Part 16

The crude announcement of Gammer Grepe's confession came inharmoniously upon her thoughts from one direction, yet chimed therewith at the standpoint of the supernatural. She shivered, yet laughed; she declared that Cherry and her cottage should be conveyed entirely to Exeter Museum as a fascinating relic of old times; yet recollected with a sort of discomfort the old woman's predictions concerning herself when, as a girl, and in jest, she had sought to hear her fortune.

*CHAPTER III.*

*A SECRET*

Mark Endicott showed not a little interest in the matter of Cherry Grepe. Such a survival astonished him, and being somewhat of a student in folk-lore, he held that, far from discouraging the wise woman, she should be treated with all respect, and an effort made to gather a little of her occult knowledge.

By a coincidence, soon after Stapledon's conversation with the wise woman, there came further corroboration of Cherry's powers from the mouth of one among her steadfast clients. After supper, at that hour when the hands were wont to utter their opinions or seek for counsel from those in authority over them, Mr. Cramphorn opened a great question vital to his own peace of mind and the welfare of his daughters. Jonah loved them both with a generous measure of paternal regard for one of his mental restrictions. Next to his mistress in his esteem came Sally and Margery; and now, with passage of days, there grew in him a great perplexity, for his daughters were old enough to take husbands and both apparently desired the same; while, as if that did not present complication sufficient, the man their ardent hearts were fixed upon by no means commended himself to Cramphorn's judgment.

As for Mr. Libby, with an impartiality very exasperating, he committed himself to no definite course. He made it plain that he desired an alliance with Jonah; yet, under pressure of such monkey brains as Providence had bestowed upon him, and secretly strong in two strings to his bow, he held the balance with great diplomacy between these maids and exercised a patience--easy to one who in reality possessed little love for either. His aim was to learn whether Sally or her sister had greatest measure of her father's regard, for he was far-seeing, knew that Mr. Cramphorn might be considered a snug man, and must in the course of nature presently pass and leave his cottage and his savings behind him. The cottage lease had half a hundred years to run, and an acre of ground went with it. So Gregory, while he leant rather to Sally Cramphorn by reason of her physical splendours, was in no foolish frenzy for her, and the possible possession of a house and land had quickly turned the scale in favour of her sister. Moreover, he was alive to the fact that the father of the girls held him in open dislike; another sufficient cause for procrastination.

With indifferent good grace Jonah recorded his anxieties to Myles and Mark Endicott.

"Both wife-auld, an' be gormed if I knaw what to do 'bout it. A gude few would have 'em, but not wan's for theer market seemin'ly except that fantastical chap, Greg Libby, who stands between 'em, like a donkey between two dachells. I may as well awn up as I seed Cherry Grepe on it, but for wance seems to me as I thrawed away my money. Two shillin' I gived her an' got nought."

"What did she say?" asked Mr. Endicott.

"Her took me by a trick like. Fust her said, 'Do 'e reckon your gals have brains in theer heads?' An' I said, 'Coourse they have, so gude as any other females in theer station o' life.' Then her said, 'You'm satisfied with theer intellects?' An' I said, 'Why for shouldn't I be?' Then said Cherry, 'Very well, Jonah; let 'em bide an' find men for theerselves. Ban't your business, an' you'll be a fule to make it so. 'Tis awnly royal princesses,' she said, 'an' duchesses an' such like as have to set other people husband-huntin' for 'em. But us humble folks of the airth--'tis the will of Providence we may wed wheer we love, like the birds. Let 'em bide, an' doan't keep such a hell-hard hold awver 'em,' said her to me, 'an' then they'll larn you in theer awn time what they be gwaine to do 'bout husbands,' she said."

"Don't see who can give you better advice, Jonah. I can't for one. Looks to me as if old Cherry's got more sense than I was led to believe. Let them find their own men--only see to it when found that they're sound in wind and limb. Libby's got a cleft palate, and, likely as not, his child will have one. 'Tisn't in reason that a lovesick girl should think for her unborn children; but for his grandchildren a man ought to think if chance offers. Anyway, never give a flaw any opportunity to repeat itself, when you can prevent such a thing. Not enough is done for love of the unborn in this world. 'Tis them we ought to make laws for."

