Volume Ii Part 28 (1/2)
Laura's face lit up. Very few things now had power to please her but Daffady's dialect, and Daffady's scorns.
”And so all the world is idle but you farm people?”
”A doan't say egsackly idle,” said Daffady, with a good-humoured tolerance.
”But the factory-hands, Daffady?”
”O!--a little stannin an twiddlin!” said Daffady contemptuously--”I allus ses they pays em abuve a bit.”
”But the miners?--come, Daffady!”
”I'm not stannin to it aw roond,” said Daffady patiently--”I laid it down i' th' general.”
”And all the people, who work with their heads, Daffady, like--like my papa?”
The girl smiled softly, and turned her slim neck to look at the old man.
She was charmingly pretty so, among the shadows of the farm kitchen--but very touching--as the old man dimly felt. The change in her that worked so uncomfortably upon his rustic feelings went far deeper than any mere aspect of health or sickness. The spectator felt beside her a ghostly presence--that ”sad sister, Pain”--stealing her youth away, smile as she might.
”I doan't knaw aboot them, Missie--nor aboot yor fadther--thoo I'll uphod tha Muster Stephen was a terr'ble cliver mon. Bit if yo doan't bring a gude yed wi yo to th' farmin yo may let it alane.--When th' owd measter here was deein, Mr. Hubert was verra down-hearted yo understan, an verra wishfa to say soomat frendly to th' owd man, noo it had coom to th' la.s.st of im. 'Fadther'--he ses--'dear fadther--is there nowt I could do fer tha?'--'Aye, lad'--ses th' owd un--'gie me thy yed, an tak mine--thine is gude enoof to be buried wi.' An at that he shet his mouth, and deed.”
Daffady told his story with relish. His contempt for Hubert was of many years' standing. Laura lifted her eyebrows.
”That was sharp, for the last word. I don't think you should stick pins when you're dying--_dying_!”--she repeated the word with a pa.s.sionate energy--”going quite away--for ever.” Then, with a sudden change of tone--”Can I have the cart to-morrow, Daffady?”
Daffady, who had been piling the fire with fresh peat, paused and looked down upon her. His long, lank face, his weather-stained clothes, his great, twisted hand were all of the same colour--the colour of wintry gra.s.s and lichened rock. But his eyes were bright and blue, and a vivid streak of white hair fell across his high forehead. As the girl asked her question, the old man's air of fatherly concern became more marked.
”Mut yo goa, missie? It did yo noa gude la.s.st time.”
”Yes, I must go. I think so--I hope so!”--She checked herself. ”But I'll wrap up.”
”Mrs. Fountain's n.o.bbut sadly, I unnerstan?”
”She's rather better again. But I must go to-morrow. Daffady, Cousin Elizabeth won't forget to bring up the letters?”
”I niver knew her du sich a thing as thattens,” said Daffady, with caution.
”And do you happen to know whether Mr. Bayley is coming to supper?”
”T' minister'll mebbe coom if t' weather hods up.”
”Daffady--do you think--that when you don't agree with people about religion--it's right and proper to sit every night--and tear them to pieces?”
The colour had suddenly flooded her pale face--her att.i.tude had thrown off languor.
Daffady showed embarra.s.sment.
”Well, noa, missie--Aa doan't hod--mysen--wi personalities. Yo mun wrastle wi t' sin--an gaa saftly by t' sinner.”
”Sin!” she said scornfully.
Daffady was quelled.