Tales of Northumbria Part 16

The chiefest charm of the vale perhaps for me lay in the fact that it was a track untrodden by the tourist, resembling the maid of the waters of Dove in this--that it was one which, as yet, there were 'few to know, and very few to love.'

It was a pastoral, sheep-raising countryside, inhabited by shepherds almost entirely, who were at the same time farmers also, for their tenure was something after the metayer order.

There was nothing to mar the quaint and antique flavour of existence.

The post, like our lifeboat inst.i.tution, was here supported by voluntary contributions. If anyone were 'gannin' up the wattor,' well and good; he would take the letters with him. If not, then they were left at the schoolmaster's till called for. Newspapers, again, with the exception of a weekly _Courant_ or a _Scots Mail_, were, like the woodc.o.c.k, but 'occasional visitors' in that region; and when it is added that the house I usually stayed at was situated eighteen miles from a terminus of a slow branch line of the North British Railway Company, it will be evident that the ordinary tourist had a very poor chance of putting in an appearance in that favoured region.

I was recalling all these little details with infinite gusto as I sat down at my desk to write to my friend the Presbyterian minister and schoolmaster of Fair-Green Haugh, suggesting a visit from myself a week ahead.

The answer came just in time for me to pack up and start within the week.

'I am sorry to say,' wrote my friend in conclusion, 'that my accommodation is somewhat limited this summer, as I have had to give up my small sanctum to a protege of mine, who, though he has just been discharged from gaol, will yet, I feel a.s.sured, become a highly useful and respectable member of society.

'I know your kind heart, my friend,' he continued, 'and feel sure you will not regret a temporary lack of comfort in so good a cause. You can always use the schoolroom, as it is holiday time, for reading, writing and smoking.'

'Heavens!' I murmured to myself, as I took in the monstrous situation; 'fancy having to spend my vacation trying to improve an infernal burglar! He knows my kind heart, he says. Well, it only proves the truth of the poet's lines:

'"Not e'en the dearest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile or cry."

I wonder,' I soliloquized, 'whether he is of the heavy, hang-dog, dropped-jaw type--the knifing variety, in brief--or the other species--the s.h.i.+fty-eyed, chinless, quick but evil brained sort. On the whole, I prefer the first, for if he cannot control his temper, at any rate you know where you are with him, whereas with the latter you never can tell what he may be up to.'

Anyway, it was exasperating, for here had I been congratulating myself upon the sweet security of my proposed retreat, only to discover at the last moment that I was destined to become co-warder of a criminal.

However, it was no use making myself miserable before the time, and as I was at any rate now free from the choking London atmosphere I could revel in the thought of fresh country air, liberty and leisure.

I stayed the night at Heathtown (famous for the church wherein Bernard Gilpin, 'the apostle of the north,' stayed the hot Borderers from feud), and, drawing the heather-honeyed air deep into my lungs, felt my strength so renewed that the thoughts of s.h.i.+fting the ticket-of-leave gentleman if he didn't, in North-country phrase, 'keep a civil tongue in his heid and behave hissel' respectable,' positively inspired me with pleasure.

The postman in his cart was, as it chanced, going up to the little village, styled a 'toon,' where the last post and telegraph-office this side of Scotland is situated, and insisted upon giving me a 'cast' so far upon my road.

'No, nowse is changed ava,' he replied, in answer to my query, 'syne ye were last here, save belikely that we are aal a year older, an'

that Farmer Newton's missus was brought tae bed wi' anither bairn a month ago last Saterday. Ye'll mind she had her fourth bairn the last time ye were here, an' Farmer Newton, he says he'll just hae tae turn priest, an' get the Sixstanes livin',[22] an' there, ye ken, the Queen sends ye a ten-pound note for every addition tae yor fam'ly; an'

though there might not be ower muckle profit in it, it wud help tae keep the pot a-boiling, says he. But I'm thinkin' mysel',' continued my informant reflectively, 'that if Farmer Newton were tae give up shootin' an' huntin' sae muckle, an' took a turn at farmin', he'd have a less reason for complaining.'

And so we pa.s.sed the time away, he regaling me with all the domestic gossip of the countryside, I interrupting him now and again to point out the historical objects of interest on either hand of us; for, like all true countrymen, though he knew every stick and stone by the wayside, he was entirely ignorant of the past history of his vale.

