Part 7 (1/2)
”Aye, for sure I were singin', but then who could help singin' on such a mornin' as this be, an' wi' the black-bird a-piping away in the tree here. 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 are haunted by the Carking Spectre of the--er Might Have Been?”
”Lord bless you, no sir! This ain't no spectre, nor yet no skellington,--which, arter all, is only old bones an' such,--no this ain'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 his pails clanking cheerily.
Very soon Bellew was shaved, and dressed, and going down stairs he let himself out into the early suns.h.i.+ne, and strolled away towards the farm-yard where c.o.c.ks crew, cows lowed, ducks quacked, turkeys and geese gobbled and hissed, and where the Waggoner moved to and fro among them all, like a presiding genius.
”I think,” said Bellew, as he came up, ”I think you must be the Adam I have heard of.”
”That be my name, sir.”
”Then Adam, fill your pipe,” and Bellew extended his pouch, whereupon Adam thanked him, and fis.h.i.+ng a small, short, black clay from his pocket, 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 calls myself '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 full o' the 'Old Adam' as never was. An' 'e's alway a up an' taking of me at the shortest notice. Only t'other day he up an' took me because Job Jagway ('e works for Squire Ca.s.silis, you'll understand sir) because Job Jagway sez as our wheat, (meanin' Miss Anthea's wheat, you'll understand sir) 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 on account o' the Old Adam,--me being the mildest chap you ever see, nat'rally,--mild? ah! sucking doves wouldn't be nothin' to me for mildness.”
”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 Miss Anthea about summat or other,--sez as how he was minded to lock me up for '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 to bear but you must make it 'arder for me?' An' I see the tears in her eyes while she said it. Me make it 'arder for her! Jest as if I wouldn't make things lighter for 'er if I could,--which I can't; jest as if, to help Miss Anthea, I wouldn't let 'em take me an'--well, never mind what,--only I would!”
”Yes, I'm sure you would,” nodded Bellew. ”And is the Squire over here at Dapplemere very often, Adam?”
”Why, not so much lately, sir. Last time were yesterday, jest afore Master Georgy come 'ome. I were at work here in the yard, an' Squire comes riding up to me, smiling quite friendly like,--which were pretty good of him, considering as Job Jagway ain't back to work yet. 'Oh Adam!' 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 Miss Anthea's forced to part wi' to meet some bill or other. 'Summat o' that sir,' says I, making as light of it as I could. 'Why then, Adam,' sez he, 'if Job Jagway should 'appen to come over to buy a few o' the things,--no more fighting!' sez he. An' so he nods, an' smiles, an' off he rides. An' sir, as I watched him go, the 'Old Adam' riz up in me to that 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's quick eyes noticed that despite the unruffled serenity of his brow, his chin 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. Miss Anthea's brave enough, but I reckon 'twill come nigh breakin' 'er 'eart to see the old stuff sold, the furnitur' an' that,--so she's goin' to drive over to Cranbrook to be out o' the way while it's a-doin'.”
”And when does the sale take place?”
”The Sat.u.r.day arter next, sir, as ever was,” Adam answered.
”But--hush,--mum's the word, sir!” he broke off, and winking violently with a side-ways motion of the head, he took up his pitch-fork.
Wherefore, glancing round, Bellew saw Anthea coming towards them, fresh and sweet as the morning. Her hands were full of flowers, and she carried her sun-bonnet upon her arm. Here and there a rebellious curl had 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 that glowed in the sun with a coppery light, and peeped at him wantonly above her ear.
”Good morning!” said he, rising and, to all appearance, addressing the curl in question, ”you are early abroad this morning!”