The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 22

"Wan day I tuk a consait as 'twud be a game to take away the scarecrow's eye an' see what happen'd. So, late 'pon a Sat'rday night, down I goes an' digs out the eye wi' my jack-knife, an' lays et careful down 'pon the ground beside et, an' so off to bed.

"Nex' mornin' I were down waitin' some time afore the rooks was due, an' by-'m-by, about 'leven in the forenoon, 'long they comes by the score, an' takes the sittin's 'pon the pea-sticks. They was barely settled, when out steps my ould rook an' walks up to the scarecrow to lead off same as ushul.

"He gives a shake o' the head to set hes jawin'-tacks loose, casts a glance up'ards t'wards the eye, jes' to fetch inspirashun, an' starts back like as ef shot. You cou'd see the 'stonishment _clinch_ 'n, an' the look o' righteousness melted off hes face like snow in an oven. For that bird had _gifts_, sir; an' wan o' these was a power o' fashul expresshun. Well, back he starts, an', with the same, cotches sight o' the eye lyin' 'pon the ground an' starin' up all heav'nly-blue an' smilin'.

"There was a pause arter this, jes' about so long as you cou'd count twenty; an' the rest o' the congregashun began to fidget an' whisper round that suthin' was up, when all 'pon a sudden my ould rook straightens hissel' up an' begins to cuss and to swear. What's that you say, sir? Rooks don't swear? Don't tell me. Blasphemin'?

Why, in two minnits the air was stiff wi' blasphemy--you might ha'

cut et wi' a knife. An' oaths? Why, you cou'd _feel_ the oaths.

An' there he sot an' cussed, an' cussed an' sot, an' let the hatefulness run out like watter from a pump.

"In cou'se, 'twarnt long afore the rest gather'd round to larn what the mess was, an' then there was Chevychace. They handed round the eye, an' looked at et this way an' that, an' 'splained what had happen'd wan to t'other; an' then they hushed an' stood quiet while their dasayved brother cussed hissel' out. Not a smile 'mongst the lot, sir; not a wink, as I be a truthful man.

"At las' he'd a-done, an' not too soon for hes lungs; an' then the lot sat down an' conseddered et out, an' still not a word for minnits togither. But all to wanst up starts a youngish-lookin' rook, an'

makes a speech.

"'Twarn't a long speech, sir, an' nat'rally I didn't understand a word: but I cotched his drift in a minnit, tho'. For they rooks started up, walked back to their seats, an' what do 'ee think they did?"

"I couldn't pretend to guess," said Mr. Fogo.

"They jes' started that sarvice agan, sir, an' paradised et from start to finish. They mixed up ow jests wi' the prayers, an' flung in fancy yarns wi' their experiences, an' made a mock at th'

exhortashun; an' what they sung in place o' the hemn, I don't know; but I _do_ knaw this much--et warn't fit for a woman to list'n to.

"Well, I laffed--I was forced to laff--but arter a while et grew a bit too strong, an' I runned up to th' house to fetch down a few folks to look. I warn't away 'bove ten minnits; but when I comed back there warn't no rook to be seen, nor no eye nuther.

They'd a-carr'd et off to Squire Tresawsen's rookery, an' et's niver been seen fro' that day to this."

There was silence for a few moments as Caleb finished his story and lit another pipe. Finally Mr. Fogo roused him to ask--

"What became of your master, Caleb?"

"Dead, sir--dead," answered Caleb, staring into the embers of the fire. "He lived to a powerful age, tho' albeit a bit totelin' [14]

in hes latter days. But for all that he mou't ha' been like Tantra-bobus--lived till he died, or at least been a centurion--"

"A what?"

"Centurion, sir; otherwise a hundred years old. But he went round land [15] at las', an' was foun' dead in hes bed--o' heart-break, they did say, 'long o' his gran'-darter Joanna runnin' away wi' an army cap'n."

"Ah!" said Mr. Fogo, pensively, "she was a woman, was she not?"

"To be sure, sir; what elst?--a female woman, an' so baptised."

There was a moment's silence; then Caleb resumed--

"But contrari-wise, sir, the army cap'n was a man."

"Ah! yes, of course; let us be just--the army captain was a man.

Caleb," said Mr. Fogo, with a sudden change from his pensive manner, "has it ever occurred to you to guess why I--not yet an old man, Caleb--am living in this solitude?"

"Beggin' your pard'n, sir, an' makin' so free as to guess, but were it a woman by any chance?"

"Yes," said his master, rising hurriedly and lighting his candle, "it was a woman, Caleb--it was a woman. You won't forget that Notice to-morrow morning, will you?--the first thing, if you please, Caleb."

Footnotes, Chapter XI [1] A cart-load.

[2] Dust.

[3] Playing truant.

[4] Sloe.

[5] Heather-coloured.

[6] Two-faced. Qy. from Ja.n.u.s?

[7] Prying, looking about.

[8] Nonsense.

[9] Crockery. Drinking in Troy is euphemistically called "emptyin'

cloam."

[10] Boldness, forwardness.

[11] A fairy.

[12] Farm-yard.

[13] Noise, tumult.

[14] Demented, imbecile.

[15] Died.

CHAPTER XII.

OF DETERIORATION; AND A WHEELBARROW THAT CONTAINED UNEXPECTED THINGS.

Great events meanwhile were happening in Troy. On the eighth morning of his eclipse Admiral Buzza was startled by a brisk step upon the stairs; the devil's tattoo was neatly struck upon his bed-room door, and the head of Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys looked in.

"Ah! Admiral, here you are; like What's-his-name in the ruins of Thingummy. You'll pardon me coming up, but my wife is downstairs with Mrs. Buzza, and I was told I should find you here. Don't rise-- 'no dress,' as they say. May I smoke? Thanks. And how are you by this time? I heard something of your mishap, but not the rights of it. I'll sit down, and you can tell me all about it."

Here was affability indeed. The Admiral conquered his first impulse of diving beneath the bed-clothes, and, lying back, recounted his misadventure at some length. The Honourable Frederic listened and smoked with perfect gravity. At the close he said--

"Very dirty treatment, 'pon my word; though I'm not sure I don't sympathise with the fellow in warning off the women. But why stay in bed?"

"There are feelings,"--began the Admiral.

"Ah! to be sure--injured feelings--ungrateful country--blow, blow, thou winter wind, &c. So you take to bed, like the Roman gentleman who went too; forget the place. Gets rid of the women, too; nuisance--women--when you're upset; nonsense, that about pain and anguish playing the deuce, and a ministering angel thou--tommy-rot, I call it. Can't be bothered, now, in bed--turn round and snore; wife has hysterics--snore louder. Capital! I've a mind to try the same plan when Geraldine is fussing and fuming. These infernal women--"

I am sorry to say that the Admiral, instead of defending Mrs. Buzza, began to exculpate Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.

"But your wife is so charming, so--"

"Of course, my dear sir; so is Mrs. Buzza."

"She was termed the 'Belle of Portsmouth' at the Ball where I proposed to her," remarked the Admiral, with some complacency.