The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 19

But it was useless. The screams merely increased in volume.

Mr. Fogo, leaning against the hedge, mopped his brow and looked helplessly around.

"What on earth is to be done?"

There was a sudden sound of light footsteps, and then, to his immense relief, Tamsin Dearlove stood before him. She looked as fresh and neat as ever and carried a small basket on her arm.

"Whatever is the matter? Why, 'tis little Susie Clemow! What's the matter, Susie?" She set down her basket and ran to the child, who immediately ceased to yell.

"There now, that's better. Did the big strange gentleman try to frighten her? Poor little maid!"

"I a.s.sure you," said Mr. Fogo, "I tried to do nothing of the kind."

Tamsin paid no attention.

"There now, we're as good as gold again, and can run along home.

Give me a kiss first, that's a dear."

The little maid, still sobbing fitfully, gave the kiss, picked up her satchel, and toddled off, leaving Tamsin and Mr. Fogo face to face.

"Why did you frighten her?" the girl asked severely. There was an angry flush on her cheek.

"I did not intentionally. It was the alarum. First of all I was chased by a bull, and then--" Mr. Fogo told his story incoherently.

The angry red left Tamsin's cheek, and a look of disdain succeeded.

"And you," she said very slowly, when he had finished, "think you are able to despise womankind."

It was Mr. Fogo's turn to grow red.

"And to put up a board," she continued, "with that silly Notice upon it--you and that great baby Caleb Trotter--setting all women at naught, when you never ought to be beyond tether of their ap.r.o.n-strings. Why, only this morning you'd have caught a sun-stroke if I hadn't spread your umbrella over you."

"Did you do that?"

"And who else do you suppose? A man, perhaps? Why, there isn't a man in the world would have had the sense--'less it was Peter or Paul," she added, with a sudden softening of voice, "and they're women in everything but strength. And now," she went on, "as I am going that way, I suppose you'll want me to see you home. Will you walk in front or behind, for doubtless you're above walking beside a woman?"

"I think you are treating me very hardly."

"Maybe I am, and maybe I meant to. Maybe you didn't know that that Notice of yours might hurt people's feelings. Don't think I mean mine," she explained quickly and defiantly, "but Peter's and Paul's."

There was a pause as they walked along together.

"The board shall come down," said he; "and now may I carry your basket?"

"My basket? Do you think I'd trust a man to carry eggs?"

She laughed, but with a trace of forgiveness.

He did not answer, but seemed to have fallen into a fit of troubled contemplation. They walked on in silence.

Presently she halted.

"I doubt you've had trouble in your time, and I've hurt your feelings and spoken as I oughtn't to have spoken to my betters; but I've seen that Peter and Paul were hurt in mind, and that made me say more than I meant. Yonder's your way down to Kit's House. Good-night, sir."

Mr. Fogo would have held out his hand, but she was gone quickly down the road. He stood for a minute looking after her; then turned and walked quickly down the path to Kit's House.

Caleb met him at the door.

"So you'm back, an' I hopes you enj'yed your walk, as Sal said when her man comed home from France. I was just a-comin' to luk for 'ee.

Where's your easy-all and your umbrella?"

Mr. Fogo told his story.

"H'm!" said Caleb, "an' Tamsin saw 'ee home?"

"Yes; and by the way, Caleb, you may as well take down that notice to-morrow."

"H'm!" muttered Caleb again. "You're quite sure thicky coddysel won't do?"

"Quite."

