Innocent : her fancy and his fact, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  The swinging open of a great gate at the further end of the fielddisturbed the momentary silence which followed his words. The returninghaymakers appeared on the scene, leading Roger at their head, andInnocent jumped up eagerly, glad of the interruption.

  "Here comes old Roger!" she cried,--"bless his heart! Now, Robin, youmust try to look very stately! Are you going to ride home standing orsitting?"

  He was visibly annoyed at her light indifference.

  "Unless I may sit beside you with my arm round your waist, in thePettigrew fashion, I'd rather stand!" he retorted. "You saidPettigrew's hands were always dirty--so are mine. I'd better keep mydistance from you. One can't make hay and remain altogether as clean asa new pin!"

  She gave an impatient gesture.

  "You always take things up in the wrong way," she said--"I neverthought you a bit like Pettigrew! Your hands are not really dirty!"

  "They are!" he answered, obstinately. "Besides, you don't want my armround your waist, do you?"

  "Certainly not!" she replied, quickly.

  "Then I'll stand," he said;--"You shall be enthroned like a queen andI'll be your bodyguard. Here, wait a minute!"

  He piled up the hay in the middle of the load till it made a highcushion where, in obedience to his gesture, Innocent seated herself.The men leading the horse were now close about the waggon, and one ofthem, grinning sheepishly at the girl, offered her a daintily-madewreath of wild roses, from which all the thorns had been carefullyremoved.

  "Looks prutty, don't it?" he said.

  She accepted it with a smile.

  "Is it for me? Oh, Larry, how nice of you! Am I to wear it?"

  "If ye loike!" This with another grin.

  She set it on her uncovered head and became at once a model for aRomney; the wild roses with their delicate pink and white against herbrown hair suited the hues of her complexion and the tender grey of hereyes;--and when, thus adorned, she looked up at her companion, he wasfain to turn away quickly lest his admiration should be too plainlymade manifest before profane witnesses.

  Roger, meanwhile, was being harnessed to the waggon. He was a handsomecreature of his kind, and he knew it. As he turned his bright softglance from side to side with a conscious pride in himself and hissurroundings, he seemed to be perfectly aware that the knots of brightred ribbon tied in his long and heavy mane meant some sort of festival.When all was done the haymakers gathered round.

  "Good luck to the last load, Mr. Clifford!" they shouted.

  "Good luck to you all!" answered Robin, cheerily.

  "Good luck t'ye, Miss!" and they raised their sun-browned faces to thegirl as she looked down upon them. "As fine a crop and as fair a loadnext year!"

  "Good luck to you!" she responded--then suddenly bending a littleforward she said almost breathlessly: "Please wish luck to Dad! He'snot well--and he isn't here! Oh, please don't forget him!"

  They all stared at her for a moment, as if startled or surprised, thenthey all joined in a stentorian shout.

  "That's right, Miss! Good luck to the master! Many good years of lifeto him, and better crops every year!"

  She drew back, smiling her thanks, but there were tears in her eyes.And then they all started in a pretty procession--the men leadingRoger, who paced along the meadow with equine dignity, shaking hisribbons now and again as if he were fully conscious of carryingsomething more valuable than mere hay,--and above them all smiled thegirl's young face, framed in its soft brown hair and crowned with thewild roses, while at her side stood the very type of a modelEnglishman, with all the promise of splendid life and vigour in thebuild of his form, the set of his shoulders and the poise of hishandsome head. It was a picture of youth and beauty and lovely natureset against the warm evening tint of the sky,--one of those pictureswhich, though drawn for the moment only on the minds of those who seeit, is yet never forgotten.

  Arriving presently at a vast enclosure, in which already two loads ofhay were being stacked, they were hailed with a cheery shout by severalother labourers at work, and very soon a strong smell of beer began tomingle with the odour of the hay and the dewy scent of the elderflowers and sweet briar in the hedges close by.

