Book 2. Probation - Chapter 14. Mr. Silk Proposes

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_ BOOK II. PROBATION
CHAPTER XIV. MR. SILK PROPOSES

Farmer Cordery had six grown sons--Jonathan, George, William, Increase, Homer, and Lemuel--the eldest eight-and-twenty, the youngest sixteen. All were strapping fellows, and each as a matter of course had fallen over head and ears in love with Ruth.

They were good lads and knew it to be hopeless. She had stepped into their home as a goddess from a distant star, to abide with them for a while. They worshipped, none confessing his folly; but it made them her slaves, and emulous to shine before her as though she had been a queen of tournay. Because of her presence (it must be sadly owned) challengings, bickerings, even brotherly quarrels, disturbed more and more the patriarchal peace of Sweetwater Farm. "I dunno what's come over the boys," their father grumbled; "al'ays showing off an' jim-jeerin'. Regilar cocks on a dunghill. A few years agone I'd 've cured it wi' the strap; but now there's no remedy."

William had challenged his eldest brother Jonathan to "put" a large round-shot that lay in the verandah. Their father had brought it home from the capture of Louisbourg as a souvenir. Jonathan and George had served at Louisbourg too, in the Massachusetts Volunteers; but William, though of age to fight, had been left at home to look after the farm and his mother. It had been a sore disappointment at the time; now that Jonathan and George had taken on a sudden to boast, it rankled. Hence the challenge. The three younger lads joined in. If they could not defeat their seniors, they could at least dispute the mastery among themselves. Thereupon in all seriousness (ingenuous youths!) they voted that Miss Josselin should be asked to umpire.

The contest took place next morning after breakfast, in a paddock beyond the elms, with Ruth for umpire and sole spectator. Nothing had been said to the farmer, who was fast losing his temper with "these derned wagerings," and might have come down with a veto that none dared disobey. He had ridden off, however, at sun-up to the mountain, to look after the half-wild hogs he kept at pasture among the woods at its base.

Ruth measured out the casts conscientiously. In no event would the young men have disputed her arbitrament; but, as it happened, this nicety was thrown away. Jonathan's "put" of forty feet--the shot weighed close upon sixteen pounds--easily excelled the others', who were sportsmen and could take a whipping without bad blood or dispute. The winner crowed a little, to be sure; it was the New England way. But Lemuel the youngest, who had outgrown his strength, had made a deplorable "put," and the rest jeered at him, to relieve their feelings. The boy fired up. "Oh, have your laugh!" he blazed, with angry tears in his eyes. "But when it comes to running, there's not one of you but knows I can put circles round him."

"Take you on, this moment," answered up young Increase. "Say, boys, we'll all take him on."

Jonathan had no mind for any such "foolishness." He had won, and was content; and running didn't become the dignity of a grown man. "We didn't run at Louisbourg, I guess." George echoed him. George could out-tire even Jonathan at wood-cutting, but had no length of leg.

But Ruth having compassion on the boy's hurt feelings, persuaded them. They could refuse no straight request of hers. She pointed to an outlying elm that marked the boundary of the second pasture field beyond the steading. This should be the turning-post, and would give them a course well over half a mile, with a water-jump to be crossed twice. She ranged them in line, and dropped her handkerchief for signal.

They were off. She stood with the sun at her back and watched the race. George, of the short legs, broad shoulders, and bullet head, was a sprinter (as we call it nowadays) and shot at once to the front, with Homer not far behind, and Increase disputing the third place with Lemuel. Jonathan and William made scarcely a show of competing. The eldest lad, indeed, coming to the brook, did not attempt to jump, but floundered heavily through it, scrambled up the farther bank, and lumbered on in hopeless pursuit. It was here that Lemuel's long easy stride asserted itself, and taking first place he reached the tree with several yards' lead.

"He will win at his ease now," said Ruth to herself; and just at that moment her ears caught the sound of a horse's footfall. She turned; but the sun shone full in her eyes, and not for a second or two did she recognise her visitor, Mr. Silk.

He was on horseback, and, stooping from his saddle, was endeavouring just now--but very unhandily--to unhasp the gate with the crook of his riding-whip. Ruth did not offer to go to his help.

He managed it at last, thrust the horse through by vigorous use of his knees, and was riding straight up to the house. But just then he caught sight of her, changed his course, and came towards her at a walk.

"Ah, good-morning!" he called.

"Good-morning."

He dismounted. "Thought I'd ride over and pay you a call. The ladies will not be starting on their return journey for another couple of hours. So I borrowed a horse."

"Evidently."

"There's something wrong with him, I doubt." Mr. Silk was disagreeably red and moist.

"I dare say he is not used to being ridden mainly--or was it wholly?--on the curb."

He grinned. "Well, and I'm not used to riding, and that's a fact. But"--he leered the compliment--"there are few dangers I would not brave for a glance from Miss Josselin."

"You flatter me, sir. But I believe you braved a worse, yesterday, without claiming that reward."

"Ah! You mean that Sir Oliver will be angry when he gets wind of our little expedition? The ladies persuaded me--Adam's old excuse; I can deny nothing to the sex. . . . But what have we yonder? A race?"

"It would appear so."

"A very hollow one, if I may criticise. That youngster moves like a deer. . . . And what is his reward to be?--another glance of these bright eyes? Ah, Miss Josselin, you make fools--and heroes--of us all!"

Ruth turned from him to applaud young Lemuel, who came darting into the enclosure.

"See old Jonathan!" panted the boy, looking back and laughing. "That's how they ran at Louisbourg. . . . Miss Josselin, you should have made it a mile and I'd have shown you some broken-winded ones." He laughed again and turned in apology to Mr. Silk. "I'll take your horse to stable, sir, if you'll let me catch my breath."

