The Small House at Allington
ordinary occasions, Hopkins was not required to do with his own hands
work of that description. He had a man under him who hewed wood, and
carried water, and wheeled barrows,--one man always, and often two.
The squire knew when he saw him that he was sinning, and bade him
stop upon his road.
"Hopkins," he said, "why didn't you ask for what you wanted, before
you took it?" The old man put down the barrow on the ground, looked
up in his master's face, spat into his hands, and then again resumed
his barrow. "Hopkins, that won't do," said the squire. "Stop where
you are."
"What won't do?" said Hopkins, still holding the barrow from the
ground, but not as yet progressing.
"Put it down, Hopkins," and Hopkins did put it down. "Don't you know
that you are flatly disobeying my orders?"
"Squire, I've been here about this place going on nigh seventy
years."
"If you've been going on a hundred and seventy it wouldn't do that
there should be more than one master. I'm the master here, and I
intend to be so to the end. Take that manure back into the yard."
"Back into the yard?" said Hopkins, very slowly.
"Yes; back into the yard."
"What,--afore all their faces?"
"Yes; you've disobeyed me before all their faces?"
Hopkins paused a moment, looking away from the squire, and shaking
his head as though he had need of deep thought, but by the aid of
deep thought had come at last to a right conclusion. Then he resumed
the barrow, and putting himself almost into a trot, carried away his
prize into the kitchen-garden. At the pace which he went it would
have been beyond the squire's power to stop him, nor would Mr. Dale
have wished to come to a personal encounter with his servant. But he
called after the man in dire wrath that if he were not obeyed the
disobedient servant should rue the consequences for ever. Hopkins,
equal to the occasion, shook his head as he trotted on, deposited his
load at the foot of the cucumber-frames, and then at once returning
to his master, tendered to him the key of the greenhouse.
"Master," said Hopkins, speaking as best he could with his scanty
breath, "there it is;--there's the key; of course I don't want no
warning, and doesn't care about my week's wages. I'll be out of the
cottage afore night, and as for the work'us, I suppose they'll let me
in at once, if your honour'll give 'em a line."
Now as Hopkins was well known by the squire to be the owner of three
or four hundred pounds, the hint about the workhouse must be allowed
to have been melodramatic.
"Don't be a fool," said the squire, almost gnashing his teeth.
"I know I've been a fool," said Hopkins, "about that 'ere doong; my
feelings has been too much for me. When a man's feelings has been
too much for him, he'd better just take hisself off, and lie in the
work'us till he dies." And then he again tendered the key. But the
squire did not take the key, and so Hopkins went on. "I s'pose I'd
better just see to the lights and the like of that, till you've
suited yourself, Mr. Dale. It 'ud be a pity all them grapes should go
off, and they, as you may say, all one as fit for the table. It's a
long way the best crop I ever see on 'em. I've been that careful with
'em that I haven't had a natural night's rest, not since February.
There ain't nobody about this place as understands grapes, nor yet
anywhere nigh that could be got at. My lord's head man is wery
ignorant; but even if he knew ever so, of course he couldn't come
here. I suppose I'd better keep the key till you're suited, Mr.
Dale."
Then for a fortnight there was an interregnum in the gardens,
terrible in the annals of Allington. Hopkins lived in his cottage
indeed, and looked most sedulously after the grapes. In looking after
the grapes, too, he took the greenhouses under his care; but he
would have nothing to do with the outer gardens, took no wages,
returning the amount sent to him back to the squire, and insisted
with everybody that he had been dismissed. He went about with some
terrible horticultural implement always in his hand, with which it
was said that he intended to attack Jolliffe; but Jolliffe prudently
kept out of his way.
As soon as it had been resolved by Mrs. Dale and Lily that
the flitting from the Small House at Allington was not to be
accomplished, Lily communicated the fact to Hopkins.
"Miss," said he, "when I said them few words to you and your mamma,
I knew that you would listen to reason."
This was no more than Lily had expected; that Hopkins should claim
the honour of having prevailed by his arguments was a matter of
course.
"Yes," said Lily; "we've made up our minds to stay. Uncle wishes it."
"Wishes it! Laws, miss; it ain't only wishes. And we all wishes it.
Why, now, look at the reason of the thing. Here's this here house--"
"But, Hopkins, it's decided. We're going to stay. What I want to know
is this; can you come at once and help me to unpack?"
"What! this very evening, as is--"
"Yes, now; we want to have the things about again before they come
back from Guestwick."
Hopkins scratched his head and hesitated, not wishing to yield to any
proposition that could be considered as childish; but he gave way at
last, feeling that the work itself was a good work. Mrs. Dale also
assented, laughing at Lily for her folly as she did so, and in this
way the things were unpacked very quickly, and the alliance between
Lily and Hopkins became, for the time, very close. This work of
unpacking and resettling was not yet over, when the battle of the
manure broke out, and therefore it was that Hopkins, when his
feelings had become altogether too much for him "about the doong,"
came at last to Lily, and laying down at her feet all the weight
and all the glory of his sixty odd years of life, implored her to
make matters straight for him. "It's been a killing me, miss, so
it has; to see the way they've been a cutting that 'sparagus. It
ain't cutting at all. It's just hocking it up;--what is fit, and
what isn't, all together. And they've been a-putting the plants in
where I didn't mean 'em, though they know'd I didn't mean 'em. I've
stood by, miss, and said never a word. I'd a died sooner. But, Miss
Lily, what my sufferings have been, 'cause of my feelings getting
the better of me about that--you know, miss--nobody will ever
tell;--nobody--nobody--nobody." Then Hopkins turned away and wept.