  "Have a drop, Mr. Clifford!" said one tall, powerful-looking man whoseemed to be a leader among the others, holding out a pewter tankardfull and frothing over.

  Robin Clifford smiled and put his lips to it.

  "Just to your health, Landon!" he said--"I'm not a drinking man."

  "Haymaking's thirsty work," commented the other. "Will Miss Jocelyn dous the honour?"

  The girl made a wry little face.

  "I don't like beer, Mr. Landon," she said--"It's horrid stuff, evenwhen it's home-brewed! I help to make it, you see!"

  She laughed gaily--they all laughed with her, and then there was alittle altercation which ended in her putting her lips to the tankardjust offered to Robin and sipping the merest fleck of its foam. Landonwatched her,--and as she returned the cup, put his own mouth to theplace hers had touched and drank the whole draught off greedily. Robindid not see his action, but the girl did, and a deep blush of offencesuffused her cheeks. She rose, a little nervously.

  "I'll go in now," she said--"Dad must be alone by this time."

  "All right!" And Robin jumped lightly from the top of the load to theground and put the ladder up for her to descend. She came downdaintily, turning her back to him so that the hem of her neat whiteskirt fell like a little snowflake over each rung of the ladder,veiling not only her slim ankles but the very heels of her shoes. Whenshe was nearly at the bottom, he caught her up and set her lightly onthe ground.

  "There you are!" he said, with a laugh--"When you get into the houseyou can tell Uncle that you are a Rose Queen, a Hay Queen, and Queen ofeverything and everyone on Briar Farm, including your very humbleservant, Robin Clifford!"

  "And your humblest of slaves, Ned Landon!" added Landon, with a quickglance, doffing his cap. "Mr. Clifford mustn't expect to have it allhis own way!"

  "What the devil are you talking about?" demanded Robin, turning uponhim with a sudden fierceness.

  Innocent gave him an appealing look.

  "Don't!--Oh, don't quarrel!" she whispered,--and with a parting nod tothe whole party of workers she hurried away.

  With her disappearance came a brief pause among the men. Then Robin,turning away from Landon, proceeded to give various orders. He was aperson in authority, and as everyone knew, was likely to be the ownerof the farm when his uncle was dead. Landon went close up to him.

  "Mr. Clifford," he said, somewhat thickly, "you heard what I said justnow? You mustn't expect to have it all your own way! There's other menafter the girl as well as you!"

  Clifford glanced him up and down.

  "Yourself, I suppose?" he retorted.

  "And why not?" sneered Landon.

  "Only because there are two sides to every question," said Clifford,carelessly, with a laugh. "And no decision can be arrived at till bothare heard!"

  He climbed up among the other men and set to work, stacking steadily,and singing in a fine soft baritone the old fifteenth-century song:

  "Yonder comes a courteous knight, Lustily raking over the hay, He was well aware of a bonny lass, As she came wandering over the way. Then she sang Downe a downe, hey downe derry!

  "Jove you speed, fair ladye, he said, Among the leaves that be so greene, If I were a king and wore a crown, Full soon faire Ladye shouldst thou be queene. Then she sang Downe a downe, hey downe derry!"

  Landon looked up at him with a dark smile.

  "Those laugh best who laugh last!" he muttered, "And a whistlingthrostle has had its neck wrung before now!"

  Meanwhile Innocent had entered the farmhouse. Passing through the hall,which,--unaltered since the days of its original building,--was vaultedhigh and heavily timbered, she went first into the kitchen to seePriscilla, who, assisted by a couple of strong rosy-cheeked girls, didall the housework and cookin
g of the farm. She found that personagerolling out pastry and talking volubly as she rolled:

  "Ah! YOU'LL never come to much good, Jenny Spinner," she cried. "Whatwith a muck of dirty dishes in one corner and a muddle of ragged cloutsin another, you're the very model of a wife for a farm hand! Can't sewa gown for yerself neither, but bound to send it into town to be madefor ye, and couldn't put a button on a pair of breeches for fear of'urtin' yer delicate fingers! Well! God 'elp ye when the man comes asye're lookin' for! He'll be a fool anyhow, for all men are that,--buthe'll be twice a fool if he takes you for a life-satchel on hisshoulders!"