We were now close on the village where my driver ended his stage, and it suddenly occurred to me to inquire, as I thanked him for his kindness to myself, if he knew anything of my friend's protege at the Fair Green Haugh.

'Well,' he replied slowly, 'I have heard as hoo he has ta'en up wi' a convick or gaol-bord o' that description. Wey, I canna tell. He'd muckle better hae getten'd hissel' marrit; an' sartinly we divvn't want that sort o' specie up this wattor-side. We hevn't muckle gear belike, but we prefer tae keep wor ain. He'll be ain o' the lifting kind likelies, the same as thae moss-troopin' fellers ye were crackin'

on aboot enoo whae divvn't seem ivvor tae hae heard on the fifth commandment. Ye'll be weel employed this holiday-time o' yors wi'

lookin' efter him, I's warn'd. But yo're a lawyer chap,' he continued, 'an' dootless ye'll find an excuse tae s.h.i.+ft him wi'. Put on yor wig, an' nae doot but it will tarrify him.'

I thanked the speaker for his advice somewhat ruefully, for his words exactly fitted my own presentiment.

Having bade adieu to my postman friend, and arranged for my heavier luggage to be sent forward in the next carrier's cart that might be going 'up the wattor,' I set out across the hills to The Nook on Fair Green Haugh with my knapsack on my back.

Two hours' walking brought me within view of The Nook, and as I paused at the top of the brae to drink in the well-beloved aspect of the small 'bigging' that sheltered in the green coign between Windy Law and Blind Burn side, I noticed the figure of a man carrying a small child in his arms.

I knew most of the inhabitants of the vale by sight, but the aspect of the individual in question was unknown to me. It was scarcely likely he could be a shepherd's extra hand, for the was.h.i.+ng and shearing time was over, and a tramp in the ordinary sense of the term would have been, to quote from the ornithologists, a 'rare and occasional visitor.' Besides, he had not the appearance of a tramp; he walked with an easy boldness, apparently playing with the child as he strolled, for as I drew nearer I could hear the child's voice gleefully crying, 'Again, again; do it again, funny man.'

As I drew nearer I looked at the stranger with interest, and noted that he was a well-made, active fellow, of good proportions. His face was slightly scarred, as though from small-pox, but not unpleasantly; it was as if the disease, suddenly repenting of spoiling a bright and healthful countenance, had incontinently left him for another victim.

His eyes blue, his teeth, splendidly regular, were clean and white as a hound's. Glancing at the child, I discovered her to be Maggie, the six-year-old child of Tom Hedley, the herd at Fulhope Law, so I went straight up to her and asked for a kiss as usual. 'No,' said the diminutive flirt archly, holding her head backwards; 'no kiss for zoo.

I's got a new man noo,' and forthwith she buried her curls in his neck. 'He's a nice funny man,' she continued in another moment, peeping forth from her hiding-place, 'an' he's got nae mair hair on his heid than oor little puppy-dog at home.'

I glanced at her captor, and noting his cropped crown, jumped to a sure conclusion as to his ident.i.ty. 'Why, 'tis none other,' thought I, 'than the protege.' Possibly he read my thoughts; at any rate, releasing one arm, he lifted his hand to a salute, smiling, meanwhile, in the most affable way in the world. I nodded 'Good afternoon,' and learning that the minister was within and waiting my arrival, turned my steps to the house.

After our first greetings were over he commenced to apologize again for the limited s.p.a.ce at my disposal, but he was certain that when once I had got to know his 'protege,' I should think no more about it.

'He is a beautiful character,' he concluded enthusiastically, 'one could tell that at a glance by the way in which children take to him.'

'I met him outside just a moment ago,' I replied, 'and he certainly seems to have won little Maggie's heart, but from my recollection of her half a dozen "sweeties" would explain that feat. And after all,' I continued judicially, 'some of the greatest ruffians that ever lived were extremely fond of children. There was Herod, of course, but he was the exception that proves the rule.'

'Ah,' sighed my friend, 'that terrible London atmosphere! How it cankers the human affections! The theory of the law, I believe, is that every man should be considered innocent till he has been proved guilty; but you lawyers, reversing this in practice, hold every man guilty till he prove his innocence.'

'How about his hair?' I inquired rather unkindly.

