Nearly Lost but Dearly Won Part 4

Mrs Franklin looked partly dismayed and partly puzzled.

"Yes, it is true, madam. The fact is simply this: the spirits which my good tenants distil are made up of four ingredients--diligence, good temper, honesty, and total abstinence; and that is what makes everything they have to be so good of its kind."

"I wish we had more distilleries of this kind," said Mrs Franklin, smiling.

"So do I, madam; but it is a sadly dishonest, unfaithful, and self- indulgent age, and the drink has very much to do with it, directly or indirectly. Here, Sam," to the farmer and his wife who had just re- entered the kitchen, "do you and your mistress come and draw up your chairs, and give us a little of your thoughts on the subject; there's nothing, sometimes, so good as seeing with other people's eyes, specially when they are the eyes of persons who look on things from a different level of life."

"Why, Mayster Tankardew," said the farmer, "it isn't for the likes of me to be giving my opinion of things afore you and these ladies; but I _has_ my opinion, nevertheless."

"Of course you have. Now, tell us what you think about the young people of our day, and their self-indulgent habits."

"Ah! Mayster! You're got upon a sore subject; it is time summut was done, we're losing all the girls and boys, there'll be none at all thirty years hence."

"Surely you don't mean," said Mrs Franklin anxiously, "that there is any unusual mortality just now among children."

"No, no, ma'am, that's not it," cried the farmer, laughing: "no, I mean that we shall have nothing but babies and men and women; we shall skip the boys and girls altogether."

"How do you mean?"

"Why, just this way, ma'am: as soon as young mayster and miss gets old enough to know how things is, they're too old for the nursery; they won't go in leading strings; they must be little men and women. Plain food won't do for 'em; they must have just what their pas and mas has.

They've no notion of holding their tongues--not they; they must talk with the biggest; and I blames their parents for it, I do. They never think of checking them; they're too much like old Eli. The good old- fas.h.i.+oned rod's gone to light the fire with."

"Ay, and Sam," broke in his wife, "what's almost worst of all--and oh!

It is a sin and a shame--they let 'em get to the beer and the wine and the spirits: you mustn't say them nay. Ay, it is sad, it is for sure, to see how these little ones is brought up to think of nothing but themselves; and then, when they goes wrong, their fathers and mothers can't think how it is."

"You're right, wife; they dress their bodies as they like, and eat and drink what they like, and don't see how Christ bought their bodies for Himself, and they are not their own. Ah! There'll be an awful reckoning one day. Young people can't grow up as they're doing and not leave a mark on our country as it'll take a big fire of the Almighty's chastis.e.m.e.nts to burn it out."

Mrs Franklin sighed, and Mary looked very thoughtful.

Mr Tankardew was about to speak when a faint halloo was heard above the noise of the storm, which was now again raging without. All paused to listen. It was repeated again, and this time nearer.

"Somebody missed his road, I should think," said Mr Tankardew.

"Maybe, sir; I'll go out and see."

So saying, Sam Hodges left the kitchen, and calling to quiet his dog who was barking furiously, soon returned with a stranger who was dressed in a long waterproof and felt hat, which he doffed on seeing the ladies, disclosing a head of curling black hair. He was rather tall, and apparently slightly made, as far as could be judged; for the wrappings in which he was clothed from head to foot concealed the build of his person.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said, in a gentlemanly voice. "It is a terrible night, and I've missed my way. I ought to have been at Hopeworth by now, perhaps you can kindly direct me."

"Nay," said the farmer, "you mustn't be off again to-night: we'll manage to take you in: we'll find you a bed, and you're welcome to such as we have to eat and drink: it is plain, but it is wholesome."

"A thousand thanks, kind friends," replied the other; "but I feel sure that I am intruding. These ladies--"

"We are driven in here like yourself by the storm," said Mrs Franklin.

"I'm sure I should be the very last to wish any one to expose himself again to such a night on our account."

Mr Tankardew had not spoken since the stranger's entrance; he was sitting rather in shadow and the new-comer had scarcely noticed him.

But now the old man leant forward, and looked at the new guest as though his whole soul was going out of his eyes; it was but for a moment, and then he leant back again. The stranger glanced from one to another, and then his eyes rested for a moment admiringly on Mary's face--and who could wonder! A sweeter picture and one more full of harmonious contrast could hardly be seen than the young girl with her hair somewhat negligently and yet neatly turned back from her forehead, her dress partly her own and partly the coa.r.s.er garments of her hostess's daughter, sitting in that plain old ma.s.sive kitchen, giving refinement and gaining simplicity, with the mingled glow of health and bashfulness lending a special brilliancy to her fair complexion. This was no ordinary man's child the stranger saw, and again he expressed his willingness to retire and make his way to the town rather than intrude his company on those who might prefer greater privacy.

"Sit ye down, man, sit ye down," said Hodges; "the ladies 'll do very well, the kitchen's a good big un, so there's room for ye all. Have you crossed the brook? You'd find it no easy matter unless you came over the foot bridge."

"I'm sorry, my friend, to say," was the reply, "that I have both crossed the brook and been _in_ it. I was about to go over by a little bridge a mile or so farther down, when I thought I saw some creature or other struggling in the water. I stooped down, and to my surprise and consternation found that it was a man. I plunged into the stream and contrived to drag him to the bank, but he was evidently quite dead.

What I had taken for struggling was only the force of the stream swaying him about against the supports of the bridge. His dress was that of a coachman or driver of some public conveyance. I got help from a neighbouring cottage, and we carried him in, and I sent someone off for the nearest doctor, and then I thought to take a short cut into the road, and I've been wandering about for a long time now, and am very thankful to find any shelter."

