CHAPTER XXXIV.
_All agree to go out to Spain again in search of our old jollity._
Another week passed by, and then Dawson, shortsighted as he was in hisselfishness, began to perceive that things were not coming all right, ashe had expected. Once or twice when I went into his shop, I caught himsitting idle before his lathe, with a most woe-begone look in his face.
"What's amiss, Jack?" asks I, one day when I found him thus.
He looked to see that the door was shut, and then says he, gloomily:
"She don't sing as she used to, Kit; she don't laugh hearty."
I hunched my shoulders.
"She doesn't play us any of her old pranks," continues he. "She don'tsay one thing and go and do t'other the next moment, as she used to do.She's too good."
What could I say to one who was fond enough to think that the summerwould come back at his wish and last for ever?
"She's not the same, Kit," he goes on. "No, not by twenty years. Onewould say she is older than I am, yet she's scarce the age of woman. AndI do see she gets more pale and thin each day. D'ye think she's frettingfor _him_?"
"Like enough, Jack," says I. "What would you? He's her husband, and 'tisas if he was dead to her. She cannot be a maid again. 'Tis young to be awidow, and no hope of being wife ever more."
"God forgive me," says he, hanging his head.
"We did it for the best," says I. "We could not foresee this."
"'Twas so natural to think we should be happy again being all together.Howsoever," adds he, straightening himself with a more manful vigour,"we will do something to chase these black dogs hence."
On his lathe was the egg cup he had been turning for Moll; he snapped itoff from the chuck and flung it in the litter of chips and shavings, asif 'twere the emblem of his past folly.
It so happened that night that Moll could eat no supper, pleading forher excuse that she felt sick.
"What is it, chuck?" says Jack, setting down his knife and drawing hischair beside Moll's.
"The vapours, I think," says she, with a faint smile.
"Nay," says he, slipping his arm about her waist and drawing her to him."My Moll hath no such modish humours. 'Tis something else. I havewatched ye, and do perceive you eat less and less. Tell us what ailsyou."
"Well, dear," says she, "I do believe 'tis idleness is the root of mydisorder."
"Idleness was never wont to have this effect on you."
"But it does now that I am grown older. There's not enough to do. If Icould find some occupation for my thoughts, I should not be so silly."
"Why, that's a good thought. What say you, dear, shall we goa-play-acting again?"
Moll shook her head.
"To be sure," says he, scratching his jaw, "we come out of that businesswith no great encouragement to go further in it. But times are mendedsince then, and I do hear the world is more mad for diversion now thanever they were before the Plague."
"No, dear," says Moll, "'tis of no use to think of that I couldn't playnow."
After this we sat silent awhile, looking into the embers; then Jack,first to give expression to his thoughts, says:
"I think you were never so happy in your life, Moll, as that time wewere in Spain, nor can I recollect ever feeling so free from caremyself,--after we got out of the hands of that gentleman robber. There'sa sort of infectious brightness in the sun, and the winds, blow whichway they may, do chase away dull thoughts and dispose one to jollity;eh, sweetheart? Why, we met never a tattered vagabond on the road but hewas halloing of ditties, and a kinder, more hospitable set of peoplenever lived. With a couple of rials in your pocket, you feel as rich andindependent as with an hundred pounds in your hand elsewhere."
At this point Moll, who had hitherto listened in apathy to theseeulogies, suddenly pushing back her chair, looks at us with a strangelook in her eyes, and says under her breath, "Elche!"
"Barcelony for my money," responds Dawson, whose memories of Elche werenot so cheerful as of those parts where we had led a more vagabond life.
"Elche!" repeats Moll, twining her fingers, and with a smile gleaming inher eyes.
"Does it please you, chuck, to talk of these matters?"
"Yes, yes!" returns she, eagerly. "You know not the joy it gives me"(clapping her hand on her heart). "Talk on."
Mightily pleased with himself, her father goes over our pastadventures,--the tricks Moll played us, as buying of her petticoat whilewe were hunting for her, our excellent entertainment in the mountainvillages, our lying abed all one day, and waking at sundown to think itwas daybreak, our lazy days and jovial nights, etc., at great length;and when his memory began to give out, giving me a kick of the shin, hesays:
"Han't you got anything to say? For a dull companion there's nothing inthe world to equal your man of wit and understanding"; which, as far asmy observation goes, was a very true estimation on his part.
