by T. F. Powys
But James Dawe was sly, and he watched Mr. Mere. Even though Daisy had lowered prices, there were ways of raising them. The human mind has many an odd fancy. A man’s enjoyments are manifold. Mr. Mere’s favourite entertainment was cruelty. For such a mystery, Daisy had not been a good subject. To use a fine art upon her had been only a waste of time. When Daisy was badly treated, or hurt unpleasantly, she would only cry, and she would go on crying until Mr. Mere let her alone. James Dawe knew that Susie had more spirit.
A good thing is often thrown away upon an object unworthy of it: pearls are cast to swine. Daisy Huddy was only a harmless village creature, like a sow; indeed, she was more docile than such a beast often is. If one ill-uses a sow, it squeals; Daisy did the same.
Susie was different. She might even show fight, and then Mr. Mere could enjoy himself. James Dawe made up his mind what to ask for his girl. He believed that a lucky, unlooked-for chance had come. He thought he knew where there was a hidden treasure.
A new-comer to Dodder never escaped his eyes. He had seen John Death.
John searched for something. Was that pretence? At first John had spent a long time in Joe Bridle’s field, then he searched everywhere about the village, and in the lanes. Dawe thought he did so only to draw people away from where he had really hidden his treasure. The truth was that John Death had hidden his gold in Mr. Bridle’s field.
When John had wished to find something of value with which to pay his rent, he had pretended to look for gold in the churchyard. That was only his trick. The treasure was hid in Bridle’s field.
James Dawe never missed a piece of news. John Death paid his landlord a rich weekly rent. What exactly he received John Card never said, though it was known at Tadnol that he gave a five-pound note for a pot of beer.
Greed and Hatred are two pretty sisters; they are often invited to the same party. When a man takes one by the hand, he must take the other too.
Dawe wished to have Bridle’s field.
Joe wished to get money, and why? James Dawe knew. He would sell his daughter to Mere, and the price would be Joe Bridle’s field.
XV
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Joe Bridle Sees a Shadow
Joe Bridle was a man who loved his friend. But his acceptance of Mr. Solly as a Sunday companion had led him into deeper waters than mere friendship. Joe loved a girl. Had Mr. Solly talked more about women, Joe might never have loved one, but though Mr. Solly used to speak of curly kale, he never mentioned girls.
Joe had not expected to love. He did not know what had moved him to love Susie. He had always thought himself safe. He might have lived on without worry, going always the same, even pace. He had always lived easily, and had never been raised high to fall low. In all innocence, he had taken one day with another, rain or shine, as they chose to show themselves.
His world had been real. He sowed for himself and reaped. The soil that he trod upon never vanished. His plough handles were wood, and all stones were stones.
Solly had much to say when he knew of his friend’s love for Susie, and Bridle listened to him respectfully. He agreed with him when he could.
Solly began by observing that perhaps, on the whole, taking everything into account, it is better to go on living than to die. Though there are, he explained, many reasons why a man should destroy himself, yet, for those very reasons, it is perhaps better to live for a little.
“An enemy,” said Mr. Solly, “who is sure to win in the end, is really no enemy, and may as well be regarded as a friend.”
It is proper to be polite, and when Death lays you along, you should say “thank you.” One might even address Death as “squire.” It is best to treat every one well—and Death, too. No one knows his real nature; he may be a good fellow, one who knows his friends.…
“Though Death,” said Mr. Solly, one Sunday afternoon, “sometimes likes a good man, he has always been the sworn enemy to Love. Between these two a battle always goes on. They fight in the field and in the parlour. Though Death is not Love’s spouse, yet they disagree as if they were married. Death does not like the way that Love combs his hair, and Love says that Death ought not to wipe his feet upon the best front-room rug. When two people quarrel, it’s best not to try to part them. Let all kings and cardinals go by in the road; never call after them. When you call attention to yourself, by taking one king’s part against another, you are the one who will suffer. Learn to eat nuts.”
