 CHAPTER XI there is or was a street in Oxford near the ruins of the ancient castle and behind the new county jail, where one of the many offsets of the ISIS filters its artificial way beneath low arches and betwixt dead walls, and this street, partially destroyed since then, was known to the elder generation by the name of Cross Duck Lane. Of course what remains of it now exalts in an infinitely grander title, though smelling thereby no sweeter. With that we have nothing to do, the street was Cross Duck Lane in our time. Here in a highly respectable house a truly respectable man was living, with his business and his family, Luke Sharp, gentlemen, was his name, description, style, and title, and he was not by any means a bad man, so as to be an attorney. This man possessed a great deal of influence having much house property, and he never in the least disguised his sentiments, or played fast and loose with them. Being of a commanding figure in fine straightforward aspect he left in an impression wherever he went, of honesty, vigor, and manliness, and he went into very good society, as often he cared to do so, for although not a native of Oxford, but of unknown, though clearly large, origin, he now was the head and indeed the entirety of a long established legal firm. He had married the daughter of the senior partner, and bought or ousted away the rest, and although the legend on his plate was still Piper, Pepper, Sharp, and Company, everyone knew that the learning, wealth, and honor of the whole concern were now embodied in Mr. Luke Sharp, such a man was under no necessity ever to blow his own trumpet. His wife, a fat and goodly person, Miranda Piper of former days, happened to be the first cousin and nearest relative of a famous man, poor twine Firmitage himself, and his death had affected her very sadly, for she found that he had provided for himself a most precarious future, by unjust disposal of his worldly goods, which he could not come back to rectify. To his godson, her only child and her idol, Christopher Firmitage Sharp, he had left a copy of Dr. Dodridge's Expositor, and nothing else. A golden work, no doubt, but still golden precepts fill no purse, or rather tend to empty it. Mrs. Luke Sharp, though a very good Christian, repacked and sent back the Expositor. If Mr. Sharp had been at home, he would not have let her do so. He was full at all times of large generous impulse, but never guilty of impulsive acts. It had always been said that his son was to have the bottled halfpipe of gold, or the chief body of it, after the widow's life interest, whereas now Mrs. Firmitage, if she liked, might roll all the bottles down the high street. She, however, was a careful woman, and it was manifest where the whole of this coat they are, vintage, would be binned away, to wit in the cellars of Beckley Barton, with the key at Grace O'Glander's very pretty waist. Mr. Sharp, at the moment, would describe no cure, but still to show temper was a vulgar thing. Now on the New Year's Day of 1838, the bitter weather continuing still and doing its best to grow more bitter, Mr. Sharp, being of a festive turn, had closed his office early. The demand for universal closing and perpetual holiday had not yet risen to its present height. In the clerks, though familiar with the kindness of their principal, scarcely expected such premature relief. But this only added to the satisfaction with which they went home to their New Year's dinners. But Mr. Sharp, though of early habits and hungry and proper seasons, was not preparing for his dinner now. He had ordered his turkey to be kept back, and begged his wife to see to it until he could make out and settle the import of a letter which reached him about one o'clock. It had been delivered by a groom on horseback, who had suffered some inward struggle before he had stooped to ring the attorney's bell. For cross-duck house, though a comfortable place, was not of an aristocratic caste. The letter was short and expounded little. Sir, I shall do myself the honour of calling upon you at four o'clock this afternoon, upon some important business. Obediently yours. Russell overshoot. It is not altogether an agreeable thing, even for a man with a finest conscience, such as Mr. Sharp was blessed with, to receive a challenge upon an unknown point, curtly worded in the wise. And the pleasure does not increase when the strong correspondent is partly suspected of holding unfavorable views towards one, and the gaze of self-inspection needs a little more time to compose itself. Luke Sharp had led an unblemished life, since the follies of his youth subsided. He subscribed to the inevitable charities, and he waited for his rents, when sure of them. Still, he did not like that letter. Now he took off the coat which he wore at his desk and his waistcoat of the morning, and washed his nice white hands, and clothed himself in expensive dignity. Then he opened his book of daily entries and folded blotting paper and prepared to receive instructions or give advice, or be wise abstractedly. But he thought it a sound precaution to have his son Christopher within earshot, for young overshoot was reputed to be of a rather excitable nature. Therefore, Kit Sharp was commanded to finish the cleaning of his gun, which was his chief delight, in his father's closet adjoining the office, and to keep the door shut, unless called for. The lawyer was not kept waiting long. As the clock of St. Thomas struck four, the shoes of a horse rang sharply on the icy road, and the office bell kicked up its tongue, with a jerk showing extra mural energy. Let him ring again, said Mr. Sharp. I defy him to ring much harder. The defiance was soon proved to be unsound, for in less than ten seconds the bell which had stood many years of strong emotion was visited with such a violent spasm that nothing short of the melting pot restored its constitution. A piece clinked on the passage floor, and the lawyer was filled with unfamed wrath. The bell that had been ringing for three generations, and was the palladium of the firm. What clumsy clod-hopper! cried Mr. Sharp, rushing out as if he saw nobody. What biggerly bumpkin has broken my bell! Mr. Overshoot! I beg pardon, I am sure. We must make allowance, said Russell calmly, for fidgety animals, Mr. Sharp, and for thick gloves in this frosty weather. John, take my horse on the Seven Bridges Road, and be back in exactly fifteen minutes. How kind of you to be at home, Mr. Sharp! But the words the young man bestowed on the lawyer a short, sharp glance, which entirely failed to penetrate the latter. Shut out this cold wind for heaven's sake! He exclaimed as he shut in his visitor, your young folk never seemed to feel the cold, but you carry it a little too far sometimes. I must have been about your age when we had such another hard winter as this. Four and twenty years ago, scarcely so bitter, but a deal more snow. Snow. Snow. Six feet everywhere. I was six and twenty then, about your age, I take it, sir. My age to a tittle, said Overshoot, but I am generally taken for thirty-two. How can you have guessed it so? Early thoughts, sir, juvenile thought, and advanced intelligence make young people look far in front of their age. When you come to my time of life, young sir, your thoughts and your looks will be younger. Now, take this chair. Never mind your boots, let them hiss as they will on the fender. I like to hear it, a genial sound, a touch of emery paper in the morning. And there we are, ready for other boots. I have had men here come fifty miles across country, as a crow flies to see me, when the floods were out, and go away with mines comforted. I have heard of your skill in all legal points. But I am not come on that account. Quibbles and shuffles I detest. Well, Mr. Overshoot, I have met with a good deal of rudeness in my early days, before I was known as I am now. It was worth my while to disarm it then. It is not so now, in your case. You belong to a very good county family. And although you are committed to inferior hands, if you had come in a friendly spirit, I would have been glad to serve you. As it is, I can only request you say what your purpose is and to settle it. Russell Overshoot, in his large and powerful eyes, gazed straight at Sharp, and Mr. Sharp, who had steely eyes, the best of all for getting on with, were not very large, but as keen as need be, therewith answered complacently, and as if he saw hope of amusement. You puzzle me, Sharp, said Overshoot, about the worst thing he could have said, and he knew it before the words had passed. I am called, for the most part, Mr. Sharp, except by gentlemen of my own age or friends who entirely trust me. Mr. Russell Overshoot, explain how I have puzzled you. Never mind that. You would never understand. Have you any idea what has brought me here? Yes, to be plain with you I have. One of your least, but very oldest tenants, has been caught out in poaching. You hate the game-laws, you are a radical, renter, and reformer. You know your lawyer is good and active, but too well known as a liberal. It requires a man of settled principles to contest with the game-laws. You could not be more wide astray, cried Overshoot, confidently, taking in every word the other had said as a piece of his victory. No, no, thank goodness we are not come so low that we cannot get off our tenants, in spite of any evidence. You must indeed think that our family is quite reduced to the dirt, if we can no longer do even that much. Not at all, sir. You are much too hot. I only suppose, for the moment, that your principles might have stopped you. Oh, dear know, my mother would not take it at all in that way. Now where have you put Grace O'Glander? In petuous Russell, with his nostrils quivering, and his eyes fixed on the lawyers, and his right hand clenching his heavy whip, purposefully fired his question thus, like a thunderbolt out of pure heaven. He felt sure of producing a grand effect, and so he did, but not the right one. You threaten me, do you, so, Mr. Sharp? I think you make a mistake, young man. Violence is objectionable in every way, though natural with fools who believe they are stronger. I am sorry to have spoiled your whip, but you will acknowledge that the fault was yours. Now I am ready for reason, if you are. The grave bow Luke Sharp offered Russell the fragments of his pet hunting-crop, which he had caught from his hand, and snapped like a stick of peppermint as he spoke. Overshoot thought himself a fine, strong fellow, and with very good reason, but the quickness of his antagonist left him gasping. I want no apologies, Mr. Sharp continued, going to his desk, while the young man looked sadly at his brazen, knockered butt, for he had been at that admirable college and cherished his chief reminiscence of it thus. Apologies are always waste of time. You have threatened me, and you have found your mistake. Such a formidable antagonist makes one's hands shake. Still, I think I can hit my keyhole. You can always make your keys fit, I dare say, but you never could do that to me again. Very likely not. I shall never care to try it. Physical force is always low, but as a gentleman you must own that you first offered violence. Mr. Sharp, I confess that I did. Not in word or deed, but still my manner fairly imported it, and the first respect I ever felt for you I feel now, for your quickness and pluck. I am pleased with any respect from you, because you have little for anything. Now, repeat your question, moderately. Where have you put Grace O'Glander? Let me offer you a chair again. Striding about with frozen feet is almost the worst thing a man can do. However, you seem to be a little excited. Have you brought me a letter from my client to authorize this inquiry? From Mr. O'Glander? Oh, no. He has no idea of my being here. We will get over that. You are a friend of his and a neighbor. He has asked you, in a general way, to help him in this sad, great trouble. Not at all. He would rather not have my interference. He does not like its motive. And the motive is, that, like many other people, you were attached to this young lady? Certainly I am. I would give my life at any moment for her. Well, well, I will not speak quite so strongly as you. Life grows dearer as it gets more short. But