was a radical, but he certainlywas no believer in the benefits of too much class distinction. Hethought Burns was right when he said--
"A man's a man for a' that."
Was he any the less liked or less respected by his servants, because heand his boy tossed hay in the same field with them? I do not think so,and I know that the work always went more merrily on when they werethere; and that laughing and even singing could be heard all day long.Moreover, there was less beer drank, and more tea. The Squire suppliedboth liberally, and any man might have which he chose. Consequentlythere was less, far less, tired-headedness and languor in the evening.Why, it was nothing uncommon for the lads and lasses of Burley Old Farmto meet together on the lawn, after a hard day's toil, and dance forhours to the merry notes of Branson's fiddle.
We have heard of model farms; this Squire's was one; but the servants,wonderful to say, were contented. There was never such a thing asgrumbling heard from one year's end to the other.
Christmas too was always kept in the good, grand old style. Even a yulelog, drawn from the wood, was considered a property of the performances;and as for good cheer, why there was "lashins" of it, as an Irishmanwould say, and fun "galore," to borrow a word from beyond the Border.
Mr Walton was a scholarly person, though you might not have thought so,had you seen him mowing turnips with his coat off. He, however, taughtnothing to Archie or Rupert that might not have some practical bearingon his after life. Such studies as mathematics and algebra were dull,in a manner of speaking; Latin was taught because no one can understandEnglish without it; French and German conversationally; geography not byrote, but thoroughly; and everything else was either very practical anduseful, or very pleasant.
Music Archie loved, but did not care to play; his father did not forcehim; but poor Rupert played the zither. He loved it, and took to itnaturally.
Rupert got stronger as he grew older, and when Archie was fourteen andhe thirteen, the physician gave good hopes; and he was even able to walkby himself a little. But to some extent he would be "Poor Rupert" aslong as he lived.
He read and thought far more than Archie, and--let me whisper it--heprayed more fervently.
"Oh, Roup," Archie would say, "I should like to be as good as you!Somehow, I don't feel to need to pray so much, and to have the LordJesus so close to me."
It was a strange conceit this, but Rupert's answer was a good one.
"Yes, Archie, I need comfort more; but mind you, brother, the day maycome when you'll want comfort of this kind too."
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Old Kate really was a queer old witch of a creature, superstitious to adegree. Here is an example: One day she came rushing--without takingtime to knock even--into the breakfast parlour.
"Oh, Mistress Broadbent, what a ghast I've gotten!"
"Dear me!" said the Squire's wife; "sit down and tell us. What is it,poor Kate?"
"Oh! Oh!" she sighed. "Nae wonder my puir legs ached. Oh! sirs! sirs!
"Ye ken my little pantry? Well, there's been a board doon on the fleerfor ages o' man, and to-day it was taken out to be scrubbit, and whatthink ye was reveeled?"
"I couldn't guess."
"Words, 'oman; words, printed and painted on the timmer--`_Sacred to theMemory of Dinah Brown, Aged 99_.' A tombstone, 'oman--a woodengravestone, and me standin' on't a' these years."
Here the Squire was forced to burst out into a hearty laugh, for whichhis wife reprimanded him by a look.
There was no mistake about the "wooden tombstone," but that this was thecause of old Kate's rheumatism one might take the liberty to doubt.
Kate was a staunch believer in ghosts, goblins, fairies, kelpies,brownies, spunkies, and all the rest of the supernatural family; and Ihave something to relate in connection with this, though it is notaltogether to the credit of my hero, Archie.
Old Kate and young Peter were frequent visitors to the room in thetower, for the tea Archie made, and the fires he kept on, were both mostexcellent in their way.
"Boys will be boys," and Archie was a little inclined to practicaljoking. It made him laugh, so he said, and laughing made one fat.
