Greene Ferne Farm Part 12

"You don't mean that you have been lost, Jabez?"

"I wur last night. I twisted thuck leg."

"But where are we?"

"Aw, you bean't very fur from th' Warren."

"Only think," said Margaret, "all the while we were close where I started from. If May had known we were on the hills! We had better go to Mr Fisher's. No one will be about, and I can go home later in the day."

"Show me the way to the Warren," said Geoffrey. "Why don't you get up?"

"I tell ee my leg be twisted. I fell in a vlint-pit."

"Well, point out the road, and I will return and fetch you."

"Aw, you must go away on your left, toward thuck Folly--a' be about a mile. It bean't six chain from he to th' waggon ruts as goes to Warren.

But if you goes up the hill by the nut copse that'll be sharter.

Doan't forget I. Zend Bill wi' the cart."

By following these directions they found Warren House in about half an hour. Margaret's chief idea in returning there was because at so lonely a place their appearance at that early hour would attract less attention, and because she was hungry and thirsty, and the distance was much less than the ride to Greene Ferne. They could hear the clack of the mill as they approached; at the house, in front the shutters were not yet down, but Margaret, who knew the ways of the place, rode into the courtyard at the back, where was the dairy.

"Good morning, Jenny," she said. A stout florid woman, who was carrying a bucket of water, looked up, started, and dropped it.

"Lor, miss, how you did froughten I! I be all of a jimmy-swiver," and she visibly trembled, which was what she meant. Then seeing Geoffrey, she dropped a curtsey and began to wipe her naked arms and hands with her ap.r.o.n.

"I suppose Mr Fisher is in the barn?" said Margaret, not wis.h.i.+ng the inquisitive old man to know the manner of their arrival.

"No, a' bean't up yet, miss. He be mostly about by four or ha'past; but he freggled [fidgeted] hisself auver thuck paason as come a bit ago, and a' be a'bed to marning."

"Lucky," said Margaret, dismounting. "I'll go and wake May."

She went indoors, knowing the house well. "I'll put your 'osses in,"

said Jenny. "Our volk be in th' pens, a' reckon."

"I thought your master was a very aged man," said Geoffrey, as he went with her to the stable.

"He be nigh handy on a hunderd."

"Surely he does not rise at four o'clock?"

"Aw, eez a' do though. He be as hardy as a wood-pile toad!"

"Can you tell me where to find a cart? I must go myself and fetch the shepherd," and he told her briefly how matters stood, trusting in her honest open countenance to keep silence as far as possible. Obviously it was undesirable that the events of the night should be generally known.

"What, Jabez lost!" said she. "'Tis amazin' sure--ly. He said as he could find his way athwert them downs with his head in a sack bag.

Wull, to be zure!"

With her aid Geoffrey soon had a cart and cart-horse, and taking with him a bottle of brandy, which May sent down, her kindly heart thinking poor Jabez, with his sprained ankle, would require something, set forth to fetch the shepherd, who was indeed in a "parlous case." He found him without difficulty, for Jabez saw him coming, and shouted directions in a voice famous for its power. But getting him into the cart was another thing, and many applications to the bottle were necessary before he was safely up. As they jogged over the hill, Geoffrey inquired how so experienced a man, who could cross the downs with his head in a bag, ever came to get lost.

"Why," said the shepherd, solemnly shaking his head, "it wur the Ould Un hisself, it wur. He led I by th' nause round and round--a' bides in thuck place wur them gurt stwoanes be. Mebbe a' caddled [bothered] you and miss too?"

"Why do you think it was the Dev--, what you call the Old One?"

"Cos 'twur he," dogmatically. "Cos Job, he run away, and nothing but the Ould Un would a' froughtened he."

"Job?"

"He's my dog. I be as dry as a gicks,"--the withered stem of a plant.

He took another swig at the bottle, and, much encouraged thereby, lifted up his ditty in praise of shepherding:

"The shepherd he stood on the side of the hill, And he looked main cold and peaked; Says, 'If it wurn't for the sheep and the pore shepherd The warld would be starved and naked!'"

"You seem tolerably philosophic," said Geoffrey, "for a man with a sprained ankle; but you have not told me yet how you got lost."

"Aw, bailee, thuck thur 'Gustus, sent me to Ilsley market wi' dree-score yeows and lambs, zum on en wur doubles as vine as ever you seed--and I wur a coming whoam at night, doan'tee zee? I never had but one quart anyhow and mebbe a nip a' summat else. It wur th' Ould Un and no mistake. But then he goes off--drat th' varmint, I'll warm his jacket when a' shows his face agen. I looks about for he, and misses the path, and then I wur took by the nause and drawed round and round!" (With his finger he described circles in the air to ill.u.s.trate his meaning.) "Bime-by--whop! I falls into a vlint-pit. The nettles did bite my face terrable! I bided there a main bit and then crawls up to the vuzz [furze]. My droat wur zo thick I couldn't holler; and Lor! how the stars did go spinning round! I seed a fire arter a bit by them stwoanes at th' Cave, and thenks I thuck be He this time, you--"

"So you took us for the Ould Un?"

"Wull, I axes your pardin. A'wuver I couldn't crawl no furder, zo I lays down in the vuzz and thenks a' Jacob and puts my head on a sa.r.s.en stwoan--"

"And slept till we found you?"

"Eez; this be featish tackle," meaning the liquor was good.

"It strikes me," said Geoffrey, "the demon that led you astray dwelt in a stone jar, with a wicker-work casing." After which he suggested to the shepherd the desirability of his remaining silent about the affairs of the night, so far as regarded Margaret and himself, and enforced his argument with the present of half a sovereign. The shepherd's eye glistened at the coin.

"Bless'ee," said he, "I worked for hur feyther. I sha'n't know nothing, you med be sure." Shortly after, they arrived at Warren House. There Geoffrey found that May had got breakfast ready in the parlour, and was made welcome. Jenny brought in a jug of cream for their tea.

"You can't swing it on your finger," said Margaret, laughing.

"Our housekeeper," explained May to Geoffrey, "I mean Jane, not Jenny, is rather fond of gin, dreadful creature. To get it she has to cross the room in front of grandpa's chair; so to deceive him and make believe there's nothing in it, she swings the jug slowly on her finger, when it's half full all the while. One day, however, he insisted on smelling the jug."

They discussed and laughed over Margaret and Geoffrey's adventure on the hills, and it was agreed that every effort should be made to conceal it from all but Mrs Estcourt. Margaret had lost one of her earrings, but May said the labourers should be told to look for it, and one or other would very likely find it, if it had been dropped in or near the Cave.

After breakfast, between six and seven o'clock, when folks in town were just settling into slumber, May sat down to the ancient piano and began to play. It was one of those antique instruments, found in old houses, which shut up and look like a sideboard, of five octaves only, and small keys, yellow from age, upon which they say our grandmothers played with the backs of their hands level with the keyboard, and without dropping a guinea if one was placed on their white knuckles. Through the open window the warm sunlight entered, tinting Margaret's brown hair with gold. There came the odour of many flowers, the hum of bees, and the distant sound of rus.h.i.+ng water. It was a joyous hour of youth. May and Margaret sang alternately the beautiful old ballad of which they say Sir Walter Raleigh wrote the antistrophe--the reply to the Pa.s.sionate Shepherd's desire, "Come live with me, and be my love!"

May (the Shepherd):--

There will I make thee beds of roses With a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me, and be my love!

Margaret (the Lady):--

If that the World and Love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A-NUTTING.