Part 11

"Ah! she told the truth then!" thought the man; "told the naked truth and caught herself up too late! ’I’m sure I hope she will go,’ was what her heart prompted her to say. Maybe ’twill be my luck to cut the knot. Anyhow, as a full-blown upholsterer equal to making two pound a week at any time, I’ve a right to cast my eye where I please. Funny ’twould be if I should ever kiss Rhoda Bowden again. But ’twill be ’by your leave’ next time, I reckon, if ever that happens."

*CHAPTER III*

*PREPARATIONS*

To Margaret Stanbury belonged the mind that suffers sadness at the return of autumn; and even with this autumn, which was to see her marry the man she loved, her usual emotions wakened as the light again faded out of the ling; as the brake-fern once more flashed its first auburn signal from the hills; as the lamp of the autumnal furze went out and left the Moor darkling. Grey rain swept the desert and the fog-banks gathered together in high places. Sheep’s Tor’s crown and the ragged scarps of Lether Tor were alike hidden for many days. Winter returned with the careless step of a conqueror. Now he delayed for a little, while belated flowers bloomed hastily and ephemeral things, leaping into life, hurried through their brief hours during some golden interval of sunlight and warmth; but the inevitable came nearer as surely as the days grew short and the nights long, as surely as the sun’s chariot flamed on a narrower path and the way of the moon ascended into higher heaven.

The wedding day was fixed; the cottage under Black Tor was finished, and David laboured there to fence the scrap of reclaimed ground and make all sightly and pleasant for his bride when she should come. And now, while yet six weeks of maidenhood remained to her, Madge set off one day to visit Warren House upon various errands. Work was in full swing again at Ditsworthy and David laboured with the rest for his father. The mother of the household viewed this pending great exodus of a daughter and a son with tearful mind, only soothed by thoughts of the increased convenience when David and Rhoda should be gone; but as for the rest, none regarded the incident from a standpoint sentimental.

Now Margaret on her way fell in with Mr. Shillabeer, gun in hand, and she expressed gladness at the sight of him taking his pleasure. For Reuben Shillabeer by force of accident has until the present appeared in a light unusual and exceptional. The prize-fight and all that went before it created an atmosphere wherein the master of ’The Corner House’ appeared translated from his true self. During that time he responded a little to the joy of life and went about his business a cheerful and even a sanguine soul; but with the decision of the contest and the departure of Mr. Fogo to his metropolitan activities, Shillabeer found life an anti-climax, the darker for this fleeting spasm of excitement. His wife, as if in reproach, returned upon him with the force of an incubus that haunted not only his pillow but hung heavy on his waking hours; a settled melancholy, the more marked after its recent dissipation, got hold upon him; he exhaled an air of depression even behind his own bar, and only the high qualities and specific vigour of his malt liquors were able to dispel it. The ’Dumpling’ became increasingly religious and Mr. Merle had long since forgiven his lamentable lapse of the previous winter. Mr. Shillabeer was actually now engaged on behalf of the vicar of the parish, as he explained to Margaret.

"Come Woodcock Sunday, ’tis always my hope and will to get the bird for parson," he said. "He do read the chapter with special purpose to catch my ear; and so sure as it comes, I fetch out my gun and set forth for the man. But what with my failing strength and sight, I can’t shoot a cunning creature like a cock many more years. I’m going down under Coombeshead to-day and I shall call on your mother come the evening for a cup of tea and a talk about the revel. Since the wedding feast is put into my hands, I shall do my duty, though I may tell you that a wedding in the air cuts me to the quick. It brings her back as nothing else does."

"I’m sorry for that--truly sorry."

"You can’t help it," he said, rubbing the walnut stock of his gun with his sleeve until it shone. "Ban’t your fault. But a oner for weddings she was--a regular oner for ’em; and a christening would draw her miles despite the girth of her frame. ’Tis only at the business of a funeral I can comfort myself with an easy and cheerful spirit; for she hated them. No doubt she knowed her own would come untimely."

"Perhaps ’twas an instinct in her against ’em."

"Though never a woman hastened to dry other people’s tears quicker than her. Then ’churchings’--she never had no use for them herself, yet she’d often stop for the pleasure of:--’Like as the arrows in the hand of the giant; even so are the young children.’ And so on. Nought’s sadder than to see a childless wife, in my opinion--specially if she’s fond of ’em. I hope you’ll have a sackful, my dear."