still, I would give my best year remaining to get to the bottom of this problem. You would, cried young overshoot, looking at him with admiration of his strength and truth. Give me your hand, sir. I have wronged you. I see that I am but a hasty fool. You should never own that," said the lawyer. End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. Meanwhile all beckley and villages round were seething with a ferment of excitement and contradiction. Esther Cripps had been strictly ordered by the authorities to hold her tongue, and so far as in her lay she did so. But there were others, the squires three men, and even the carrier himself, who had many things to think, that they were pretty sure to say some of them. One or two of them had wives, and though these women could not be called by their very worst friends inquisitive, it was not right and lawful that they should be debaured of everything. They did all they could not to know any more than they were really bound to know, and whatever was forced upon them had no chance of going any further. This made several women look at one another slyly, each knowing more than the other, and nodding while sounding the other's ignorance, until, with one accord, they grew provoked at being treated so, and truth being multiplied to its cube became, of course, infinite error. Now Mrs. Firmitage, having been obliged to return to Cowley, Mary Hookam's mother had established her power by this time, and being as her daughter had pronounced, a conspicuous member of the females, she exited herself about all that was said, and saw the other side of everything. She never went to no public house. Nobody could ever say that of her, but perhaps she could put two and two together every bit as well as them that did. It had been her fortune to acquire exceptional experience, or, as she put it more plainly, she had a seed of many things, and the impressions left, thereby upon her idiosyncrasy, or in her own words, what she come to think, was and were that nothing could be true that she had not known the like of. This was a secret of her success in life, which, however, has yet bore no proportion to her merits. She frankly scouted as a pack of stuff, everything to which her history afforded no vivid parallel. In a word she believed only what she had seen. Now incredulity is a grand power. To be able to say, oh, don't tell me, or none of your stuff, when the rest of the audience stricken with awe is gaping, confers at once the esteem of superior intellect and vigor, and when there are good high people who derive comfort from the denial, the chances are that active skeptic does not get the worst of it. Mrs. Hookham plainly declared that Esther's tale was neither more or less than a trumpery cock-and-bowl story. She would not call it a parcel of lies, because the poor girl might have dreamed it. Walking in the snow was no more than walking in one's sleep. She knew that, from her own experience, and if there had been no snow as yet, that made her all the more sure to be right, the air was full of it, and of course it would have more power overhead. Depend on it, she had seen a bush. If indeed she did see anything, and, being so dazed by the weather, she had gone and dreamed the rest of it, backly on the other hand having known Esther ever since she toddled out of her cradle, and knowing her brothers, the carrier, the baker, and the butcher, and having no experience yet of Mother Hookham's wisdom, as good as told the latter lady not to be so bounceable. She must not come into this parish and pretend to know more about things that belong to it than those who were bred and born there. But Mrs. Hookham's opinion was, in one way, very important, however little way to carry it at the dusty Anvil. Mr. O'Glander himself had to depend for his food entirely on Mrs. Hookham's efforts. For Betty the cook went purely off her head, after all she had gone through, and they put her in bed with a little barley water, and much malt liquor in a nobler form, and though Mrs. Hookham at her time of life was reluctant so to demean herself, she found all the rest such a Noah's compass, that she roused up the fires of departed youth, and flourished with the basting ladle. A clever well-conditioned aim, with a will of her own, is somebody. Now, sir," she cried rushing into the squire with a basin of first-rate oxtail soup, upon that melancholy New Year's day, "'You have been out in the snow again. No use denying it, sir. I can see by the chattering of your teeth. I call it a bad, wicked thing to go on, so.' Being in the face of the Lord like that. You are a most kind and good soul, Mrs. Hookham. But surely you would not have me sit with my hands crossed doing nothing. No, no, surely not. Take the spoon in one hand, and the basin in the other. You owe it to yourself to keep up your strength. And to someone else as well, good sir. I have no one else now to owe it to.'" The old man answered sadly tucking his napkin into his waistcoat pockets. "'Yes, you have. You have your Miss Gracie, alive and kicking, as sure as I be. And with the deal more of life in front of her, though scarce a week passes, but what I takes my regular dose of cull-mini, half had not been for that. I never could have been twenty-year a widow. Don't cry, Mrs. Hookham. I beg you not to cry. You have many good children to look after. And there is still abundance of calamel. But why do you talk about my darling? Because, sir, please, God, it means to see you spend many a happy year together. Lord have mercy if I took for granted every trouble as come upon me. Who could have tried for to cheat me this day? My goodness, don't go for to swallow the bone, sir. Huh, to be sure not. No, I was not thinking. Of course there are bones in every tail. And a heap of bones in them crypts's tail, sir, as won't go down with me know-how. Have faith in the mercy of the Lord, sir, and in your own experience. That is exactly what I tried to do. There cannot be one in the world so bad as to hurt my Gracie. Mrs. Hookham, you never can have seen anybody like her. She was so full of life and kindness that everybody who knew her seemed to have her in their own family. She never made pretense to be above herself or anyone. And she entered into everybody's trouble quite as if she had brought it on. She never asked them any questions whether it might have been their own fault. She gave away all her own money first before she came to me for more. She was so simple, and so pleasant, and so full of playful ways. But there, when I think of that, it makes me almost as bad as you women are. Take out the dish. I am very much obliged to you. Not a bit, sir, not a bit as yet. The brisk day, man, sir, with tears on her cheeks. But before very long you will own that you was, when you find every word I say come true. Oh, my! Oh, that startled me! Somebody come in the short way from the fields. That wonderful man is always prowling about, unbeknown to anyone. They don't like me in the village much, civil as I am to all of them, but as sure as sixes have a dozen that Smith is the one they ought to hate. If he is there show him in at once, so disquire without further argument, and let no one come interrupting us. This was very hard upon Mrs. Hookam, and she could not help showing it in her answer. Oh, to be sure, sir, oh, to be sure not! What is my poor opinion compared to his? Ah, well, it is a fine thing to be a man. The man for whose sake she was thus cast out seemed to be of the same opinion. He walked, and looked, and spoke as if it was indeed a fine thing to be a man, but the finest of all things to be the man inside his own cloth and leather, and likely to be at close quarters a dangerous antagonist, and the set of his jaws and the glance of his eyes showed that no want of manhood would at the critical moment disable him. His face was a strong red colour, equally spread all over it as if he lived much in the open air, and fed well, and enjoyed his food. John Smith, Your Worship, John Smith! He said without troubling Mrs. Hookam, I hope to see your worship better. Don't rise, I beg you. May I shut the door? Oh, Mary, your tea is waiting. Mary indeed! bred widow Hookam, and graciously departing. Young man, address my daughter thus. Now, what have you done, Smith? What have you done? The old gentleman asked, dooping over him. Or have you done nothing at all, as usual? You tell me to have patience every day, and every day I have less and less. The elements are against us, sir. If the weather had been anything but what it is, I must have known everything long ago. Stop, sir, stop! It is no idle excuse, as you seem to fancy. It is not the snow that I speak of, it is the intense and deadly cold, that keeps all but the very strong people indoors. How can any man talk when his beard is frozen? Look, sir! From a short brown beard he took lumps of ice, beginning to thaw at the warmth of the room, and cast them into the fire to hiss. Mr. O'Glander gazed as if he thought that his visitor took a liberty, but one that could not matter much. Go on, sir, with your report. He said, Well, sir, in this chain of crime, Mr. Smith replied, in a sprightly manner, we have found one very important link. What is it, Smith? Don't keep me waiting. Don't fear me. I am now prepared to stand anything, whatever. Well, sir, we have discovered at least the body of your worship's daughter. The squire bowed and hid his face. By the aid of faith he had been hoping against hope until it came to this. Then he looked up with his bright old eyes for the moment very steady, and said with a firm, though hollow voice, The will of the Lord be done, the will of the Lord be done, Smith, The will of the Lord shall not be done, cried Mr. Smith emphatically and striking his thick knees with his fist, Until the man who has done it shall be swung, squire swung. Make up your mind to that, your worship. You may safely make up your mind to that. That good will it do me, the father asked, talking with himself alone. Will it ever bring back my girl, my child? Believed I am, but it cannot be long. I shall meet her in a better world, Smith. To be sure your worship will, with the angels and archangels, but to my mind that will be no satisfaction till the man has swung for it. Excuse me for a moment, will you, Mr. Smith, excuse me. I have no right to be overcome, and I thought I had got beyond all that. Bring the bell, and it will bring you cold sirloin and a jug of ale. Help yourself, and don't mind me. I will come back directly. No! Thank you, I can walk alone. How many have had much worse to bear! You will find the undercut the best. End of CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII OF CRIPS THE CARRIOR by Richard Dodridge Blackmore. