by George Eliot
Chapter XX
Adam Visits the Hall Farm
ADAM came back from his work in the empty waggon--that was why he hadchanged his clothes--and was ready to set out to the Hall Farm when itstill wanted a quarter to seven.
"What's thee got thy Sunday cloose on for?" said Lisbeth complainingly,as he came downstairs. "Thee artna goin' to th' school i' thy bestcoat?"
"No, Mother," said Adam, quietly. "I'm going to the Hall Farm, butmayhap I may go to the school after, so thee mustna wonder if I'm abit late. Seth 'ull be at home in half an hour--he's only gone to thevillage; so thee wutna mind."
"Eh, an' what's thee got thy best cloose on for to go to th' Hall Farm?The Poyser folks see'd thee in 'em yesterday, I warrand. What dost meanby turnin' worki'day into Sunday a-that'n? It's poor keepin' company wi'folks as donna like to see thee i' thy workin' jacket."
"Good-bye, mother, I can't stay," said Adam, putting on his hat andgoing out.
But he had no sooner gone a few paces beyond the door than Lisbethbecame uneasy at the thought that she had vexed him. Of course, thesecret of her objection to the best clothes was her suspicion that theywere put on for Hetty's sake; but deeper than all her peevishness laythe need that her son should love her. She hurried after him, and laidhold of his arm before he had got half-way down to the brook, and said,"Nay, my lad, thee wutna go away angered wi' thy mother, an' her gotnought to do but to sit by hersen an' think on thee?"
"Nay, nay, Mother," said Adam, gravely, and standing still while he puthis arm on her shoulder, "I'm not angered. But I wish, for thy own sake,thee'dst be more contented to let me do what I've made up my mind to do.I'll never be no other than a good son to thee as long as we live. But aman has other feelings besides what he owes to's father and mother, andthee oughtna to want to rule over me body and soul. And thee must makeup thy mind as I'll not give way to thee where I've a right to do what Ilike. So let us have no more words about it."
"Eh," said Lisbeth, not willing to show that she felt the real bearingof Adam's words, "and' who likes to see thee i' thy best cloose betternor thy mother? An' when thee'st got thy face washed as clean asthe smooth white pibble, an' thy hair combed so nice, and thy eyesa-sparklin'--what else is there as thy old mother should like to look athalf so well? An' thee sha't put on thy Sunday cloose when thee lik'stfor me--I'll ne'er plague thee no moor about'n."
"Well, well; good-bye, mother," said Adam, kissing her and hurryingaway. He saw there was no other means of putting an end to the dialogue.Lisbeth stood still on the spot, shading her eyes and looking after himtill he was quite out of sight. She felt to the full all the meaningthat had lain in Adam's words, and, as she lost sight of him and turnedback slowly into the house, she said aloud to herself--for it was herway to speak her thoughts aloud in the long days when her husband andsons were at their work--"Eh, he'll be tellin' me as he's goin' to bringher home one o' these days; an' she'll be missis o'er me, and I munlook on, belike, while she uses the blue-edged platters, and breaks'em, mayhap, though there's ne'er been one broke sin' my old man an' mebought 'em at the fair twenty 'ear come next Whissuntide. Eh!" she wenton, still louder, as she caught up her knitting from the table, "butshe'll ne'er knit the lad's stockin's, nor foot 'em nayther, while Ilive; an' when I'm gone, he'll bethink him as nobody 'ull ne'er fit'sleg an' foot as his old mother did. She'll know nothin' o' narrowin' an'heelin', I warrand, an' she'll make a long toe as he canna get's booton. That's what comes o' marr'in' young wenches. I war gone thirty, an'th' feyther too, afore we war married; an' young enough too. She'll bea poor dratchell by then SHE'S thirty, a-marr'in' a-that'n, afore herteeth's all come."
Adam walked so fast that he was at the yard-gate before seven. MartinPoyser and the grandfather were not yet come in from the meadow: everyone was in the meadow, even to the black-and-tan terrier--no onekept watch in the yard but the bull-dog; and when Adam reached thehouse-door, which stood wide open, he saw there was no one in the brightclean house-place. But he guessed where Mrs. Poyser and some one elsewould be, quite within hearing; so he knocked on the door and said inhis strong voice, "Mrs. Poyser within?"
"Come in, Mr. Bede, come in," Mrs. Poyser called out from the dairy. Shealways gave Adam this title when she received him in her own house."You may come into the dairy if you will, for I canna justly leave thecheese."