Solly showed by his example that he was a careful man. On his way over Madder Hill, he had met two bulls fighting, one red and one black. He watched them for a moment, and then turned aside out of the path. He was aware that one bull would soon defeat the other, and then the winner, in the excitement of victory, would turn and gore him. Solly came down the hill by another way.…
Mr. Solly was visiting his friend. They were standing by Bridle’s pond. Joe Bridle felt gloomy. What Solly had said to him, he knew to be true. He did not tell his friend the terrible secret that he hid in his bosom.
The paper was there, and as long as he had it safe, he could keep himself and Susie from Death. That was all that he could do. There were some things, he knew, that were worse than death, that could happen to a girl. Perhaps Susie would have none of his protection, perhaps she might prefer to be harmed, then what could he do to save her?
Since Joe had been in love, he had observed how wilful and how changeable a girl’s ways can be. Susie had not been the same since the stranger, Mr. John Death, had come into the village. She had grown to be quite different. She would torment Joe one hour and love him the next. All in a moment, Susie had become a creature of fancies, a wayward wanton—though not wickedly so. Often she turned angrily upon her lover, and sent him away.
Joe Bridle and Solly left the pondside, and stood upon a little mound that overlooked the village. From this mound nearly every cottage could be seen, and Susie’s too.
They had not been there long before Susie ran out to her gate. She was in a gay mood. She wore a yellow frock, and began to play with Winnie Huddy, who was in the lane.
Winnie was nine years old—a mere child, but a merry one. Her eyes always sparkled with fun. Her hair was light-coloured—always a mop. She could toss it anywhere. Her hair looked like a bunch of yellow guineas. Winnie used to tease every one; she never cared what she did. She even laughed at Mr. Mere, and she often made Daisy cry. She would wander off alone, and no one knew where she went to. When any one met and chid her for being so far from home, she would reply saucily that she was looking for a husband.
Solly and Joe Bridle watched the two girls; they could easily hear what they said. Winnie began to tease Susie.
“Oh!” she said, “you will never guess what I know about you, Susie Dawe.”
Susie chased Winnie, meaning to chastise her for her naughty words. She caught her near to Joseph’s field. Winnie, who had noticed the two men upon the mound, gave an indelicate pull to Susie’s frock. Susie pushed down her frock, and shook Winnie by her shoulders.
But Winnie’s naughtiness was hard to lay. She began to push Susie about, and to tickle her with her small, quick hands. And, all at once, she began to kiss her as if she never would stop.
Joe Bridle watched them gladly; he was pleased to see the girls so happy, but, looking a little further down the lane, he saw something more, something that he had taken to be a shadow. He thought that he had seen the shadow of a tree-stump. The kind of shadow that appears sometimes at night when the moonlight is in the room. At first it is a draped figure, with hand outstretched; then slowly it vanishes when true consciousness returns.
What Bridle saw in the lane had been but a shadow at first, then it became a man. Though the girls were quite near to him, they had not seen John, but when they did notice him, Winnie—as became her sex—ran to him at once and teased him, as she had teased Susie. Susie, left to herself, be
gan to toy with a little yellow cat, that matched her frock.
While she stroked the cat, something that John Death tried to do to her frightened Winnie who, though she had but pretended to before, this time really ran away.
Then John Death went to Susie. They began to talk together and, being near to one another, it appeared to Joe that Death touched her.
The paper that Joe carried in his bosom burned him. Should he give it up? Should he go down, take Susie in his arms, pulling her from Death and holding her close, give the parchment into Death’s hands? He could then kill them instantly and together.
A sudden flash of lightning could do that simple work. In a moment God can call up a storm to work His purpose. But Death left Susie, and walked quickly up the lane towards Bridle’s own cottage.
