CHAPTER IV.
The farmer, his wife, and little Sally were now all I had to love. PoorAnn Maples, though thoroughly honest and faithful, was of a nature sodry and precise that I respected rather than loved her. I am born tolove and hate with all my heart and soul, although a certain prideprevents me from exhibiting the better passion, except when stronglymoved. That other feeling, sown by Satan, he never allows me todisguise.
To leave the only three I loved was a bitter grief, to tell them of myintention, a sore puzzle. But, after searching long for a good way tomanage it, the only way I found was to tell them bluntly, and not to cryif it could be helped. So when Mrs. Huxtable came in full glory to tryupon me a pair of stockings of the brightest blue ever seen, which shehad long been knitting on the sly, for winter wear, I thanked herwarmly, and said:
"Dear me, Mrs. Huxtable, how they will admire these in London."
"In Lonnon, cheel!" she always called me her child, since I had lost mymother--"they'll never see the likes of they in Lonnon, without theygits one of them there long glaskies, same as preventive chaps has, andthen I reckon there'll be Hexymoor between, and Dartmoor too, for out Iknow, and ever so many church-towers and milestones."
"Oh yes, they will. I shall be there in a week."
"In Lonnon in a wake! Dear heart alaive, cheel, dont'e tell on so!"
She thought my wits were wandering, as she had often fancied of late,and set off for the larder, which was the usual course of herprescriptions. But I stopped her so calmly that she could not doubt mysanity.
"Yes, dear Mrs. Huxtable, I must leave my quiet home, where all of youhave been so good and kind to me; and I have already written to takelodgings in London."
"Oh, Miss Clerer, dear, I can't belave it nohow! Come and discoorse withfarmer about it. He knows a power more than I do, though I says it asshouldn't. But if so be he hearkens to the like of that, I'll comb himwith the toasting iron."
Giving me no time to answer, she led me to the kitchen. The farmer, whohad finished his morning's work, was stamping about outside thethreshold, wiping his boots most carefully with a pitchfork and a ropeof twisted straw. This process, to his great discomfort, Mrs. Huxtablehad at length enforced by many scoldings; but now she snatched thepitchfork from him, and sent it flying into the court.
"Wun't thee never larn, thee girt drummedary, not to ston there an hour,mucking arl the place?"
"Wull, wull," said the farmer, looking at the pitchfork first, and thenat me, "Reckon the old mare's dead at last."
"Cas'n thee drame of nothing but bosses and asses, thee girt mule?Here's Miss Clerer, as was like a cheel of my own, and now she'm gooinawai, and us'll niver zee her no more."
"What dost thee mane, 'ooman?" asked the farmer, sternly, "hast theedarr'd to goo a jahing of her, zame as thee did Zuke?"
"Oh, no, farmer!" I answered, quickly, "Mrs. Huxtable never gave me anunkind word in her life. But I must leave you all, and go to live inLondon."
The farmer looked as if he had lost something, and began feeling for itin all his pockets. Then, without a word, he went to the fire, andunhung the crock which was boiling for the family dinner. This done, heraked out the embers on the hearthstone, and sat down heavily on thesettle with his back towards us. Presently we heard him say to himself,"If any cheel of mine ates ever a bit of bakkon to-day, I'll bile him inthat there pot. And to zee the copy our Sally wrote this very morning!"
"Wonnerful! wonnerful!" cried Mrs. Huxtable, "and now her'll not know ap from a pothook. And little Jack can spell zider, zame as 'em does inLonnon town!"
"Dang Lonnon town," said the farmer, savagely, "and arl as lives there,lave out the Duke of Wellington. It's where the devil lives, and 'emcatches his braath in lanterns. My faather tould me that, and her niverspak a loi. But it hain't for the larning I be vexed to lose mydearie."
That last word he dwelt upon so tenderly and sadly, that I could stop nolonger, but ran up to him bravely with the tears upon my face. As I satlow before him, on little Sally's stool, he laid his great hand on myhead, with his face turned toward the settle, and asked if I had any oneto see me righted in the world but him.
I told him, "None whatever;" and the answer seemed at once to please andfrighten him.
"Then don't e be a-gooin', my dear heart, don't e think no more ofgooin. If it be for the bit and drap thee ates and drinks, doesn't theeknow by this time, our own flash and blood bain't no more welcome to it!And us has a plenty here, and more nor a plenty. And if us hadn't, JanHuxtable hisself, and Honor Huxtable his waife, wud live on pegmale(better nor they desarves) and gie it arl to thee, and bless thee forating of it."
"Ay, that us wud, ees fai," answered Mrs. Huxtable, coming forward.
"And if it be for channge, and plaisure, and zeeing of the warld, I'vezeen a dale in my time, axing your pardon, Miss, for convarsing so toyou. And what hath it been even at Coom market, with the varmers I'vea-knowed from little chillers up? No better nor a harrow dill for alittle coolt to zuck. I'd liefer know thee was a-gooin' to Trentisoechurchyard, where little Jane and Winny be, than let thee goo to Lonnontown, zame as this here be. And what wud thy poor moother zay, if so beher could hear tell of it?"
At this moment, when I could say nothing, being thoroughly convicted ofingratitude, and ashamed before natures far better than my own, dearlittle Sally, who had been rolling on the dairy floor, recovered fromthe burst of childish grief enough to ask whether it had any cause. Upto me she ran, with great pearl tears on the veining of her cheeks, andpeeping through the lashes of her violet-blue eyes, she gave me one longreproachful look, as if she began to understand the world, and to findit disappointment; then she buried her flaxen head in the homespun apronI had lately taken to wear, and sobbed as if she had spoiled a dozencopies. What happened afterwards I cannot tell. Crying I hate, butthere are times when nothing else is any good. I only know that, as thefarmer left the house to get, as he said, "a little braze," theseominous words came back from the court:
"'Twud be a bad job for Tom Grundy, if her coom'd acrass me now."
Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 22