Adam walked into the dairy, where Mrs. Poyser and Nancy were crushingthe first evening cheese.
"Why, you might think you war come to a dead-house," said Mrs. Poyser,as he stood in the open doorway; "they're all i' the meadow; butMartin's sure to be in afore long, for they're leaving the hay cockedto-night, ready for carrying first thing to-morrow. I've been forcedt' have Nancy in, upo' 'count as Hetty must gether the red currantsto-night; the fruit allays ripens so contrairy, just when every hand'swanted. An' there's no trustin' the children to gether it, for they putmore into their own mouths nor into the basket; you might as well setthe wasps to gether the fruit."
Adam longed to say he would go into the garden till Mr. Poyser came in,but he was not quite courageous enough, so he said, "I could be lookingat your spinning-wheel, then, and see what wants doing to it. Perhaps itstands in the house, where I can find it?"
"No, I've put it away in the right-hand parlour; but let it be tillI can fetch it and show it you. I'd be glad now if you'd go into thegarden and tell Hetty to send Totty in. The child 'ull run in if she'stold, an' I know Hetty's lettin' her eat too many currants. I'll be muchobliged to you, Mr. Bede, if you'll go and send her in; an' there's theYork and Lankester roses beautiful in the garden now--you'll like to see'em. But you'd like a drink o' whey first, p'r'aps; I know you're fondo' whey, as most folks is when they hanna got to crush it out."
"Thank you, Mrs. Poyser," said Adam; "a drink o' whey's allays a treatto me. I'd rather have it than beer any day."
"Aye, aye," said Mrs. Poyser, reaching a small white basin that stood onthe shelf, and dipping it into the whey-tub, "the smell o' bread'ssweet t' everybody but the baker. The Miss Irwines allays say, 'Oh, Mrs.Poyser, I envy you your dairy; and I envy you your chickens; and whata beautiful thing a farm-house is, to be sure!' An' I say, 'Yes; afarm-house is a fine thing for them as look on, an' don't know theliftin', an' the stannin', an' the worritin' o' th' inside as belongsto't.'"
"Why, Mrs. Poyser, you wouldn't like to live anywhere else but in afarm-house, so well as you manage it," said Adam, taking the basin;"and there can be nothing to look at pleasanter nor a fine milch cow,standing up to'ts knees in pasture, and the new milk frothing in thepail, and the fresh butter ready for market, and the calves, and thepoultry. Here's to your health, and may you allays have strength to lookafter your own dairy, and set a pattern t' all the farmers' wives in thecountry."
Mrs. Poyser was not to be caught in the weakness of smiling at acompliment, but a quiet complacency over-spread her face like a stealingsunbeam, and gave a milder glance than usual to her blue-grey eyes,as she looked at Adam drinking the whey. Ah! I think I taste that wheynow--with a flavour so delicate that one can hardly distinguish it froman odour, and with that soft gliding warmth that fills one's imaginationwith a still, happy dreaminess. And the light music of the dropping wheyis in my ears, mingling with the twittering of a bird outside the wirenetwork window--the window overlooking the garden, and shaded by tallGuelder roses.
"Have a little more, Mr. Bede?" said Mrs. Poyser, as Adam set down thebasin.
"No, thank you; I'll go into the garden now, and send in the littlelass."
"Aye, do; and tell her to come to her mother in the dairy."
Adam walked round by the rick-yard, at present empty of ricks, tothe little wooden gate leading into the garden--once the well-tendedkitchen-garden of a manor-house; now, but for the handsome brick wallwith stone coping that ran along one side of it, a true farmhousegarden, with hardy perennial flowers, unpruned fruit-trees, and kitchenvegetables growing together in careless, half-neglected abundance. Inthat leafy, flowery, bushy time, to look for any one in th
is gardenwas like playing at "hide-and-seek." There were the tall hollyhocksbeginning to flower and dazzle the eye with their pink, white, andyellow; there were the syringas and Guelder roses, all large anddisorderly for want of trimming; there were leafy walls of scarlet beansand late peas; there was a row of bushy filberts in one direction,and in another a huge apple-tree making a barren circle under itslow-spreading boughs. But what signified a barren patch or two? Thegarden was so large. There was always a superfluity of broad beans--ittook nine or ten of Adam's strides to get to the end of the uncut grasswalk that ran by the side of them; and as for other vegetables, therewas so much more room than was necessary for them that in the rotationof crops a large flourishing bed of groundsel was of yearly occurrenceon one spot or other. The very rose-trees at which Adam stopped to pluckone looked as if they grew wild; they were all huddled together in bushymasses, now flaunting with wide-open petals, almost all of them of thestreaked pink-and-white kind, which doubtless dated from the unionof the houses of York and Lancaster. Adam was wise enough to choose acompact Provence rose that peeped out half-smothered by its flauntingscentless neighbours, and held it in his hand--he thought he should bemore at ease holding something in his hand--as he walked on to the farend of the garden, where he remembered there was the largest row ofcurrant-trees, not far off from the great yew-tree arbour.
