The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 6

"But I don't see any house," said Mr. Fogo, perplexed.

"All in good time, sir," replied Mr. Trotter, and having fastened up the boat, led the way.

A narrow flight of steps, hewn out of the rock, led up to the little cliff. At the top, and almost hidden by bushes, stood a low gate.

Thence the path wound for a s.p.a.ce between walls of budding hazel, and at its end quite unexpectedly a tiny cottage burst upon Mr. Fogo's view.

Little dreaming that the owner of Kit's House could live in such humility, he was considerably surprised when Caleb stepped up and struck a rousing knock upon the door.

It was opened by a comely girl with a white ap.r.o.n pinned before her neat stuff gown, and a face as fresh and healthful as a spring day.

"Why, Caleb," she cried, "who would have thought it? Come inside; you're as welcome as flowers in May."

"And you," replied Caleb gallantly, "are a-lookin' so sweet as blossom. Here's a gentlem'n come to call upon 'ee, my dear.

An' how's Peter an' Paul? Brave, I hopes."

"Both, thank you, Caleb," said the maiden, curtseying without embarra.s.sment to Mr. Fogo. "Won't you come in, sir?"

It was noticeable that Mr. Fogo at this point became very nervous, but he crossed the threshold in answer to this invitation.

Mr. Trotter followed.

The fragrant smoke of a wood fire filled the room in which Mr. Fogo found himself. It was a rude kitchen, with white limeash floor, and for ceiling, a few whitewashed beams and the planching of the bedroom above. All was scrupulously clean. In the flickering obscurity of the chimney depended a line of black pot-hooks and hangers; a trivet and a pair of bellows furnished the hearth; from the capacious rack hung a rich stock of hams and sides of bacon, curing in the smoke; an English clock stood in one corner, a tall cupboard in another, and a geranium in the window-seat. Along the side opposite the door, and parallel to a dresser of s.h.i.+ning crockery, ran a strong deal table.

Some high-backed chairs, a pair of bra.s.s candlesticks with snuffers, a book or two, a few old hats, and a lanthorn, on various pegs, completed the furniture of the place.

But Mr. Fogo's gaze was riveted on two men who rose together at his entrance from the table where they were seated, side by side, at their tea.

Both tall, both adorned with crisp curls of black hair--with clean-shaven, mahogany faces, and the gentlest of possible smiles, the twins came forward to greet the stranger. So appallingly alike were they that Mr. Fogo felt a ridiculous desire to run away, nor could help fancying himself the victim of a disordered dream.

The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously with outstretched h.o.r.n.y palms. He noticed that even their dress was precisely similar, with the single exception that one wore a red, the other a yellow bandanna handkerchief loosely knotted about his throat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously.]

"You'm kindly welcome, sir," said the Twin with the red bandanna; and the Twin with the yellow neck-cloth murmured "kindly welcome," like an echo.

"Stop a bit," interposed Caleb, "let's do a bit of introducin'.

This here es Mr. Fogo, gent, as es thinkin' of rentin' Kit's House, and es come for that puppos'. That there es Peter Dearlove--him wi'

the red neckercher; likewise Paul Dearlove--him wi' the yaller.

An', beggin' yer pardon for pa.s.sin' over the ladies, this es Tamsin Dearlove (christ'n'd Thomasina), dearly beloved sister o' the same,"

concluded Caleb, with a sudden recollection of having read something like this on a tombstone.

Tamsin curtseyed, and the two h.o.r.n.y palms were again presented.

Not knowing which to take first,

Mr. Fogo held his umbrella between his knees and gave them a hand a-piece.

"I am afraid, Mr.--" He hesitated with a suspicion that he ought to say "Messrs."

"Dearlove," suggested Caleb; "an' reckoned a purty name, too."

"I am afraid, Mr. Dearlove," repeated Mr. Fogo, compromising matters by staring hard between the Twins, "that we have interrupted you."

"Not at all, sir," said Peter. "Sit down, sir, ef you'm not proud.

Tamsin, bring a cup for the gentleman. A piece o' pasty, sir?

Tamsin es famous for pasties."

Mr. Fogo, remembering that, with the exception of the mug of beer at the "King of Prussia," he had not broken his fast since the morning, and seeing also that the hospitality was anxiously sincere, complied.

In a few moments both he and Caleb were seated before a steaming pasty.

Tamsin poured out the tea. She was a full twenty years younger than her brothers, as could be seen notwithstanding their boyish look, which came from innocence and clean-shaven faces. It was pleasant to see their almost fatherly pride in her. Mr. Fogo noted it vaguely, but an inexplicable nervousness seemed to have overtaken him since entering the cottage.

"I came," he said at last, "to inquire about Kit's House, which I hear is to let."

"Thankin' you kindly, sir," answered Peter; "an' I won't say but what we shall be glad to let et. But Paul and I ha' been puttin' our heads togither, and we allow 'tes for Tamsin to say."

Here he looked at Paul, who nodded gravely and repeated, in his former mechanical tone, "for Tamsin to say."

Mr. Fogo looked more distressed than ever.

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," he began, with a quick glance at the girl, who was quietly pouring tea; "I did not know."

"No offence, sir. On'y, don't you see, 'tes this way. Kit's House es a gran' place wi' a slaty roof an' a I-talian garden, and a mighty deal too fine for the likes of Paul an' me. But wi' Tamsin 'tes another thing. We both agree she ought to be a leddy--not but what she's a better gal than tens o' thousands o' leddies--an' more than once we've offered to get her larnt the pi-anner an' callysthenics, an' the use o' globes, an' all such things which we knows to be usual in gran' sussiety; on'y she sticks to et to bide along wi' we.

G.o.d bless her! I say, an' a rough life et must be for her."

Tamsin turned away towards the fireplace, and became very busy among the pot-hooks and hangers. Her brother pulled out a red handkerchief--a fellow to the one around his neck--mopped his face and proceeded--

"Well, as I was a-saying, seein' she was bent on bein' wi' us, Paul and me allowed to each other that we'd set up in fine style at Kit's House, so as not to rob her of what es her doo: that es to say--one of us wou'd live down there wi' a car'ge and pair o' hosses, and cut a swell wi' dinner parties an' what-not, while the other bided here an' tilled 'taties, turn and turn about. But she wudn' hear o' that, neither. She's a terrible stubborn gal, bless her!"

"We shou'd ha' been slow at larnin' the ropes, just at fust," he resumed after a moment's silence, "not bein' scholards, partikler at the use o' globes, which I _have_ heerd es diffycult, though very entertainin' in company when you knows how 'tes done. But we was ready to try a hand--on'y she wudn' have et, an' so et has gone on.

But, beggin' your pardon, sir, and hopin' no offence, she shall give her answer afore 'tes too late. Eh, Paul?"

"You have spoken, Peter," said the other twin, very slowly, "like a printed book. Let Tamsin speak her mind about et."

The girl came forward from the fireplace, and Mr. Fogo, as he stole a glance at her, could see that her eyes were red.

"What do 'ee say, Tamsin? Must we let Kit's House, or shall we leave th' ould place an' go an' make a leddy of 'ee?"

Tamsin's reply was to fall on her knees before the speaker and break into a fit of weeping.

"Don't ask me, don't ask me! I don't want to be a lady, an' I _won't_ leave you. Don't ask me, my dear, dear brothers!"

Peter stroked the dark head buried in his lap, while Paul blew his nose violently in a yellow bandanna, and replied to Mr. Fogo.

"Very well, sir, so be et. There's the key of Kit's House yonder on the nail. Ef you likes to look over the place, one of us will follow you presently, and then, supposin' et to be to your likin', us can talk over terms."