Part 13 (1/2)

”Nay, that she is not, I'll warrant me,” said the doctor. ”I have never heard a word of it, but I dare swear that she has never lifted a finger to win him, and that she will never marry him, at any rate until she has received full permission from your own lips. She is made of far finer material than that.”

”I'm glad to hear you say so,” replied Squire Fuller. ”I wish I could believe it, for that permission she will never get between now and the day of judgment; but I confess that I am very sceptical as to her adoption of any such policy. If my Phil were to be such a double-dyed fool as to ask her, I've no doubt she would jump at him like a hen at a gooseberry, and rejoice that she had played her cards so well. A squire's son is not to be hooked by a blacksmith's daughter every day.”

The plain-spoken doctor was inclined to get angry, as he listened to these reflections on the high-toned character of his young friend and favourite, but commanding his temper, he simply responded,--

”Well, I'm no advocate for young people marrying out of their rank and station, and I'm not sure, even if Lucy returned his affection, that the alliance would end happily, all things considered. At the same time, I say again, and I never spoke more soberly in my life, the youth that marries Lucy Blyth will get a wife that may compete in every way with the n.o.blest lady in the land.”

So saying he took his departure, and the hoofs of his high-bred horse were soon heard ringing over the Kesterton road.

CHAPTER XVIII.

PHILIP FULLER MAKES A DISCOVERY.

”Thus far did I come laden with my sin, Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in, Till I came hither. What a place is this!

Must here be the beginning of my bliss?

Must here the burden fall from off my back?

Must here the strings that bound it to me crack?

Blest Cross! Blest Sepulchre! Blest rather be The Man that there was put to shame for me.”

_John Bunyan._

”Good morning, Adam Olliver. What a man you are for cutting and slas.h.i.+ng! I never see you but you are wielding either axe or knife!

What a destructive character you must be!”

”Good mornin', Maister Philip,” said the hedger, with a smile of satisfaction, for he had a great regard for the frank young gentleman who had so kindly received his words of pleading by the gate which led to Marlpit Wood. ”Ah's nut nearly as destructive as ah leeaks te be.

Ah've been choppin' an' slas.h.i.+n' Farmer Houston's hedges for nearly fifteen years; an' ah warrant 'at they've neean on 'im ivver been sae thrivin' an' sae shaply as they are te-day.”

”Well, that looks odd,” said Philip. ”I should have thought that they would grow bigger and stronger, thicker and higher, if they were left alone.”

”Hey,” said Adam, with the usual twinkle in his eye, ”sae meeast on us think, sor. We wad like te be let alooane an' just hev wer aun way; grow as wa' like an' deea as wa' like, an' we fancy 'at we sud gan higher an' grow bigger, an' increease i' strength, bud it's a grand mistak', you may depend on 't. If theease hedges warn't lopped and trimmed, an' ivvery noo an' then chopp'd doon an' leeaced in, they wad gan sprawlin' ower t' rooad o' yah side, an' ower t' clooase on t'

uther, an' grow thick i' yah spot an' thin iv anuther, an' grow up two or three yards high inte t' bargan. A rood o' good land wad be weeasted; t' sheep wad gan throo t' gaps, an't' sun wad be kept off t'

corn, or t' tonnops, or t' rape, or whativver else was growin', an'

they wad deea a parlous lot o' mischief. Beeath t' axe an' t'

slas.h.i.+n'-knife is good for _them_, an' they're varry good for _uz_.”

”How do you make that out?” said Philip, amused and interested. He had a glimpse of the old man's philosophy, and for reasons of his own, was anxious to get him into a free and talking vein.

”Why, you see,” said Adam, ”human natur's a poor, prood, wild thing, an' when it's left tiv itself, it nat'rally gans in for hevin' its aun way, an' gets wa.r.s.e an' wa.r.s.e. Munny an' pleasure an' honour an'

pooer; onything at'll minister te wer pleasure an' profit, is seeazed an' meead t' meeast on, an' sae we sud gan te ruin an' the devil like a beggar o' horseback. But t' knife o' sickness, an' disappointment, losses an' trubbles of all sooarts, is used biv a gracious G.o.d te bring uz te wer senses, an' mak' us think' aboot summut better. Job tells us that the Lord sticks His knife intiv uz, an' mak's uz suffer an' cry upo' wer bed i' strang payne; an' he says, 'Theease things worketh G.o.d of 'entahmes wi' man, that he may bring his sowl up oot o'

t' pit, an' leeten him wi' t' leet o' the livin'.' T' slas.h.i.+n' 'at Joseph gat i' t' pit an' i' t' prison trimm'd him for t' second chariot i' Egypt, an' meead 'im t' greeatest man i' t' c.u.n.try. Maister Philip, leeak at that hedge,” pointing to a long low quickset hedge that divided one field from another. ”That hedge is cut loa, an'

slash'd thin, an' t' tall tooerin' branches was chopt hoaf through an'

bent doon inte t' thorn, an' if ivvery hoss i' Farmer Houston's steeable was te run ageean it, it wad tonn 'em back; for it's as teeaf as leather, an' as cloase as a sheet ov iron; an' it's all because it's been kept doon an' meead te bleed under t' slas.h.i.+n'-knife.”

”Yes, you're right, Adam,” said the young squire, thoughtfully, as his mind reverted to his own bitter disappointment in regard to his misplaced and baffled love, ”only it's hard to understand and very difficult to bear.”

Old Adam, who shrewdly guessed the current of his thoughts, and greatly sympathised with the youth in whose _bona-fides_ he had perfect faith, replied, ”Nay, deean't trubble te ontherstand it.