"It’s very kind of you--very kind," said Margaret, frankly. "David and me dearly love the little ones."

"As you should do. I’ve often thought if that blessed angel had given me a pledge, that I could have better stood up afore the trials of life. But there’s only the Lord for me in this world now. True, Mr. Fogo talks of coming to see me again some day; but I don’t suppose he will. What can the likes of me do for the likes of such a man as him? Besides, parson would never forgive me if I had him here again."

He wandered off, and Margaret, who instantly reflected the tone of other minds with the swiftness common to sympathetic and not very intelligent people, went saddened on her way. Some light expired out of the earth and sky for her. She could not use reason and remember that Mr. Shillabeer was--in a word--Mr. Shillabeer. She merely felt that she had met and touched hearts with an unhappy old man. Therefore herself instantly grew a little unhappy and a little older. Chance objects, as they will at such times, intruded and carried on the dominant mood. A thing beside her path chimed with Madge’s emotion and lifted itself as a mournful mark and reminder by the way. Among reddening banks of bracken that spread in a tangle above a little hollow, where scarlet and purple of the bramble fluttered, and sloes took the hue of ripeness, there thrust up an object, livid and gigantic. It resembled some monstrous kindred of the fern that had taken root and risen here. But this bleached frond, so regular and perfect in its graduated symmetry of structure, had once supported an animal, not a vegetable organism. Margaret saw the backbone and ribs of a horse scoured into spotless whiteness by carrion crow, by frost, by rain; and the spectacle added another shade of darkness to her mind. She thought upon it a little while; then there came in sight part of the population of Warren House, and the twins, Samson and Richard, succeeded in lifting their future sister-in-law’s spirits nearer to gaiety. The children were sailing boats in a pond, but they abandoned the sport at sight of Margaret, because they had secrets for her.

"You’ll promise faithful not to tell, won’t ’e?" asked Richard.

"If you don’t promise, us won’t tell ’e," said Samson.

"’Tis the present us have got against David’s wedding-day," said Richard.

"But you must say ’strike me dead if I’ll tell,’" added Samson.

"Mother gived us sixpence to buy it with, and Joshua got it last time he was to Tavistock," explained Richard; "but ’tis our present, mind."

"You ought to give us something if we tell you," suggested Samson; but Madge shook her head.

"I shall know soon enough," she answered.

"That you won’t, then," replied Samson. "You won’t know for six weeks."

"You might try to guess and give us a ha’penny each time you lose," suggested Richard.

"Yes, you might," declared Samson.

They walked beside her and, since nothing was to be made out of the secret, presently told Madge that their gift was a shaving-brush.

"And Napoleon and Wellington have given him a razor," said Richard; "so now he’s all right."

"Yes," continued Samson, "and Nap was showing us how a razor cuts hairs in half, and he missed the hair and showed us how a razor cuts thumbs."

"My word--bled like a pig, he did," concluded Richard. "I’m sure I never won’t use such a thing when I grow to be hairy. Much too ’feared of ’em."

"You mind when I’m married to David that you often come over and see me, Dicky; and you too, Sam," said Margaret.

"If one comes, t’other will come," said Samson.

"Us hunt in couples, faither says--like to foxes," declared Richard. "And we’ll often come to tea."

"And oftener still if there’s jam--not beastly blackberry jam, mind you, but proper boughten jam from a grocer’s."

"I’ll remember," promised Madge.

They reached the Warren House after some further bargaining on the part of Samson and promising from Margaret. Then the twins returned to their boats and she entered her lover’s home.

David was at work, as the girl knew, but her business lay with Mrs. Bowden, and it happened that Elias himself was also within to welcome her. Both kissed Margaret and both declared their good pleasure at sight of her. She had already become a great happiness to them, and Elias did not hesitate openly to declare that his firstborn was luckier than even he deserved to be.

"’Tis about the Crockers I’m here," said Madge. "Mother, and father too, be wishful for them to be axed; but of course nothing in the world would be done by mother that could hurt your feelings.--Too tender herself for that. So I was to find out if you were for it or against it; and I was to learn if there was any other folk as you’d like specially invited that we mightn’t hap to know."

