Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
paying him too much wages!
Now I have not mentioned all this of John Fry, from any disrespect for
his memory (which is green and honest amongst us), far less from any
desire to hurt the feelings of his grandchildren; and I will do them the
justice, once for all, to avow, thus publicly, that I have known a great
many bigger rogues, and most of themselves in the number. But I have
referred, with moderation, to this little flaw in a worthy character (or
foible, as we call it, when a man is dead) for this reason only--that
without it there was no explaining John's dealings with Jeremy Stickles.
Master Jeremy, being full of London and Norwich experience, fell into
the error of supposing that we clods and yokels were the simplest of the
simple, and could be cheated at his good pleasure. Now this is not so:
when once we suspect that people have that idea of us, we indulge them
in it to the top of their bent, and grieve that they should come out of
it, as they do at last in amazement, with less money than before, and
the laugh now set against them.
Ever since I had offended Jeremy, by threatening him (as before related)
in case of his meddling with my affairs, he had more and more allied
himself with simple-minded John, as he was pleased to call him. John
Fry was everything: it was “run and fetch my horse, John”--“John, are my
pistols primed well?”--“I want you in the stable, John, about something
very particular”, until except for the rudeness of it, I was longing
to tell Master Stickles that he ought to pay John's wages. John for
his part was not backward, but gave himself the most wonderful airs of
secrecy and importance, till half the parish began to think that the
affairs of the nation were in his hand, and he scorned the sight of a
dungfork.
It was not likely that this should last; and being the only man in the
parish with any knowledge of politics, I gave John Fry to understand
that he must not presume to talk so freely, as if he were at least a
constable, about the constitution; which could be no affair of his, and
might bring us all into trouble. At this he only tossed his nose, as if
he had been in London at least three times for my one; which vexed me so
that I promised him the thick end of the plough-whip if even the name of
a knight of the shire should pass his lips for a fortnight.
Now I did not suspect in my stupid noddle that John Fry would ever tell
Jeremy Stickles about the sight at the Wizard's Slough and the man in
the white nightcap; because John had sworn on the blade of his knife not
to breathe a word to any soul, without my full permission. However, it
appears that John related, for a certain consideration, all that he
had seen, and doubtless more which had accrued to it. Upon this Master
Stickles was much astonished at Uncle Reuben's proceedings, having
always accounted him a most loyal, keen, and wary subject.
All this I learned upon recovering Jeremy's good graces, which came to
pass in no other way than by the saving of his life. Being bound to keep
the strictest watch upon the seven rooks' nests, and yet not bearing
to be idle and to waste my mother's stores, I contrived to keep my work
entirely at the western corner of our farm, which was nearest to Glen
Doone, and whence I could easily run to a height commanding the view I
coveted.
One day Squire Faggus had dropped in upon us, just in time for dinner;
and very soon he and King's messenger were as thick as need be. Tom had
brought his beloved mare to show her off to Annie, and he mounted his
pretty sweetheart upon her, after giving Winnie notice to be on her
very best behaviour. The squire was in great spirits, having just
accomplished a purchase of land which was worth ten times what he gave
for it; and this he did by a merry trick upon old Sir Roger Bassett, who
never supposed him to be in earnest, as not possessing the money. The
whole thing was done on a bumper of claret in a tavern where they met;
and the old knight having once pledged his word, no lawyers could
hold him back from it. They could only say that Master Faggus, being
attainted of felony, was not a capable grantee. “I will soon cure that,”
quoth Tom, “my pardon has been ready for months and months, so soon as I
care to sue it.”
And now he was telling our Annie, who listened very rosily, and believed
every word he said, that, having been ruined in early innocence by the
means of lawyers, it was only just, and fair turn for turn, that having
become a match for them by long practice upon the highway, he should
reinstate himself, at their expense, in society. And now he would go
to London at once, and sue out his pardon, and then would his lovely
darling Annie, etc., etc.--things which I had no right to hear, and in
which I was not wanted.
Therefore I strode away up the lane to my afternoon's employment, sadly
comparing my love with theirs (which now appeared so prosperous), yet
heartily glad for Annie's sake; only remembering now and then the old
proverb “Wrong never comes right.”
I worked very hard in the copse of young ash, with my billhook and a
shearing-knife; cutting out the saplings where they stooled too close
together, making spars to keep for thatching, wall-crooks to drive into
the cob, stiles for close sheep hurdles, and handles for rakes, and
hoes, and two-bills, of the larger and straighter stuff. And all the
lesser I bound in faggots, to come home on the sledd to the woodrick.
It is not to be supposed that I did all this work, without many peeps at
the seven rooks' nests, which proved my Lorna's safety. Indeed, whenever
I wanted a change, either from cleaving, or hewing too hard, or stooping
too much at binding, I was up and away to the ridge of the hill, instead
of standing and doing nothing.