By no means satisfied, Cramphorn presently went to bed, and Myles pursued the subject for a while. Then he too retired, taking the lamp with him, and the blind man knitted on for a space, while a choir of crickets chirruped and sped about upon the hearth.

But though Stapledon went to his chamber, the day was not yet done for him, the theme in his thoughts not yet to be extinguished. Since their trivial quarrel Honor and her husband had been as happy together as man and woman need pray to be, and that dim, dreary shadow which Myles had stared at, Honor shut her eyes upon, might be said to have retreated to a point of absolute disappearance. The ache in the man, that showed at his eyes, had passed like any other pain; the twinge in the woman, revealed not at all, though generally followed by a humorous speech, troubled her no more at this moment. She grew pensive and very self-absorbed; she stared absently through the faces of those who addressed her; she dwelt much with her own thoughts and discoveries.

This night she was not in bed when Myles entered her room, but sat beside the open window, her elbows upon the sill and her face between her hands.

"Myles," she said, "there's a man down in the meadow. I saw him distinctly pass between two of the sleeping cows. Then he drifted into the shadow of the hedge--a man or a ghost."

"A man, sweetheart, though I know you would rather think it something else and so get a new sensation. Pinsent probably, as a matter of prosy fact. I bid him get me some rabbits. Shut the window and come to bed. You'll catch cold."

"No; I'm cold-proof now--so the old wives say when---- Come here a minute, Myles, and sit here and look at the moon and listen to the dor beetles. There will not be many more such nights and such silvery mists this year."

"You can almost see the damp in the air," he said.

"Yes, and down below, with ear to grass, one might hear the soft whisper of the little mushrooms breaking out of Mother Earth, while the fairies dance round them and scatter the dew."

"You're not wise to sit there, dear love."

"I must be humoured--we must be."

He threw off his coat and stretched his great arms in pleasant anticipation of rest and sleep.

"Whatever do you mean, my pretty?"

"I mean that I have a long, tedious, tremendous enterprise in hand. A most troublesome enterprise. You're always at me not to waste time. Now I'm really going to be busy."

"You couldn't tell me anything I'd like to hear better."

"Couldn't I? Remember!"

He did remember.

"That--yes--all in good time."

"Not a moment more shall I waste. You'll guess I'm in earnest, for I'm going to work night and day."

"A fine resolve! But keep your work for working hours, sweetheart. And how many are to benefit by this great achievement?"

"Who can tell that? It may be for good or for harm. Yet we have a right to be hopeful."

"You make me most curious. How shall I view it, I wonder?"

"Well, you ought to be rather pleased, if you've told me the truth. And--look!"

A meteor gleamed across the misty moonlight. It seemed to streak the sky with radiance, was reflected for an instant in the pond among the rhododendrons, then vanished.

"D'you know what that means?" asked Honor.

"A wandering atom from some old, ruined world perhaps, now burnt up in our atmosphere."

"And do new-born souls come wandering from old, ruined worlds, I wonder? The German folk say that a shooting-star means a new life brought down from above, Myles. And--and how I do wish next May was come and gone; and if it's a girl, my dear one, I believe I shall go mad with disappointment."

So new fires were lighted in the man's deep heart, and blazed aloft like a signal of great joy and thanksgiving. His first impulse was to cuddle her to his breast; then he felt her to be a holy thing henceforth, separated from him by a veil impenetrable.

Long after his wife slept he lay in thought, and his spirit was much exalted, and his grey mind filled to bursting with sense of unutterable obligations. Nature was not enough to thank; she alarmed him rather, for, upon the approach of such experience, men fear the impassive Earth-Mother as well as love her. But that night he felt with unusual acuteness the sense of the vague power behind; and it pressed him on to his knees for a long, silent, wordless hour with his soul--an hour of petition and thanksgiving, of renewed thanksgiving and renewed petition.

*CHAPTER IV.*

*THE WISDOM OF MANY*

When the news spread to all ears at Endicott's and beyond it, Mr. Cramphorn, ever generous of his great gift, and always ready to speak in public if a high theme was forthcoming, proposed to make an official congratulation in the name of himself and his companions. His love of his mistress prompted him to the step; yet he designed a graceful allusion to Myles also.

