CHAPTER VII
_Which concerns itself among other matters, with "the Old Adam"_
Bellew awakened early next morning, which was an unusual thing forBellew to do under ordinary circumstances since he was one who held withthat poet who has written, somewhere or other, something to thefollowing effect:
"God bless the man who first discovered sleep. But damn the man withcurses loud, and deep, who first invented--early rising."
Nevertheless, Bellew, (as has been said), awoke early next morning, tofind the sun pouring in at his window, and making a glory all about him.But it was not this that had roused him, he thought as he lay blinkingdrowsily,--nor the black-bird piping so wonderfully in the apple-treeoutside,--a very inquisitive apple-tree that had writhed, and contorteditself most un-naturally in its efforts to peep in at thewindow;--therefore Bellew fell to wondering, sleepily enough, what itcould have been. Presently it came again, the sound,--a very peculiarsound the like of which Bellew had never heard before, which, as helistened, gradually evolved itself into a kind of monotonous chant,intoned by a voice deep, and harsh, yet withal, not unmusical. Now thewords of the chant were these:
"When I am dead, diddle, diddle, as well may hap, Bury me deep, diddle, diddle, under the tap, Under the tap, diddle, diddle, I'll tell you why, That I may drink, diddle, diddle, when I am dry."
Hereupon, Bellew rose, and crossing to the open casement leaned out intothe golden freshness of the morning. Looking about he presently espiedthe singer,--one who carried two pails suspended from a yoke upon hisshoulders,--a very square man; that is to say, square of shoulder,square of head, and square of jaw, being, in fact, none other than theWaggoner with whom he had fought, and ridden on the previous afternoon;seeing which, Bellew hailed him in cheery greeting. The man glanced up,and, breaking off his song in the middle of a note, stood gazing atBellew, open-mouthed.
"What,--be that you, sir?" he enquired, at last, and then,--"Lord! an'what be you a doing of up theer?"
"Why, sleeping, of course," answered Bellew.
"W'ot--again!" exclaimed the Waggoner with a grin, "you do be for evera-sleepin' I do believe!"
"Not when you're anywhere about!" laughed Bellew.
"Was it me as woke ye then?"
"Your singing did."
"My singin'! Lord love ye, an' well it might! My singin' would wake thedead,--leastways so Prudence says, an' she's generally right,--leastways, if she ain't, she's a uncommon good cook, an' that goes along way wi' most of us. But I don't sing very often unless I be alone,or easy in my mind an' 'appy-'earted,--which I ain't."
"No?" enquired Bellew.
"Not by no manner o' means, I ain't,--contrariwise my 'eart be sore an'full o' gloom,--which ain't to be wondered at, nohow."
"And yet you were singing."
"Aye, for sure I were singin', but then who could help singin' on such amornin' as this be, an' wi' the black-bird a-piping away in the treehere. Oh! I were singin', I don't go for to deny it, but it's sore'earted I be, an' filled wi' gloom sir, notwithstanding."
"You mean," said Bellew, becoming suddenly thoughtful, "that you arehaunted by the Carking Spectre of the--er Might Have Been?"
"Lord bless you, no sir! This ain't no spectre, nor yet noskellington,--which, arter all, is only old bones an' such,--no thisain't nothin' of that sort, an' no more it ain't a thing as I can stand'ere a maggin' about wi' a long day's work afore me, axing your pardon,sir." Saying which, the Waggoner nodded suddenly and strode off with hispails clanking cheerily.
Very soon Bellew was shaved, and dressed, and going down stairs he lethimself out into the early sunshine, and strolled away towards thefarm-yard where cocks crew, cows lowed, ducks quacked, turkeys and geesegobbled and hissed, and where the Waggoner moved to and fro among themall, like a presiding genius.
"I think," said Bellew, as he came up, "I think you must be the Adam Ihave heard of."
"That be my name, sir."
"Then Adam, fill your pipe," and Bellew extended his pouch, whereuponAdam thanked him, and fishing a small, short, black clay from hispocket, proceeded to fill, and light it.
