Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
and searched the clock and the linen-press. And he changed his face
every moment so, and with such power of mimicry that without so much as
a smile of his own, he made even mother laugh so that she broke her new
tenpenny waistband; and as for us children, we rolled on the floor, and
Betty Muxworthy roared in the wash-up.
CHAPTER XII
A MAN JUSTLY POPULAR
Now although Mr. Faggus was so clever, and generous, and celebrated,
I know not whether, upon the whole, we were rather proud of him as a
member of our family, or inclined to be ashamed of him. And indeed I
think that the sway of the balance hung upon the company we were in. For
instance, with the boys at Brendon--for there is no village at Oare--I
was exceeding proud to talk of him, and would freely brag of my Cousin
Tom. But with the rich parsons of the neighbourhood, or the justices
(who came round now and then, and were glad to ride up to a warm
farm-house), or even the well-to-do tradesmen of Porlock--in a word, any
settled power, which was afraid of losing things--with all of them we
were very shy of claiming our kinship to that great outlaw.
And sure, I should pity, as well as condemn him though our ways in the
world were so different, knowing as I do his story; which knowledge,
methinks, would often lead us to let alone God's prerogative--judgment,
and hold by man's privilege--pity. Not that I would find excuse for
Tom's downright dishonesty, which was beyond doubt a disgrace to him,
and no credit to his kinsfolk; only that it came about without his
meaning any harm or seeing how he took to wrong; yet gradually knowing
it. And now, to save any further trouble, and to meet those who
disparage him (without allowance for the time or the crosses laid upon
him), I will tell the history of him, just as if he were not my cousin,
and hoping to be heeded. And I defy any man to say that a word of this
is either false, or in any way coloured by family. Much cause he had
to be harsh with the world; and yet all acknowledged him very pleasant,
when a man gave up his money. And often and often he paid the toll for
the carriage coming after him, because he had emptied their pockets, and
would not add inconvenience. By trade he had been a blacksmith, in the
town of Northmolton, in Devonshire, a rough rude place at the end of
Exmoor, so that many people marvelled if such a man was bred there. Not
only could he read and write, but he had solid substance; a piece of
land worth a hundred pounds, and right of common for two hundred sheep,
and a score and a half of beasts, lifting up or lying down. And being
left an orphan (with all these cares upon him) he began to work right
early, and made such a fame at the shoeing of horses, that the farriers
of Barum were like to lose their custom. And indeed he won a golden
Jacobus for the best-shod nag in the north of Devon, and some say that
he never was forgiven.
As to that, I know no more, except that men are jealous. But whether
it were that, or not, he fell into bitter trouble within a month of his
victory; when his trade was growing upon him, and his sweetheart ready
to marry him. For he loved a maid of Southmolton (a currier's daughter
I think she was, and her name was Betsy Paramore), and her father had
given consent; and Tom Faggus, wishing to look his best, and be clean of
course, had a tailor at work upstairs for him, who had come all the way
from Exeter. And Betsy's things were ready too--for which they accused
him afterwards, as if he could help that--when suddenly, like a
thunderbolt, a lawyer's writ fell upon him.
This was the beginning of a law-suit with Sir Robert Bampfylde, a
gentleman of the neighbourhood, who tried to oust him from his common,
and drove his cattle and harassed them. And by that suit of law poor Tom
was ruined altogether, for Sir Robert could pay for much swearing; and
then all his goods and his farm were sold up, and even his smithery
taken. But he saddled his horse, before they could catch him, and rode
away to Southmolton, looking more like a madman than a good farrier,
as the people said who saw him. But when he arrived there, instead of
comfort, they showed him the face of the door alone; for the news of his
loss was before him, and Master Paramore was a sound, prudent man, and
a high member of the town council. It is said that they even gave him
notice to pay for Betsy's wedding-clothes, now that he was too poor to
marry her. This may be false, and indeed I doubt it; in the first place,
because Southmolton is a busy place for talking; and in the next, that
I do not think the action would have lain at law, especially as the
maid lost nothing, but used it all for her wedding next month with Dick
Vellacott, of Mockham.
All this was very sore upon Tom; and he took it to heart so grievously,
that he said, as a better man might have said, being loose of mind and
property, “The world hath preyed on me like a wolf. God help me now to
prey on the world.”
And in sooth it did seem, for a while, as if Providence were with him;
for he took rare toll on the highway, and his name was soon as good as
gold anywhere this side of Bristowe. He studied his business by night
and by day, with three horses all in hard work, until he had made a fine
reputation; and then it was competent to him to rest, and he had plenty
left for charity. And I ought to say for society too, for he truly
loved high society, treating squires and noblemen (who much affected his
company) to the very best fare of the hostel. And they say that once
the King's Justitiaries, being upon circuit, accepted his invitation,
declaring merrily that if never true bill had been found against him,
mine host should now be qualified to draw one. And so the landlords did;
and he always paid them handsomely, so that all of them were kind to
him, and contended for his visits. Let it be known in any township that
Mr. Faggus was taking his leisure at the inn, and straightway all the
men flocked thither to drink his health without outlay, and all the
women to admire him; while the children were set at the cross-roads to
give warning of any officers. One of his earliest meetings was with Sir
Robert Bampfylde himself, who was riding along the Barum road with only
one serving-man after him. Tom Faggus put a pistol to his head, being
then obliged to be violent, through want of reputation; while the
serving-man pretended to be a long way round the corner. Then the baronet
pulled out his purse, quite trembling in the hurry of his politeness.