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. CHAPTER XIII MR. Smith is active. Mr. John Smith was a little upset at seeing the squire so put out. But he said to himself, It is natural after all, it is natural. Borrowed chap, he has taken it as well as it could be expected. However, we must all live, and I feel uncommonly peckish just now. It is clear I would rather have had something hot, this weather. But in such a case one must put up with things. I wonder if they've got any horse-radish. All frozen hard in the ground, I fear. No harm at any rate in asking. With this self-commune he rang the bell, and Mary, by her mother's order, answered, I'll not go by the base, cried widow Hookam, still indignant. Mary, like a good maid, laid the cloth without a syllable, and like a good young woman, took the keenest heed of Mr. Smith without letting him dream that she peeped at him. Thank you, Mary. So Mr. Smith to open conversation. My mother's name is Mary, she answered, and perhaps she would like some pickles. By all means, as there is no horse-radish. Bring onions, gherkins, and walnuts, Mary, but above all things walnuts. You must have what you can get, said Mary. I will go and tell Master what you require. On no account, Mary, on no account, he has gone away to pray, I believe, on no account to disturb him. Poor dear, I should hope not. Perhaps you can manage with what I have set before you. I will do my best, he answered. A scum of the earth, said Mary to herself, good servants being the most intensely aristocratic of all the world. He never dined at a gentleman's table before, and his head is turned with it. Our kitchen is too good for him, but poor Master never heeds nothing now. As soon, however, as Mr. Smith had appeased the rage of hunger, and having called for a glass of hot brandy and water, was clinking the spoon on it, the squire showed that he did heed something, by coming back calmly to talk with him. Mr. O'Glander had passed the bitterest hour of his long life yet, filled at every turn of thought with yearning to break down and weep. Sometimes his mind was so confused that he did not know how old he was, but seemed to be in the long past days with his loving wife upon his arm, and their Gracie toddling in front of them. He spoke to them both, as he used to do, and speaking cleared his thoughts again, and he shook away the dreamy joy in the blank forlorn of facts. At last he washed his face, and brushed his silver hair and untended beard, and half in the looking-glass expected to see his daughter scolding him, because he knew that he had neglected many things she insisted on, and his conscience caught him when he seemed to be taking a low advantage. I hope you have been treated well, he said, with his fine old fashion bow to Smith, as he came back again. I do not often leave my guests to attend to themselves in this way. Do not apologize, squire, I beg you. I have done first chop, I assure you, sir. I have not tasted real mustard, ground at home as yours is, since I was up in Durham County, where they never grow it. Well, Mr. Smith, said the squire, trying to smile at his facetiousness, I am very glad that you have done well. In weather like this a young man like you must want a good deal of nourishment. But now, will you, will you tell me? Yes, your worship, everything. Of course you are anxious, and I thoroughly enter into your feelings. There are none of the women at the door, I hope. Such things do not happen in my house. I will not interrupt you. Very well, sir, then sit down here. You must be aware in the first place, then, that I was not likely to be content with your way of regarding things. The Lord is the Lord of the weather, of course, and does it without consulting us. Nevertheless he allows us also to do our best against it. So I took the bull by the horns, as John Bull, by his name, has a right to do. I just resolved to beat the weather and have it out with everything. So I communicated with the authorities in London. You know we are in a transition state, a transition state at present, sir, between the old system and the new. Yes, yes, of course, I know all that. Very well, your worship. We are obliged, of course, to be doubly careful. In London we are quite established, but down here we must feel our way. The magistrates, saving your worship's presence, look upon us with this like, as if we were superseding them. That will wear off your worship. And the new system will work wonders. Yes, so you all say, but now be quick. What wonders have you brought, John Smith? Well, I was going to tell your worship when you interrupted me. You know that story of Cripps the Carrier and his sister, uh, what's her name? Well, some folk believed it, and some believed it. I didn't either of the two, but resolved to get to the bottom of it. Your worship was afraid, you remember? Well then, let us say daunted, sir, or if you will not have it, we may say that you trusted in providence. It was not quite that, but still, Mr. Smith, your worship will excuse me, things of that sort happen always, and the people are always wrong that do it. I trusted in providence once myself, but now I trust twice in my own self first, and leave providence to come after me. Ha, ha, speak my mind, no offense, your worship. Well then, this is what I did. A brave regiment of soldiers having newly returned from India was ordered to march from London to the Land's End for change of temperature. They had not been supplied, of course, with any change of clothes for climate, and they felt it a little, but were exhorted not to be too particular. Two companies were to be billeted at Abbington last evening, and having, of course, received notice of that, I procured authority to use them. They shivered so that they wanted work, and there is nothing your worship like discipline. Of course, I know that from my early days, will you tell your story speedily? Sir, that's just what I'm doing. I brought them without many words to the quarry, where ten times the number of our clot-hoppers would only have shoveled at one another, bless my heart they did work, and with order and arrangement. Being clothed all in cotton, they had no time to lose unless they meant to get frozen, and it was a fine sight, I assure your worship, to see how they showed their shoulder blades. Being skinny from the hot climate, their brown freckled arms in the white of the drift, and the Indian steam coming out of them, in about two hours all the ground was clear and the trees put away like basket work, and then we could see what happened exactly, and even the mark of the pickaxes. Every word of that girl was proved true to a tittle. I never heard finer evidence. We can even see that two men had been at work, and the stroke of their tools was different. You may trust me for getting up a case, but I see that you have no patience, Squire. We shoveled away all the fallen rock, and mold, and stumps, and furs roots, and at last we came to the poor, poor innocent body, as fresh as the daylight. I can hear no more. You have lost no child. If you have, perhaps you could spare it. Tell me nothing, nothing more, but prove that it was my child. Lord of mercy, your worship. Why, you're only fit to go to bed. Here, Mary, Mary, Mother Huckham, curse the bell I've broken it. Your master has taken very queer. Look alive, woman, stir your stumps, a pot of hot water, and a foot tub. Don't get scared, you will be all right. I always carry a fleam with me. I can bleed him as well as any doctor. Hold his head up, let me feel. He's not going to die just yet. Stop your catarwalling. There, I've relieved his veins. You will know us all in a minute again. You ought to have had a deal more spirit. I never could have expected this. I smoothed off everything so nicely, just as if it was a lady. Did you indeed? I have heard every word, said widow Huckham sternly. You locked the door, or I would have had my 10 nails in you long ago. Poor tear, what is a scum like you? And after all, what have you done, John Smith? End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Cripps the Carrier by Richard Dodridge Blackmore. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 14. So is Mr. Sharp. On the very next day it was known throughout the parish and the neighborhood that the ancient squire had broken down at last under the weight of anxieties. Nobody blamed him much for this, except his own sister and Mr. Smith. Mrs. Firmichage said that he ought to have shown more faith and resignation, and John Smith declared that all his plans were thrown out by this stupidity. What proper inquiry could be held when the universal desire was to spare the feelings and respect the affliction of a poor old man. Mr. Smith was right. An inquest truly must be held upon the body which had been found by the soldiers. But the coroner, being a good old friend and admirer of the old-landers, contrived that the matter should be a mere form, and the verdict an open nullity. Mr. Luke Sharp appeared, and in a dignified reserve was ready to represent the family. He said a few words in the very best taste and scarcely dared to hint at things which must be painful to everybody left alive to think of them. How the crush of tons of rock upon an unprotected female form had made it impossible to say, and how all the hair, which more than any other human gift, survived the sad, sad change, having been cut off, was there no longer, and how there was really nothing except a pair of not-over-new silk stockings belonging to a lady of lofty position in the county, and the widow of an eminent gentleman, but not required, he might hope, to present herself so painfully. Mr. Sharp could say no more, and the jury felt that he now must come, or failing him, his son, Kit Sharp, into the one hundred fifty thousand pounds of port wine firmatage. Therefore they returned the verdict carried in his pocket by them, death by misadventure of a young lady, name unknown. Their object was to satisfy the squire and their conscience, and they found it wise as it generally is not to be too particular, and a corner was the last man to make any fuss about anything. Are you satisfied now, Mr. Overshoot? asked lawyer Sharp, as Russell met him in the passage at the quarry-arms, where the inquest had been taken. The jury have done their best, at once to meet the facts of the case and respect the feelings of their family. Satisfied? How can I be? Such a hocus-pocus I never knew. It is not for me to interfere, while things are in this brudged state, everybody knows what an inquest is. No doubt you have done your duty and acted according to your instructions. Come in here, where we can speak privately. Mr. Sharp did not look quite as if he desired a private interview. However he followed the young man with the best grace he could muster. I am going to speak quite calmly, and have no whip now for you to snap, said Russell, sitting down as soon as he had set a chair for Mr. Sharp. But I may ask you why you have done your utmost to prevent what seemed, to an ordinary mind, the first and most essential thing. The identification? Yes, of course. Will you come and satisfy yourself? The key of the room is in my pocket. I cannot do it. I cannot do it, answered the young man shuddering. My last recollection must not be. Young sir, I respect your feelings, and I need to ask you after that, whether I have done a miss in sparing the feelings of the family, and there is something more important than even that at stake just now, you know the poor squire's sad condition. The poor old gentleman is pretty well broken down at last, I fear. What else could we expect of him? And the doctor his sister had brought from London says that his life hangs positively upon a thread of hope. Therefore we are telling him sad stories, or rather I ought to say happy stories, and though he is too sharp to swallow them all, they do him good, sir, they do him good. I can quite understand it, but how does that bear? I mean, you could have misled him surely about the result of this inquest? By no means. You would have insisted on seeing a copy of the Herald. In fact, if the jury could not have been managed, I had arranged with the editor to print a special copy giving the verdict as we wanted it. A pious fraud, of course, and so it is better to dispense with it. This verdict will set him up again upon his poor old legs, I hope. He seemed to dread the final blow, so, and the bandying to and fro of his unfortunate daughter's name. I scarcely see why it should be so, but so it is, Mr. Overshoot. Of course it is. How can you doubt it? How can it be otherwise? You can have no good blood in you. I beg your pardon, I speak rashly. But I did not mean to speak rudely. All I mean to say is that you need no more explain yourself. I seem to be always doubting you, and it always shows what a fool I am. Ah! Don't say that, Mr. Luke Sharp answered, with a fine and genial smile. You are acknowledged to be the most rising member of the county bench. Still, sir, there is such a thing as going too far with acuteness, sir. You may not perceive it yet, but when you come to my age you will own it. Truly! But who can be too suspicious when such things are done as these? I tell you, Sharp, that I would give my head off my shoulders this very instant to know who has done this damned villainy, this infernal, unnatural wrong to my darling. Mr. Overshoot, how can we tell that any wrong has been done to her? No wrong to take her life? No wrong to cut off all her lovely hair and descend it to her father? No wrong to leave us as we are, with nothing now to care for? You spoke like a sensible man just now. Oh! Don't think that I am excitable. Well, how can I think otherwise? But do me the justice to remember that I do not for one moment assert what everybody takes