The Vicar's People Part 25

"No, I'm not, Polonius Junior; but upon my niece. You say she don't go out to meet you."

"No, she does not."

"Then don't be civil to her. Marriage is folly. My brother married Jane Mullion there, and she worried his life out with being so stupid, and then he died and left her and her child paupers."

"Hang that word!" cried Geoffrey, warmly. "How I do hate it."

"Then don't go and make a race of paupers," said the old man. "Bah! A young fellow has his work cut out in life, and starts on his journey by sticking a load of woman on his back. Then she sticks a load of baby on her back, and most likely goes on banging children all over him till the burthen gets too heavy to be borne, when the poor wretch breaks down and dies. Look at me, sir. I never married; but saved enough to live on, and keep other people. Follow my example."

"And grow as cantankerous."

"Do you want to quarrel, puppy?"

"Not I. I haven't time."

"What are you crying about?" said the old man, roughly, as he found that Mrs Mullion, attracted by his loud voice, had come to see what was the matter, and had heard a part of his last speech.

"At what you said, dear," sobbed the poor woman.

"Don't you mind what he says, Mrs Mullion," said Geoffrey; "he doesn't mean it. I'll be bound to say he's got a very soft spot in his heart somewhere."

As he spoke Geoffrey walked out of the garden, whistling, and made for the cliff path, drinking in the deliciously-fresh sea-breeze as he went along.

"This place keeps one from having the dumps," he said to himself, "it is so fresh and bright; but really, in spite of my vainglorious boasting, I'm afraid I am wasting time here. _Nil des_, though; I'm not beaten yet. Old Paul is glorious as a dose of bitters, if he didn't give one quite so much about Brown Maudlin. Pretty girl, very; but wants ballast horribly. Hang the old man, he goes just the way to make a fellow think about her. But he's a fine old boy. Now I'll go and have a dose of resignation from poor old Mrs Prawle.

"That old lady always does me good," he said, as he went on. "What sane man could grumble who has all his faculties, just because he cannot make filthy lucre, when he has that patient old lady ready to face him with her calm, subdued ways. Hang it, there's a very pathetic side to her life!"

He did not see that he, too, was watched, as he went swinging along; but went right ahead in his thorough way, setting his mind on a certain goal, and hardly heeding any thing else; but he had not pa.s.sed one clump of rocks far, when Amos Pengelly came out, and stood watching him till he disappeared, and then followed slowly, to make sure that Geoffrey went down to the Cove.

The rough miner's face was very white and drawn, and he uttered a low moaning sigh as he satisfied himself that the man whom he was watching had gone straight to the Cove, and then he limped back some little distance, and, with a heavy frown settling on his ma.s.sive face, he seated himself on a rock waiting for Geoffrey's return, his fingers crooking and clenching into fists, and the ruined mine shaft not far behind.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

AT GWENNAS COVE.

Bess Prawle was leaning against the rough granite door-post, very handsome, picturesque, and defiant, as she knitted away at a coa.r.s.e blue worsted jersey which she was making; looking up from time to time to watch her father, who, pipe in mouth, was weeding the little patch of garden, of which he seemed to be very proud, while every now and then he paused to speak.

Just then the old man raised his nose and sniffed.

"There's your mother burning again, Bess. Go and see," he growled.

The girl ran in to find poor old Mrs Prawle evidently greatly exercised in her mind lest a jersey of her husband's should be put on damp, and hence she was scorching it against the fire.

"Oh, mother!" cried Bess impatiently, "how you frighten me. Pray do take more care."

"Yes, yes, Bess," cried the poor woman querulously, as she turned and re-spread the article of clothing on her knees, "but some one must see to the things being aired;" and Bessie returned to where the old man was at work, when he stood up and drew his hand across his mouth.

"I don't care, la.s.s; I arn't lived to sixty without finding that when a young fellow keeps coming to a cottage like this, it isn't only to see an old woman who's sick."

"Stuff, father! you're always thinking young men come to see me."

"Am I?" grumbled the old man. "Well, I know what I know, and I know this--that if that London chap keeps coming here to see you, I'll break his gashly head, or shove him over the cliff as I would have done to Jack Lannoe if Amos Pengelly hadn't thrashed him instead."

"Then I'll tell him what you say, father--no, I won't," cried Bess, sharply, "I'll tell mother what you promise to do."

She made a movement as if to go in, when her father caught her by the skirt of her gown, and drew her back.

"I'll never forgive you, Bess," he said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper; "I'll never forgive you if you do."

"I will tell her," cried the girl, looking angry and flushed, "unless you promise never to touch Mr Trethick."

The old man held on to her and drew her farther away, so as to make sure that no words of their altercation should be heard inside the cottage.

"Look here, Bess," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "doesn't he come to see you?"

"To see me?" said the girl, scornfully. "Isn't he a gentleman, and arn't I a witch, as the people say, and arn't you the worst character in these parts?"

"So they say," said the old man, grimly. "The fools!"

"Is it likely that a gentleman like him would come after me?"

"That Tregenna did," said the old man, suspiciously.

"Yes, till you threatened to break his neck," said Bess, laughing.

"And I'd have done it too," said the old man, with his eyes lighting up fiercely; "and so I will to this one."

"He don't come to see me, father," said Bess, quietly. "You watch him next time he's here. He's not the sort of man to care about women at all, and--hush, father! here he is."

There was the sound of a heavy foot on the stones above, and Geoffrey Trethick came into sight, looking fresh and breeze-blown as he strode along.

"She knows his step," muttered the old man, grinding his teeth, "and I won't have it."

He glanced at his daughter, and saw that her warm colour was a little heightened as Geoffrey came up with a hearty "Good-morning."

"Why, Bess," he cried, "you look as fresh as a rose. Ah, Father Prawle, how are you? Look here, I've brought you an ounce of prime tobacco,"

and he held out the little roll to the old man.

Prawle took it, looking vindictively at him, and made as if to throw it over the cliff into the sea, but jerked it back at the giver's feet.

"I don't want your tobacco," he said, roughly. "I could buy you and yours up a dozen times over if I liked."

"You are precious poor if you can't," said Geoffrey, stooping and picking up the tobacco. "Well, if you won't smoke it I will. But look here, Prawle, what's the matter with you? What have I done to offend you?"

"I don't like your coming here, and I won't have it," cried the old man.