It happened that, one dark winter's evening, old Kate was invited upinto the tower, and Branson with Peter came also. Archie volunteered asong, and Branson played many a fine old air on his fiddle, so that thefirst part of the evening passed away pleasantly and even merrilyenough. Old Kate drank cup after cup of tea as she sat in that weirdold chair, and, by-and-by, Archie, the naughty boy that he was, led theconversation round to ghosts. The ancient dame was in her element now;she launched forth into story after story, and each was morehair-stirring than its predecessor.
Elsie and Archie occupied their favourite place on a bear's skin infront of the low fire; and while Kate still droned on, and Bransonlistened with eyes and mouth wide open, the boy might have been noticedto stoop down, and whisper something in his sister's ear.
Almost immediately after a rattling of chains could be heard in one ofthe turrets. Both Kate and Branson started, and the former could not beprevailed upon to resume her story till Archie lit a candle and walkedall round the room, drawing back the turret curtains to show no one wasthere.
Once again old Kate began, and once again chains were heard to rattle,and a still more awesome sound followed--a long, low, deep-bass groan,while at the same time, strange to say, the candle in Archie's handburnt blue. To add to the fearsomeness of the situation, while thechain continued to rattle, and the groaning now and then, there was avery appreciable odour of sulphur in the apartment. This was theclimax. Old Kate screamed, and the big keeper, Branson, fell on hisknees in terror. Even Elsie, though she had an inkling of what was tohappen, began to feel afraid.
"There now, granny," cried Archie, having carried the joke far enough,"here is the groaning ghost." As he spoke he produced a pair of kitchenbellows, with a musical reed in the pipe, which he proceeded to sound inold Kate's very face, looking a very mischievous imp while he did so.
"Oh," said old Kate, "what a scare the laddie has given me. But thechain?"
Archie pulled a string, and the chain rattled again. "And the candle?That was na canny."
"A dust of sulphur in the wick, granny." Big Branson looked ashamed ofhimself, and old Kate herself began to smile once more.
"But how could ye hae the heart to scare an old wife sae, MasterArchie?"
"Oh, granny, we got up the fun just to show you there were no suchthings as ghosts. Rupert says--and he should know, because he's alwaysreading--that ghosts are always rats or something."
"Ye maunna frichten me again, laddie. Will ye promise?"
"Yes, granny, there's my hand on it. Now sit down and have another cupof tea, and Elsie will play and sing."
Elsie could sing now, and sweet young voice she had, that seemed tocarry you to happier lands. Branson always said it made him feel a boyagain, wandering through the woods in summer, or chasing the butterfliesover flowery beds.
And so, albeit Archie had carried his practical joke out to his ownsatisfaction, if not to that of every one else, this evening, like manyothers that had come before it, and came after it, passed awaypleasantly enough.
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It was in the spring of the same year, and during the Easter holidays,that a little London boy came down to reside with his aunt, who lived inone of Archie's father's cottages.
Young Harry Brown had been sent to the country for the express purposeof enjoying himself, and set about this business forthwith. He made upto Archie; in fact, he took so many liberties, and talked to him soglibly, and with so little respect, that, although Archie had imbuedmuch of his father's principles as regards liberalism, he did not halflike it.
Perhaps, after all, it was only the boy's manner, for he had never beento the country at all before, and looked upon every one--Archieincluded--who did not know London, as
jolly green. But Archie did notappreciate it, and, like the traditional worm, he turned, and once againhis love for practical joking got the better of his common-sense.
"Teach us somefink," said Harry one day, turning his white face up. Hewas older, perhaps, than Archie, but decidedly smaller. "Teach ussomefink, and when you comes to Vitechapel to wisit me, I'll teach yousummut. My eye, won't yer stare!"
The idea of this white-chafted, unwholesome-looking cad, expecting that_he_, Squire Broadbent's son, would visit _him_ in Whitechapel! ButArchie managed to swallow his wrath and pocket his pride for the timebeing.
"What shall I teach you, eh? I suppose you know that potatoes don'tgrow on trees, nor geese upon
From Squire to Squatter: A Tale of the Old Land and the New Page 6