Part 15

“Well! God help you, then! that's all I say.--Though we quarrelled last night, I'd be mighty glad to see Mistress Doherty to-day,--so I would: I wonder she hasn't come. I'll tell you how it was, and you'll judge who did wrong.--We got a fi'penny bed at a road-side house; and when such a case occurs, which isn't often, Mistress Doherty is all for getting as much as she can for her money; so, if I'd let her, she'd go to bed at eight o'clock, and lie till twelve or one the next day, or make me and the child do so: but no, I don't like going to bed at night over soon then, so I don't,--but I'll lie a-bed as long as one here and there, the next morning; for then's the time, if one has such a thing, when a bed's pleasant. Well then, Mistress Doherty, having some places to patch in her coat, bid me go to bed before her, so that I might get up early, and tramp to the revel with her,--just as Dobbin and Joan would, but I wouldn't never mind why. Says she--says Mistress Doherty, 'Go to bed, Darby, or the child will be perished with cold; go to bed and warm him, Darby, while I put a patch on my coat but I wouldn't; so then she got in her tantarums; I was obstinate, and we quarrelled.”

“Ay, ay! I understand,” said the tinker, who had not spoken before, “she wanted to beat you to nest, as the hen-pigeon doth the cock, when he loiters; it's natural,--yea, nature all over.”

“Whenever I quarrel, I fight,” pursued Darby; “and whenever I fight with Mrs. Doherty, she licks me; I'd scorn to be beat by any man breathing; I'll crow like a bit of game as I am, though I've lost half my spurs, but I don't scruple to own, that I knock under to my wife:--so we paid what we couldn't well afford for a bed,---quarrelled and fought all night in it, when we might have slept happy and contented under a tree; and the next morning,--that's this morning,--I tould her, when she was dreaming, to come after me to the revel by her own self; and so she will, I'll engage my last arm; for, if we fight, Mistress Doherty doats on me.”

“And who is this child?” inquired Archibald.

“Your worship,” replied the pedlar; “I hae held my peace till now, and it is time for me to speak. This wee thing cam' to us where we breakfasted; we ken nought about her; she wanted to come to this revel, and we hae brought her together.--She would hae parted with us, but neither of us would suffer her to do so, without letting us know whither she went; a small broil followed, and here we are before ye;--we've done nought but what humanity would justify;--tak' the bairn and question her. She's in your hands, and I've done with her--saving a blessing--Gude protact her!”

“Oh! don't think to gallyboozle the justice with your mealy mouth,” said Darby; “I've no great opinion of my friend here, your honour; no, nor of Tom Tinker, this fellow with the black face, as I had the honour of telling ye before. Now, if I may be allowed to say one word in my defence,--though nobody accuses me, nor can, that's more,--but if I may speak, I'll just say this by way of advice to your worship:--make yourself a Solomon the second; cut off the child's hair, take every ha'p'orth she has, and then see who'll have her: it isn't the tinker, I'll engage; no, nor the pedlar, with his blackguard red herrings.”

“I dinna want the bairn,” said the pedlar; “I hae eleven o' my ain; but I'd do to anither mon's child, what I'd expact anither, mon would do to mine,--that is to say--sauf her fra tinklers and ne'er-do-weels.”

“Come, come, pedlar, 'ware that,” growled the tinker; “good words or broken heads, says the old saying.”

“Hold your tongue, you reprobate!” exclaimed Sir Waldron.

“Silence!” roared Batter in the tinker's ear, while Quality dealt him an apothegm.

“What you want with the child I cannot comprehend,” continued Sir Waldron; “why not take one of those poor things, of whom you're the putative father? that would do you a little credit--Why wish for this little stranger?”

“Why, your worship”--The tinker was cut short in his reply to the magistrate's question, by Batter shouting silence, and Quality giving him a nudge.