for granted. It seems too probable, and cannot for the present at least be disproved, that here we have the sad finale of the poor young lady, but it must be borne in mind, on the other hand, the body. The thing could be settled in two minutes. Sharp, I have no patience with you. So it appears, in making due allowance I am not vexed with you. You mean, of course, the interior garments, the nether-clothing, and so on. There is not a clue afforded there. We have found no name on anything, the features and form, as I need not tell you. I cannot bear to hear of that, as any old servant of the family, as the family doctor. All those measures were taken, of course. We had the two oldest servants, but the one was flurried out of her wits, and the other three quarters frozen. And you know what a fellow old splinters is, a crustiest of a crusty. He took an embittered dudgeon that Sir Anthony had been sent for to see the poor old squire. And all he would say was, yes, yes, yes, you'd better send for Sir Anthony. Perhaps he could bring, oh, of course he could bring, my poor little pet to life again. And then we tried her aunt, Mrs. Firmitage. One of the last two had seen her living, but bless you, my dear Sir, a team of horses would not have lugged her into the room. She cried, she shrieked, and fainted away. Barbarous creatures, she said. You will have to hold another inquest if you are so unmanly. I could not even see, my dear husband. And then she fell into hysterics, and we had to send two miles for Brandy. Now, Sir, have we anything more to do? Shall we send a litter or a coffin for the squire himself? You are inclined to be sarcastic, but you have taken a great deal upon yourself. You seem to have ordered everything, Mr. Luke Sharp everywhere. Will you tell me who else there was to do it? It has not been a very pleasant task, and certainly not a profitable one. I shall reap the usual reward to be called a busy body by everyone. But that is a trifle. Now, if there is anything you can suggest, Mr. Overshoot, it shall be done at once. Take time to think. I feel a little tired and in need of rest. There has been so much to think of. You should have come to help us sooner. But no doubt you felt a sort of delicacy about it. The worthy juryman's feet at last have ceased to rattle in the passage. My horse will not be here just yet. You will not think me rude if I snatch a little rest, while you consider. For three nights I have had no sleep. Have I your good permission, sir? Here is the key of that room, meanwhile. Russell Overshoot was surprised to see Mr. Sharp draw forth a large silk handkerchief, with spots of white upon a yellow ground, and spread it carefully over the crown of his long, deep head, and round his temples down to the fine gray eyebrows, then lifting gaitered heels upon the flat wide bar of the iron fender, the weather being as cold as ever. In less than a minute Mr. Luke Sharp was asleep beyond all contradiction. He slept the sleep of the just, with that gentle whisper of a snore which Aristotle hints at to prove that virtue being, as she must be, in the mean, doth in a neutral third of life maintain a middle course between loud snore and silent slumber. If Mr. Sharp had striven hard to produce a powerful effect young Overshoot might have suspected him, but this calm, good sleep and pure sense of rest laid him open for all the world to take a larger view of him. No bad man could sleep like that. No narrow-minded man could be so wide in nature's noblest power. Only a fine and genial soul could sweetly thus resign itself. The soft, content of well-earned repose spoke volumes in calm silence. Here was a good man, if ever there was one, at peace with his conscience, the world, and heaven. Overshoot was enabled thus to look at things more loftily, to judge a man as he should be judged when he challenges no verdict, to see that there are large points of view which we lose by worldly wisdom and by little peeps through selfish holes, too one-eyed and ungenerous. Overshoot could not bear the idea of any illiberality. He hated suspicion in anybody, unless it were just, as his own should be. In this condition of mind he pondered while the honest lawyer slept, and he could not think of anything neglected or mismanaged much in the present, helpless state of things. CHAPTER XIV When at last the frost broke up and streams began to run again, and everywhere the earth was glad that men should see her face once more, and forest trees and roadside pollards and bushes of the common hedgerow straightened their unburdened backs and stood for spring to look at them. A beautiful young maiden came as far as she could come, and sighed, as if the beauty of the land awakening was a grief to her. This pretty lady, in the young moss-bud, and slender necked chalice of innocence, was laden with do's of sorrow such as nature in her outer dealings, with the more material world, defers until autumnal night and russet hours are waiting, fiercely in full bloom of youth but ripe for blush or dreaminess. She felt the power of early spring and the budding hope around her. Am I to be a prisoner always, evermore a prisoner? She said as she touched a willow catkin, the earliest of all, the silver one. She stroked the delicate silk and tassel, doubtful of its prudence yet, and she looked for leaves, but none were there, and nothing to hold commune. The feeble sun seemed well content to have a mere glimpse of the earth again, and spread his glances diffidently, as if he expected shadow. Nevertheless there he was at last, and the world received him tenderly. It has been such a long, long time. It seems to grow longer, as the days draw out, and nobody comes to talk to me. My place is to obey, of course, but still, but still. There he is again. The girl drew back for a fine young man in a grand new velvet shooting-coat, wearing also a long shawl waistcoat and good buckskin breeches, which he combined with calf-skin gaiters, set off his legs to the uttermost. And all this picturesque apparel, and swinging a gun right gallantly, there he was in no mistake, he was quietly trying through the covert, without any beaters, but with a brace of clever spaniels, for woodcocks, snipe, or rabbit, perhaps, the season for game being over, a tall, well-made, and rather nice young man, so far as a bashful girl might guess, he seemed at this third view of him, and of course it would be an exceedingly rude and pointed thing to run away. Needless also, and indeed absurd, because she was sure that when they last met he was frightened much more than she was. It was nothing less than a duty now, to find out whether he had recovered himself. If he had done so it would be as well to frighten him even more this time, and if he had not, it would only be fair to see what could be done for him. One of his dogs, a cocking spaniel, as the great Mr. Looker warranted, a good young bitch with liver-colored spots and drop ears torn by brambles and eyes full of brownish-yellow light, ran up to the girl confidently, and wagged a brief tail and sniffed a little, and with sound discretion gazed. Each black nostril is like a mark of panting interrogation, and one ear was tucked up like a small tunnel, and the eye that belonged to it blinked with acumen. You pretty dear, come and let me pat you. The young lady cried, looking down at the dog as if there were nobody else in the world. Oh, I'm so found of dogs. What is your name? Come and tell me, darling. Her name is Grace. Most of the master, advancing in a bashful but not clumsy way. The most beautiful name in the world, I think. Oh, do you think, Mr.—but I beg your pardon, you have not told me what your own name is, I think. I hope you are quite well, he answered, turning his gun away carefully. Quite well, this fine afternoon. How beautiful it is to see the sun, and all the things coming back again so. Oh, yes, and the lovely willow trees. I'd never noticed them so before. I had no idea that they did all this. She was stroking the flossiness as she spoke. Neither had I, said the young man, trying to be most agreeable and glancing shyly at the haze of silver and lily fingers glistening. But do not you think that they could do it because—because they can scarcely help themselves? No, how can you be so stupid? Excuse me, I did not mean that, I'm sure. But they do it because it is their nature, and they like to do it. You know them, no doubt, and you understand them, because you are like them. He was frightened as soon as he had said this, which he thought, while he uttered it, rather good. I'm really astonished, the fair maid said, with a gleam of smile in her lovely eyes, but her bright lips very steadfast. To be compared to a willow tree, I thought that a willow meant. But never mind. I'm glad to be like a willow. Oh, no! Oh, no! You are not one bit. I'm sure you will never be like a willow. What could I have been thinking of? No harm, whatever, I'm sure of that. She answered with so sweet a look that he stopped from scraping the toe of his boot on a clump of moss, and in his heart was wholly taken up with her. I'm sure you meant to be very polite. More than that. A great deal more than that. Oh, ever so much more than that. She let him look at her for a moment, because he had something that he wanted to express, and she, from pure natural curiosity, would have been glad to know what it was, and so the eyes dwelt upon one another just long enough for each to be almost ashamed of leaving off, and in that short time they seemed to be pleased with one another's nature. The youth was the first to look away, because he feared that he might be rude, whereas a maiden cannot be rude. With the speed of a glance she knew all that, and she blushed at the color these things were taking. I am sure that I ought to go, she said, and so ought I. Long and long ago, I'm sure I cannot tell why I stop. If you were to get into any trouble, you are very kind. You need not be anxious. If you do not know why you stop, the sooner you run away at full speed to but her. Oh, I hope you won't say that. He replied, being gifted by nature with powers of courting which only wanted practice. I really think that you scarcely ought to say so unkind a thing as that. Very well, then, may I say this, that you have important things to attend to and that it looks, indeed it does as if it was coming on to rain. I assure you there is no fear of that, although, if it did, there is plenty of shelter, but look at the sun, how it shines in your hair. Oh, why do you keep your hair so short? It looks as if it ought to be ten feet long. Well, I suppose that it was, not quite ten feet, for that would be rather hard to manage, but say only half that length, and then, for a very good reason, was all cut off, but that is altogether another thing, and in no way can concern you. I give you a very good day, sir. No, no, you will give me a very bad day if you hurry away so suddenly. I am anxious to know a great deal more about you. Why do you live in this lonely place, quite as if you were imprisoned here? What makes you look so unhappy sometimes, although your nature is so bright? There! What a brute I am! I have made you cry! I ought to shoot myself! You must not talk of such wicked things! I am not crying! I am very happy, at least, I mean quite happy enough. Goodbye, or I shall never bear you again. As she turned away, without looking at him, he saw that her pure young breast was filled with a grief he must not intrude upon, and at the same moment he caught a glimpse through the trees of someone coming, so he lifted his smart glen-garry cap, and in sad perplexity strode away, but over his shoulder he softly said, I shall come again. You must let me do that. I am sure that I can help you. The young lady made no answer, but turned as soon as she thought he was out of sight and wistfully looked after him. Here comes that Miss Patch, of course, she said. I wonder whether she has spied him out. Her eyes are always everywhere. Oh, my darling child! cried Miss Patch, an elderly lady of great dignity. I had no idea you were gone so far. Come in, I beg you, come this moment. What has excited you like this? Nothing at all. At least, I mean, I am not in the least excited. Look at the beautiful sunset! Miss Patch, with deep gravity, took out her spectacles, placed them on her fine Roman nose, and gazed eastward to watch the sunset. Oh, dear, no, not there! cried her charge in a hurry. Here it is all in this direction. I thought that I saw a spotted dog. The lady answered still gazing steadily down the side of the forest by which the youth had made his exit. A spotted dog, Grace, I am almost sure. Yes, I dare say. I believe that there is a dog with some spots in the neighborhood. