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The Astonishing History of Troy Town, a novel by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Chapter 11. Of A Wesleyan Minister... |
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_ CHAPTER XI. OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER THAT WOULD IMPROVE UPON NATURE, AND THEREBY TRAINED A ROOK TO GOOD PRINCIPLES
"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 you _can_ do, 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--"
"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' I _han't_ but wan eye. An' that's ocular demonstrashun.' "But, as I was sayin', wan eye _es_ a 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 et _did_ luk 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 a _dead_ appearance, 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 had _been 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, _my_ eye, 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 afore _two 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--jest _leaked_. "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 he _must_. 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 'stonishment _clinch_ 'n, an' the look o' righteousness melted off hes face like snow in an oven. For that bird had _gifts_, 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'd _feel_ the 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 I _do_ knaw 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." |
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