XVI
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A Laugh from a Camel
Often the two friends stood silent for a long while; they were silent now. The summer evening had grown very still. Perhaps Mr. Bridle’s pond helped to make things cold. Sometimes a heavy dampness rose up from the pond, and circled slowly about Joseph’s field. The fog crept now around the little mound where the friends stood. It rose steadily, and they breathed its clammy moisture. It was a shroud come to envelop them.
The mist rose higher; only the top of the great elm escaped its enveloping folds. Bridle wished himself that tall tree. The tree had never known a woman’s love. It had neither known Love nor Death.
Mr. Solly was the first to speak. Since he had seen Winnie Huddy teasing Susie, he had not said one word. Now he sighed heavily.
“Spring cabbages should never be planted,” he said mournfully. “They are too pretty to be good. Their outer leaves are deceitful; who can know what there is underneath? A round, well-grown field beet is a harmless thing,” continued Solly, “there is nothing hidden about it. Even the red variety is no fraud, and the yellow ones are not painted. A white turnip, too, is very proper for the pot; it can be boiled until it is tender, and then placed in the marriage bed, in a dish with mutton and a well-steamed carrot.
“A turnip only grows; it has implanted in its nature a proper decorum. There is pretty Susie; she would make any man a good wife. But I ought to have shut my eyes and never have looked at Winnie Huddy.
“She may like nuts. One never knows what a small cabbage does like. Often it has no heart. It develops lying leaves. You may think that they enclose a plump heart, you expect a fine dinner on Whitsunday, but you are sure to be sadly disappointed. You squeeze the leaves, and there is nothing inside. Your dinner vanishes.
“But that is not all that happens—the cabbage laughs at you. No one likes to be mocked by a vegetable.”
Mr. Solly became very thoughtful. He had never expected to find danger in a Dodder lane. Had he planted his nut-trees thick enough? What had made him look at Winnie? He knew Love was very cunning; one has to be very wide-awake to keep a god out. If he cannot get in at the front, he will try the back door.
Mr. Solly felt in his pocket for the key of his garden gate. He was always afraid that an unlucky day might come when he would forget to lock his gate, and that Love—in the habit of a young maid—would find a way into his house. He trusted to his wall of nut-bushes, and to the garden gate, to keep out the foe. He never locked his cottage door. He thought it of no use to do that, for, when Love knocks so near, all doors must open. But with Love outside his grove, Solly felt safe.
Mr. Solly found the key in his pocket.
Joe Bridle said nothing; ugly doubts had entered his head. Did Susie really care for him? Had he a rival in John Death? Might there be others too, he wished to know. That same day, he had seen James Dawe speak to Mr. Mere—and those two did not usually address one another. Was there an evil plot being made to take Susie away from him? He wished to know.
In the lane, on their way to Joseph’s house, he asked a favour of Mr. Solly. He begged him to go to the Inn that evening. He asked this favour of his friend because he wished to know what was being said about Susie. He had heard an unpleasant whisper that James Dawe intended to sell his girl to Farmer Mere, as his wife. Joe wished to know whether there was any truth in this report. If he visited the Inn—an unusual thing for him to do—he knew that no one would mention the matter. All tongues would be tied, for all Dodder knew that Joe Bridle looked upon Susie as his own sweetheart.
Solly promised to go. He was aware that a Sunday evening was a fine time for gossip, and that at the Inn everything would be talked of.
Besides serving his friend, Solly had another reason for wishing to go to the Inn. There was something in the look of Winnie Huddy that made him, for the first time in his life, doubt the strength of his fortification. He knew Love to be a savage—the very worst of them—and Winnie had smiled at him. He feared her, but he might forget her at the Inn. Mr. Solly liked gin.
The evening mist, rising up from Bridle’s pond, had thickened. All Dodder lay hid in a bath of white vapour, only Madder Hill raised itself above the cloud. They reached Joseph’s cottage without being seen by any one, and were surprised, while still in the garden, to hear merry sounds in the parlour. Besides Miss Sarah Bridle, some one else was there.