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of Crips the Carrier by Richard Dodridge Blackmore This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 16 A Grand Smockfrock Upon the Saturday after this, being Mark a day at Oxford, Zachary Crips was in and out of the places and the people, as busy as the best of them. The number of things that he had to do used to set his poor brain buzzing until he went into the bar—not the grand one, but the holster's bar—at the Golden Cross, and left dry froth at the bottom of a pewter-quart measure of fine old ale. At this flitting trace of exhaustion he always gazed for a moment as if he longed to behold just another, and then, with a sigh of self-dedication to all the great duties before him, out he pulled his leather bag and counted four pence four times over, without any multiplication thereof, but a desire to have less subtraction. And then he generally shook his head in penitence at his own love of good ale, and a fugitive fade of the passion. The last step was to deposit his four pence firmly upon the metal counter, challenging all the bad pence and half-pence pillory there as a warning, and then, with a glance at the barmaid's sally to encourage her still to hope for him, away went Crips to the duties of the day. He's always took him to the market first, a crowded and very narrow quarter, then, where he always had a great host of commissions, at very small figures, to execute. His honesty was so broadly known that it was become quite an onerous gift, as happens in much higher grades of life. Folk all along both his roads of travel naturally took great advantage of it, being certain that he could spend their money quite as gingerly as his own, and charge them no more than he was compelled by honesty towards himself to charge. Farmers, butchers, polterers, hucksters, chandeliers, and grocers, black, yellow, and green, all new Zachary Crips, and paid him the compliment of asking fifty percent above what they meant, or even hope to take. Of this the carrier was well aware, and upon the whole it pleased him. A triumph each time of rubbing down by friction of tongue and chaff of spirit, eighteen pence into his shilling, although it might be, but a matter of course, never lost any of its charms for him. His brisk eyes sparkled as he pulled off his hat and made the most learned annotations there. If learning is, as generally happens, the knowledge of what nobody else can read. But now before he had filled the great leather and apron of his capacities, which being full his hat had no room for any further entries, a thing came to pass which startled him, so far at least as the road and the world had left him the power of starting. He saw his own brother, Leviticus, standing in friendly talk with a rabbit man, a man whose reputation was not a hopeless distance beyond reproach, a man who had been three times in prison, whether he ought or ought not to have been, this is a difficult point to debate. His friends contended that he ought not, if so he, of course, was wrong to go there. His enemies vowed that he ought to be there, if so he could rightly be nowhere else. The man got the benefit of both opinions in a powerfully negative condition of confidence on the part of the human brotherhood. But, for all that, there were bigger rogues to be found in Oxford. Cripps, however, as the head of the family, having senorial rights by birth, as well as, in his own opinion, force of superior intellect, saw and at once discharged his duty. No taint of poached rabbits must lie for a moment on the straightforward path of the Cripses. Zachary therefore held up one hand as a warning to Ticcus to say no more until he could get at him. For just at this moment a deadlock arose, through a fight of four women about a rotten egg. But when it had lapsed in the hysterics the carrier struggled to his brother's elbow. Leviticus Cripps was a large, ruddy man, half a head taller than the heir of the house, but not so well built for carrying boxes. His frame was at the broadest and thickest of itself at the very important part of the human system which has to do with it. But in as much as all parts do that, more or less directly, accuracy would specify, if allowable, his stomach. Here he was well developed, but narrowed or sloped towards less essential points. Whereas the carrier was at his greatest across and around the shoulders, a keen physiologist would refer this palpable distinction to their respective occupations. The one fed pigs and fed upon them, and therefore required this local enlargement for sympathy and for assimilation. The other bore the burden of good things for the benefit of others, which is anything but fattening. Be that as it will they differed thus, and they differed still more in countenance. Zachary had a bright, open face with a short nose of brave and comely look, a mouth large, pleasant, and mild as a cow's, a strong square forehead and blue eyes of great vivacity, and some humor. He had true Cripps's hair, like a hornbeam had vintage in the month of January, and a thick curly beard of good hay-colour, shaven into three scallops like a clover-leaf. His manner of standing and speaking and looking was sturdy and plain and resolute, and he stuck out his elbows and set his knuckles on his hips whenever both hands were empty. On the contrary, Tickus, his brother, looked at every one and at all times rather as if he were being suspected, wrongly suspected, of course, and puzzled to tell it all why it should be so. And as a general rule, a little surly at such injustice. The expression of his face was heavy, slow-witted, and shyly inquisitive. His hair was black, and his eyes of a muddy brown with small slippery pupils, and he kept his legs in a fidgety state as if prone to be wanted for running away. In stature, however, and weight, this man was certainly above the average, and he would rather do a good than a bad thing whenever the motives were equivalent. But if his soul could not always walk in spotless rain-ment, his body at least was clad in the garb of innocence. No man in Oxford market wore a smock that could be compared with his. For on such great occasions Leviticus came in a noble shepherd's smock, long and flowing around him well, a triumph of mind and design and construction, and a marvel of hand and fine stitching and plating, guffaring, crimping, and ironing. The broad turned over-collar was like a snow-drift tattooed by fairies. The sleeves were gathered in as religiously as a bishops-gossamer. And the front was four-square with cunning work. A span was the length and a span the breadth, like the breastplate over the ephod. As for Titus himself he cared no more than the wool of a pig for such trifles. On this did he like to have his neighbors looking up to and the women looking after him. Even in the new, unsullied sanctuary of this Chausable he would grasp the tail and Irish pig if so our occasion befell them both. It was Mrs. Leviticus who adored him, after a sea of soap-suds and many irons tested ejectively, with his magnificent vesture suggested to feminine capacity perhaps in the days of the tabernacle. Leviticus, said Zachary sternly, leading him down a wet red alley peopled only with coop-chicks and paved with unsalable giblets. Leviticus, what thou be doing this day? Many queer things have I seen of thee, but to beat this here, never nothing. I don't know. What dost mean? Titus answered unsteadily. Now I call that a lie. So they carry her firmly but mildly, as if well used there too as a dog is to fleece in the summertime. Oh, what might be? And yet again, am I not? Titus replied, with keen sense of logic, but none of impeached ethics. Do he know or do he not? The ruthless carrier pressed him, that their hose-bird have been in jail. No, I do believe. Let me call to mind, said Titus with his duller eyes at bay. An idea to hear some it has come nigh that. But, Lord bless you, the best of men goes to jail sometimes. You call to mind old Squire Dumpster. Not to do with it, not to do with it," Zachary cried with a crack of his thumb. That were an old gentleman's misfortune, the same as St. Paul and St. Peter did once, but that hose-bird I see you talking of have been in jail three times, three times, I tell you, and no miracle. And if ever I seize you dealing with him, he closed his sentence empathetically by shaking his fist in the immediate neighborhood of his brother's retiring nose. Well, well, no need to take on so, Zach, cried the bigger man at safe distance. You might bear in mind that I has my troubles, had no cover card at the tail of me, and a family, Zach, as wears out more boots than a tanyard a week could make good to him. But there I never find anybody gifted with no consideration. Why, if I was to talk till to-morrow night, if you was to talk to next leap year's day you cannot fetch right out of wrong, Tickus. And you know pretty well what I be. Now, what was you doing with that black George? Mind no lies won't go down with me. Best way go and get him to tell ye. Younger brother answered soquely, it would do ye good like to get it out of he. No arm to try. Answered grips with alacrity. No fear for me to be seen along of him. Only for the likes of you, Tickus. The carrier set off to stake his sire repute against lowest communications. But his brother, with no heed of smock or of crock, took three long strides and stopped him. Harkin' me, harkin' me, Zach! He cried with a start at a cock the crowed at him and his face like the waddles of a chanta clear. Zach, for the sake of the lord in heaven of mine, seven little and stop a bit. I paint no hurry than I know on," replied grips of pure conscience. You told me to ask of him, and I were going on the wag to do so. Come out into the turrel, Zach, come out into the turrel a minute. There's nobody there now. The young college boys be all at their lessons or hunting. There's no place to come near the turrel for a walk when they know his e-college-chaps are gone. By a narrow back lane they got into the turrel. At that time of day little harassed by any unless it were the children of the porter of Lincoln or Exeter. Now what is it thou hast to say?" asked Zachary. But this was the very thing the younger brother was vainly seeking for. Nort! Nort! Zach! Nort! Of any account! He stammered after casting in his slow imagination for a good fat well-seasoned lie. Now spake out the truth, man, whatever I be! So the carrier tried to encourage him. Tick-a-stow! Art always getting into scrapes by mains of crooked dealing. But I'll not turn my back on thee if for once can't spake the truth like a man, brother! Leviticus struggled with his nature, while his little eyes rolled slowly and his plated breastplate rose and fell. He stole some irresolute glances at his brother's clear, straightforward face. And he might have saved himself by doing what he was half inclined to do, but circumstances aided nature to defeat his better star. The wife of the porter of Lincoln College had sent forth one of her little girls to buy a bunch of turnips. She knew that turnips would be very scarce after so much hard weather, but her stew would be no good without them, and among many other fine emotions anxiety was now foremost. So she thrust forth her head from the venerable porch at the top of her voice, exclaimed, Turmots! Turmots! Turmots! At that loud cry Leviticus Cripps turned pale, for his conscience smote him. She meaneth me! She meaneth me! She meaneth me, my turmup-field! He whispered with his long legs, bent for departure. Just a thousand pound, they've offered, Zach! Come away! Come away down Ship Street! There is a pump, and I want some water! But tell me what thou wasst to go on to say? cried his brother, laying hold of him. Dash it! I will tell thee the truth, then, Zach! I