It was with much difficulty that Churdles Ash prevailed upon Jonah to postpone this utterance.

"'Tis a seemly thought enough," admitted the ancient, "an' I, as knaws your power of speech, would be the fust man to hit 'pon the table an' say 'Hear, hear' arter; but ban't a likely thing for to do just now, 'cause fust theer's the bashfulness of her--an' a woman's that bashful wi' the fust--that shaame-faaced an' proud all to wance, like a young hen lookin' round to find a plaace gude enough to lay her fust egg in, an' not findin' it. Then theer's the laws of Nature, as caan't be foretold to a hair by the wisest; so, all in all, I'd bide till the baaby's born if I was you. You'm tu wise to count your awn chickens 'fore they'm hatched out; then why for should 'e count any other party's? But bide till arter--then you'll give us a braave discoourse no doubt."

So Jonah delayed his next important declaration as mouthpiece of Bear Down; but while he thus restrained the warmth of his heart and denied himself the pleasure of his own voice uplifted in a public capacity, neither he nor any other adult member of the little community saw reason to desist from general conversation upon so interesting a subject. During Sunday evenings, after supper, while the men smoked their pipes upon departure of Honor and her maids, the welfare of the little promised one grew to be a favourite theme; and Myles, proud but uneasy at first, in the frank atmosphere of conjecture, theory, and advice, now accepted the reiterated congratulations as a matter of course, and listened to the opinions and experiences of those who might be supposed to have deeper knowledge than his own in such delicate affairs.

There fell a Sunday evening hour towards Christmas, when Mr. Ash, full of an opinion awakened in him at church, began to utter advice concerning Honor; and the rest, chiming in, fell to recording scraps of sense and nonsense upon the great subject in all its relations.

"Seed missis down-along to worship's marnin'," said Mr. Ash; "an' fegs! but she was a deal tu peart an' spry 'pon her feet if you ax me. She did ought to keep her seat through the psalms an' hymns an' spiritual songs; an' theer's another thought, as rose up in sermon: Onless you want for your son--come a bwoy--to be a minister, 'tis time missis gived up church altogether till arter."

"Why for not a parson?" inquired Cramphorn. "'Tis a larned, necessary trade, though other folk, tu, may knaw a little 'bout principalities here an' there. Still, seein' all they do--why they'm so strong as Lard Bishops come to think of it, 'cept for laying on of hands--though why that calls for a bigger gun than a marryin' I never yet heard set out. You'd say a weddin' was the stiffest job--the worst or the best as man can do for his fellow-man. However, a larned trade 'twill be no doubt--not farmin', of course," he concluded.

"As to that, it depends," said Stapledon quite seriously, "if he showed a strong taste."

"We'll hope he'll be ambitious," declared Mark. "Yes, ambitious and eager to excel in a good direction. Then he'll be all right."

"But he might be blowed away from his ambition by the things as look gude to young gen'lemen, so I should keep un short of money if I was you," advised Mr. Ash.

"Blown away! Not he--not if his ambition is a live thing. If he lets pleasure--dangerous or harmless--come between him and his goal--then 'twill be mere vanity, only wind, nothing. But let me see a lad with a big, clean ambition. Nought keeps him so straight or makes his life a happier thing to himself and others."

"You never do see it," declared Myles. "A fine idea, but it hardly ever happens."

"Not lawyering," begged Jonah, drawing down his eyebrows. "Doan't 'e let un go for a lawyer, maister. 'Tis a damn dismal trade, full of obstructions and insurrections between man an' man, an' man an' woman."

"So it is then!" ejaculated Mr. Endicott heartily. "A damn dismal trade! You never said a truer word, Jonah. They live in a cobweb world of musty, dusty, buried troubles, and they rake justice out of stuff set down by dead men for dead men. 'Tis precedent they call it; and it strangles justice like dogma strangles religion. Myles understands me."

"They'm a solemn spectacle--the bettermost of 'em be--savin' your honor's pardon," ventured Pinsent. "The fur an' robes an' wigs of 'em do look terrible enough to a common man."