Soon I forgot about Tom and Annie; and fell to thinking of Lorna only;
and how much I would make of her; and what I should call our children;
and how I would educate them, to do honour to her rank; yet all the time
I worked none the worse, by reason of meditation. Fresh-cut spars are
not so good as those of a little seasoning; especially if the sap
was not gone down at the time of cutting. Therefore we always find it
needful to have plenty still in stock.
It was very pleasant there in the copse, sloping to the west as it was,
and the sun descending brightly, with rocks and banks to dwell upon. The
stems of mottled and dimpled wood, with twigs coming out like elbows,
hung and clung together closely, with a mode of bending in, as children
do at some danger; overhead the shrunken leaves quivered and rustled
ripely, having many points like stars, and rising and falling
delicately, as fingers play sad music. Along the bed of the slanting
ground, all between the stools of wood, there were heaps of dead brown
leaves, and sheltered mats of lichen, and drifts of spotted stick gone
rotten, and tufts of rushes here and there, full of fray and feathering.
All by the hedge ran a little stream, a thing that could barely name
itself, flowing scarce more than a pint in a minute, because of the
sunny weather. Yet had this rill little crooks and crannies dark and
bravely bearded, and a gallant rush through a reeden pipe--the stem of
a flag that was grounded; and here and there divided threads, from the
points of a branching stick, into mighty pools of rock (as large as a
grown man's hat almost) napped with moss all around the sides and hung
with corded grasses. Along and down the tiny banks, and nodding into one
another, even across main channel, hung the brown arcade of ferns; some
with gold tongues languishing; some with countless ear-drops jerking,
some with great quilled ribs uprising and long saws aflapping; others
cupped, and fanning over with the grace of yielding, even as a hollow
fountain spread by winds that have lost their way.
Deeply each beyond other, pluming, stooping, glancing, glistening,
weaving softest pillow lace, coying to the wind and water, when their
fleeting image danced, or by which their beauty moved,--God has made no
lovelier thing; and only He takes heed of them.
It was time to go home to supper now, and I felt very friendly towards
it, having been hard at work for some hours, with only the voice of the
little rill, and some hares and a pheasant for company. The sun was gone
down behind the black wood on the farther cliffs of Bagworthy, and the
russet of the tufts and spear-beds was becoming gray, while the greyness
of the sapling ash grew brown against the sky; the hollow curves of
the little stream became black beneath the grasses and the fairy fans
innumerable, while outside the hedge our clover was crimping its leaves
in the dewfall, like the cocked hats of wood-sorrel,--when, thanking God
for all this scene, because my love had gifted me with the key to all
things lovely, I prepared to follow their example, and to rest from
labour.
Therefore I wiped my bill-hook and shearing-knife very carefully, for
I hate to leave tools dirty; and was doubting whether I should try for
another glance at the seven rooks' nests, or whether it would be too
dark for it. It was now a quarter of an hour mayhap, since I had made
any chopping noise, because I had been assorting my spars, and tying
them in bundles, instead of plying the bill-hook; and the gentle tinkle
of the stream was louder than my doings. To this, no doubt, I owe my
life, which then (without my dreaming it) was in no little jeopardy.
For, just as I was twisting the bine of my very last faggot, before
tucking the cleft tongue under, there came three men outside the hedge,
where the western light was yellow; and by it I could see that all three
of them carried firearms. These men were not walking carelessly, but
following down the hedge-trough, as if to stalk some enemy: and for a
moment it struck me cold to think it was I they were looking for. With
the swiftness of terror I concluded that my visits to Glen Doone were
known, and now my life was the forfeit.
It was a most lucky thing for me, that I heard their clothes catch in
the brambles, and saw their hats under the rampart of ash, which is made
by what we call “splashing,” and lucky, for me that I stood in a goyal,
and had the dark coppice behind me. To this I had no time to fly, but
with a sort of instinct, threw myself flat in among the thick fern, and
held my breath, and lay still as a log. For I had seen the light gleam
on their gun-barrels, and knowing the faults of the neighbourhood, would
fain avoid swelling their number. Then the three men came to the gap
in the hedge, where I had been in and out so often; and stood up, and
looked in over.
It is all very well for a man to boast that, in all his life, he has
never been frightened, and believes that he never could be so. There
may be men of that nature--I will not dare to deny it; only I have
never known them. The fright I was now in was horrible, and all my bones
seemed to creep inside me; when lying there helpless, with only a billet
and the comb of fern to hide me, in the dusk of early evening, I saw
three faces in the gap; and what was worse, three gun-muzzles.
“Somebody been at work here--” it was the deep voice of Carver Doone;
“jump up, Charlie, and look about; we must have no witnesses.”
“Give me a hand behind,” said Charlie, the same handsome young Doone I
had seen that night; “this bank is too devilish steep for me.”
“Nonsense, man!” cried Marwood de Whichehalse, who to my amazement was
the third of the number; “only a hind cutting faggots; and of course he
hath gone home long ago. Blind man's holiday, as we call it. I can see
all over the place; and there is not even a rabbit there.”
At that I drew my breath again, and thanked God I had gotten my coat on.
“Squire is right,” said Charlie, who was standing up high (on a root