"Very well, sir," said Caleb, and began to busy himself with the evening meal. But he looked curiously at his master more than once during the evening. Mr. Fogo spent most of his time in a brown study, smoking and gazing abstractedly into the fire. Caleb also smoked (it was one of his privileges), and finally, with an anxious glance, and two or three hard puffs at his pipe, broke the silence--

"The bull es a useful animal, an' when dead supplies us wi'

rump-steaks an' shoe-horns, as the Sunday-school book says: but for all that there's suthin' _lackin'_ to a bull. 'Tain't conviction: you niver seed a bull yet as wasn' chuck-full o' conviction, an'

didn' act up to hes rights, such as they be. An' 'tain't consistency: you drill a notion into a bull's head an' fix et, an'

he'll save et up, may be for six year, an' then rap et out on 'ee till you'm fairly sick for your own gad-about ways. 'Tes logic he wants, I reckon--jest logic. A bull, sir, es no more'n a ma.s.s o'

blind onreas'ning prejudice from horn to tail. Take hes sense o'

colour: he can't abide red. Ef you press the matter, there ain't no more reas'n for this than that hes father afore him cudn' abide et; but how does he act? 'Hulloa!' says he, 'there's a party in red, an'

I don't care a tinker's cuss whether 'tes a mail-cart or a milisha-man: I'm bound to stop this 'ere taste for red ef I dies nex'

minnit.' And at et he goes accordin'. Ef he seed the Scarlet Woman about in his part o' the country, he'd lay by an' h'ist her, an'

you'd say, 'Well done!' an' I don't say you'd be wrong. But jest you stop an' ax hes motives, an' you'll find 'taint religion. Lor' bless 'ee, sir, a bull's got no more use for religion than a toad for side-pockets. 'Tes obstinacy--that's what 'tes. You tells me a jacka.s.s es obstinate. Well, an' that's true in a way; and so's a hog. Ef you wants quiet contrariness, a jacka.s.s or a hog'll both _sit out_ a bull; an' tho' you may cuss the pair till you sweats like a fuz'-bush on a dewy mornin', 'tes like heavin' bricks into a bott'mless pit. But a bull ups an' lets 'ee know; there aint no loiterin' round an' arrangin' yer subjec' under heads when _he's_ about. You don't get no pulpit; an', what's more, you don't stop to touch your hat when you makes your congees. 'Tes just pull hot-foot, and thank the Lord for hedges; 'cos he's so full o' his own notions as a Temp'rance speaker, an' bound to convence 'ee, ef he rams daylight in 'ee to do et. That's a bull. An' here's anuther p'int; he lays head to ground when hes beliefs be crossed, an' you may so well whissle as try the power o' the human eye--talkin' o' which puts me i' mind o' some curious fac's as happ'n'd up to Penh.e.l.lick wan time, along o' this same power o' the human eye. Maybe you'd like to hear the yarn."

"Eh?" Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction. "Yes, certainly, I should like to hear it."

Caleb knocked his pipe meditatively against the bars of the grate; filled it again and lit it; took an energetic pull or two, and then, after another hard look at his master across the clouds of smoke, began without more ado.

CHAPTER XI.

OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER THAT WOULD IMPROVE UPON NATURE, AND THEREBY TRAINED A ROOK TO GOOD PRINCIPLES.

"Well, sir, et all happen'd when I lived up to Penh.e.l.lick, an'

worked long wi' Varmer Mennear. Ould Lawyer Mennear, as he was a-nicknamed--a little cribbage-faced man, wi' a dandy-go-russet wig, an' on'y wan eye: leastways, he hadn' but wan fust along when I knowed 'n. That's what the yarn's about, tho'; so us'll go slow, ef you plaise, an' hush a bit, as Mary Beswetherick said to th'

ingine-driver.

"Now, Lawyer Mennear was a circuit-preacher, o' the Wesleyan Methody persuash'n, tho' he'd a-got to cross-pupposes wi' the rest o' the brethren an' runned a sect all to hissel', which he called th' United Free Church o' 'Rig'nal Seceders. They was called 'Rig'nal Seceders for short, an' th' ould man had a toler'ble dacent followin', bein' a fust-cla.s.s mover o' souls an' powerful hot agen th' unregenrit, which didn' prevent hes bein' a miserable ould varmint, an' so deep as Garrick in hes ord'nary dealin's. Aw, he was a reg'lar split-fig, an' 'ud go where the devil can't, an' that's atween the oak an' the rind."