"Terrible tomfoolery! Terrible science of escaping through the trap-doors of precedent from common-sense!"

"But I seed a high judge to Exeter," persisted Pinsent. "An' 'twas at the 'Sizes; an' he told a man for hangin'; an' his eyes was like gimlets; an' his lean face was so grey as his wig; an' a black cap he had; an', what's worse, left no room for hope of any sort."

"Rogues, rogues," growled the blind man. "I'd sooner see son of mine fighting with the deep sea or building honest houses with moor-stone. A vile trade, I tell you; a trade to give any young mind a small, cunning twist from the outset!"

To hear and see Mr. Endicott show heat upon any subject, and now lapse from his own judicial attitude upon this judicial theme, provoked a moment of silence and surprise. Then Mr. Ash returned to his practical starting-point.

"Gospel truth and the case against law put in a parable," he declared; "but theer's a gude few things to fall out afore the cheel's future performances call for minding. Fegs! He've got to be born fust, come to think of it. 'Tis the mother as you must be busy for, not the cheel; an' I'd warn 'e to fill her mind with gude, salted sense; an' also let her bide in the sunshine so much as her can these dark days. An' doan't let her read no newspapers, for the world's a bloody business by all accounts, with battles an' murders an' sudden deaths every weekday, despite the Litany Sundays--as doan't make a ha'porth o' differ'nce seemin'ly. Keep her off of it; an' never talk 'bout churchyards, nor ghostes, nor butcher's meat, nor any such gory objects."

"I won't--in fact I never do," answered Myles, who was as childlike as the rest of the company upon this subject. "No doubt a calm and reposeful manner of living is the thing."

"Ess," concluded Mr. Ash; "just Bible subjects, an' airly hours, an' such food as she fancies in reason. 'Seek peace and ensue it,' in Scripture phrase. An' leave the rest to Providence. Though in a general way 'tis a gude rule to leave nought to Providence as you can look arter yourself."

"Shall 'e lift your hand to un, maister?" inquired Mr. Collins. "They tell me I was lathered proper by my faither afore I'd grawed two year auld. Do seem a gentle age to wallop a bwoy; yet here I be."

"'Tis a very needful thing indeed," declared Cramphorn--"male an' female for that matter. A bwoy's built to larn through his hide fust, his head arterwards. Hammer 'em! I sez. Better the cheel should holler than the man groan; better the li'l things should kick agin theer faither's shins than kick agin his heart, come they graw."

"If we could only be as wise as our words," said Myles. "I'm sure I gather good advice enough of nights for a king's son to begin life with. So many sensible men I never saw together before. You're likely to kill him with kindness, I think."

The boy Tommy Bates returned home from a walk to Chagford at this moment, with his mouth so full of news that he could not get it out with coherence.

"A poacher to Godleigh last night! Ess fay! An' keeper runned miles an' miles arter un, if he's tellin' truth; an' 'twas Sam Bonus--that anointed rascal from Chaggyford by all accounts. Not that keeper can swear to un, though he's very near positive. Catched un so near as damn it--slippery varmint! An' his pockets all plummed out wi' gert game birds! But theer 'tis--the law ban't strong enough to do nought till the chap's catched red-handed an' brought for trial."

Thus the advent of a precious new life at Endicott's was discussed most gravely and seriously. Mark Endicott indeed not seldom burst a shell of laughter upon so much wisdom, but Stapledon saw nothing to be amused at. To him the subject was more important and fascinating than any upon which thought could be employed, and he permitted no utterance or canon of old custom to escape unweighed. At first he repeated to his wife a little of all that eloquence set flowing when she retired; but Honor always met the subject with a silver-tongued torrent of irreverent laughter, and treated the ripest principles of Mr. Ash and his friends with such contemptuous criticisms that her husband soon held his peace.

Yet he erred in forgetting the blind man's warning under this added provocation of a little one in the bud; he spent all his leisure with his wife; he tried hard to catch her flitting humours, and even succeeded sometimes; but oftener he won a smile and a look of love for the frank failure of his transparent endeavours.

