Part 54 (1/2)
”That's the chief reason.”
”But in the country I shall always be uneasy lest there should be some more of our late experience. And I don't care to lessen it by explaining, for one thing, all about the boy's history. To cut him off from his past I have determined to keep silence. I am sickened of ecclesiastical work now; and I shouldn't like to accept it, if offered me!”
”You ought to have learnt cla.s.sic. Gothic is barbaric art, after all. Pugin was wrong, and Wren was right. Remember the interior of Christminster Cathedral-almost the first place in which we looked in each other's faces. Under the picturesqueness of those Norman details one can see the grotesque childishness of uncouth people trying to imitate the vanished Roman forms, remembered by dim tradition only.”
”Yes-you have half-converted me to that view by what you have said before. But one can work, and despise what one does. I must do something, if not church-gothic.”
”I wish we could both follow an occupation in which personal circ.u.mstances don't count,” she said, smiling up wistfully. ”I am as disqualified for teaching as you are for ecclesiastical art. You must fall back upon railway stations, bridges, theatres, music-halls, hotels-everything that has no connection with conduct.”
”I am not skilled in those... I ought to take to bread-baking. I grew up in the baking business with aunt, you know. But even a baker must be conventional, to get customers.”
”Unless he keeps a cake and gingerbread stall at markets and fairs, where people are gloriously indifferent to everything except the quality of the goods.”
Their thoughts were diverted by the voice of the auctioneer: ”Now this antique oak settle-a unique example of old English furniture, worthy the attention of all collectors!”
”That was my great-grandfather's,” said Jude. ”I wish we could have kept the poor old thing!”
One by one the articles went, and the afternoon pa.s.sed away. Jude and the other two were getting tired and hungry, but after the conversation they had heard they were shy of going out while the purchasers were in their line of retreat. However, the later lots drew on, and it became necessary to emerge into the rain soon, to take on Sue's things to their temporary lodging.
”Now the next lot: two pairs of pigeons, all alive and plump-a nice pie for somebody for next Sunday's dinner!”
The impending sale of these birds had been the most trying suspense of the whole afternoon. They were Sue's pets, and when it was found that they could not possibly be kept, more sadness was caused than by parting from all the furniture. Sue tried to think away her tears as she heard the trifling sum that her dears were deemed to be worth advanced by small stages to the price at which they were finally knocked down. The purchaser was a neighbouring poulterer, and they were unquestionably doomed to die before the next market day.
Noting her dissembled distress Jude kissed her, and said it was time to go and see if the lodgings were ready. He would go on with the boy, and fetch her soon.
When she was left alone she waited patiently, but Jude did not come back. At last she started, the coast being clear, and on pa.s.sing the poulterer's shop, not far off, she saw her pigeons in a hamper by the door. An emotion at sight of them, a.s.sisted by the growing dusk of evening, caused her to act on impulse, and first looking around her quickly, she pulled out the peg which fastened down the cover, and went on. The cover was lifted from within, and the pigeons flew away with a clatter that brought the chagrined poulterer cursing and swearing to the door.
Sue reached the lodging trembling, and found Jude and the boy making it comfortable for her. ”Do the buyers pay before they bring away the things?” she asked breathlessly.
”Yes, I think. Why?”
”Because, then, I've done such a wicked thing!” And she explained, in bitter contrition.
”I shall have to pay the poulterer for them, if he doesn't catch them,” said Jude. ”But never mind. Don't fret about it, dear.”
”It was so foolish of me! Oh why should Nature's law be mutual butchery!”
”Is it so, Mother?” asked the boy intently.
”Yes!” said Sue vehemently.
”Well, they must take their chance, now, poor things,” said Jude. ”As soon as the sale-account is wound up, and our bills paid, we go.”
”Where do we go to?” asked Time, in suspense.
”We must sail under sealed orders, that n.o.body may trace us... We mustn't go to Alfredston, or to Melchester, or to Shaston, or to Christminster. Apart from those we may go anywhere.”
”Why mustn't we go there, Father?”