"Yes sir," he nodded, inhaling the tobacco with much apparent enjoyment,"Adam I were baptized some thirty odd year ago, but I generally callsmyself 'Old Adam,'"
"But you're not old, Adam."
"Why, it ain't on account o' my age, ye see sir,--it be all because o'the Old Adam as is inside o' me. Lord love ye! I am nat'rally that fullo' the 'Old Adam' as never was. An' 'e's alway a up an' taking of me atthe shortest notice. Only t'other day he up an' took me because JobJagway ('e works for Squire Cassilis, you'll understand sir) because JobJagway sez as our wheat, (meanin' Miss Anthea's wheat, you'll understandsir) was mouldy; well, the 'Old Adam' up an' took me to that extent,sir, that they 'ad to carry Job Jagway home, arterwards. Which is all onaccount o' the Old Adam,--me being the mildest chap you ever see,nat'rally,--mild? ah! sucking doves wouldn't be nothin' to me formildness."
"And what did the Squire have to say about your spoiling his man?"
"Wrote to Miss Anthea, o' course, sir,--he's always writing to MissAnthea about summat or other,--sez as how he was minded to lock me upfor 'sault an' battery, but, out o' respect for her, would let me off,wi' a warning."
"Miss Anthea was worried, I suppose?"
"Worried, sir! 'Oh Adam!' sez she, 'Oh Adam! 'aven't I got enough tobear but you must make it 'arder for me?' An' I see the tears in hereyes while she said it. Me make it 'arder for her! Jest as if I wouldn'tmake things lighter for 'er if I could,--which I can't; jest as if, tohelp Miss Anthea, I wouldn't let 'em take me an'--well, never mindwhat,--only I would!"
"Yes, I'm sure you would," nodded Bellew. "And is the Squire over hereat Dapplemere very often, Adam?"
"Why, not so much lately, sir. Last time were yesterday, jest aforeMaster Georgy come 'ome. I were at work here in the yard, an' Squirecomes riding up to me, smiling quite friendly like,--which were prettygood of him, considering as Job Jagway ain't back to work yet. 'OhAdam!' sez he, 'so you're 'aving a sale here at Dapplemere, are you?'Meaning sir, a sale of some bits, an' sticks o' furnitur' as MissAnthea's forced to part wi' to meet some bill or other. 'Summat o' thatsir,' says I, making as light of it as I could. 'Why then, Adam,' sezhe, 'if Job Jagway should 'appen to come over to buy a few o' thethings,--no more fighting!' sez he. An' so he nods, an' smiles, an' offhe rides. An' sir, as I watched him go, the 'Old Adam' riz up in me tothat extent as it's a mercy I didn't have no pitchfork 'andy."
Bellew, sitting on the shaft of a cart with his back against a rick,listened to this narration with an air of dreamy abstraction, but Adam'squick eyes noticed that despite the unruffled serenity of his brow, hischin seemed rather more prominent than usual.
"So that was why you were feeling gloomy, was it, Adam?"
"Ah! an' enough to make any man feel gloomy, I should think. MissAnthea's brave enough, but I reckon 'twill come nigh breakin' 'er 'eartto see the old stuff sold, the furnitur' an' that,--so she's goin' todrive over to Cranbrook to be out o' the way while it's a-doin'."
"And when does the sale take place?"
"The Saturday arter next, sir, as ever was," Adam answered."But--hush,--mum's the word, sir!" he broke off, and winking violentlywith a side-ways motion of the head, he took up his pitch-fork.Wherefore, glancing round, Bellew saw Anthea coming towards them, freshand sweet as the morning. Her hands were full of flowers, and shecarried her sun-bonnet upon her arm. Here and there a rebellious curlhad escaped from its fastenings as though desirous (and very naturally)of kissing the soft oval of her cheek, or the white curve of her neck.And among them Bellew noticed one in particular,--a roguish curl thatglowed in the sun with a coppery light, and peeped at him wantonlyabove her ear.
"Good morning!" said he, rising and, to all appearance, addressing thecurl in question, "you are early abroad this morning!"
"Early, Mr. Bellew!--why I've been up hours. I'm generally out at fouro'clock on market days; we work hard, and long,
at Dapplemere," sheanswered, giving him her hand with her grave, sweet smile.
