Part 15 (1/2)

As the little man went down the hill toward the ferry he was pounced upon by Mother Butson, who regularly now watched for him and waylaid him on his way home.

”Hold hard, Peter Benny--it's no use your trying to slip by now!”

”I wasn't, Mrs. Butson; indeed, now, I wasn't!” he protested; though indeed this waylaying had become a torment to him.

”Well, and what have they decided?” The poor old soul asked it fiercely, yet trembled while waiting for his answer, almost hoping that he would have none.

Mr. Benny longed to say that nothing was decided; but the letter in his pocket seemed to be burning against his ribs. He was a truthful man.

”It don't lie with me, Mrs. Butson; I'm only the clerk, and take my orders. But I must warn you not to be too hopeful. The person that Mr.

Rosewarne selected will come down and be interviewed. That's only right and proper.”

All the village knew by this time what had happened at the last Board meeting.

”Coming, is she? Then 'tis true what I've heard, that the old varmint went straight from the meetin' and wrote off to the woman, and that the hand of G.o.d struck 'en dead in his chair. Say what you will,”--the cracked voice shrilled up triumphantly--”'tis a judgment! What's the woman's name?”

”That I'm not allowed to tell you. And look here, Mrs. Butson--you mustn't use such talk of my poor dead master; indeed you mustn't.”

He looked past her appealingly and at Mrs. Trevarthen, who had come to her doorway to listen.

”I said what I chose to 'en while he was alive, and I'll say what I choose now. You was always a poor span'el, Peter Benny; but John Rosewarne never fo'ced _me_ to lick his boots. 'Poor dead master!'” she mimicked.

”Iss fay!--dead enough now, and poor, he that ground the poor!”

At once she began to fawn. ”But Mr. Sam'll see justice done.

You'll speak a word for me to Mr. Sam? He's a professin' Christian, and like as not when this woman shows herself she'll turn out to be some red-hot atheist or Jesuit. To bring the like o' they here was just the dirty trick that old heathen of yours would enjoy. Some blasphemy it must ha' been, or the hand o' G.o.d'd never have struck 'en as it did.”

”Folks are saying,” put in Mrs. Trevarthen from the doorway, ”that Sall here ill-wished 'en. But she didn't. 'Twas his own sins compa.s.sed his end. Look to your ways, Peter Benny! Your master was an unbeliever and an oppressor, and now he's in h.e.l.l-fire.”

Mr. Benny put his hands to his ears and ran from these terrible women.

For the moment they had both believed what they said, and yet old Rosewarne's belief or unbelief had nothing to do with their hatred.

They gloated because he had been removed in the act of doing that which would certainly impoverish them. They, neither less nor more than Mr. Sam and Parson Endicott, made identical the will of G.o.d with their own wants.

Peter Benny as he crossed the ferry would have been uneasier and unhappier had he understood Mr. Sam's parting words. He had not understood them because he had never laid a scheme against man, woman, or child in his life. Still he was uneasy and unhappy enough: first, because it hurt him that anyone should speak as these old women had spoken of his dead master; next, because he really felt sorry for them, and was carrying a letter to their hurt; again because, in spite of Mr. Sam's rea.s.suring words, he could not shake off a sense of having exceeded his duties by signing that letter without consulting the Board; and lastly, because in his confusion he had forgotten his wife's state of health, and must break to the poor woman, just arisen from bed and nursing a three-weeks'-old baby, that he had invited a lodger. Now that he came to think of it, there was not a spare bedroom in the house!

CHAPTER X.

NUNCEY.

The driver of the spring-cart was a brown-skinned, bright-eyed, and exceedingly pretty damsel of eighteen or twenty, in a pink print frock with a large crimson rose pinned in its bodice, and a pink sun-bonnet, under the pent of which her dark hair curtained her temples in two ample rippling bands.

”Why, hullo!” She reined up. Hester and the young sailor had fallen apart to let her pa.s.s, and from her perch she stared down from one side of the road to the other with a puzzled, jolly smile.

”Mornin', Tom!”

”Mornin', Nuncey!”

”Sakes alive! What be carryin' there 'pon your back?”

”School furnitcher.”