just went and cut up a mazely sow, as fine a bit of pork as you ever clapped eyes on, but for they little beauty spots. And the clerk of the market bought some for his dinner, and he have got a bad cook, a contankerous woman, and now I be in a pretty mess. Not a word of all that, do I believe! said Cripps. CHAPTER 17 Master Cripps was accustomed mainly to daylight roads and open ways. It was true that he had a good many corners to turn between Beckley and Oxford, whether his course were through Ellsfield and Mardson, or on a broader track from Headington. But for all sharp turns he had two great maxims, keep on the proper side and go slowly. By virtue of these he had never been damaged himself or forced to pay damages, and when he was in a pleasant vein at the dusty anvil or anywhere else, it was useless to tell him that any mischance need happen to a man who heeded this, that is to say if he drove a good horse and saw to the shoeing of the nag himself. Of course there was also the will of the Lord, but that was quite sure to go right if you watched it. If he has any good substance in him, a man who spends most of his daylight time in the company of an honest horse is sure to improve so much that none of his bad companions know him, supposing that he ever had any. The simplicity and the good will of the horse, his faith in mankind and his earnest desire to earn his oats and have plenty of them, also the knowledge that his time is short, and his longest worn shoes will outlast him, and that when he is dead, quite another must be bought, who will cost twice as much as he did. These things, if any sense can be made of them, operate on the human mind in a measure, for the most part favorable. Allowance therefore must be made for Master Leviticus Cripps and his character, as often as it is borne in mind that he, from society of good horses, was, by mere mischance of birth, fetched down to communion with low hogs. Not that hogs are in any way low from a properly elevated gazing point, and taking perhaps the loftiest of human considerations they are as yet fondly believed to be much better on a dish than horses. But that, as Cripps would plainly put it, is neither here nor there just now, and it is ever so much better to let a man make his own excuses, which he can generally do pretty well. Cripps, well met, cried at Russell Overshoot, seizing him by the apron as Zachary stood at the corner of Ship Street, to shake his head after his brother who had made off down the corn market. You are the very man I want to see. Or a mercy now, be I your worship? Well, there are not many gentlemen as it does me more good to look at. Without any flattery he might say that it was good, after dealing with a crooked man, to set eyes upon young Overshoot. In his face was no possibility of lie, hidden thought or subterfuge. Whatever he meant was there expressed in quick bold features and frank bright eyes. This tall, straight figure, firm neck and broad shoulders helped to make people respect what he meant. Moreover he walked as if he had always something in view before him. He never turned round to look after a pretty girl as weak young fellows do. He admired a pretty girl very much, but had too much respect for her to show it. He had made his choice once for all in life, and his choice was sweet Grace Oglander. I made sure of meeting you, Master Cripps, if not in the market, at any rate where you put up your fine old horse. I like a man who likes his horse. I want to speak to you quietly, Cripps. I am your man, sir. Who were you pleaseth? Without no beckoning I be after you. There is nothing to make any fuss about, Cripps. And the whole world is welcome to what I say whenever there is no one else concerned. At present there are other people concerned. And get out of the way, you jack-and-apes! In symmetry with his advanced ideas he should not have spoken thus, but he spake it, and the eavesdropper touched his head and made off very hastily. Russell was not at all certain of having quite acted up to his better lights, and longed to square up all the wrong with a shilling, but with higher philosophy suppressed that foolish yearning. No, Cripps, just follow me, he said. The carrier grumbled to himself a little because of all his parcels, and the change he was to call for somewhere, and a woman who could not make up her mind about a bullock's liver, not to think of more important things in every other direction. No one thought of nothing of the value of his time, every bit of the same as if he was a lean old horse turned out to grass. In spite of all that, Master Cripps did his best to keep time with the long legs before him. Thus he was led through the well-known ways to the modest gate of brazen nose, which, being passed, he went up a staircase near the unpretentious hall of that very good society. Why am I here? thought Cripps. But with his usual resignation added, I have a seed finder places nor this. This in the range of his great experience doubtless was an established truth, but even his view of the breadth of the world received a little twist of wonder, when over a narrow dark doorway which Mr. Overshoot passed in silence he read, for read he could, these words, Reverend Thomas Harden now. May I be dang'd, said Cripps, if I ever come across such a queer thing is this here be? However, he quelled his emotions and followed the lengthy striding Overshoot into a long, low room, containing uncommonly little furniture. There was no one there except Overshoot and a scout, who flooded away in ripe haste, with an order upon the buttery. No, Cripps, did thou ever taste college ale? Mr. Overshoot asked, as he took a chair like the dead bones of Ezekiel. Master Carrier, here thou hast the tokens of a new and important movement. In my time chairs were comfortable, but they make them now only to mortify the flesh. Did your worship mean me to sit down? Asked Cripps, touching the forelock which he kept comb for that purpose. Certainly, Cripps, be not critical, but sit. I thank your worship kindly. He answered with little cause for gratitude. I have a drove many a thousand miles in a seat no worse nor this, perhaps. Your reservation is wise, my friend. Your driving-board must have been velvet to this, but the new lights are not in our brewery yet. If they get there, they will have the worst of it. Here comes the tankard. Well done, old Hooper. Score a gallon to me for my family. With pleasure, sir, answered Hooper truly, while he sat on the table, a tray filled with solid luncheon. I see you remember the good old times, when there was those in this college, sir, that never thought twice about keeping down the flesh, and better flesh, sir, they had ever so much than these as are always a doctoring of it. When I comes to recall to my mind what my father said to me, when first he led me in under King Solomon's nose, my boy, he says to me, no, Hooper, I know that this advice was good. The fruit thereof is in yourself. You shall tell me all about it the very next time I come to see you. Ah, they never cares now to harken, said Hooper to himself, as with the resignation of an ancient scout he coughed and bowed and stroked the cloth and contemplated crypts with mild surprise, and then made a quiet exit. As for listening at the door a good scout scorned such benefit, he likes to help himself to something more solid than the words behind him. If I may make so bold, said the carrier after waiting as long as he could, with overshoot clearly forgetting him, what was it your worship was going to tell me? Time is going by, sir, and our horse will miss his feeding. Attend to your own, crypts, attend to your own. I beg your pardon for not helping you. All that you can do for yourself, I daresay. I am trying to think out something. I used to be quick. I am very slow now." Crypts made a little face at this to show that the ways of his betters had good right to be beyond him. And then he stood upon a sturdy bowed legs and turned a quick corner of eye at the door, in fear of any fasting influence and seeing nothing of the kind with pleasure laid hold of a large knife and fork. Lay about you, crypts, my friend, lay about you to your utmost. So said Mr. Overshoot himself, refusing everything. Raleigh now, I don't know. You worship how to get on, all the aiding by myself. Some folk can, and some breaks down at it. I must have somebody to eat with me, so be it was only now a babby or a dog. I thank you for the frank comparison, crypts. Well, help me if you must. I see you can carve. I am better at the raw, mate, sir, but I can make shift when roasted. Put your numbers, my brother, you worship, but perhaps you never hear it on him. Oh, yes, I know, crypts. A highly respectable thriving man he is, too. All your family thrive, and everybody speaks so well of them. Why, look at Leviticus. They tell me he is three hundred pigs. Like most men who have the great gift of gaining goodwill and popularity, Russell Overshoot loved a bit of gossip about his neighbors. Your worship? said crypts, disappointing him of any new information. Pigs is out of my way altogether. When I was a young man, a hundred years, counteracted I was for to carry a pig. Three pounds, twelve shillens, and four pence he cost me, less than three quarters of a mile of road, and squeak, squeak, all the way, as if I was a killin' of him, and not he me. Seemeth he smelled some apples somewhere, and he went through a chainy-lock, and a violin and a set of first-born baby linen of Squire Corsair's daughter. Grown up now, she is. Your worship must have met her, ridin'. And that was not the worst of it, nother. Oh, crypts, you must tell me another time. It was terribly hard upon you. But my friend, the gentleman who lives here, will be back for his hat when the clock strikes two, cap and gown off when the clock strikes two. From two until five he walks fifteen miles, whatever the state of the weather is. Oh, bless me, your worship! I could not travel that with an empty cart, and all downhill! Never mind, crypts, we try to listen and offer no observation. To say nor does your worship mean, well, all our family be esteemed for that. Then prove the justice of that esteem, for I have a long story to tell you, crypts, and no long time to do it in. CHAPTER XVIII of Crypts the Carrier by Richard Dodridge Blackmore This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. CHAPTER XVIII A FLASH OF LIGHT The Carrier, with a decisive gesture, ceased from both solid and liquid food, and settled his face and whole body, and members into a grim and yet flexible aspect, as if he were driving a half-broken horse, and must be prepared for any sort of start, and yet with all this he reconciled a duly receptive deference, and a pleasant readiness, as if he were his own dobbin, just fresh from the stable. I need not tell you, Master Crypts, said Russell, how I have picked up the many little things which have been coming to my knowledge lately, and I will not be too positive about any of them, because I made such a mistake in the beginning of this inquiry. All my suspicions at first were sat on a man who was purely innocent, a legal gentleman, a fair repute, to whom I have now made all honorable amends. In the most candid manner he has forgiven me, and desires no better than to act in the best faith with us. Asking your pardon for interrupting, did the gentleman happen to have a sharp name? Yes, Crypts, he did. But no more of that. I was over-sharp myself, no doubt. He is thoroughly blameless, and more than that his behavior has been most generous, most unwarying, most—I can never do justice to him. Well, your worship—no, perhaps not. I would take a rare sharpen to do so. You hold by the vulgar prejudice. Well, I should be the last to blame you. That, however, has nothing to do with what I want to ask you. But first I must tell you my reason, Crypts. You know I have no faith, whatever, in that man, John Smith. At first I thought him a tool of Mr.