The others came straggling up, a little abashed at sight of the stranger, but not surprised out of their good manners.

"A clergyman?" said Jonathan. "My father will be home before sundown, sir. He will be proud if you can stay and have dinner with us."

Mr. Silk explained that he had ridden over from Natchett to call on Miss Josselin and had but an hour to spare. They insisted, however, that he must eat before leaving, and they led away his horse to bait, leaving him and Ruth together.

"Will you come into the house?" she asked.

"With your leave we can talk better here. . . . So you guessed that I made one of the party? Miss Vyell told me."

"It was not difficult to guess."

"And you admired my courage?"

Ruth's eyebrows went up to a fine arch. "When you were careful to keep in hiding?"

"From motives of delicacy, believe me. It occurred to me that Lady Caroline might--er--speak her mind, and I had no wish to be distressed by it, or to distress you with my presence."

"I thank you for so much delicacy, sir."

"But Lady Caroline--let us do her justice! She calls a spade a spade, but there's no malice in it. You stood up to her, I gather. We've been discussing you this morning, and you may take my word she don't think the worse of you for it. They're sportsmen, these high-born people. I come of good family myself, and know the sort. 'Slog and take a slogging; shake hands and no bad blood'--that's their way. The fine old British way, after all." Mr. Silk puffed his cheeks and blew.

"You have been discussing me with Lady Caroline?"

"Yes," he answered flatly. "Yes," he repeated, and rolled his eyes. "All for your good, you know. Of course she started by calling you names and taking the worst for granted. But I wouldn't have _that_."

"Go on, sir, if you please."

"I wouldn't have it, because I didn't believe it. If I did--hang it!-- I shouldn't be here. You might do me that justice."

"Why _are_ you here?"

"I'm coming to that; but first I want you to open your eyes to the position. You may think it's all very pretty and romantic and like Fair Rosamond--without the frailty as yet: that's granted. But how will it end? Eh? That's the question, if you'd bring your common sense to bear on it."

"Suppose you help me, sir," said Ruth meekly.

"That's right. I'm here to help, and in more ways than one. . . . Well, I know Sir Oliver; Lady Caroline knows him too; and if it's marriage you're after, you might as well whistle the moon. You don't believe me?" he wound up, for she was eyeing him with an inscrutable smile.

She lifted her shoulder a little. "For the sake of your argument we will say that it is so."

"Then what's to be the end? I repeat. Look here, missy. We spar a bit when we meet, you and I; but I'd be sorry to see you go the way you're going. 'Pon my honour I would. You're as pretty a piece of flesh as a man could find on this side of the Atlantic, and what's a sharp tongue but a touch of spice to it? Piquancy, begad, to a fellow like me! . . . And--what's best of all, perhaps--you'd pass for a lady anywhere."

She shrank back a pace before this incredible vulgarity; but not even yet did she guess the man's drift.

"So I put it to you, why not?" he continued, flushing as he came to the point and contemplated his prey. "You don't see yourself as a parson's wife, eh? You're not the cut. But for that matter _I'm_ not the ordinary cut of parson. T'other side of the water we'd fly high. They'll not have heard of Port Nassau, over there, nor of the little nest at Sabines; and with Lady Caroline to give us a jump-off--I have her promise. She runs a Chapel of her own, somewhere off St. James's. Give me a chance to preach to the fashionable--let me get a foot inside the pulpit door--and, with you to turn their heads in the Mall below, strike me if I wouldn't finish up a Bishop! _La belle Sauvage_--they'd put it around I'd found my beauty in the backwoods, and converted her. . . . Well, what d'ye say? Isn't that a prettier prospect than to end as Sir Oliver's cast-off?"

She put a hand backwards, and found a gate-rail to steady her.

"Ah! . . . How you dare!" she managed to murmur.

"Dare? Eh! you're thinking of Sir Oliver?" He laughed easily. "Lady Caroline will put _that_ all right. He'll be furious at first, no doubt; my fine gentleman thinks himself the lion in the fable--when he shares out the best for himself, no dog dares bark. But we'll give him the go-by, and afterwards he can't squeal without showing himself the public fool. . . . Squeal? I hope he will. I owe him one."

At this moment young George and Increase Cordery came past the far corner of the house with their team, their harness-chains jingling as they rode afield. At sight of them a strong temptation assailed Ruth, but she thrust it from her.

"Sir"--she steadied her voice--"bethink you, please, that I have only to lift a hand and those two, with their brothers, will drag you through the farm pond."

Before he could answer, she called to them. As they turned and walked their horses towards her she glanced at Mr. Silk, half mischievously in spite of her fierce anger. He was visibly perturbed; but his face, mottled yellow with terror, suggested loathing rather than laughter.

"I am sorry to trouble you, but will you please fetch Mr. Silk's horse? He must return at once."

When they were gone she turned to him.

"I am sorry to dismiss you thus, sir, after the--the honour you have done me; the more sorry because you will never understand."

Indeed--his scare having passed--he was genuinely surprised, indignant.

"I understand this much," he answered coarsely, "that I've offered to make you an honest woman, but you prefer to be--" The word was on his tongue-tip, but hung fire there.

She had turned her back on him, and stood with her arms resting for support on the upper rail of the gate. She heard him walk away towards the stable-yard. . . . By-and-by she heard him ride off--heard the click of the gate behind him. A while after this she listened, and then bowed her face upon her arms. _

Read next: Book 2. Probation: Chapter 15. The Choosing

Read previous: Book 2. Probation: Chapter 13. Diana Vyell

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