"There’s four or five must be there," said Mrs. Bowden. "God knows I don’t want ’em; but even at a wedding it ban’t all joy, and people often have to be axed for the sake of the unborn, though not for their own sakes by any means."

"I met with the ’Dumpling’ up over a bit ago," said Mr. Bowden. "Going shooting he was--might have been going to shoot hisself from the look of him; for a mournfuller man never throwed a shadow. But we had a tell, and I hear as Bartholomew Stanbury means to give a handsome party."

Margaret smiled.

"So he does then. ’Tis wonnerful how father’s coming out. Of course the farm’s too small and too far off from the neighbours; but Mr. Moses has very kindly given us the loan of his shop nigh the church--the big room."

"’Twill smell of cobbler’s wax, but that will be forgotten when Shillabeer takes the covers off," declared Mr. Bowden. "As for him, I could find it in my heart to wish he wasn’t going to be there at all, for ’twill remind him of his wife and cast him down till he’ll blubber into the plates, but of course he must be on the spot as he provides the dinner. And Charles Moses must be asked, if he’s going to lend his big room, though, to be honest, I never liked the man since he made all that fuss about the fight. Pious it may have been, but godly it weren’t, for fighting be the backbone of human nature, and you’ll find that the Lord’s chosen hadn’t got far before He set ’em at it, hammer and tongs."

"But about the Crockers," said Margaret; "and if I may say so, I hope there’s no objection, for David and Bartley be very good friends now, and I’m sure Bartley’s terrible sorry he so far forgot hisself as to kiss Rhoda."

"He can come and kiss her again for all I care," replied Elias. "All the nation may be at the wedding and welcome. There’s only one living man won’t be there if I’m anybody. But Crocker’s welcome, and his managing mother, and his Aunt Susan also."

"I don’t like Nanny Crocker myself," confessed Mrs. Bowden. "She’s a thought too swallowed up in vain-glory and seems to think that her family be something special and above common earth. But I had the best of her in argument when my twins was born, and I can afford to be large-minded. As for Susan, there’s plenty of sense in her, only she don’t dare to show it."

"Bartley’s learnt upholstering," said Madge. "He could earn two pound a week in the world now at any time, and he’s going to look out for a wife."

"All to the good and all sound sense," replied the warrener. "Well, us had better ask him to tea. Here’s plenty here for all markets--our Sophia, with all the larning of a widow and youth still on her side, and our Rhoda--though ’twill have to be a frosty pattern of man to take her fancy, and our Dorcas--not much to look at, but very anxious to get married seemingly."

"’Tis Screech--that bowldacious ragamuffin!" burst out Mrs. Bowden. "To think such a man should dare to offer for any daughter of mine. A poaching, ragged rascal--more like one of they tramps than a respectable man. Faither’s going to lay his horsewhip round the fellow’s shoulders if he comes up here again--ban’t you, faither?"

"Yes," said Elias, "I am. And don’t you ask him to the wedding, Margaret, because I wouldn’t have it."

Margaret was true to herself.

"Poor chap," she said. "I’m very sorry he can’t have Dorcas, but of course you know best. Perhaps he’ll mend some day."

"That sort don’t mend. But they’ve a terrible power to mar--like one rotten apple will soon spoil a bushel. And if Dorcas grumbles to you about it, as she will, because you’re the sort that hears all the trouble of the world, then you mind and talk sense to her. I’m a reasonable man and I wouldn’t say ’no’ to a hedge-tacker so long as he’s honest; but William Screech don’t have no child of mine."

The subject changed and Sarah spoke of all that David’s departure meant to her.

"Can’t see the place without him for tears," she said. "’Tis weak, but they will flow every time I say to myself ’one day less.’ You see, it ban’t as if we was all here, then I’d say nought. But Sophia, though she went, was soon back again; and let faither say what he pleases about Joshua, Joshua can’t stand to work day and night like David, and Dorcas won’t look after the dogs like Rhoda. ’Tis a great upheaval, look at it which way you will. If my son Drake had only been spared, of course all things would have fallen out differently."

"Yes," admitted Elias; "and if the moon had only been made of green cheese--us should always have had plenty of maggots for fishing."

