CHAPTER XIV

TO THE FAIR

“Heigh! schoolmaister!” Pasco Pepperill shouted from his tax-cart to Walter Bramber, who was walking along the road collecting wild-flowers--the earliest of the year--that showed in a sheltered hedge.

In the trap with Pasco was Kate.

“I say, schoolmaister,” said Pepperill, reining in his grey cob, “be you inclined for a drive? I’m off to Ashburton Fair, where I may have business. You have not yet seen much of our country. Jump up! She”--he indicated Kate with a jerk of his chin--“she can squat behind.”

The day was lovely, the prospect of a drive engaging; but Bramber hesitated about dislodging Kate, who had, however, immediately begun to transfer herself from the seat beside her uncle to the place behind.

“That is not fair nor right,” said the young man. “Let her keep her place, and let me accommodate myself in the rear.”

“Not a bit! not a bit!” exclaimed Pepperill. “I’ve asked you for company’s sake.”

“But you have the best company in your niece.”

“She!”--Pasco uttered a contemptuous sniff,--“she is no company. She either sits as a log or pesters one with questions. What do you think she has just asked of me?” Imitating Kate’s voice, he said, “Uncle, why have horses so many hairs in their ears? Why the dowse does it matter whether horses have hair in their ears or not? Now, schoolmaister, get up in front.”

Bramber still objected.

“Oh, nonsense!” said Pasco; “I’m taking you up so as to be freed from these questions. It is catechising, or nothing at all.”

Bramber looked uneasily at Kate’s face, but her countenance was unmoved; she was accustomed to contemptuous treatment. She raised her timid eyes to Walter, and he said hastily, with some earnestness--

“You and I, Mr. Pepperill, form very different opinions of what entertainment is. When I was having tea at your house, she and I had plenty to say to each other. I found her full of interest”--

“In what?” sneered the uncle.

“Daffodils.”

“Oh, daffodils!” he laughed. “Any ass likes daffodils.”

“Pardon me,” answered Bramber warmly; “the ass and animals of like nature reject or pass them by unnoticed.”

“Well, I care not. Get up if you are coming with me. I’ll show you a better sight than daffodils, and something worthier of conversation.”

Pasco took up the schoolmaster, not solely for his own entertainment, but because he was somewhat uneasy at having let him into the secrets of his affairs. In his perplexity and inability to balance his accounts, he had grasped at the chance offered by the advent of Bramber; but now he feared he had been too confiding, and that the young man might blab what he had seen. It was requisite, or advisable, that he should disabuse his mind of any unfavourable impression that might have been received from the perusal of his accounts; and, like a stupid, conceited man, he thought that he could best effect this by ostentation and boastfulness.

In his pride, Pepperill would not admit that his circumstances were involved, though an uneasy feeling lay as a sediment at the bottom of his heart, assuring him that there was trouble in store.

“Why do horses have hair in their ears?” said Bramber on taking his seat, turning to the girl in the back of the carriage. “I will tell you why. If a cockchafer or an earwig were to get into your little pink shell, in a minute up would go the finger in protection of the organ, and to relieve you of the intruder. A horse cannot put up his hoof to clear his ear, therefore he is provided with a natural strainer, which will guard him from being irritated, and perhaps injured, by anything penetrating where it should not.”

“Thank you,” said Kate. “There is a reason for everything.”

“You don’t happen to know anything about business?” asked Pepperill, impatient to engross the conversation. “I mean--commercial business.”

“My mother kept a shop--in quite a small way.”

“Ah! in _quite_ a small way. I don’t mean anything in a _small_ way,” said Pasco, swelling. “I refer to buying in gross and retailing coal, wool, hides, bark, timber. That’s my line. I do nothing myself in a small way--still, I can understand there are people who do.”

Pasco nodded to right and left as he drove along, in return to salutations he received from men driving cattle, from farmers ambling on their cobs.

“You observe,” said Pepperill, “I’m pretty well known and respected.”

Presently he drew up at a wayside inn.

“I like to step into these publics,” said he apologetically; “not that I’m a man as takes nips--but one meets one’s fellows; it is all in the way of business; one hears of bargains. There is more dealing done over a tavern table than in a market-place. I’ll be with you shortly--unless you will join me in a glass inside. Kitty will mind the cob.”

“Thank you; I will await you here, and keep Kitty company.”