“Blockhead!” exclaimed Sir Waldron to Batter; “am I not to have an answer to my question? let the man speak, and do you behave with common sense, or, by heaven, I'll commit you.--Speak, tinker, how do you account for your wishing to take this child in preference to your own? I must tell you, that it looks strange and suspicious.”

“Why,” replied the tinker, “I ha'n't no wish in particular about it:--to be sure, I took a fancy to her; she hath such a main pretty little nob, and a pearly sort of an eye, just like my best almond tumbler pigeon at home--and the poney likes her; so its natural, you see, your worship: but then, I don't covet her; only keep her out of these chaps' clutches, that's all I say; except, mind me, this:--I wouldn't offend your worship for the world; I'd pretty near die first,--but, look'ee, Sir Waldron, if your constable pokes I in the ribs again, as he hath twice, I'll just make so free as to break his neck, here right, if I do die for't;--it's nature you know.”

“This language is improper;--we must not hear it,” observed Reginald.

“How dare you strike the man?” exclaimed Sir Waldron.

“I merely gave him a hint--”

“Hold your tongue--quit the room--or stop--stay--I'll consider whether I ought not to order Batter to take you into custody.”

The little girl now stepped from behind the pedlar's pack, and advancing close to Sir Waldron, with a smile playing over her features, said to the magistrate, “If you please, sir, may I speak, now every body's done?”

“Certainly, child,” replied the baronet; “what have you to say?--what is your name?”

“Agnes, sir.”

“Agnes what, child?--what is your other name?” The little girl made no reply, but looked alternately at Sir Waldron and the prisoners, and the tears gushed from her eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” said the baronet.

“Perhaps, brother,--you know best,” observed Reginald;--“but perhaps there is some mystery in this matter, something that lies deeper than you imagine. The child may be intimidated from speaking the truth in the presence of these three good people.”

“Do you think so?--Well, then, I'll take her apart into my study,” replied Sir Waldron: “come,” added he, addressing the child, “come with me, Agnes; do not be frightened.”

“Bless you, I am not frightened,” said the child; “I'm very glad.”

“Ay, ay,” quoth Reginald, “it is as I suspected, very clearly; Batter and Quality, look well to these honest fellows.”

The prisoners loudly exclaimed against Reginald's suspicions; but Batter, by dint of bawling, and Quality, by the virtue of his apothegms, soon restored order, and Agnes followed Sir Waldron into the adjoining room. “Now, my dear,” said the baronet, taking a chair, and drawing Agnes between his knees, “what have you to say? Why not tell your name before the people in the parlour? Is either of those men related to you?”

“Oh, no! no, indeed! I never saw them before to-day.”

“And whose child are you?”

“Yours!” replied Agnes, looking archly up at Sir Waldron, and placing her little hand on his as she spoke.

“Pooh! pooh! child, don't be foolish,” replied Sir Waldron, who felt half inclined to be angry, but, at the same time, could not prevent his features from relaxing into a smile; “tell me the truth.”

“I have told the truth; indeed and indeed I have.”

“How do you mean, child?”

“Why, if you're my papa, you know, I must be your little daughter:--musn't I now?”

“Truly so, child,” replied Sir Waldron; “but as I am not your papa--”

“Oh! but you are, though,” interrupted Agnes; “my mamma told me so.”

Sir Waldron's cheek grew pale; he stared at the child, and remained for a few moments silent; then, assuming a stern manner, he said to Agnes rather sharply,--“I suspect you to be a designing, bold, bad child; or the tool of wretches; or, at best, remarkably impudent. Do you know who I am?”

“Sir Waldron Hackle;--at least, so I hope,” was the child's reply;--“the men said they were going to bring us before Sir Waldron Hackle,--and that's you, isn't it?--If not, I've kept my promise to my poor mamma finely;--but it isn't my fault.”

“What mamma? what promise? How you talk, child!--what promise?”

“Not to tell any one who I was, nor to mention my name, until I saw my father.”

“And what is your name?” eagerly inquired Sir Waldron.