Joseph was astonished. He had never heard his aunt laugh before; she had only worked. Thinking of herself as only a beast of burden, she had laboured like one; she did all with patience, she served a good master. The parlour was an oasis, the kitchen a small grove of palms, the pantry a caravanserai. The passage between these places was a sandy desert, the bedrooms a plateau upon a mountain.
Sarah would labour with her head bowed. Only when she took the clothes from the garden-line would she raise herself a little. Then it would seem to her that some one called her by name, and she, being frightened, would hurry indoors again.
Joe Bridle waited in the garden, near to the parlour window, and wondered what could have happened to his aunt. Had she become worse, more crazed, or had she—by some strange fancy—recovered her senses? Joe Bridle and Mr. Solly waited and listened.
Sarah’s laughter had ceased, but instead of laughing, she now made low sounds of delight—from the sofa. Evidently some kind of amusement was being enacted there that pleased Sarah.
Hearing these sounds, Mr. Solly began to smile. From suchlike folly his nut-bushes prevented him; being wise himself, he was pleased to hear that others could still be fools. Mr. Solly went softly to the window and peeped in. What he saw going on made him nod his head violently, and wink back at Joe. Mr. Solly had his own ideas about medicine. He believed that a learned doctor was performing a necessary cure upon Miss Bridle. He advised Joe to wait a few moments before he interrupted the cure.
Joe, who had not gone to the window, was rather alarmed; he did not know who was indoors with his aunt and felt anxious. But Mr. Solly assured him that nothing unnatural was happening in the parlour.
After waiting a few moments, Joe Bridle and Mr. Solly entered the house, Mr. Solly observing as he went in, that the best way to preserve a good swede was to put it in a grave.
Inside the parlour they found Sarah, resting contentedly upon the sofa, and smoothing her skirts. John Death was sitting next to her, with his arm round her, and was asking her to take him to Bagdad. He informed her, proudly, that he believed that General Gordon was not the only one who could ride a camel.
Death was in the highest spirits, and Sarah looked at him lovingly. Mr. Solly shook hands with them both in high glee. He called Death “doctor.”
“My dear doctor,” he said, “your treatment has been excellent; no king’s physician could have acted with more propriety. You doctors are knowing fellows. But perhaps you have been in practice for some while.”
“Only with Daisy Huddy,” replied John, a little disappointedly.
Sarah blushed and looked affectionately at her nephew, who was delighted to see her looking so different.
“I declare,” she said joyfully, “that Mr. Solly was not so very much mistaken in thinking that I am a woman, and no nut-tree. Mr. Death could never have behaved so lovingly to me, had I been a mere bush. Neither would he have liked me so well, had I been a camel.”
“I must grow my trees higher,” cried Solly, in alarm.
Miss Bridle smoothed her frock, blushed coyly, and invited Death to tea.
But John Death excused himself and withdrew.
XVII
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One as High as the Almighty
When Mr. Solly entered the Bullman Arms and sat down quietly in a corner, no one seemed to notice him.
Mr. Dady, who managed Farmer Mere’s large dairy of cows, was there, Dillar the labourer, and Thomas Huddy. As Solly entered, Mr. Huddy was explaining to the company why it was that his daughter, Daisy, behaved so naughtily.
“’Twas she’s mother who first taught her,’” observed Mr. Huddy.—Dillar looked surprised at this news.—“She were religious, I do know,” said Huddy, “and died good, but she always taught Daisy to do what she was told.”
“And how could that have done the harm?” inquired Mr. Titball.
“’Tain’t always good that a maid be told to do,” answered Huddy meaningly.
Though the company had not noticed Mr. Solly, Mr. Titball now observed him. No new customer ever escaped the landlord’s eye, but it was not only the hope of gain that made Mr. Titball like to see a new face. He had another, and a more lofty reason than that—he wished to show him a book.