But he had not gone many steps beyond the roses, when he heard theshaking of a bough, and a boy's voice saying, "Now, then, Totty, holdout your pinny--there's a duck."
The voice came from the boughs of a tall cherry-tree, where Adam hadno difficulty in discerning a small blue-pinafored figure perched in acommodious position where the fruit was thickest. Doubtless Totty wasbelow, behind the screen of peas. Yes--with her bonnet hanging down herback, and her fat face, dreadfully smeared with red juice, turned uptowards the cherry-tree, while she held her little round hole of a mouthand her red-stained pinafore to receive the promised downfall. I amsorry to say, more than half the cherries that fell were hard and yellowinstead of juicy and red; but Totty spent no time in useless regrets,and she was already sucking the third juiciest when Adam said, "Therenow, Totty, you've got your cherries. Run into the house with 'em toMother--she wants you--she's in the dairy. Run in this minute--there's agood little girl."
He lifted her up in his strong arms and kissed her as he spoke,a ceremony which Totty regarded as a tiresome interruption tocherry-eating; and when he set her down she trotted off quite silentlytowards the house, sucking her cherries as she went along.
"Tommy, my lad, take care you're not shot for a little thieving bird,"said Adam, as he walked on towards the currant-trees.
He could see there was a large basket at the end of the row: Hetty wouldnot be far off, and Adam already felt as if she were looking at him. Yetwhen he turned the corner she was standing with her back towards him,and stooping to gather the low-hanging fruit. Strange that she hadnot heard him coming! Perhaps it was because she was making theleaves rustle. She started when she became conscious that some one wasnear--started so violently that she dropped the basin with the currantsin it, and then, when she saw it was Adam, she turned from pale to deepred. That blush made his heart beat with a new happiness. Hetty hadnever blushed at seeing him before.
"I frightened you," he said, with a delicious sense that it didn'tsignify what he said, since Hetty seemed to feel as much as he did; "letME pick the currants up."
That was soon done, for they had only fallen in a tangled mass on thegrass-plot, and Adam, as he rose and gave her the basin again, lookedstraight into her eyes with the subdued tenderness that belongs to thefirst moments of hopeful love.
Hetty did not turn away her eyes; her blush had subsided, and she methis glance with a quiet sadness, which contented Adam because it was sounlike anything he had seen in her before.
"There's not many more currants to get," she said; "I shall soon ha'done now."
"I'll help you," said Adam; and he fetched the large basket, which wasnearly full of currants, and set it close to them.
Not a word more was spoken as they gathered the currants. Adam's heartwas too full to speak, and he thought Hetty knew all that was in it. Shewas not indifferent to his presence after all; she had blushed when shesaw him, and then there was that touch of sadness about her which mustsurely mean love, since it was the opposite of her usual manner, whichhad often impressed him as indifference. And he could glance at hercontinually as she bent over the fruit, while the level evening sunbeamsstole through the thick apple-tree boughs, and rested on her round cheekand neck as if they too were in love with her. It was to Adam the timethat a man can least forget in after-life, the time when he believesthat the first woman he has ever loved betrays by a slight something--aword, a tone, a glance, the quivering of a lip or an eyelid--that she isat least beginning to love him in return. The sign is so slight, itis scarcely perceptible to the ear or eye--he could describe it to noone--it is a mere feather-touch, yet it seems to have changed hiswhole being, to have merged an uneasy yearning into a deliciousunconsciousness of everything but the present moment. So much of ourearly gladness vanishes utterly from our memory: we can never recall thejoy with which we laid our heads on our mother's bosom or rode on ourfather's back in childhood. Doubtless that joy is wrought up into ournature, as the sunlight of long-past mornings is wrought up in the softmellowness of the apricot, but it is gone for ever from our imagination,and we can only BELIEVE in the joy of childhood. But the first gladmoment in our first love is a vision which returns to us to the last,and brings with it a thrill of feeling intense and special as therecurrent sensation of a sweet odour breathed in a far-off hourof happiness. It is a memory that gives a more exquisite touch totenderness, that feeds the madness of jealousy and adds the lastkeenness to the agony of despair.