“Oh! you know what it is well enough--don't you?”

“How the devil should I?” exclaimed the irritated baronet, who for a moment forgot that he was speaking to a child. “How should I?” he repeated, in somewhat a calmer tone.

“Why, you haven't any more little girls, have you?”

“Ridiculous! Tell me your name, instantly!”

“You won't be angry with me, I hope, for asking you first, if you _are_ Sir Waldron Hackle? My mamma so strictly charged me--”

“Well, well! I am--I am,” replied the baronet; “I am Sir Waldron Hackle--”

“Ay; but are you the gentleman that broke his arm at Westbury, and--”

“Yes, yes!--Westbury, said you?--What's this flashes across me? it surely cannot be--”

“Indeed, and it is, though!”

“Hannah Russelts child?”

“Yes! my mamma's dead; and I've walked all the way by myself, and now you won't own me,” sobbed little Agnes; and her head dropped upon Sir Waldron's hand, which he immediately felt was wetted with her tears.

“Own you!” said Sir Waldron, scarcely knowing what he said. “How can I own you?”

“I'm sure I don't know,” replied the little girl, raising her head, and endeavouring to restrain the sobs which almost rendered her unable to articulate; “you must do as you please about that; my mamma sent her dying love--to you,--and she told me to be sure to say that she had done--her duty, and you need not be ashamed of me!”

Sir Waldron made no reply; but he snatched Agnes up, pressed her to his bosom, and kissed her repeatedly: he then put her at arm's length from him, gazed earnestly on her face, and again most affectionately embraced her.

“Kiss me again, papa,” were the first words that little Agnes uttered, after Sir Waldron had placed her on her feet; but the baronet was so absorbed in thought, at that moment, that he did not notice what she said. He sat silent and motionless, with the child mutely gazing upon him, for above a minute. He then started up, wrung his hands together, stamped violently on the floor, and walked to the wall of the room, against which he leant his forehead. Starting thence in a moment, he returned to his seat, exclaiming, “Man! man! thou dost truly merit this agony!”

Agnes now approached him, and familiarly, or rather, endearingly, embracing his arm, said, “Are you very ill, papa?--My mamma tied this bit of love-ribbon on the finger where married ladies wear their rings, that I shouldn't forget to tell you she forgave you with her last breath, and died happy!”

“May she be in heaven!” exclaimed Sir Waldron.

“Amen!” responded little Agnes.

“What to do--what to do, I know not,” said the baronet, rising from his chair again.

“Won't you own me, papa?--pray do; or I don't know what I shall do, after walking so far and all. I wore out my shoes and stockings--”

“Bless thy poor little feet--what a sight is this!”

“Won't you own me, papa?” repeated Agnes.

“I do--I do, child,” replied Sir Waldron, kissing her; “but I must send you away,--how, I cannot tell.--You must not be known to be mine:--my honour, my reputation;--the character I have maintained--s'death! it drives me mad!”

“Mayn't I live with you, then?” said Agnes.

“It is absolutely impossible.”

“Oh, dear! Then I suppose I must find out a place where grapes grow in a wood, and build a little house, as Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday did, for I've nobody to help me but you,--and you won't, you say.”

“I said no such thing: you shall never want; but here you cannot remain.”

“My mamma said I _was_ to;--but then, she told me too, that when she was dead and gone, I was to obey you; and you say I must go,--so I don't know what to do:--I'm very hungry.”

“Hungry! pull the bell--but stop--hold--my position is most perplexing. To send the child here! It was cruel--but I merit it. I have brought sorrow on myself, by my own villany.--It is miraculous how you could have reached me.”