During this account Mrs Franklin and her daughter turned deadly pale, and then the former exclaimed:

"I fear it was our poor driver--I heard a splash while our omnibus was struggling in the water. Oh! I fear, I fear it must have been the unfortunate man; and oh! Poor man, I'm afraid he wasn't in a fit state to die."

"If he was like your young friend at the forge, I fear not indeed," said Mr Tankardew. "That drink that accursed drink," he added, rising and approaching the stranger, who was now divesting himself of his wet outer garments. He was tall, as we have said, and his figure was slight and graceful; he wore a thick black beard and moustache, and had something of a military air; his eyes were piercing and restless, and seemed to take in at a glance and comprehend whatever they rested on.

But what was there in him that seemed familiar to Mrs Franklin and Mary? Had they seen him elsewhere? They felt sure that they had not, and yet his voice and face both reminded them of someone they had seen and heard before. The same thing seemed to strike Mr Tankardew, but, as he turned towards the young stranger, the latter started back and uttered a confused exclamation of astonishment. The old man also was now strangely moved, he muttered aloud:

"It must be--no--it cannot be: yes, it surely must be;" then he seemed to restrain himself by a sudden effort, he paused for a moment, and then with two rapid strides he reached the young man, placed his left hand upon the other's lips, and seizing him by the right hand hurried him out of the kitchen before another word could be spoken.

Poor Mrs Franklin and her daughter looked on in astonishment, hardly knowing what to say or think of this extraordinary proceeding, but their host rea.s.sured them at once.

"Never fear, ma'am, the old mayster couldn't hurt a fly; it'll be all right, take my word for it; there's summut strange as _we_ can't make out. I think I sees a little into it, but it is not for me to speak if the mayster wants to keep things secret. It'll all turn out right in the end, you may be sure. The old mayster's been getting a bit of a shake of late, but it is a shake of the right sort. He's been coming out of some of his odd ways and giving his mind to better things. He's had his heart broke once, but it seems to me as he's been getting it mended again."

For the next half hour, the farmer, his wife, and daughter were busy about their home concerns, and their two guests were left to their own meditations.

At last a distant door opened, and Mr Tankardew appeared followed by the young stranger. By the flickering fire Mrs Franklin thought she saw the traces of tears on both faces, and there was a strange light in the old man's eyes which she had not seen there before.

"Let me introduce you to a young friend and an old friend in one," he said, addressing the ladies; "this is Mr John Randolph, a great traveller."

Mrs Franklin said some kind words expressive of her pleasure in seeing the gratification Mr Tankardew felt in this renewal of acquaintance.

"Ah! Yes," said the old man; "you may well say gratification. Why, I've known this young gentleman's father ever since I can remember.

Sam," he added to the farmer, who had just come in, "I'm going to run away with our young friend here, we shall both take up our quarters at the inn for to-night. I see it is fairer now. Mrs Franklin, pray make yourself quite easy. I shall despatch a messenger at once to 'The Shrubbery' with full particulars. Good-night! Good-night!"

And so Mary and her mother were left to their own musings and conjectures, for the farmer and his family made no allusion afterwards to the events of the evening.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE YOUNG MUSICIAN.

A Grand piano being carried into Mr Esau Tankardew's! What next! What _can_ the old gentleman want with a grand piano? Most likely he has taken it for a bad debt--some tenant sold up. But say what they may, the fact is the same. And, stranger still, a tuner pays a visit to put the instrument in tune. What can it all mean? Marvellous reports, too, tell of a sudden domestic revolution. The dust and cobwebs have had notice to quit, brooms and brushes have travelled into corners and crevices. .h.i.therto unexplored, the piano rests in a parlour which smiles in the gaiety of a new carpet and new curtains; prints have come to light upon the walls, chairs and tables have taken heart, and now wear an honest gloss upon their legs and faces; ornaments, which had hitherto been too dirty to be ornamental, now show themselves in their real colours. Outside the house, also, wonderful things have come to pa.s.s; the rocking doorstep is at rest, and its fellow has been adjusted to a proper level; _ever_-greens have taken the place of the old _never_- greens; knocker and door handle are not ashamed to show their native bra.s.s; the missing rails have returned to their duty in the ranks. The whole establishment, including its master, has emerged out of a state of foggy dilapidation. Old Molly Gilders has retired into the interior, and given place above stairs to a dapper damsel. As for the ghosts, they could not be expected to remain under such _dispiriting_ circ.u.mstances, and have had the good sense to resort to some more congenial dwelling.

While gossip on this unlooked-for transformation was still flying in hot haste about Hopeworth and the neighbourhood, the families both at "The Firs" and "The Shrubbery" were greatly astonished one morning by an invitation to spend an evening at Mr Tankardew's.

"Well," said Mr Rothwell, "I suppose it won't do to decline; the old gentleman means it, no doubt, as an attention, and it would not be politic to vex him."

"I am sure, my dear," said his wife, "_I_ can't think of going. I shall be bored to death; you must make my excuses and accept the invitation for the girls. I don't suppose Mark will care to go; the old man seems to have a spite against him--I can't tell why."

"I'll go," interposed Mark, "if it be only to see the fun. I'll be on my good behaviour. I'll call for tea and toast-and-water at regular intervals all through the evening, and then the old gentleman will be sure to put me down for something handsome in his will."

"You'd better take some music with you," said his mother, turning to her eldest daughter; "Mr Tankardew has got his new piano on purpose, I suppose."