Hetty bending over the red bunches, the level rays piercing the screenof apple-tree boughs, the length of bushy garden beyond, his own emotionas he looked at her and believed that she was thinking of him, and thatthere was no need for them to talk--Adam remembered it all to the lastmoment of his life.
And Hetty? You know quite well that Adam was mistaken about her. Likemany other men, he thought the signs of love for another were signs oflove towards himself. When Adam was approaching unseen by her, she wasabsorbed as usual in thinking and wondering about Arthur's possiblereturn. The sound of any man's footstep would have affected her just inthe same way--she would have FELT it might be Arthur before she had timeto see, and the blood that forsook her cheek in the agitation of thatmomentary feeling would have rushed back again at the sight of any oneelse just as much as at the sight of Adam. He was not wrong in thinkingthat a change had come over Hetty: the anxieties and fears of a firstpassion, with which she was trembling, had become stronger than vanity,had given her for the first time that sense of helpless dependence onanother's feeling which awakens the clinging deprecating womanhood evenin the shallowest girl that can ever experience it, and creates in her asensibility to kindness which found her quite hard before. For the firsttime Hetty felt that there was something soothing to her in Adam's timidyet manly tenderness. She wanted to be treated lovingly--oh, it wasvery hard to bear this blank of absence, silence, apparent indifference,after those moments of glowing love! She was not afraid that Adamwould tease her with love-making and flattering speeches like her otheradmirers; he had always been so reserved to her; she could enjoy withoutany fear the sense that this strong brave man loved her and was nearher. It never entered into her mind that Adam was pitiable too--thatAdam too must suffer one day.
Hetty, we know, was not the first woman that had behaved more gentlyto the man who loved her in vain because she had herself begun to loveanother. It was a very old story, but Adam knew nothing about it, so hedrank in the sweet delusion.
"That'll do," said Hetty, after a little while. "Aunt wants me to leavesome on the trees. I'll take 'em in now."
"It's very well I came to carry the basket," said Adam "for it 'ud ha'been too heavy for your l
ittle arms."
"No; I could ha' carried it with both hands."
"Oh, I daresay," said Adam, smiling, "and been as long getting into thehouse as a little ant carrying a caterpillar. Have you ever seen thosetiny fellows carrying things four times as big as themselves?"
"No," said Hetty, indifferently, not caring to know the difficulties ofant life.
"Oh, I used to watch 'em often when I was a lad. But now, you see, I cancarry the basket with one arm, as if it was an empty nutshell, and giveyou th' other arm to lean on. Won't you? Such big arms as mine were madefor little arms like yours to lean on."
Hetty smiled faintly and put her arm within his. Adam looked down ather, but her eyes were turned dreamily towards another corner of thegarden.
"Have you ever been to Eagledale?" she said, as they walked slowlyalong.
"Yes," said Adam, pleased to have her ask a question about himself. "Tenyears ago, when I was a lad, I went with father to see about some workthere. It's a wonderful sight--rocks and caves such as you never saw inyour life. I never had a right notion o' rocks till I went there."
"How long did it take to get there?"
"Why, it took us the best part o' two days' walking. But it's nothing ofa day's journey for anybody as has got a first-rate nag. The captain 'udget there in nine or ten hours, I'll be bound, he's such a rider. And Ishouldn't wonder if he's back again to-morrow; he's too active to restlong in that lonely place, all by himself, for there's nothing but abit of a inn i' that part where he's gone to fish. I wish he'd got th'estate in his hands; that 'ud be the right thing for him, for it 'udgive him plenty to do, and he'd do't well too, for all he's so young;he's got better notions o' things than many a man twice his age. Hespoke very handsome to me th' other day about lending me money to set upi' business; and if things came round that way, I'd rather be beholdingto him nor to any man i' the world."
Poor Adam was led on to speak about Arthur because he thought Hettywould be pleased to know that the young squire was so ready to befriendhim; the fact entered into his future prospects, which he would like toseem promising in her eyes. And it was true that Hetty listened with aninterest which brought a new light into her eyes and a half-smile uponher lips.