“I walked all the way!” said the child, with a sigh. “My little bones ache so, you can't think.--My mamma, when she knew she was going to die in a day or two, gave me some money, and told me to go to The White Hart, with a little paper of directions she folded it up in, for the coachman; and she said, that he would give me something to eat on the road, and carry me within three miles of your house: but I wasn't to tell him where I was going; and she told me to carry the paper and money to him the day after she was buried. But,--do you know?--the people where we lodged found the paper, and took the money out; and said, I shouldn't go unless I told them who I was going to, and why, and all about it But I wouldn't, because my mamma charged me to tell nobody but Sir Waldron;--that's you,--my papa. So then, I said to myself I'd walk,--for the place where the coachman was to leave me didn't seem very far in my sampler:--but sometimes I thought I should never get here. And I brought my sampler with me to find out the way; but it was all wrong, bless you! there's no red line between Somersetshire and Devonshire, like that I worked in the sampler; so I kept on asking my way.”

“My dear little cherub!” exclaimed Sir Waldron; “what thou must have endured!--And where did you sleep?”

“Oh! the people was hay-making, and I lay down upon the nice little hay-cocks;--its no night, hardly, now.--I liked it at first; but I'm stung all over with flies, or something--”

“And did you beg for food?”

“Oh! no! I brought all my pretty money, and spent it in gingerbread and apples;--not all,--for I've two Queen Anne shillings, and another bit of money, I don't know what it is, left.” Agnes, in answer to several other questions put to her by Sir Waldron, told him, that she often followed the waggons, and, in a very early part of the journey, saw the names of several places painted on the boot of a coach, before that one where the coachman was directed, by her mother's paper, to set her down; that she learnt them by heart, and inquired for each, successively: she also related the manner of her meeting with the pedlar and his companions, and stated, that a woman had told her, just before she saw them, that there was a revel at the village, to which, she was inquiring the Way.

Sir Waldron was still undecided as to what he should do with Agnes, and sat pondering, with the little girl seated on his knee, and warming her feet with one of his hands, when the child suddenly started from him, and exclaimed, “Oh, dear! I quite forgot the letter!”

“Letter! from your mother?”

“Yes; the people of the house didn't find out that, when they took the money that was in the paper of directions away from me. I brought it all the way safe enough in my bosom, until this morning.”

“And where is it now?”

“That naughty constable took it from me. He opened it and read it.”

“D--t--n!” exclaimed Sir Waldron; “then all is known, and I shall be every booby's jest.”

He had scarcely uttered these words, when the door of the room was opened, and The Reverend Reginald Hackle entered, with an open note in his hand. He was followed by the citizen: Reginald looked more grave than usual; but Archibald seemed with difficulty to restrain himself from laughing “Waldron,” said he, “we have just wormed a letter out of Constable Quality.”

The baronet snatched it from Reginald's hand; looked first at the superscription, which bore his name and address, and then hastily perused the contents.

“The blockhead's excuse,” continued Archibald, “for not producing this, which I consider, under correction, a document of importance as regards the examination, is, that you cut Batter short in his statement of the particulars of his searching the prisoners.”

“And is this rightly addressed to you, brother? Are you indeed the man?” asked Reginald, in a tone of reproach.

“Well, she's a pretty child; a very pretty child, indeed, Waldron,” said Archibald, taking the little girl in his arms. “Come, kiss your uncle, my dear: I suppose I may call her yours, Waldron.”

“You may:--it's useless to dissimulate;--so preach, brother Reginald; sneer, brother Archy; jest, joke, and do your worst, world;--she is mine,--my dear, darling child!”

Shortly afterwards, Archibald returned to the prisoners, and, addressing Darby Doherty, informed him that he and his two companions might go about their business.

“And the child--” quoth Darby.

“She will remain with Sir Waldron,” replied Archibald.

“Thank your honour, kindly, for this, as well as for the cold meat, which, of course, your honour is going to order us to get in the hall,” said Doherty. “His worship has acted upon what, I've always been tould, is the true principle of justice; so I can't complain:--he's taken the oyster himself, and,” added Darby, bowing alternately to the pedlar and the tinker as he spoke, “sent me packing with the shells.”