'His hair?' my friend queried, with a puzzled expression. 'Oh, I see what you mean,' he continued almost immediately, endeavouring to shed a _soupcon_ of a smile over his seriously earnest countenance. 'But don't notice that, please, or you may make him reckless. For now is the critical time,' he added solemnly, with the professional manner of a physician making his diagnosis; 'if he gets safely over this his cure may be regarded as practically a.s.sured.

'The great thing is to believe in a man, to cultivate little by little his sense of self-respect; by "believing men to be better than they are," one may even, as has been so well said, "make them better than they are." In England we have always gone on a wrong principle; we wors.h.i.+p success, worldly success, far too much, and have scant sympathy with the unfortunate. My friend outside says that he stole a leg of mutton for his starving daughter. The result is he cannot now get a situation, and his daughter has been taken from him, and is now in a home. Well, if the man be treated with contumely, he may very likely despair and give up all hope of improvement. Treat him well, on the other hand, and you may yet turn him into a useful citizen.'

'You put a premium on wrong-doing,' said I, as I shook my head at his argument, smiling, however, at the impa.s.sioned face before me.

His high, narrow forehead with the ruffled upstanding hair betrayed the enthusiast; the broad, refined, and eager lips marked a perennial emotion within; his eyes, notwithstanding their wonderful clarity, had a far-away look in the depths of them; a spare form, thin wrists, and shrunken hands completed the presentation of the idealistic, mystical, Don Quixote type of human nature.

While I thus reflected, my friend continued to pour out fresh instances proving satisfactorily to any non-prejudiced mind the correctness of his theory.

'But what are you going to do with him?' I asked eventually, 'for after all that is the important thing. I mean, his being here with you may be very nice for him, but it doesn't teach him a trade, and you can't afford to keep him, I know, for long.'

'First of all,' eagerly began my friend, 'I propose to keep him long enough to re-instate him in his self-respect; secondly, to study his temperament and character thoroughly in order to discover what line of life he is best suited for, and then to get him some appropriate situation. That is the programme, and, I think, a quite practical and satisfactory one. There is no "pauperizing" here, you see; it is simply giving a man a fair chance. And now,' he continued briskly, 'come out and inspect the garden.'

The protege, it appeared, had been making himself useful therein, which my friend thought was a highly encouraging sign, 'for,' said he, 'no bad man ever cared for gardening.'

The next few days I spent contentedly in absolute idleness, now strolling up the waterside, now smoking and reading peacefully in the little arbour behind the herbaceous border. I had almost forgotten the existence of my _bete-noir_; he showed, indeed, a most commendable readiness to efface himself as much as possible from observation, and when I chanced to pa.s.s him he seemed rather to avoid me than to seek my company. 'Good-morning,' I would say, if I happened to come out of the house before breakfast for a stroll, and find him chopping firewood, 'lovely weather, and looks like lasting, I think.'

'Ay,' he would usually reply, with a hurried touch to his cap, 'it's canny weather,' then muttering something about being busy, would incontinently hurry into the house. I took this as a sign of grace, and was quite favourable to the mode of intercourse thus established.

But my host, I could see, was pained at my apparent lack of interest in his protege; so the next day, finding Blythe engaged in tying up the suckers of the honeysuckle to the trellis of the arbour, I went boldly up to him, determined to try and draw him out.

'Well, and how do you like the country?' I inquired. 'A pleasant change after town life, eh?'

He gave me a quick, suspicious glance in return, then muttering, 'Ay, dootless,' again devoted himself to his occupation.

I tried again, but, meeting with no encouragement, became, I am bound to confess, a little nettled, as though with an insubordinate witness.

The happy insouciance I thought to have marked in him at our first encounter had vanished, and "Tis the knifing variety, after all,' I murmured to myself, and fell to scrutinizing him somewhat severely.

There was something about him that somehow seemed familiar to me. I determined to probe, and see if he would wince.

'Possibly you don't care about the country?' I suggested smoothly; 'towns, perhaps, attract you more. York, for example, is a nice town, and, by chance, say September 30 for a little business in the vicinity, eh?'

He looked me full in the face at this, a very ugly smile curving his lips, as he replied abruptly, 'What is it you're wanting?'

'I don't know that I want anything for myself,' said I, somewhat elated at the success of my conjecture, 'but I should like fair play for my friend inside. Pheasants are scarce hereabouts, but possibly other things might come in useful. I needn't specify,' I continued airily, 'to a gentleman of your intelligence; 'twould be superfluous.'