"How pretty the roses are now!" Adam continued, pausing to look at them."See! I stole the prettiest, but I didna mean to keep it myself. I thinkthese as are all pink, and have got a finer sort o' green leaves, areprettier than the striped uns, don't you?"
He set down the basket and took the rose from his button-hole.
"It smells very sweet," he said; "those striped uns have no smell. Stickit in your frock, and then you can put it in water after. It 'ud be apity to let it fade."
Hetty took the rose, smiling as she did so at the pleasant thought thatArthur could so soon get back if he liked. There was a flash of hope andhappiness in her mind, and with a sudden impulse of gaiety she did whatshe had very often done before--stuck the rose in her hair a littleabove the left ear. The tender admiration in Adam's face was slightlyshadowed by reluctant disapproval. Hetty's love of finery was just thething that would most provoke his mother, and he himself disliked itas much as it was possible for him to dislike anything that belonged toher.
"Ah," he said, "that's like the ladies in the pictures at the Chase;they've mostly got flowers or feathers or gold things i' their hair,but somehow I don't like to see 'em; they allays put me i' mind o' thepainted women outside the shows at Treddles'on Fair. What can a womanhave to set her off better than her own hair, when it curls so, likeyours? If a woman's young and pretty, I think you can see her good looksall the better for her being plain dressed. Why, Dinah Morris looks verynice, for all she wears such a plain cap and gown. It seems to me as awoman's face doesna want flowers; it's almost like a flower itself. I'msure yours is."
"Oh, very well," said Hetty, with a little playful pout, taking the roseout of her hair. "I'll put one o' Dinah's caps on when we go in, andyou'll see if I look better in it. She left one behind, so I can takethe pattern."
"Nay, nay, I don't want you to wear a Methodist cap like Dinah's. Idaresay it's a very ugly cap, and I used to think when I saw her here asit was nonsense for her to dress different t' other people; but I neverrightly noticed her till she came to see mother last week, and then Ithought the cap seemed to fit her face somehow as th 'acorn-cup fits th'acorn, and I shouldn't like to see her so well without it. But you'vegot another sort o' face; I'd have you just as you are now, withoutanything t' interfere with your own looks. It's like when a man'ssinging a good tune--you don't want t' hear bells tinkling andinterfering wi' the sound."
He took her arm and put it within his again, looking down on her fondly.He was afraid she should think he had lectured her, imagining, as weare apt to do, that she had perceived all the thoughts he had onlyhalf-expressed. And the thing he dreaded most was lest any cloud shouldcome over this evening's happiness. For the world he would not havespoken of his love to Hetty yet, till this commencing kindness towardshim should have grown into unmistakable love. In his imagination hesaw long years of his future life stretching before him, blest with theright to call Hetty his own: he could be content with very little atpresent. So he took up the basket of currants once more, and they wenton towards the house.
The scene had quite changed in the half-hour that Adam had been in thegarden. The yard was full of life now: Marty was letting the screaminggeese through the gate, and wickedly provoking the gander by hissing athim; the granary-door was groaning on its hinges as Alick shut it, afterdealing out the corn; the horses were being led out to watering,amidst much barking of all the three dogs and many "whups" from Tim theploughman, as if the heavy animals who held down their meek, intelligentheads, and lifted their shaggy feet so deliberately, were likely to rushwildly in every direction but the right. Everybody was come back fromthe meadow; and when Hetty and Adam entered the house-place, Mr. Poyserwas seated in the three-cornered chair, and the grandfather in thelarge arm-chair opposite, looking on with pleasant expectation while thesupper was being laid on the oak table. Mrs. Poyser had laid the clothherself--a cloth made of homespun linen, with a shining checkeredpattern on it, and of an agreeable whitey-brown hue, such as allsensible housewives like to see--none of your bleached "shop-rag" thatwould wear into holes in no time, but good homespun that would lastfor two generations. The cold veal, the fresh lettuces, and the stuffedchine might well look tempting to hungry men who had dined at half-pasttwelve o'clock. On the large deal table against the wall there werebright pewter plates and spoons and cans, ready for Alick and hiscompanions; for the master and servants ate their supper not far offeach other; which was all the pleasanter, because if a remark aboutto-morrow morning's work occurred to Mr. Poyser, Alick was at hand tohear it.