"Uncle," said Lily, creeping close up against his chair, "I want to
ask you a great favour."
"A great favour. Well, I don't think I shall refuse you anything at
present. It isn't to ask another earl to the house,--is it?"
"Another earl!" said Lily.
"Yes; haven't you heard? Miss Bell has been here this morning,
insisting that I should have over Lord De Guest and his sister for
the marriage. It seems that there was some scheming between Bell and
Lady Julia."
"Of course you'll ask them."
"Of course I must. I've no way out of it. It'll be all very well for
Bell, who'll be off to Wales with her lover; but what am I to do with
the earl and Lady Julia, when they're gone? Will you come and help
me?"
In answer to this, Lily of course promised that she would come and
help. "Indeed," said she, "I thought we were all asked up for the
day. And now for my favour. Uncle, you must forgive poor Hopkins."
"Forgive a fiddlestick!" said the squire.
"No, but you must. You can't think how unhappy he is."
"How can I forgive a man who won't forgive me. He goes prowling about
the place doing nothing; and he sends me back his wages, and he
looks as though he were going to murder some one; and all because he
wouldn't do as he was told. How am I to forgive such a man as that?"
"But, uncle, why not?"
"It would be his forgiving me. He knows very well that he may come
back whenever he pleases; and, indeed, for the matter of that he has
never gone away."
"But he is so very unhappy."
"What can I do to make him happier?"
"Just go down to his cottage and tell him that you forgive him."
"Then he'll argue with me."
"No; I don't think he will. He is too much down in the world for
arguing now."
"Ah! you don't know him as I do. All the misfortunes in the world
wouldn't stop that man's conceit. Of course I'll go if you ask me,
but it seems to me that I'm made to knock under to everybody. I hear
a great deal about other people's feelings, but I don't know that
mine are very much thought of." He was not altogether in a happy
mood, and Lily almost regretted that she had persevered; but she did
succeed in carrying him off across the garden to the cottage, and
as they went together she promised him that she would think of him
always,--always. The scene with Hopkins cannot be described now, as
it would take too many of our few remaining pages. It resulted, I am
afraid I must confess, in nothing more triumphant to the squire than
a treaty of mutual forgiveness. Hopkins acknowledged, with much
self-reproach, that his feelings had been too many for him; but then,
look at his provocation! He could not keep his tongue from that
matter, and certainly said as much in his own defence as he did in
confession of his sins. The substantial triumph was altogether his,
for nobody again ever dared to interfere with his operations in the
farmyard. He showed his submission to his master mainly by consenting
to receive his wages for the two weeks which he had passed in
idleness.
Owing to this little accident, Lily was not so much oppressed by
Hopkins as she had expected to be in that matter of their altered
plans; but this salvation did not extend to Mrs. Hearn, to Mrs.
Crump, or, above all, to Mrs. Boyce. They, all of them, took an
interest more or less strong in the Hopkins controversy; but their
interest in the occupation of the Small House was much stronger,
and it was found useless to put Mrs. Hearn off with the gardener's
persistent refusal of his wages, when she was big with inquiry
whether the house was to be painted inside, as well as out. "Ah,"
said she, "I think I'll go and look at lodgings at Guestwick myself,
and pack up some of my beds." Lily made no answer to this, feeling
that it was a part of that punishment which she had expected. "Dear,
dear," said Mrs. Crump to the two girls; "well, to be sure, we should
'a been 'lone without 'ee, and mayhap we might 'a got worse in your
place; but why did 'ee go and fasten up all your things in them big
boxes, just to unfasten 'em all again?"
"We changed our minds, Mrs. Crump," said Bell, with some severity.
"Yees, I know ye changed your mindses. Well, it's all right for loiks
o' ye, no doubt; but if we changes our mindses, we hears of it."
"So, it seems, do we!" said Lily. "But never mind, Mrs. Crump. Do you
send us our letters up early, and then we won't quarrel."
"Oh, letters! Drat them for letters. I wish there weren't no sich
things. There was a man here yesterday with his imperence. I don't
know where he come from,--down from Lun'on, I b'leeve: and this was
wrong, and that was wrong, and everything was wrong; and then he said
he'd have me discharged the sarvice."
"Dear me, Mrs. Crump; that wouldn't do at all."
"Discharged the sarvice! Tuppence farden a day. So I told 'un to
discharge hisself, and take all the old bundles and things away
upon his shoulders. Letters indeed! What business have they with
post-missusses, if they cannot pay 'em better nor tuppence farden
a day?" And in this way, under the shelter of Mrs. Crump's storm
of wrath against the inspector who had visited her, Lily and Bell
escaped much that would have fallen upon their own heads; but Mrs.
Boyce still remained. I may here add, in order that Mrs. Crump's
history may be carried on to the farthest possible point, that she
was not "discharged the sarvice," and that she still receives her