Upon this great aphorism Margaret Stanbury took her leave; and Dorcas, who had been waiting for her, now approached in a mood neither lightsome nor joyous.

"I’ve got the headache," she said. "I’ve been crying my eyes out for a fortnight and I wish I was dead."

"Dorcas!"

"’Tis all along of Billy Screech--cruel and wicked I call it. But us will be upsides with father and mother yet. Why for shouldn’t I marry the man if I love him? Such a clever man as he is--full of ideas and quite as able to make a living, I’m sure, as anybody else. And I want for your mother to ax him to the wedding, Madge--just to pay father out. If he sees Billy there his pleasure will be spoilt--and sarve him right--the cruel old man!"

"Don’t feel so savage about it. Bide your time and tell Billy to stand to work and get regular wages and make Mr. Bowden respect him. I’ve often heard Bart say that Mr. Screech is wonnerful clever in all sorts of queer ways, and ’tis only the poaching makes your father angry, I expect."

"He’s given all that up long ago. Will you ax him to your wedding?"

"I can’t, Dorcas. Mr. Bowden has just expressly forbidden it. I’m very, very sorry. Perhaps after I’m married I shall be able to help you; but it rests with Billy."

"I’ll marry him," said Dorcas. "And not a thousand fathers shall stop it; and I’ll tell you another thing: it won’t be long afore I do. Just you wait and see."

*CHAPTER IV*

*THE WEDDING*

"’Tis the difference in our natures," said David Bowden’s mother. "Some folk haven’t never ended their work, and some don’t never begin theirs. I’ve known men and women--as thought they were busy people too--who died without ever tasting what I call a day’s work."

Sarah walked between Nanny Crocker and Constance Stanbury, and the matrons on her right and left admitted the truth of the remark. They had all come from church; they had seen David and Margaret made man and wife; and it was during a brief review of the immediate past and its arduous duties that Mrs. Bowden uttered her philosophical observation.

"And rabbits going on all the time, mind you," she added. "Come what may, in season, year in, year out, Sundays only excepted, the rabbits goes over all--even a son’s wedding. ’Tis the ordering of nature and we’ve got to bend under it."

"A very tidy little wedding," said Mrs. Crocker, who had pardoned all parties on hearing that her son was to be best man. David owned no close intimate of his sex, and since he and Bartley were now become excellent friends, he thought upon this idea and his old antagonist agreed to the proposal. For Nanny’s son could feel, but not deeply. The past was past, and its disappointments had left no heavier scar on his mind than David’s fist upon his face. He could view the prospect of being best man at Margaret’s wedding without disturbing emotions, and he accepted the invitation gladly. True he wished once to marry her and would have been proud to do so; but when she chose elsewhere, his desire towards her perished. Other interests had taken its place, and he found himself well able to enjoy the friendship of David and Margaret without any tinge of bitterness even when the past filled his mind. It seldom intruded, for he was of the sort who lack much instinct of retrospection and, childlike, trust all their future happiness on the hope and promise of great to-morrows.

"A very tidy little wedding," repeated Mrs. Crocker, as though uttering a challenge. The mothers of the bride and bridegroom had waited each for the other to speak upon the first utterance of this graceful compliment; but now Mrs. Stanbury responded.

"Thank you for that kind word, I’m sure," she said. "Coming from you it will be a delight to all the parties to hear it, and I know Madge will be proud when I tell her. We was up altering her dress till the small hours, and it didn’t fit to the last. No doubt you noted that ruckle right across the back of her stays, especially when she knelt down. But I hope you won’t blame us. We did our best."

"A thing like that is of small account," declared Mrs. Crocker graciously. "Lord! how they’m ringing the heart out of the bells, to be sure. They never peal like that o’ Sundays."

Mr. Moses approached and shook hands with each of the women in turn.

"No," he said; "the fellows be ringing for the best beloved young woman in the countryside to-day; that’s why you hear what you do in the bells, my dears. Of a Sunday they’m ringing to worship and the glory of the Lord, all steady and solemn. ’Twouldn’t be respectful to the Throne of Grace to peal so free as that."

Then he became personal.