"Well, Adam, I'm glad to see ye," said Mr. Poyser. "What! ye've beenhelping Hetty to gether the curran's, eh? Come, sit ye down, sit yedown. Why, it's pretty near a three-week since y' had your supper withus; and the missis has got one of her rare stuffed chines. I'm gladye're come."
"Hetty," said Mrs. Poyser, as she looked into the basket of currantsto see if the fruit was fine, "run upstairs and send Molly down. She'sputting Totty to bed, and I want her to draw th' ale, for Nancy's busyyet i' the dairy. You can see to the child. But whativer did you let herrun away from you along wi' Tommy for, and stuff herself wi' fruit asshe can't eat a bit o' good victual?"
This was said in a lower tone than usual, while her husband was talkingto Adam; for Mrs. Poyser was strict in adherence to her own rules ofpropriety, and she considered that a young girl was not to be treatedsharply in the presence of a respectable man who was courting her. Thatwould not be fair-play: every woman was young in her turn, and had herchances of matrimony, which it was a point of honour for other women notto spoil--just as one market-woman who has sold her own eggs must nottry to balk another of a customer.
Hetty made haste to run away upstairs, not easily finding an answer toher aunt's question, and Mrs. Poyser went out to see after Marty a
ndTommy and bring them in to supper.
Soon they were all seated--the two rosy lads, one on each side, by thepale mother, a place being left for Hetty between Adam and her uncle.Alick too was come in, and was seated in his far corner, eating coldbroad beans out of a large dish with his pocket-knife, and findinga flavour in them which he would not have exchanged for the finestpineapple.
"What a time that gell is drawing th' ale, to be sure!" said Mrs.Poyser, when she was dispensing her slices of stuffed chine. "I thinkshe sets the jug under and forgets to turn the tap, as there's nothingyou can't believe o' them wenches: they'll set the empty kettle o' thefire, and then come an hour after to see if the water boils."
"She's drawin' for the men too," said Mr. Poyser. "Thee shouldst ha'told her to bring our jug up first."
"Told her?" said Mrs. Poyser. "Yes, I might spend all the wind i' mybody, an' take the bellows too, if I was to tell them gells everythingas their own sharpness wonna tell 'em. Mr. Bede, will you take somevinegar with your lettuce? Aye you're i' the right not. It spoils theflavour o' the chine, to my thinking. It's poor eating where the flavouro' the meat lies i' the cruets. There's folks as make bad butter andtrusten to the salt t' hide it."
Mrs. Poyser's attention was here diverted by the appearance of Molly,carrying a large jug, two small mugs, and four drinking-cans, all fullof ale or small beer--an interesting example of the prehensile powerpossessed by the human hand. Poor Molly's mouth was rather wider openthan usual, as she walked along with her eyes fixed on the doublecluster of vessels in her hands, quite innocent of the expression in hermistress's eye.
"Molly, I niver knew your equils--to think o' your poor mother as isa widow, an' I took you wi' as good as no character, an' the times an'times I've told you...."
Molly had not seen the lightning, and the thunder shook her nerves themore for the want of that preparation. With a vague alarmed sense thatshe must somehow comport herself differently, she hastened her stepa little towards the far deal table, where she might set down hercans--caught her foot in her apron, which had become untied, and fellwith a crash and a splash into a pool of beer; whereupon a titteringexplosion from Marty and Tommy, and a serious "Ello!" from Mr. Poyser,who saw his draught of ale unpleasantly deferred.
"There you go!" resumed Mrs. Poyser, in a cutting tone, as she rose andwent towards the cupboard while Molly began dolefully to pick up thefragments of pottery. "It's what I told you 'ud come, over and overagain; and there's your month's wage gone, and more, to pay for that jugas I've had i' the house this ten year, and nothing ever happened to'tbefore; but the crockery you've broke sin' here in th' house you've been'ud make a parson swear--God forgi' me for saying so--an' if it had beenboiling wort out o' the copper, it 'ud ha' been the same, and you'd ha'been scalded and very like lamed for life, as there's no knowing butwhat you will be some day if you go on for anybody 'ud think you'd gotthe St. Vitus's Dance, to see the things you've throwed down. It'sa pity but what the bits was stacked up for you to see, though it'sneither seeing nor hearing as 'ull make much odds to you--anybody 'udthink you war case-hardened."
Poor Molly's tears were dropping fast by this time, and in herdesperation at the lively movement of the beer-stream towards Alick'slegs, she was converting her apron into a mop, while Mrs. Poyser,opening the cupboard, turned a blighting eye upon her.
