The Soul of Susan Yellam Part 42

"I wonder," said Fancy, "how it all comes to them, inventions, such as wireless and--and chloroform as takes away pain."

Mrs. Yellam chided her, very pleasantly:

"Now, don't 'ee fl.u.s.trate yourself wi' thoughts o' chloryform. I allows that I can answer your question. Inventions comes to they as works hard for 'un. 'Tis hard work, and nothing else."

"Uncle would call it--fool-wisdom."

"Fool-wisdom?"

Fancy explained. Mrs. Yellam listened attentively, shaking her head from time to time. Uncle's position, to-day, would be as financially sound as her own, had he worked hard at his calling, and spent less time on crack-brained speculations and less good money on ale. She said as much, derisively. Fancy said:

"How does Solly know when you turn the corner by the mill?"

"Dog's instinct."

"Maybe 'tis the same thing."

"Fiddle!"

Fancy refrained from pressing the point, but something told her that Uncle was right, and his clever, practical sister wrong. One thing was delightfully certain. Happiness had made Mrs. Yellam kind. And it filled her with piety. She walked proudly with the Lord, carrying a high head.

She had forgiven William Saint his trespa.s.ses, and expressed a trenchant conviction that Satan had removed his headquarters from Nether-Applewhite to Ocknell. And she was equally sure that Alfred would be home for Christmas, because her troubles had come in battalions at midsummer.

"Turn and turn about be only fair," she told Fancy.

Fancy said hesitatingly:

"The cards told true before, didn't they?"

"Ah-h-h! I don't pin my faith to they, child. I be weather-wise, not fool-wise. We has spells o' wet and spells o' dry. It be dry now, and likely to remain so, I reckons."

Fancy nodded, quite willing to believe that the Yellam barometer would stay, for a long spell, at "Set Fair."

After supper, when the kitchen was in perfect order, Mrs. Yellam sat knitting beside Fancy. Solomon lay at the feet of his mistress. The logs burned briskly, another evidence of coming frost. Sparks burst out of them, dazzling scintillations, miniature fireworks. Mrs. Yellam was impressed by this pyrotechnic display.

"It minds me of when Master Lionel come of age. I hopes they logs'll burn like that when Alferd is sittin' here, wi' a baby on his knee."

Mrs. Yellam appeared so satisfied with life in general that Fancy hesitated to disturb the peace, but impulse was too strong for her.

"Solly acted very queer all day."

"Did he now?"

"Hardly touched his nice dinner."

"Well, well, times he takes a notion to scrummage in dustheaps, the lil'

scavenger! 'Tis the male in him, I reckons. And far-seein'. He do take a squint into the future, seemin'ly."

Fancy stared at Mrs. Yellam, slightly startled.

"He buries bones and beastliness all over my garden. I caught 'un wi' a cod's head, and cuffed his, I did."

"I took the notion that he was worrying about--about me."

"Did 'ee, now? Natural enough. You bide so ca'm as I be. Worry brings peevish children into this world. You sing a hymn, if you think it'll hearten you up. 'Onward, Christian Soldiers,' be my fav'rite."

"I do love 'Abide with Me.'"

"You sing what you've a mind to. You be near your time, and must please yourself. Singin' helped me, but it druv my pore man to the ale-house.

So I quit hymns, for his sake."

"Was Mr. Yellam with you when your first baby was born?"

"My, no! What a queer lil' thing you be! He was carrier, wi' business to attend to. Men bain't wanted at such times."

"I should like to have Alfred."

"No, you wouldn't. Take that from me. I've a mind to give 'ee a sip o'

currant wine."

Fancy declined this, with many thanks. The talk became desultory, and died down. Fancy dozed off quietly. Mrs. Yellam laid down her knitting and gazed keenly at the pale face bent upon the thin bosom. _Spindlin'!_ Her own word came back to her. She saw that a faint smile curved the girl's lips. Evidently she was dreaming happily. Of what? Solomon rose, stretched himself, and stood beside his mistress. He whined a little.

Mrs. Yellam recalled what Fancy had said about his "acting queer."

"She bain't too strong," she muttered.

Solomon whined again and lay down.

Mrs. Yellam's face hardened. The same thought that had a.s.sailed Fancy attacked her, burying fangs in her heart.

If things went wrong----?

Resolutely, she put this thought from her. G.o.d's ways might be mysterious, but surely, surely He would stand by this frail creature, and temper the wind to her. Even to ask Him to do so seemed impertinent.

Prayer came to her lips and fluttered away. She closed them tightly. All would go well, because of those four graves in the churchyard. She had visited them on the previous Sunday. They were certainly a credit to her. She washed the marble cross upon Lizzie's grave twice a year, and planted flowers on each plot. Coming out of church, strangers would pause to look at the Yellam reservation. If they read the carefully-selected inscriptions, Mrs. Yellam would feel much uplifted.

In her square, bra.s.s-cornered desk, lay a sealed paper containing instructions concerning her own funeral. A plain slab would tell other strangers the date of her birth and death, her name, and her destination. "Gone Home" was to be chiselled upon grey granite, and filled in with leaded letters. Death had never dismayed her. When her work was done, she would be called.

Fancy woke up, still smiling.

"You had a nice doze, dear. Pleasant dreams, too."

"Yes," said Fancy. But she couldn't remember her dreams.

As she got out of her chair to go upstairs, she said:

"This has been a happy day, Mother. I must remember it. What is the day of the month?"

Mrs. Yellam answered promptly:

"It be the fifteenth of December. Only ten days to Christmas."