—never mind who, since I was so wrong, I am now convinced that John Smith is art and part in the whole affair himself. He has thrown dust in our eyes throughout. He has stopped us from taking the proper track. You remember what discredit he threw on your sister's story? You didn't believe a word of him! Had a good mind I had to a knock down down. To be sure, Crypts, I wonder that you forebore, though violent measures must not be encouraged, and I myself thought that your sister might have made some mistakes through her scare in the dark. Poor thing! Her hair can have wanted no bandaline ever since, I should fancy. What a brave girl! Not a shriek or faint! Oh! Her dead go was somewhat queer, sir, and lie down in a quarry pit. Perhaps was the wisest thing the poor young wrench could do. No doubt it was, the very wisest. However, before she lost her wits she noticed, as I understand her to say, or rather she was particularly struck with the harsh cackling voice of the taller man, who had a pointed hat, she thinks, it was not exactly a cackling voice, nor a clacking voice, nor a guttural voice, but something compounded of all three. Your sister, of course, could not quite so describe it, but she imitated it, which was better. Her ath had great advantages, she can imitate almost anything. Her waited for months on a college-chap the very same in whose house we be sitting now. Crips, that is strange. But to come back again, your sister, who is a very nice girl, indeed, and a good member of a good family, ah, your worship, that herbie, she could come across the man who it's daresay to the contrary. Now, Crips, we never shall get on while you are so horribly war-like. Are you ready to listen to me, or not? Every blessed word, your worship, every blessed word goeth down, unto such time as you begin to spake of things at home to me. Such dangerous topics I will avoid, and now for the man with his villainous voice. You know, or at any rate, now you know, that I never was satisfied with that wretched affair that was called an inquest. Inquest a non-inquirendo, but I beg your pardon, my good Crips, enough that the whole was pompous child's play, guided by crafty hands beneath, as happens with most inquests. I only doubted the more, friend Crips, I only doubted the more from having a wrong way taken to extinguish doubts. To be sure, your worship, a lie on the back of another lie makes and go heavier. Well, never mind, only this I did. For a few days perhaps I was overcome, and the illness of my dear old friend the squire, and the trouble of managing so that he should not hear anything to kill him, and my own slowness at the back of it all, for I never, as you know, am hasty. These things, one and another, kept me from going on horseback anywhere. To be sure, your worship, to be sure, you ought to be always a horseback. I have acced you many times on the bench, but you look a very poor stick there compared to what you be a horseback. Now, Crips, where is your reverence? You call me your worship, and in the same breath contend my judicial functions. I must commit you for a week's hard labor at getting in and out of your own cart, if you will not allow me to speak, Crips. At last I have frightened you, have I? Then let me secure the result in silence. Well, after the weather began to change from the tremendous frost and snow, when the poor squire fell into the quiet state that he has been in ever since, I found that nothing would do for me. My health not being quite as usual, oh, your worship was wonderfully kind. They told me you was as good as any old woman in a room almost. Except to take long rides, Crips. Nothing at all would do for me. And not to speak of myself too much. I believe that saved me from falling into a weak and spoony and godless state. I assure you there were times. However, never mind that. I am all right now, and thank the Lord you ought to say, sir, but you great squires upon the bench. Thank the Lord I do say, Crips. I thank him every day for it. But if I may edge in a word in your unusually eloquent state, I will tell you just what happened to me. I never believed and never will that poor Miss O'Glander is dead. The coroner and the jury believed that they had her remains before them, although for the squire's sake they forbore to identify her in the verdict. Your sister, no doubt, believed the same, and so did almost every one. I could not go. I could not go. No doubt I was a fool, but I could not face the chance of what I might see. And after—after what I heard of it—well, I began to write about, saying nothing of course to anyone, and the more I rode, the more my spirit and faith in good things came back to me. And I think I have been rewarded, Crips. At last I have been rewarded. It is not very much, but still it is like a flash of light to me. I have found out the man with the horrible voice. Lord, have mercy upon me, your worship. The man is laid hold of the pickaxe. I have found him, Crips, I do believe. But rather by pure luck than skill, there be no such thing as luck, your worship. If you'll excuse me, the Lord in heaven is the master of us. Upon my word it looks almost like it, though I never took that view of things, however this was the way of it. Today is Saturday. Well it was last Wednesday night. I was coming home from a long and wet and muddy ride to Maidenhead. That little town always pleases me, and I like the landlord and the holster, and I am sure that my horse is fed, but worship must never think such a thing without you see it mixed, and feel it, and watch him a munchin' until he hath done. More than that I have always fancied ever since that story was about the bag of potatoes you brought, without knowing any more of it. Ever since I heard of that it has seemed to me that more inquiries ought to be made at Maidenhead. I need not say why, but I know that the squire's opinion had been the same, as long as, I mean, while his health permitted. On Wednesday I went to the foreman of the nursery once the potatoes came. It was raining hard, and he was in a shed, with a green bay's apron on. Seeing to some potting work I got him away from the other man and found him a very sharp fellow indeed. He remembered all about those potatoes, especially as Squire O'Glander had ridden from Oxford in the snowy weather to ask many questions about them, but the squire could not put the questions I did. The poor old gentleman could not bear, of course, to expose his trouble, but I threw away all little scruples as truly I should have done long ago, and I told the good foreman every word so far as we know it yet, at least. He was shocked beyond expression. People take things in such different ways, not at the poor Squire's loss and anguish, but that anybody should have dared to meddle with his own pet oak-leafs, and, above all, his new pet seal. I sealed them myself, he said. Sealed them myself, sir, with the new coat of arms that we paid for that month, because of the tricks of the trade, sir. Has anybody dared to imitate? No, Mr. Foreman, I said. They simply cut away your seal altogether and tied it again without any seal. Oh, then, he replied, that quite alters the case, if they had only meddled with our new arms while the money was hot that we paid for them what a case we might have had. But to knock them off, no action lies. Crips had took me a very long time to warm him up to the matter again after that great disappointment. He was burning for some great suit at log and some rival nursery, which always pays the upstart one, but I led him round, and by patient words and simple truth brought him back to reason. The packing of the bag he remembered well, and the pouring of a lot of buckwheat husks around and among the potato sets to keep them from bruising and to keep out frost, which seemed even then to be in the air, and he sent his best men to the Oxford coach, the first down-coach from London which passed by their gate about ten o'clock, and would be in Oxford about two, with the weather and the roads as usual. In that case, the bag could scarcely have been at the black horse more than half an hour before you came and laid hold of it, and being put into the bar, as the squire's parcels always are, it was very unlikely to be tampered with. Lord, a mercy your worship, it was witchcraft, then! The same as I said all along, it were witchcraft and nothing else. Stop, Cripps, don't you be in such a hurry, but wait till you hear what I have next to tell. But oh, here comes my friend Harden now, as punctual as the clock strikes, too. Well, old fellow, how are you getting on? CHAPTER XIX Of all men, most I have avoided thee, as in his mind, but he spoke it not, though being a strongly outspoken man, not that he ever had done any wrong to make him be shy of the Cripps race, but that he felt in his heart a desire for commune, which must be dangerous. He knew that in him lurked a foolish tendency towards Esther, and which was worse, he knew that she had done her best to overcome a still more foolish turn towards him. Cripps, however, who would have fed the doves of Venus on black peas, looked upon any bygone courting as a social and congenial topic, enabling a quiet man to get on, if he only had a good memory, with almost any woman. Like a sensible man, he had always acquitted Harden now of any blame in the matter, knowing that young girl's fancies may be caught without any angling. If her chose to be a fool, how were he to blame for it? Then the Carrier never forgot the stages of social distinction. Servant, sir, he therefore said, with his usual salam, hope I see you well, sir. Thank you, Zachary. So Mr. Harden now, taking the Carrier's horny palm, which always smelled of straps and buckles, and trying to squeeze it with a passive result, I am pretty well, Zachary, thank you. Then you don't look it, sir, that you don't. We hear you was getting on wonderful well, but the proof of the puddin' ain't in you, sir. That's right, Cripps. Right overshoot, give it to him, Cripps, why he stars himself. Ever since he took his first and second, and got fellowship and took orders, he hasn't known what a good dinner is. He keeps all the fasts in the calendar and the vigils of the festivals, and he ought to have an appetite for the feasts, but he overstays his time and can't keep anything on his stomach. Now, Russell as usual. Harden now answered with a true and pleasant smile. What a fine fellow you would be if you only had moderation. What I see that you want to talk to Cripps, and I have several men waiting in the quad. Where is my beaver? Oh, here, to be sure. Will you come with us? Now, of course you can't. Will you dine in hall with me? Of course I won't. Become you and dine with me on Sunday. The only day you dare eat a bit, and my mother will do her best to strengthen you, build you up, establish you, for a fortnight of macaroni. Will you come? Yes, yes, to-morrow, to be sure. I have many things I want to say to you. Goodbye for the present. Goodbye, Master Cripps. There goes one of the finest fellows, of all the fine fellows yet ruined by rubbish. With these words Russell Overshoot ran to the window and looked out. A dozen or more of young men were waiting, the best undergraduates of the college, for Mr. Hardnell to lead them for fifteen miles without a word. Well, every man to his liking, said Russell, but that would be about the last of mine. Now, Cripps, most patient of carriers, are you ready for me to go on or not? I have been thinking about my horse. I'll greet you, me, to be hatin' like this, for the thought of so much fasting had made him set to again, while he got the chance. Drinkin' likewise of college ale, better I have tasted but not often, and all this time, as you might say, old Dobbin, easin' of his dainty foot, with no more nor a wisp of hay to drag through his water, if he hath any, an excruciating picture Cripps, drawn by two vivid acconscience. Dobbin is as happy as he can be, with twenty-five horses to talk to him. At this very moment I behold him munching choices of white oats and chaff. Air-worship can see through a stone wall, they say, but they only keeps black oats at the cross just now, along of a contract the landlord hath made, and a blind sort of bargain to my thinkin'—never mind that, let him have black oats, then, or Irish oats, or no oats at all, but do you wish to hear my story out, or will you leave it till next Saturday? Sir, you might have seen, as I was waitin'—until such a time, as you please, to go on with him. Very well, Cripps, that satisfies the most exacting historian. I will go on where I left off, if