"Ah," she went on, "you'll do no good wi' crying an' making more wet towipe up. It's all your own wilfulness, as I tell you, for there's nobodyno call to break anything if they'll only go the right way to work. Butwooden folks had need ha' wooden things t' handle. And here must I takethe brown-and-white jug, as it's niver been used three times this year,and go down i' the cellar myself, and belike catch my death, and be laidup wi' inflammation...."
Mrs. Poyser had turned round from the cupboard with the brown-and-whitejug in her hand, when she caught sight of something at the other endof the kitchen; perhaps it was because she was already trembling andnervous that the apparition had so strong an effect on her; perhapsjug-breaking, like other crimes, has a contagious influence. Howeverit was, she stared and started like a ghost-seer, and the preciousbrown-and-white jug fell to the ground, parting for ever with its spoutand handle.
"Did ever anybody see the like?" she said, with a suddenly loweredtone, after a moment's bewildered glance round the room. "The jugs arebewitched, I think. It's them nasty glazed handles--they slip o'er thefinger like a snail."
"Why, thee'st let thy own whip fly i' thy face," said her husband, whohad now joined in the laugh of the young ones.
"It's all very fine to look on and grin," rejoined Mrs. Poyser; "butthere's times when the crockery seems alive an' flies out o' your handlike a bird. It's like the glass, sometimes, 'ull crack as it stands.What is to be broke WILL be broke, for I never dropped a thing i' mylife for want o' holding it, else I should never ha' kept the crockeryall these 'ears as I bought at my own wedding. And Hetty, are you mad?Whativer do you mean by coming down i' that way, and making one think asthere's a ghost a-walking i' th' house?"
A new outbreak of laughter, while Mrs. Poyser was speaking, was caused,less by her sudden conversion to a fatalistic view of jug-breaking thanby that strange appearance of Hetty, which had startled her aunt. Thelittle minx had found a black gown of her aunt's, and pinned it closeround her neck to look like Dinah's, had made her hair as flat as shecould, and had tied on one of Dinah's high-crowned borderless net caps.The thought of Dinah's pale grave face and mild grey eyes, which thesight of the gown and cap brought with it, made it a laughable surpriseenough to see them replaced by Hetty's round rosy cheeks and coquettishdark eyes. The boys got off their chairs and jumped round her, clappingtheir hands, and even Alick gave a low ventral laugh as he looked upfrom his beans. Under cover of the noise, Mrs. Poyser went into the backkitchen to send Nancy into the cellar with the great pewter measure,which had some chance of being free from bewitchment.
"Why, Hetty, lass, are ye turned Methodist?" said Mr. Poyser, withthat comfortable slow enjoyment of a laugh which one only sees in stoutpeople. "You must pull your face a deal longer before you'll do for one;mustna she, Adam? How come you put them things on, eh?"
"Adam said he liked Dinah's cap and gown better nor my clothes," saidHetty, sitting down demurely. "He says folks looks better in uglyclothes."
"Nay, nay," said Adam, looking at her admiringly; "I only said theyseemed to suit Dinah. But if I'd said you'd look pretty in 'em, I shouldha' said nothing but what was true."
"Why, thee thought'st Hetty war a ghost, didstna?" said Mr. Poyser tohis wife, who now came back and took her seat again. "Thee look'dst asscared as scared."
"It little sinnifies how I looked," said Mrs. Poyser; "looks 'ull mendno jugs, nor laughing neither, as I see. Mr. Bede, I'm sorry you've towait so long for your ale, but it's coming in a minute. Make yourself athome wi' th' cold potatoes: I know you like 'em. Tommy, I'll send you tobed this minute, if you don't give over laughing. What is there to laughat, I should like to know? I'd sooner cry nor laugh at the sight o' thatpoor thing's cap; and there's them as 'ud be better if they could maketheirselves like her i' more ways nor putting on her cap. It littlebecomes anybody i' this house to make fun o' my sister's child, an' herjust gone away from us, as it went to my heart to part wi' her. An' Iknow one thing, as if trouble was to come, an' I was to be laid up i'my bed, an' the children was to die--as there's no knowing but what theywill--an' the murrain was to come among the cattle again, an' everythingwent to rack an' ruin, I say we might be glad to get sight o' Dinah'scap again, wi' her own face under it, border or no border. For she's oneo' them things as looks the brightest on a rainy day, and loves you thebest when you're most i' need on't."