"Don't be entertaining, sweetheart," she said to him. "I cannot tell how it is, but if you are serious, I am happy; if you jest and try to make me laugh, my spirits cloud and come to zero in a moment. That's a confession of weakness, you see; for women so seldom have humour. Everybody says that. So be grave, if you want me to be gay. I love you so; and gravity is proper to you. It makes me feel how big and strong you are--how fortunate I am to have you to fight the battle of life for me."

"I wish I could," he said. "But you're right. I'm not much of a joker. It's not that you have a weak sense of humour that makes me miss fire; it's because you have a strong one."

Sometimes the veil between them seemed to thicken from his standpoint. Even a little formality crept into his love; and this Honor felt and honestly blamed herself for. Mark Endicott also perceived this in the voice of the man; and once he spoke concerning it, when the two walked together during a January noon.

It was a grey and amber day of moisture, gentle southern wind and watery sunlight--a day of heightened temperature, yet of no real promise that the earth was waking. Ephemera were hatched, and flew and warped in little companies, seen against dark backgrounds. Hazardous bud and bird put forth petal and music, and man's heart longed for spring; but his reason told him that the desire was vain.

"No lily's purple spike breaking ground as yet, I doubt?" said Mark Endicott, as he paced his favourite walk in the garden.

"Not yet. But the red japonica buds already make a gleam of colour against the house.

"What good things this coming springtime has hidden under her girdle for you, Myles! Leastways, one's a right to hope so. That reminds me. Is Honor happy with you alone? Not my business, and you'll say I'm an old cotquean; but I'm blind, and, having no affairs of my own, pry into other people's. Yet Honor--why, she's part of my life, and the best part. She seems more silent than formerly--more and more as the days pass. Natural, of course. I hear her thread, and the click of her needle, and her lips as she bites the cotton; but her work I can't follow with my ears now, for it's all soft wool, I suppose. She said yesterday that she much wished I could see her new garb--'morning gown' she called it. She's pleased with it, so I suppose you've praised it."

"Yes, uncle, and was sorry that I had. I don't know how it is, but I contradict myself in small things, and she never forgets, and reminds me, and makes me look foolish and feel so. This gown--a brown, soft, shiny thing, all lined with silky stuff the colour of peach-blossom, warm and comfortable--I admired it heartily, and said it was a fine thing, and suited her well."

"You could do no more."

"But somehow I was clumsy--I am clumsy, worse luck. And she said, 'Don't praise my clothes, sweetheart; that's the last straw.' 'Last straw' she certainly said, yet probably didn't guess how grave that made the sentence sound. Then she went on, 'You know my gowns don't match earth and sky one bit; and you love better the drabs and duns of the folk. You've told me so, and I quite understand. You'd rather have Sally's apron and sun-bonnet, and see her milking, with her apple cheeks pressed against a red cow, than all my most precious frippery. And, of course, you're right, and that makes it so much the more trying.' Now that was uncalled for. Don't you think so? I say this from no sorrow at it, God bless her! but because you may help read the puzzle. I don't understand her absolutely, yet. Very nearly, but not absolutely."

"No, you don't, that's certain. The mistake is to try to. You're wise in what you let alone, as a rule. But her nature you can't suffer to grow without fuss. There's a sound in your voice to her--afore the hands, too--like a servant to his mistress."

"I am her servant."

"Yes, I know; so am I also; but--well, no call to tramp the old ground. You might guess she'd look for gentleness and petting, yet----"

"She asks for it one moment, and grows impatient at it the next."

"Well, you'll learn a bit some day; but you've not got the build of mind to know much about women."

Myles sighed, and drummed his leg with a whip.

"It's all so small and petty and paltry--these shades and moods and niceties and subtleties."

"Women will have 'em."

"Well, I try."

"Go on trying. The world's full of these small things, speaking generally. You're built for big, heavy game. Yet it's your lot to catch gnats just now--for her. And she knows how hard you try. It'll come right when she's herself again. Life brims with such homespun, everyday fidgets. They meet a man at every turn."

"I long to be heart and heart with her; and I am; but not always."

"Well, don't addle your brains about it. Your large kindness with dogs and beasts, and love of them, and discipline would please her best. If you could only treat her as you treat them."

"Treat her so! She's my wife."