Yeast: a Problem Part 27

'I shall make a' girls cry,' quoth Blackbird, with a grin.

'Do'n good, too; they likes it: zing away.'

And the boy began, in a broad country tw.a.n.g, which could not overpower the sad melody of the air, or the rich sweetness of his flute-like voice,--

'Young Mary walked sadly down through the green clover, And sighed as she looked at the babe at her breast; "My roses are faded, my false love a rover, The green graves they call me, 'Come home to your rest.'"

'Then by rode a soldier in gorgeous arraying, And "Where is your bride-ring, my fair maid?" he cried; "I ne'er had a bride-ring, by false man's betraying, Nor token of love but this babe at my side.

'"Tho' gold could not buy me, sweet words could deceive me; So faithful and lonely till death I must roam."

"Oh, Mary, sweet Mary, look up and forgive me, With wealth and with glory your true love comes home;

'"So give me my own babe, those soft arms adorning, I'll wed you and cherish you, never to stray; For it's many a dark and a wild cloudy morning, Turns out by the noon-time a suns.h.i.+ny day."'

'A bad moral that, sir,' whispered Tregarva.

'Better than none,' answered Lancelot.

'It's well if you are right, sir, for you'll hear no other.'

The keeper spoke truly; in a dozen different songs, more or less coa.r.s.ely, but, in general, with a dash of pathetic sentiment, the same case of lawless love was embodied. It seemed to be their only notion of the romantic. Now and then there was a poaching song; then one of the lowest flash London school--filth and all--was roared in chorus in presence of the women.

'I am afraid that you do not thank me for having brought you to any place so unfit for a gentleman,' said Tregarva, seeing Lancelot's sad face.

'Because it is so unfit for a gentleman, therefore I do thank you.

It is right to know what one's own flesh and blood are doing.'

'Hark to that song, sir! that's an old one. I didn't think they'd get on to singing that.'

The Blackbird was again on the table, but seemed this time disinclined to exhibit.

'Out wi' un, boy; it wain't burn thy mouth!'

'I be afeard.'

'O' who?'

'Keeper there.'

He pointed to Tregarva; there was a fierce growl round the room.

'I am no keeper,' shouted Tregarva, starting up. 'I was turned off this morning for speaking my mind about the squires, and now I'm one of you, to live and die.'

This answer was received with a murmur of applause; and a fellow in a scarlet merino neckerchief, three waistcoats, and a fancy shooting-jacket, who had been eyeing Lancelot for some time, sidled up behind them, and whispered in Tregarva's ear,--

'Perhaps you'd like an engagement in our line, young man, and your friend there, he seems a sporting gent too.--We could show him very pretty shooting.'

Tregarva answered by the first and last oath Lancelot ever heard from him, and turning to him, as the rascal sneaked off,--

'That's a poaching crimp from London, sir; tempting these poor boys to sin, and deceit, and drunkenness, and theft, and the hulks.'

'I fancy I saw him somewhere the night of our row--you understand?'

'So do I, sir, but there's no use talking of it.'

Blackbird was by this time prevailed on to sing, and burst out as melodious as ever, while all heads were c.o.c.ked on one side in delighted attention.

'I zeed a vire o' Monday night, A vire both great and high; But I wool not tell you where, my boys, Nor wool not tell you why.

The varmer he comes screeching out, To zave 'uns new brood mare; Zays I, "You and your stock may roast, Vor aught us poor chaps care."

'Coorus, boys, coorus!'

And the chorus burst out,--

'Then here's a curse on varmers all As rob and grind the poor; To re'p the fruit of all their works In **** for evermoor-r-r-r.

'A blind owld dame come to the vire, Zo near as she could get; Zays, "Here's a luck I warn't asleep To lose this blessed hett.

'"They robs us of our turfing rights, Our bits of chips and sticks, Till poor folks now can't warm their hands, Except by varmer's ricks."

'Then, etc.'

And again the boy's delicate voice rung out the ferocious chorus, with something, Lancelot fancied, of fiendish exultation, and every worn face lighted up with a coa.r.s.e laugh, that indicated no malice-- but also no mercy.

Lancelot was sickened, and rose to go.

As he turned, his arm was seized suddenly and firmly. He looked round, and saw a coa.r.s.e, handsome, showily-dressed girl, looking intently into his face. He shook her angrily off.

'You needn't be so proud, Mr. Smith; I've had my hand on the arm of as good as you. Ah, you needn't start! I know you--I know you, I say, well enough. You used to be with him. Where is he?'

'Whom do you mean?'

'He!' answered the girl, with a fierce, surprised look, as if there could be no one else in the world.

'Colonel Bracebridge,' whispered Tregarva.

'Ay, he it is! And now walk further off, bloodhound! and let me speak to Mr. Smith. He is in Norway,' she ran on eagerly. 'When will he be back? When?'

'Why do you want to know?' asked Lancelot.

'When will he be back?'--she kept on fiercely repeating the question; and then burst out,--'Curse you gentlemen all! Cowards!

you are all in a league against us poor girls! You can hunt alone when you betray us, and lie fast enough then? But when we come for justice, you all herd together like a flock of rooks; and turn so delicate and honourable all of a sudden--to each other! When will he be back, I say?'

'In a month,' answered Lancelot, who saw that something really important lay behind the girl's wildness.

'Too late!' she cried, wildly, clapping her hands together; 'too late! Here--tell him you saw me; tell him you saw Mary; tell him where and in what a pretty place, too, for maid, master, or man!