Sir Waldron soon became so doatingly fond of little Agnes, that, among all his friends, she obtained the appellation of The Bachelor's Darling. As she approached towards womanhood, the beauty of her person, and the sweetness of her disposition, made a strong impression on the heart of Archibald's son; and five years had scarcely elapsed after the completion of his studies under his reverend uncle, when she became his wife.

The three brothers lie, side by side, in the church-yard of their native village; and the citizen's son, and Hannah Russell's child, are now Sir Waldron and Lady Hackle.

THE LOVES OF HABAKKUK BULLWRINKLE, GENTLEMAN.

About six-and-twenty years ago, a middle-aged North-country attorney, somewhat above five feet eight inches in height, but immeasurably corpulent, with an old-fashioned calf, mottled eyes, and a handsome nose, settled in a large and uncivilized village in the West of England. The manners of the inhabitants were rude and outrageous; their names, customs, frolics, and language, were such as Habakkuk Bull wrinkle had never before been accustomed unto. They cracked many a heart-piercing joke on his portly person; laughed at his ineffectual attempts to compete with the veriest youngsters in the village, at wrestling, or cudgel-playing; rejoiced heartily when he suffered a cracked pate, or an unexpected back-fall; and never employed him in the way of his profession. He could have borne all his misfortunes with decency but the last;--_that_ irked him beyond measure; and he did not scruple to upbraid those who deigned to drink out of his cup, with their folly and villanous prejudice, in measuring a man's wit by his skill at gymnastics, and exclusively patronizing a couple of rascally pettifoggers in the vicinity, whose only merit consisted in their hard pates, and dexterity in breaking the skulls of their clients. The villagers waited with patience until Habakkuk's lecture and strong drink were finished, promised to reform, heartily wished him success in his trade, fell to loggerheads on their way home, and the next morning went for redress to the aforesaid pettifoggers, who fleeced them to their hearts' content for several lingering months, and then mutually advised their employers to settle the matter over a goodly feast.

Habakkuk Bullwrinkle inwardly moaned at the luck of his fellow-priests of the syren, but lost none of his flesh. His affairs, at length, grew desperate. He had been skipping over the land, after the fickle jade Fortune, for many a weary year; but the coy creature continually evaded his eager clutch. What was to be done?--His finances were drooping, his spirits jaded, his temper soured, and his appetite for the good things of this world, as keen and clamorous as ever. He had tried every plan his imagination could devise to win over the rustics, but without effect He was just about to decamp clandestinely, and in despair, when, all at once, he recollected that he was a bachelor! His hopes rose at the thought “How strange it is!” said he, unconsciously snapping his fingers with delight, “that the idea of marrying one of these charming rosy-skinned lasses, who are continually flitting about me, should never have entered my caput before! The whole village is one immense family,--a batch of uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, cousins, and relations of every intermediate degree, from one to a hundred. If I can but weave myself into this web of consanguinity, my future ease and fortune are certain. They will stand by one of their own kin, let him he ever so distantly related, to the very last. By the laws! it's an excellent project!--I've a warm heart, a winning way, and great choice; so I'll even cast my eye about for a convenient helpmate; eat, drink, and be merry again.”

Reader, these were my thoughts, at the latter end of the year 1803; for I am the identical Habakkuk Bull wrinkle above-mentioned. Pursuant to my resolution, I began to wheedle myself into the good graces of the girls. I often met with a very tolerable reception, considering all things, and had many times nearly compassed the object of my hopes, when the demon disappointment, in the semblance of a clod-hopper, 'yclept Andrew Skelpie,--walked in to dash the cup of happiness from my lips. I never attempted to kiss a lass behind a hay-mow, or an old tree, but what this fellow would thrust his ugly phiz between me and the sweet pair of lips I was longing to salute! If ever I made an appointment to meet a farmer's daughter, and prattle away an hour or two with her, unseen by all, Skelpie and she were generally linked lovingly, arm in arm together, on my arrival.