Part 10 (1/2)

Here, in his excitement, Old Adam rose up in his stirrups and unconsciously brought his stick down on the flanks of his Rosinante, with a thwack that would have startled any other steed into at least a momentary spurt. Balaam, however, only c.o.c.ked his ears in mild astonishment, as who should say, ”What in the world is the matter with the old man now?” or, rather, for it isn't possible to think of him cogitating in any other language than his master's, ”What i' t'

wolld's up wi' t' aud chap noo?”

Just at this point Adam had reached a narrow gate which opened into a gra.s.sy lane, leading to Marlpit Wood, the scene of his labours for the day. There, bestriding a handsome bay, and in the act of attempting to open the gate with the handle of his riding whip, was a fine, handsome young gentleman, whose dark eyes gleamed with good temper, and whose general appearance was indicative of rank, high spirits, and kindliness of heart. This was none other than Philip Fuller, and no sooner did Adam Olliver set his eyes upon him than he resolved there and then to fulfil his promise to Judith to ”see about it,” and to ”have it out” with the delinquent himself.

”Ah'll oppen t' yat fo' yo' if y'll wayte a minnit;” and, dismounting, he fulfilled his promise, and stood with his limp and battered ”Jim Crow” hat in his hand, before the young gentleman had an opportunity to reply.

”Thank you,” said Philip, with a bright, open smile, and, putting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a coin with the view of paying for the favour he had received.

”Nay,” said Adam, ”Ah deean't want payin' for it. Ah sud hae 'ad te oppen it for mysen; an' if ah hedn't it wad hae been varry meean te see yo' bother'd, an' gan on indifferent. Bud if yo'll excuse ma', sor, ah sud like te say a wod or two te yo', an' ah wop yo' weean't be offended. Mah neeam's Adam Olliver, an' ah lives next deear te Nathan Blyth, an' ah thinks as mitch aboot his lahtle Lucy as ah deea aboot me' aun bairns. Oh, sor!” and Adam lifted his honest sun-brown face in strong appeal, ”deean't draw Natty's yow' lam' away frev 'im, poor fellow! He hez bud' hor, an' if onny 'arm sud 'appen tiv her, it'll breck his 'art an' hor's an' all. She's as good as she's pratty, bless 'er! an' it wad be twenty thoosand pities, as weel as an awful sin, te bring disgrace on 'er heead, an' sorrow tiv' 'er 'art. Deean't, ah pre' you, rob Natty of his darlin'. Yisterday, ah was clippin' a hedge yonder by Marlpit Wood, an' ah saw a m.u.t.h.e.r-bod teeachin' 'er yung 'un te flee. T' aud bod flutter'd and chirrup't up an' doon, an' roond aboot, the varry picther o' happiness, an' t' poor lahtle gollin'

cheep'd an' hopp'd, an' flew as happy as it's mother. A sparro'-hawk com' doon, like a flash o' leetnin', an' teeak'd lahtle thing away iv his claws. Ah tell you, Maister Philip, t' way that poor m.u.t.h.e.r-bod pleean'd an' twitter'd, an' hopp'd, frae bush te tree, an' frae tree te bush, wild wi' grief, was aneeaf te melt a flint. Maister Philip!

deean't be a hawk; bud let Natty's pratty lahtle singin'-bod be, an'

G.o.d'll bless yo'.”

Philip Fuller listened in amaze. A bright ingenuous blush tinged his cheek at the mention of Lucy's name, and as the old man proceeded, in rude, homely eloquence, to plead, as he thought, the cause of injured innocence, the colour deepened until it might easily have been misread as an evidence of conscious guilt. Not the slightest shadow of anger, however, rested on his features, as he looked into the gleaming eyes of the ”old man eloquent.” On the contrary, his clear perception showed him in Old Adam the true and knightly sympathiser with innocence and beauty; the chivalrous knight in corderoy and hodden grey, who, if needs be, would peril life and limb to champion his darling against all comers suspected of unrighteous intent.

”Deean't be vexed, Maister Philip,” he proceeded. ”Ah meean neea harm, you knoa ah deean't, but ah can't abide te see lahtle Lucy pinin' away i' sorro', an' 'er fayther gannin' aboot like a man iv a dreeam. She's nut the la.s.s for you, yo' knoa. A lennet an' a eeagle's ill matched, an' ah want yo' te promise mah 'at yo'll let her alooan, weean't yo'?”