“Ah, you will never be popular as was Puddicombe, unless you take your glass!”

Then Pepperill entered the house.

Bramber turned in his seat, and met Kate’s earnest blue eyes. There was question in them.

“Now,” said he, “I know your head is full of notes of interrogation.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Your uncle and others do not like to be questioned. I am a schoolmaster. I delight in answering questions and communicating information. Put to me any queries you like, and as many as you like, and I will do my best to satisfy you.”

“Why do some stars twinkle and others do not?” asked Kate at once. This difficulty had been troubling her mind ever since the night in the boat.

“Planets do not twinkle.”

“What are planets?”

“Worlds on high. Stars that flash are suns that illumine worlds. They glitter with their own light; planets shine with borrowed, reflected light.”

“The planets are worlds?”

“Yes.”

“Very tiny ones?”

“Not at all. Some are far larger than our globe. They circle round our sun.”

Kate looked the young man steadily in the face. The thought was too great, too awful, to be received at once. She supposed he was joking. But his countenance was an assurance to her that he spoke the truth.

“Oh,” said she, with a long breath, “what it is to know!”

“There is no higher pleasure.”

“Nothing gives me greater joy than to learn.”

“But did you not get taught such simple truths as this in school?” asked Bramber.

“Mr. Puddicombe did not tell us much,” answered Kate. “We learned our letters and to cypher--nothing more.”

“I am glad you can read,” said Bramber.

“I can read, but I have no books. It is like having thirst and no water. I have learned how to walk, but may not use my feet. I am always like one who is hungry; I want to know about this, and about that, and I get no answer. Why are there tides? Why are some higher than others? What becomes of the stars by day?”

“The matter of the tides is beyond you. The stars are in the sky still, but, owing to the blaze of the sun by day, you cannot discern their lesser glories. If, however, you were at the bottom of a well, you would be able, on looking up, to see the stars, pale, indeed, but distinctly visible, in the heavens.”

“I should love to go down a well, and see that with my own eyes.”

“I wish--oh, I wish you were coming to school!”

Kate heaved a sigh.

“But as you cannot come to me,” said Walter, “I shall have to come to you.”

Kate shook her head. “That means sixpence a time in cockles and tea. It would ruin you.”

“Well, I will lend you books.”

“Mr. Fielding once did that, but Aunt Zerah was angry, and sent them back to the Rectory. She said that she did not want me to be a scholar, and have all kinds of book nonsense put into my head. I was to be a maid-of-all-work.”

Bramber did not speak. He was very sorry for the girl, craving for knowledge, gasping for the very air in which her spirit could live--and denied it. Then he said, pointing to the board above the inn-door--

“Do you notice the tavern sign, Kitty?”

“Yes--‘The Rising Sun.’”

“Recently repainted and gilt. Now, I will repeat to you the lines I withheld the other day concerning the celandine; that is to say, such as I remember:

‘I have not a doubt but he Whosoe’er the man might be, Who, the first, with painted rays, (Workman worthy to be sainted,) Set the signboard in a blaze, When the risen sun he painted, Took the fancy from a glance At thy glittering countenance.’”

Then a rattle of wheels and a tramp of horse’s hoofs. A dogcart was approaching rapidly. As it came near, the driver reined in and drew up alongside.

Kate recognised John Pooke, with Rose Ash at his side; behind, clinging uncomfortably to the back rail, was Susan Pooke. The young man flourished his whip and saluted Kate joyously.

“We shall meet at the fair. I shall await you, Kitty.”

Then he lashed the horse, and whirled away. Kate saw Rose’s face turned towards her, wearing a dissatisfied frown.

“Who are those?” asked Walter, with a little twinge of displeasure in his heart.

“The young man is Jan Pooke, he whose rick was burned; and with him is Rose Ash, the prettiest girl in all Coombe. Jan’s father has the orchard in which are the daffodils. It belonged to uncle. Uncle had a bit of farm, but he gave it up--sold it--to devote himself more to business. Behind, in the dogcart, is Susan Pooke. She is going to be married at Easter to someone in Ashburton.”

Then, wiping his lips and buttoning his pockets, Pasco came from the tavern. He mounted to his place and resumed the reins and whip.

“Well,” said he, “got some talk out of the girl?--foolery--rank foolery, I’ll swear. Never heard her say anything sensible; but you and I will have a good conversation as we drive along. We will talk about bullocks.”