. If she were to let on to Jim Frizzle about Bartlett he might, as like as not, go and send Phoebe after her.
Jim let down the tail-board of the cart, and lifted her in.
“Now you’m all right,” he said, as she sank down between the trusses of hay. “You’ll be so snug as anything there. You’m a wonderful active body for your years, I’ll say that. ”

“ Do what ye will ye can’t be like poor mother; nay, ’tisn’t to be looked for; nay, it ’ud want sombry else as is older and wiser nor thee, lass, to take mother’s place. Ah, I’ve been thinkin’ o’ that”—here he paused, slowly polishing the knees of his corduroys with his broad palms,—“I’m wishful for to do my dooty by your poor mother, my dear,” he resumed presently, looking very hard at Maimie. “Ah, I couldn’t noways rest easy in my mind, if I didn’t strive to do that, and so, as I tell ye, I’m thinkin’ o’ summat.”
“What are ye thinkin’ on, feyther?” cried the girl quickly. ”

“ She’s got no call to be thinkin’ o’ wedlock, mother hasn’t. Feyther have left her every stick on the place. ’Tis a nice place, as ye know, Maimie, and she’s reet well off. I couldn’t help but ha’ words wi’ her last night, and she answered me back awful sharp. ‘’Tis time there was a change, Mester Luke,’ says she. ‘Thou’rt gettin’ above thyself, lad,’ she says.”
“An’ what do the younger ones say to it?” said Maimie, pausing in the act of setting a pile of plates on the tray which he held.
“Eh, they don’t say much. Mother can do what she likes wi’ they. They look a bit glum, but that’s all.” ”