"Aye, for sure!" nodded Adam, "but farmin' ain't what it was in my youngdays!"
"But I think we shall do well with the hops, Adam."
"'Ops, Miss Anthea,--lord love you!--there ain't no 'ops nowhere so goodas ourn be!"
"They ought to be ready for picking, soon,--do you think sixty peoplewill be enough?"
"Ah!--they'll be more'n enough, Miss Anthea."
"And, Adam--the five-acre field should be mowed today."
"I'll set the men at it right arter breakfast,--I'll 'ave it done, trustme, Miss Anthea."
"I do, Adam,--you know that!" And with a smiling nod she turned away.Now, as Bellew walked on beside her, he felt a strange constraint uponhim such as he had never experienced towards any woman before, and thewhich he was at great pains with himself to account for. Indeed so raptwas he, that he started suddenly to find that she was asking hima question:
"Do you--like Dapplemere, Mr. Bellew?"
"Like it!" he repeated, "like it? Yes indeed!"
"I'm so glad!" she answered, her eyes glowing with pleasure. "It was amuch larger property, once,--Look!" and she pointed away acrosscorn-fields and rolling meadow to the distant woods. "In mygrandfather's time it was all his--as far as you can see, and farther,but it has dwindled since then, and to-day, my Dapplemere is verysmall indeed."
"You must be very fond of such a beautiful place."
"Oh, I love it!" she cried passionately, "if ever I had to--give itup,--I think I should--die!" She stopped suddenly, and as thoughsomewhat abashed by this sudden outburst, adding in a lighter tone: "IfI seem rather tragic it is because this is the only home I haveever known."
"Well," said Bellew, appearing rather more dreamy than usual, just then,"I have journeyed here and there in this world of ours, I have wanderedup and down, and to and fro in it,--like a certain celebrated personagewho shall be nameless,--yet I never saw, or dreamed, of any such placeas this Dapplemere of yours. It is like Arcadia itself, and only I amout of place. I seem, somehow, to be too common-place, and altogethermatter-of-fact."
"I'm sure I'm matter-of-fact enough," she said, with her low, sweetlaugh that, Bellew thought, was all too rare.
"You?" said he, and shook his head.
"Well?" she enquired, glancing at him through her wind-tossed curls.
"You are like some fair, and stately lady out of the old romances," hesaid gravely.
"In a print gown, and with a sun-bonnet!"
"Even so!" he nodded. Here, for no apparent reason, happening to meethis glance, the colour deepened in her cheek and she was silent;wherefore Bellew went on, in his slow, placid tones. "You surely, arethe Princess ruling this fair land of Arcadia, and I am the Strangerwithin your gates. It behoves you, therefore, to be merciful to thisStranger, if only for the sake of--er--our mutual nephew."
Whatever Anthea might have said in answer was cut short by Small Porgeshimself who came galloping towards them with the sun bright inhis curls.
"Oh, Uncle Porges!" he panted as he came up, "I was 'fraid you'd goneaway an' left me,--I've been hunting, an' hunting for you ever sinceI got up."
"No, I haven't gone away yet, my Porges, you see."
"An' you won't go--ever or ever, will you?"
"That," said Bellew, taking the small hand in his, "that is a questionthat we had better leave to the--er--future, nephew."
"But--why!"
"Well, you see, it doesn't rest with me--altogether, my Porges."
"Then who--" he was beginning, but Anthea's soft voice interrupted him.
"Georgy dear, didn't Prudence send you to tell us that breakfast wasready?"
"Oh yes! I was forgetting,--awfull' silly of me wasn't it! But you aregoing to stay--Oh a long, long time, aren't you, Uncle Porges?"
"I sincerely hope so!" answered Bellew. Now as he spoke, his eyes,--bythe merest chance in the world, of course,--happened to meet Anthea's,whereupon she turned, and slipped on her sunbonnet which was verynatural, for the sun was growing hot already.
"I'm awful' glad!" sighed Small Porges, "an' Auntie's glad too,--aren'tyou Auntie?"