But, indeed (since I pretend to no great degree of wit orunderstanding), I must say, as an excuse for my silence, that during hisdiscourse I had been greatly occupied in observing Moll, and trying todiscover what was passing in her mind. 'Twas clear this talk of Spainanimated her spirit beyond ordinary measure, so that at one moment Iconceived she did share her father's fond fancy that our lost happinessmight be regained by mere change of scene, and I confess I was persuadedsomewhat to this opinion by reflecting how much we owe to circumstancesfor our varying moods, how dull, sunless days will cast a gloom upon ourspirits, and how a bright, breezy day will lift them up, etc. But Ipresently perceived that the stream of her thoughts was divided; forthough she nodded or shook her head, as occasion required, the strained,earnest expression in her tightened lips and knitted brows showed thatthe stronger current of her ideas flowed in another and deeper channel.Maybe she only desired her father to talk that she might be left thefreer to think.
"'Twas near about this time of the year that we started on our travels,"said I, in response to Dawson's reminder.
"Aye, I recollect 'twas mighty cold when we set sail, and the fruittrees were all bursting into bloom when we came into France. I would wewere there now; eh, Moll?"
"What, dear?" asks she, rousing herself at this direct question.
"I say, would you be back there now, child?"
"Oh, will you take me there if I would go?"
"With all my heart, dear Moll. Is there anything in the world I'd not doto make you happy?"
She took his hand upon her knee, and caressing it, says:
"Let us go soon, father."
"What, will you be dancing of fandangos again?" asks he; and she nodsfor reply, though I believe her thoughts had wandered again to someother matter.
"I warrant I shall fall into the step again the moment I smell garlic;but I'll rehearse it an hour to-morrow morning, that we may lose notime. Will you have a short petticoat and a waist-cloth again, Moll?"
She, with her elbows on her knees now, and her chin in her hands,looking into the fire, nodded.
"And you, Kit," continues he, "you'll get a guitar and play tunes forus, as I take it you will keep us company still."
"Yes, you may count on me for that," says I.
"We shan't have Don Sanchez to play the tambour for us, but I wager Ishall beat it as well as he; though, seeing he owes us more than we owehim, we might in reason call upon him, and--"
"No, no; only we three," says Moll.
"Aye, three's enough, in all conscience, and seeing we know a bit of thelanguage, we shall get on well enough without him. I do long, Moll, tosee you a-flinging over my shoulder, with your clappers going, yourpretty eye and cheek all aglow with pleasure, and a court full of senorsand caballeros crying 'Hole!' and casting their handkerchiefs at yourfeet."
Moll fetched a long, fluttering sigh, and, turning to her father, saysin an absent way: "Yes, dear; yes. When shall we go?"
Then, falling to discussing particulars, Dawson, clasping his hands uponhis stomach, asked with a long face if at this season we were likely tofa
ll in with the equinoxes on our voyage, and also if we could not hitsome point of Spain so as to avoid crossing the mountains of Pyranee andthe possibility of falling again into the hands of brigands. To which Ireplied that, knowing nothing of the northern part of Spain and itspeople, we stood a chance of finding a rude climate, unsuitable totravelling at this time of year, and an inhospitable reception, andthat, as our object was to reach, the South as quickly as possible, itwould be more to our advantage to find a ship going through the straitswhich would carry us as far as Alicante or Valencia. And Moll supportingmy argument very vigorously, Dawson gave way with much less reluctancethan I expected at the outset. But, indeed, the good fellow seemed nowready to make any sacrifice of himself so that he might see his Molljoyous again.
When I entered his shop the next morning, I found him with his coat off,cutting capers, a wooden platter in his hand for a tambourine, and thesweat pouring down his face.
"I am a couple of stone or so too heavy for the boleros," gasps he,coming to a stand, "but I doubt not, by the time we land at Alicante,there'll not be an ounce too much of me."
Learning that a convoy for the Levant was about to set sail with thenext favourable wind from Chatham, we took horse and rode there thatafternoon, and by great good luck we found the Faithful Friend, a goodship bound for Genoa in Italy, whereof Mr. Dixon, the master, havingintent to enter and victual at Alicante, undertook to carry us there forten pounds a head, so being we could get all aboard by the next eveningat sundown.
Here was short grace, to be sure; but we did so despatch our affairsthat we were embarked in due time, and by daybreak the followingmorning, were under weigh.
A Set of Rogues Page 34