Mrs. Poyser, you perceive, was aware that nothing would be so likelyto expel the comic as the terrible. Tommy, who was of a susceptibledisposition, and very fond of his mother, and who had, besides, eaten somany cherries as to have his feelings less under command than usual, wasso affected by the dreadful picture she had made of
the possible futurethat he began to cry; and the good-natured father, indulgent to allweaknesses but those of negligent farmers, said to Hetty, "You'd bettertake the things off again, my lass; it hurts your aunt to see 'em."
Hetty went upstairs again, and the arrival of the ale made an agreeablediversion for Adam had to give his opinion of the new tap, which couldnot be otherwise than complimentary to Mrs. Poyser; and then followeda discussion on the secrets of good brewing, the folly of stinginess in"hopping," and the doubtful economy of a farmer's making his own malt.Mrs. Poyser had so many opportunities of expressing herself withweight on these subjects that by the time supper was ended, the ale-jugrefilled, and Mr. Poyser's pipe alight she was once more in high goodhumour, and ready, at Adam's request, to fetch the broken spinning-wheelfor his inspection.
"Ah," said Adam, looking at it carefully, "here's a nice bit o' turningwanted. It's a pretty wheel. I must have it up at the turning-shop inthe village and do it there, for I've no convenence for turning at home.If you'll send it to Mr. Burge's shop i' the morning, I'll get itdone for you by Wednesday. I've been turning it over in my mind," hecontinued, looking at Mr. Poyser, "to make a bit more convenence at homefor nice jobs o' cabinet-making. I've always done a deal at suchlittle things in odd hours, and they're profitable, for there's moreworkmanship nor material in 'em. I look for me and Seth to get a littlebusiness for ourselves i' that way, for I know a man at Rosseter as 'ulltake as many things as we should make, besides what we could get ordersfor round about."
Mr. Poyser entered with interest into a project which seemed a steptowards Adam's becoming a "master-man," and Mrs. Poyser gave herapprobation to the scheme of the movable kitchen cupboard, which was tobe capable of containing grocery, pickles, crockery, and house-linen inthe utmost compactness without confusion. Hetty, once more in her owndress, with her neckerchief pushed a little backwards on this warmevening, was seated picking currants near the window, where Adam couldsee her quite well. And so the time passed pleasantly till Adam got upto go. He was pressed to come again soon, but not to stay longer, for atthis busy time sensible people would not run the risk of being sleepy atfive o'clock in the morning.
"I shall take a step farther," said Adam, "and go on to see MesterMassey, for he wasn't at church yesterday, and I've not seen him for aweek past. I've never hardly known him to miss church before."
"Aye," said Mr. Poyser, "we've heared nothing about him, for it's theboys' hollodays now, so we can give you no account."
"But you'll niver think o' going there at this hour o' the night?" saidMrs. Poyser, folding up her knitting.
"Oh, Mester Massey sits up late," said Adam. "An' the night-school's notover yet. Some o' the men don't come till late--they've got so far towalk. And Bartle himself's never in bed till it's gone eleven."
"I wouldna have him to live wi' me, then," said Mrs. Poyser, "a-droppingcandle-grease about, as you're like to tumble down o' the floor thefirst thing i' the morning."
"Aye, eleven o'clock's late--it's late," said old Martin. "I ne'er sotup so i' MY life, not to say as it warna a marr'in', or a christenin',or a wake, or th' harvest supper. Eleven o'clock's late."
"Why, I sit up till after twelve often," said Adam, laughing, "butit isn't t' eat and drink extry, it's to work extry. Good-night, Mrs.Poyser; good-night, Hetty."
Hetty could only smile and not shake hands, for hers were dyed and dampwith currant-juice; but all the rest gave a hearty shake to the largepalm that was held out to them, and said, "Come again, come again!"
"Aye, think o' that now," said Mr. Poyser, when Adam was out of on thecauseway. "Sitting up till past twelve to do extry work! Ye'll not findmany men o' six-an' twenty as 'ull do to put i' the shafts wi' him.If you can catch Adam for a husband, Hetty, you'll ride i' your ownspring-cart some day, I'll be your warrant."
Hetty was moving across the kitchen with the currants, so her uncle didnot see the little toss of the head with which she answered him. To ridein a spring-cart seemed a very miserable lot indeed to her now.