Tom took the purse, and his ring, and time-piece, and then handed them
back with a very low bow, saying that it was against all usage for him
to rob a robber. Then he turned to the unfaithful knave, and trounced
him right well for his cowardice, and stripped him of all his property.
But now Mr. Faggus kept only one horse, lest the Government should steal
them; and that one was the young mare Winnie. How he came by her he
never would tell, but I think that she was presented to him by a certain
Colonel, a lover of sport, and very clever in horseflesh, whose life Tom
had saved from some gamblers. When I have added that Faggus as yet
had never been guilty of bloodshed (for his eyes, and the click of
his pistol at first, and now his high reputation made all his wishes
respected), and that he never robbed a poor man, neither insulted a
woman, but was very good to the Church, and of hot patriotic opinions,
and full of jest and jollity, I have said as much as is fair for him,
and shown why he was so popular. Everybody cursed the Doones, who lived
apart disdainfully. But all good people liked Mr. Faggus--when he had
not robbed them--and many a poor sick man or woman blessed him for other
people's money; and all the hostlers, stable-boys, and tapsters entirely
worshipped him.
I have been rather long, and perhaps tedious, in my account of him, lest
at any time hereafter his character should be misunderstood, and his
good name disparaged; whereas he was my second cousin, and the lover of
my--But let that bide. 'Tis a melancholy story.
He came again about three months afterwards, in the beginning of the
spring-time, and brought me a beautiful new carbine, having learned my
love of such things, and my great desire to shoot straight. But mother
would not let me have the gun, until he averred upon his honour that he
had bought it honestly. And so he had, no doubt, so far as it is honest
to buy with money acquired rampantly. Scarce could I stop to make my
bullets in the mould which came along with it, but must be off to the
Quarry Hill, and new target I had made there. And he taught me then
how to ride bright Winnie, who was grown since I had seen her, but
remembered me most kindly. After making much of Annie, who had a
wondrous liking for him--and he said he was her godfather, but God knows
how he could have been, unless they confirmed him precociously--away he
went, and young Winnie's sides shone like a cherry by candlelight.
Now I feel that of those boyish days I have little more to tell, because
everything went quietly, as the world for the most part does with us. I
began to work at the farm in earnest, and tried to help my mother, and
when I remembered Lorna Doone, it seemed no more than the thought of a
dream, which I could hardly call to mind. Now who cares to know how many
bushels of wheat we grew to the acre, or how the cattle milched till we
ate them, or what the turn of the seasons was? But my stupid self seemed
like to be the biggest of all the cattle; for having much to look after
the sheep, and being always in kind appetite, I grew four inches longer
in every year of my farming, and a matter of two inches wider; until
there was no man of my size to be seen elsewhere upon Exmoor. Let that
pass: what odds to any how tall or wide I be? There is no Doone's door
at Plover's Barrows and if there were I could never go through it. They
vexed me so much about my size, long before I had completed it, girding
at me with paltry jokes whose wit was good only to stay at home, that
I grew shame-faced about the matter, and feared to encounter a
looking-glass. But mother was very proud, and said she never could have
too much of me.
The worst of all to make me ashamed of bearing my head so high--a thing
I saw no way to help, for I never could hang my chin down, and my back
was like a gatepost whenever I tried to bend it--the worst of all was
our little Eliza, who never could come to a size herself, though she had
the wine from the Sacrament at Easter and Allhallowmas, only to be small
and skinny, sharp, and clever crookedly. Not that her body was out of
the straight (being too small for that perhaps), but that her wit was
full of corners, jagged, and strange, and uncomfortable. You never could
tell what she might say next; and I like not that kind of women. Now God
forgive me for talking so of my own father's daughter, and so much the
more by reason that my father could not help it. The right way is
to face the matter, and then be sorry for every one. My mother fell
grievously on a slide, which John Fry had made nigh the apple-room door,
and hidden with straw from the stable, to cover his own great idleness.
My father laid John's nose on the ice, and kept him warm in spite of it;
but it was too late for Eliza. She was born next day with more mind than
body--the worst thing that can befall a man.
But Annie, my other sister, was now a fine fair girl, beautiful to
behold. I could look at her by the fireside, for an hour together, when
I was not too sleepy, and think of my dear father. And she would do the
same thing by me, only wait the between of the blazes. Her hair was done