that point can be established. Well, I left the foreman of the nursery, telling me about the man he sent with the bag of potatoes to the Oxford coach. He told me he was one of his sharpest hands, who had been off work for a week or two then, and had only returned that morning. Joe Smith was his name, and when they could get him to work, he would do as much work as any two other men in the place. He might be trusted with anything. If he only undertook it, but the worst of him was that he never could be got to stick long to anything. Here to-day and gone to-morrow had always been his character, and they thought that he must be of gypsy race and perhaps had a wandering family. This made me a little curious about the man, and I asked to see him. But the foreman said that for some days now he had not been near the nursery, and they thought that he was on the Oxford road in the neighbourhood of Nettle-bed. And another thing, if I did see him, I could not make out more than half, he said, for the man had such a defect in his voice, that only those who were used to him could be certain of his meaning. Suddenly I thought of your sister's tale, and I said to the foreman, Does he speak like this, imitating as well as I could your sister's imitation of him? You know the man, sir, the foreman answered. You have got him so exactly that you must have heard him many times. I told him no more, but asked him to describe Joe Smith's appearance. He answered that he was a tall, dark man, loosely built but powerful, with a stoop in his neck and a long sharp nose, and he generally wore a brown pointed hat. Crips, you may well suppose that my suspicions were strong by this time. Here was your sister's description so far as the poor girl could see in the dusk and the fright. Confirmed to the very letter, and here was the clear opportunity offered for slipping the wreath of hair into the bag. Your worship, now, your worship, you be a bit too sharp. If that their man were at Headington Quarry at nightfall of the Tuesday, how could he possibly have been to Maidenhead next morning? No, no, your worship be too sharp. Too thick, you mean, Crips. And not sharp enough, but listen to me for a moment. Those long-legged gypsies think very little of going thirty miles in a night, though they never travel by day so. And then there is the up-male coach. Of course he would not pay his fare, but he might hang on beneath the guard's bugle, with or without his knowledge, and slip away at the changing-houses. Of that objection I think nothing. It serves to my mind as a confirmation. Very well, sir, Crips discreetly. Who be I for to argify? No, Crips, of course not, but still I wish to allow you to think of everything. You may not be right, but still I like you to speak when you think of anything. That is what I have always said and contend for continually, let every man speak when sensible. Your worship hath hit the mark again. The old squire saith, let no man speak, as St. Paul saith to the women. But your worship saith, let all men speak, all women likewise, as hath a tongue. And then you stopeth us both the more, by restirecting all on us women or men, whichever it may happen, till such time as all turns up sensible. Now there never could be such a time. Carrier you are satirical. Keep from the dusty Anvil, Crips. Marry a wife, and you will have a surfeit of argument at home. But still you have been very good on the whole, and you never will get home to-night. At any rate I was so convinced, in spite of all smaller difficulties, that I bound the foreman to let me know, by a man on horseback, at any expense, the moment he saw Joe Smith again, and his parting words to me were these, well, sir, don't you think harm of Joe without sure proof against him. He is a random chap I know, but I never saw a better man to earn his wages. Well, I went back to the inn at once, and rode leisurely to Henley. It was raining hard, and the river in flood with all the melted snow, and so on. When I crossed that pretty bridge I had been trying in vain to think, what was the best thing I could do? Not liking to go home and leave my new discovery so vague. But being soaked and chilly now I resolved to have a glass of something hot, for fear of taking a violent cold and losing perhaps a week by it. So I went into the entrance of that good inn by the water side, and called for some brandy and water hot. The landlord was good enough to come out, and knowing me from old boating days, he got into a talk with me. I had helped him at the sessions about a house of his at Dorchester, and nothing could exceed his good will. Remembering now the gypsies hang about the boats in the water side I asked him, quite as a random shot, whether any of them happened to be in the neighborhood just now. He thought perhaps that I was timid about my dark ride homeward, and he told me all he knew of them. There was one lot as usual in the open ground about Noonham and another large camp near Chalgrove, and another, quite a small pitch that, on the edge of the firs above Nettle-bed. This last was a lot for me, and I pressed him so about them, and he looked at me with a peculiar grin. What do you mean by that? I asked. Now squire overshoot as if you did not know, he answered. Doth your worship happen to remember Sinementa's name? Cripps, I assure you, I was astonished. Of course you knew Sinementa, well, I don't want to be interrupted. No one could say any harm of her, and a lovier girl was never seen. The landlord had heard some bygone gossip about Sinementa and myself. I did admire her. I am not ashamed to say that I greatly admired her. And so did every young fellow here who had got a bit of pluck in him. I will not go into that question, but you know what Sinementa was, Cripps nodded, with a thick mixture of feelings his poetical self had been smitten more with Sinementa than he cared to tell, and his practical self was getting into a terrible hubbub about his horse. To be sure your worship was all he said. Very well. I know you understand me. To hear of Sinementa being in that camp at Nuddle-bed made me so determined that I laid hold of the landlord by the collar without thinking. He begged me not to ride off with him, or his business would be ruined, and feeling that he weighed about eighteen stone I left him on his threshold. I could not bear to ask him now another word of anything. Knowing looks and winks and reeking jokes so irritate me. And I know that a woman is pure and good. You remember how we all lost Sinementa? Three or four score of undergraduates reckless of parental will had offered her matrimony, and three or four newly elected fellows were asking whether they could vacate if they happened to jump the broomstick. All that were to find the last, muttered Cripps most sensibly. Where ought to I had a sound man on the road, a man with a horse well seasoned, and a substantial cart? Her ought? Oh! Then Cripps, you were smitten too! A nice connection for light parcels. Well, never mind, the whole thing is over and we are sadder and wiser men, but we like to know who the chief sufferer is, what man has won the beauty. And with this on my mind I rode up the hill and resolved to go through with my seeking. When I got to the end of the fair mile the night came down in earnest. You know my young horse can't a loop, freckle like a melon. He knows me as well as my old dog, and a child can ride him. But in the dark he gets often nervous and jumps across the road, if he sees what he does not consider sociable, so that one must watch his ears, whatever the weather may be, and now the weather was bad as man or horse could be out in. All day there had been spits of rain with sudden puffs of wind and streaks of green upon the sky, and racing clouds with ragged edges. You remember the weather, of course? Wednesday is one of your Oxford days. Well, I hope you were home before it began to pelt as it did that evening. For myself I did not care one fig. I would rather be drenched than slowly sodden. But I did care for my horse, because he had whistled a little in the afternoon, and his throat is slightly delicate. In the whir of the wind and the hedge in the way it struck the naked branches back like the clashing of clubs against the sky were enough to make even a steady old horse uneasy at the things before him. Moreover the road began to flash with that peculiar light which comes upward or downward, who can tell? And reckless tumults of air and earth the road was running like a river, come here and go there like glass it shone with the furious blows of the wind striking a pale gleam out of it. I stooped upon Cantaloupe's neck, or the wind would have dashed me back over his cropper. Suddenly in the swirl and roar my horse stood steadfast, he spread his four legs and stooped his head to throw his balance forward, and his mane, which had been lashing my beard, swished down in a waterfall of hair. I was startled as much as he was, and in the strange light stared about. You have better eyes than I have, I said. Or else you are a fool, Canty! I thought that he was a fool until I followed the turn of his head, and there I saw a white thing in the ditch. Something white or rather of a whitey brown color was in the trough, with something dark leaning over it. Who are you there, I shouted, and the wind blew my voice back between my teeth. Not to you, master! Not to you! Come on and look to your own concerns! This rough reply was in a harsh, high cackle, rather than a human voice, but it came through the roar of the tempest clearly, as no common voice could come. For a moment I had a great mind to do exactly as I was ordered, but curiosity and perhaps some pity for the fellow stopped me. I will not leave you, my friend, I said, until I am sure that I can do no good. The man was in such trouble that he made no answer which I could hear, so I jumped from my horse, who would come no nearer, and holding the bridle I went up to sea, in a shelter to spot as could be found, but still in a dripping and weltering place lay or rather rolled and kicked a poor child in a most violent fit. Don'ty now, my little Tom, don'ty, that's a dearie, don't! The man kept coaxing and moaning and trying to smooth down little legs and arms. Let it have its way, I said, only keep the head well up and try to put something between the teeth. Without any answer he did as I bade, and what he put betwixt the teeth must have been his own great thumb. Of course he mistook me for a doctor, none but a doctor was likely to be out riding on so rough a night. Ah, how I do pity they poor chaps! cried Carrier Cripps, who really could not wait one minute longer. Many a night I made some starting for ten or twenty mile of it, just when I be in the smell of my supper. An orpah nightcap, outerward, least ways I mean outer pipe and hot summit. Your worship will excuse me of breaking in, but there's half my errands to do yet, and the sun gone flat on the wrack-cliff. The Lord knows if I shall get home to-night, but if I do might I make so bold your worship be coming to see poor squire? Your worship is not like some worship's be, and I has got a rare drop of fine old stuff. Your worship is not the man to take me crooked. I mean no liberty, mind you. Of that I am certain, Mr. Overshoot answered. Cripps, your suggestion just hits the mark. I particularly want to see your sister. That was my object in seeing you, and I did not like to see her until you should have had time to prepare her. I have several things to see to here, and then I will ride to Beckley. Mrs. Hookam will give me a bit of dinner when I have seen my dear friend the squire. At night I will come down and smoke a pipe and finish my story with you, as soon as I am sure you have had your supper. Never you pay no heed at all, said Master Cripps, with salamnity. To no thought of my supper, sir, be that entire what you worships call a secondary consideration. However I will have, and if so be I can. And you mustn't go for to think, sir, that go I would now, if stay I could. I goes without their story, the same as the jog of a cart to the trot of a nag. My witscape's on to go on up and down, but business is a piece of the body, sir, but no sleep for me, nor no church to-morrow, without I hears the last of that there tale.