"Why--of course!" from the depths of the sunbonnet.
"'Cause now, you see, there'll be two of us to take care of you. UnclePorges is so nice an' big, and--wide, isn't he, Auntie?"
"Y-e-s,--Oh Georgy!--what are you talking about?"
"Why I mean I'm rather small to take care of you all by myself alone,Auntie, though I do my best of course. But now that I've found myself abig, tall Uncle Porges,--under the hedge, you know,--we can take care ofyou together, can't we, Auntie Anthea?"
But Anthea only hurried on without speaking, whereupon Small Porgescontinued all unheeding:
"You 'member the other night, Auntie, when you were crying, you said youwished you had some one very big, and strong to take care of you--"
"Oh--Georgy!"
Bellew heartily wished that sunbonnets had never been thought of.
"But you did you know, Auntie, an' so that was why I went out an' foundmy Uncle Porges for you,--so that he--"
But here, Mistress Anthea, for all her pride and stateliness, catchingher gown about her, fairly ran on down the path and never paused untilshe had reached the cool, dim parlour. Being there, she tossed aside hersunbonnet, and looked at herself in the long, old mirror, and,--thoughsurely no mirror made by man, ever reflected a fairer vision ofdark-eyed witchery and loveliness, nevertheless Anthea stamped her foot,and frowned at it.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, and then again, "Oh Georgy!" and covered herburning cheeks.
Meanwhile Big Porges, and Small Porges, walking along hand in hand shooktheir heads solemnly, wondering much upon the capriciousness of aunts,and the waywardness thereof.
"I wonder why she runned away, Uncle Porges?"
"Ah, I wonder!"
"'Specks she's a bit angry with me, you know, 'cause I told you she wascrying."
"Hum!" said Bellew.
"An Auntie takes an awful lot of looking after!" sighed Small Porges.
"Yes," nodded Bellew, "I suppose so,--especially if she happens to beyoung, and--er--"
"An' what, Uncle Porges?"
"Beautiful, nephew."
"Oh! Do you think she's--really beautiful?" demanded Small Porges.
"I'm afraid I do," Bellew confessed.
"So does Mr. Cassilis,--I heard him tell her so once--in the orchard."
"Hum!" said Bellew.
"Ah! but you ought to see her when she comes to tuck me up at night,with her hair all down, an' hanging all about her--like a shiny cloak,you know."
"Hum!" said Bellew.
"Please Uncle Porges," said Georgy, turning to look up at him, "whatmakes you hum so much this morning?"
"I was thinking, my Porges."
"'Bout my Auntie Anthea?"
"I do admit the soft impeachment, sir."
"Well, I'm thinking too."
"What is it, old chap?"
"I'm thinking we ought to begin to find that fortune for her afterbreakfast."
"Why, it isn't quite the right season for fortune hunting, yet--atleast, not in Arcadia," answered Bellew, shaking his head.
"Oh!--but why not?"
"Well, the moon isn't right, for one thing."
"The moon!" echoed Small Porges.
"Oh yes,--we must wait for a--er--a Money Moon, you know,--surely you'veheard of a Money Moon?"
"'Fraid not," sighed Small Porges regretfully, "but--I've heard of aHoney-moon--"
"They're often much the same!" nodded Bellew.
"But when will the Money Moon come, an'--how?"
"I can't exactly say, my Porges, but come it will one of these finenights. And when it does we shall know that the fortune is close by, andwaiting to be found. So, don't worry your small head about it,--justkeep your eye on your uncle."
Betimes they came in to breakfast where Anthea awaited them at the headof the table. Then who so demure, so gracious and se
lf-possessed, sosweetly sedate as she. But the Cavalier in the picture above the carvedmantel, versed in the ways of the world, and the pretty tricks and wilesof the Beau Sex Feminine, smiled down at Bellew with an expression ofsuch roguish waggery as said plain as words: "We know!" And Bellew,remembering a certain pair of slender ankles that had revealedthemselves in their hurried flight, smiled back at the cavalier, and itwas all he could do to refrain from winking outright.
The Money Moon: A Romance Page 7