”Vexed! No,” said Philip; ”on the contrary, I esteem you for your love to Lucy, and I respect you for your candour; but you are under a great mistake. G.o.d is my witness, Adam Olliver; I mean no harm to Lucy Blyth, and would rather suffer the loss of my right arm than bring a tear to her eye, or sorrow to her father's hearth.”

”G.o.d i' heaven bless yo' for that wod,” said Adam, with deep feeling; ”you lahtle knoa hoo it releeaves mi' mind, an' ah's sorry 'at ah've judg'd yo' hardly, but ah've seen yo' mair than yance or twice, when ah thowt 'at there was room te fear.”

”Well, well,” said Philip, with a smile, ”you need be under no concern of that kind, for, on the honour of a gentleman, and the faith of a Christian, I mean all that I have said.”

”Prayse the Lord!” said Adam. ”As for t' honour ov a gentleman, sum gentlemen hae queer nooations aboot that, an' ah wadn't trust 'em as far as ah could fling 'em on t' strength on't. Bud t' faith ov a Christian's anuther thing, an' if yo' hae _that_ it'll keep beeath you an' hor an' ivveryboddy else oot o' harm's way. The blood ov Jesus Christ cleansis frae all sin, an' ah pray 'at yo' may knoa it an' feel it all t' days o' yer life. Excuse mah for makkin' sae free wi' yo', sor,” said Adam, again touching his time-worn hat, ”bud you've teean a looad off my heart as big as Kesterton Hill.”

With mutual ”Good-mornings” they separated; the one to ply his slas.h.i.+ng-knife on Farmer Houston's quick-wood, the other to pursue his homeward way to Waverdale Hall, with a new subject for study and new material for thought.

Leaving Adam Olliver to jog along the gra.s.sy lane on the back of patient and unwitting Balaam, let us accompany the handsome scion of the house of Fuller, and listen to his communings, stirred as he was by his interview with Lucy's rustic friend and champion.

”She loves me,” was his first thought; ”to me she would never own it.

But Adam Olliver knows it, and misreads my heart as much as one man can misread another's. Lucy, my darling, for love of you I would barter Waverdale Hall without a sigh; I would harden my hands at the anvil, and hammer and sing as merrily as Blithe Natty, if you might brighten my cottage home! What shall I do? My proud and stately father will never permit such an unequal match but, with all his pride, he loves me dearly, and I cannot, will not, be disloyal to so great a love, and disobey his will.”

He heaved a sigh from the depths of his perplexed and anxious spirit; then his mind reverted to Adam Olliver's words, ”The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.” And again the refrain heard in the cottage service rung in his ears,--

”To you is it nothing that Jesus should die?”

”What _does_ it mean? I would give the world to know and feel that cleansing power, to know and feel that Jesus died for me.”

Slowly, but definitely and surely, the young patrician was being led by Providence and Grace to the Lamb of G.o.d that taketh away the sins of the world.

Nor were the cogitations of the grand old hedger less interesting. His shrewd, observant mind had noted the clear, transparent character of the youthful squire, had been struck with the honest ring of his manly disclaimer, and lapsing into his old habit of making Balaam his confidant, he said,--

”Balaam, thoo an' me's a cupple ov aud feeals. What business hae we te jump te conclusions aboot uther fooaks' faults? We mun try te leeak at yam a bit mair. Here ah've been at it fotty year an' mair, talkin'

aboot an' praisin' t' charity 'at thinks nae evil, an' here ah've been bleeamin' that yung fello' withoot judge or joory. Oh, Adam, Adam!

Thoo mun gan te skeeal ageean an' larn t' a-b ab's o' Christian charaty! Them 'at's fost te fling a steean had better keep their aun winder-shutters in, or they'll hae plenty o' brokken gla.s.s, an' ah feel as meean as though I hadn't a woll payne left i' mahn. Ah's waintly misteean if that's nut as feyn a young chap as ivver rayd a hoss, an' ah'll pray 'at the Lord may mak' him a bonnin' an' a s.h.i.+nin'