"When I seed you three ladies come through the coffin gate, ’My stars,’ I said, ’there’s a bit of summer flower garden come back into winter!’ ’Twas your bonnets, you must know. Such flowers I never did see out of nature, or in it for that matter. And in church--when the sun comed through Christ washing the Apostles’ feet--as it do about mid-day at this season, and fell on your bonnet, Mrs. Crocker, ’twas as though a dazzling rainbow had broke loose in the holy place."

Mr. Bowden joined them and whispered to his wife. He was clad in Sunday black, but, to mark the great occasion, wore a blue-green tie with an old-fashioned garnet breastpin and chain in it.

"Did you see that scamp, Billy Screech, in church?" he asked.

"No," she answered; "but ’tis a free country: us couldn’t forbid him to come there."

Rhoda, the widowed Sophia in a sentimental spirit, and Dorcas followed together. All were clad in new finery and all were quite silent. Mr. Hartley Crocker approached them and took off his hat. He remarked their moods and observed that Rhoda only was cheerful. She looked superb, he thought, in her purple cloth dress and little hat of squirrel fur.

"Cheer me up," he said. "I’ve got to propose the bride and bridegroom after the wedding, and I’m horribly frighted to have to do it. I’d almost sooner be fighting again, Miss Rhoda."

"I doubt you’ll come well out of it," she said

"Did I hand David the ring all right?"

"I suppose so. The ring’s in its proper place now--that’s all that matters."

She was indifferent, but not absolutely cold. She had, he thought, forgiven him, and that made the day pleasant to him. It was the first time since the tragic moment at the Pixies’ House that she had directly spoken to Mr. Crocker; and the sound of her voice, though not very mellow, yet gave him the greatest satisfaction.

"Did you take the best man’s kiss when you was in the vestry?" asked Dorcas.

The interrogation was far from being a happy one; yet Bartley made a masterly answer, intended for other ears than those of the questioner. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten the immemorial privilege or most certainly he had exercised it. But now he was glad that he had forgotten.

"No," he answered. "There’s a lot of silly old customs better left out, Miss Dorcas. ’Tis not a comely thing for any male to kiss a bride but her father or her husband."

This virtuous sentiment was directed at Rhoda, but she made no sign save a perceptible pursing of her lips.

Then the party, led by bride and bridegroom, passed through rows of the folk and swiftly reached the workshop of Mr. Moses near the bull-ring. It had been cleared for the occasion, and certain busy, kindly spirits had decorated it and concealed its somewhat naked and austere proportions with garlands of holly and laurel and trophies of coloured tissue paper. The place smelt of leather and cobbler’s wax; but, as Mr. Bowden had prophesied in the past, these harmless odours vanished when the meal began.

Thirty people sat down to dinner, and Reuben Shillabeer, with his immense back view presented to the company, carved at a side table. To the windows of the chamber small, inquisitive boys and girls succeeded in climbing. They pressed their noses and cheeks flat against the glass, the better to see the glories within; and, thus distorted, their small faces made an unlovely decoration. From time to time Ernest Maunder wiped his mouth, rose from his seat at the table near the entrance, and drove the little ones away with vague threats familiar in his calling; but they feared him not and all climbed up again when he returned to his plate.

There were present the whole family of the Bowdens, the family of the Stanburys and the family of the Crockers. Mr. Moses occupied a seat beside the bride’s mother, and strove, without success, to rouse a spirit of complacence and satisfaction in her; Mr. Timothy Mattacott, as Mr. Maunder’s friend, sat by Mr. Maunder; and he showed extreme deference to everybody, because this was the greatest social experience of his life; while as for Simon Snell, who had also been invited, his beard shone with pomatum, and he experienced a real satisfaction in finding himself exactly opposite Rhoda, and in regarding the meal that she made and the two full glasses of beer that she drank with it.

"Will there or won’t there be wine?" secretly asked Mrs. Crocker of Mr. Moses.

"From the large way in which everything has been carried out so far, and the loads of food over, I believe Bartholomew Stanbury has run to it," he murmured under his breath.

And he was right.

"Afore we come to the healths, I’ll thank you to open they six bottles of brown sherry wine, Reuben," cried out the giver of the feast in a hearty voice, when the apple tarts and cream began to be eaten.

"Only got to say the word," responded Shillabeer.

"All’s ready."