  Jenny Spinner endured this tirade patiently, and went on with thewashing-up in which she was engaged, only turning her head to look atInnocent as she appeared suddenly in the kitchen doorway, with her hairslightly dishevelled and the wreath of wild roses crowning her brows.

  "Priscilla, where's Dad?" she asked.

  "Lord save us, lovey! You gave me a real scare coming in like that withthem roses on yer head like a pixie out of the woods! The master? He'sjust where the doctors left 'im, sittin' in his easy-chair and lookingout o' window."

  "Was it--was it all right, do you think?" asked the girl, hesitatingly.

  "Now, lovey, don't ask me about doctors, 'cos I don't know nothin' andwants to know nothin', for they be close-tongued folk who never sezwhat they thinks lest they get their blessed selves into hot water. Andwhether it's all right or all wrong, I couldn't tell ye, for the two o'them went out together, and Mr. Slowton sez 'Good-arternoon, MissFriday!' quite perlite like, and the other gentleman he lifts 'is 'atquite civil, so I should say 'twas all wrong. For if you mark me,lovey, men's allus extra perlite when they thinks there's goin' to betrouble, hopin' they'll get somethin' for theirselves out of it."

  Innocent hardly waited to hear her last words.

  "I'm going to Dad," she said, quickly, and disappeared.

  Priscilla Friday stopped for a minute in the rolling-cut of her pastry.Some great stress of thought appeared to be working behind her wrinkledbrow, for she shook her head, pursed her lips and rolled up her eyes agreat many times. Then she gave a short sigh and went on with her work.

  The farmhouse was a rambling old place, full of quaint corners, archesand odd little steps up and down leading to cupboards, mysteriousrecesses and devious winding ways which turned into dark narrowpassages, branching right and left through the whole breadth of thehouse. It was along one of these that Innocent ran swiftly on leavingthe kitchen, till she reached a closed door, where pausing, shelistened a moment-then, hearing no sound, opened it and went softly in.The room she entered was filled with soft shadows of the graduallyfalling dusk, yet partially lit by a golden flame of the after-glowwhich shone through the open latticed window from the western sky.Close to the waning light sat the master of the farm, still clad in hissmock frock, with his straw hat on the table beside him and his stickleaning against the arm of his chair. He was very quiet,--so quiet,that a late beam of the sun, touching the rough silver white of hishair, seemed almost obtrusive, as suggesting an interruption to themoveless peace of his attitude. Innocent stopped short, with a tremorof nervous fear.

  "Dad!" she said, softly.

  He turned towards her.

  "Ay, lass! What is it?"

  She did not answer, but came up and knelt down beside him, taking oneof his brown wrinkled hands in her own and caressing it. The silencebetween them was unbroken for quite two or three minutes; then he said:

  "Last load in all safe?"

  "Yes, Dad!"

  "Not a drop of rain to wet it, and no hard words to toughen it, eh?"

  "No, Dad."

  She gave the answer a little hesitatingly. She was thinking of NedLandon. He caught the slight falter in her voice and looked at hersuspiciously.

  "Been quarrelling with Robin?"

  "Dear Dad, no! We're the best of friends."

  He loosened his hand from her clasp and patted her head with it.

  "That's right! That's as it should be! Be friends with Robin, child! Befriends!--be lovers!"

  She was silent. The after-glow warmed the tints of her hair torusset-gold and turned to a deeper pink the petals of the roses in thewreath she wore. He touched the blossoms and spoke with greatgentleness.

  "Did Robin crown thee?"

  She looked up, smiling.

  "No, it's Larry's wreath."

  "Larry! Ay, poor Larry! A good lad--but he can eat for two and onlywork for one. 'Tis the way of men nowadays!"

  Another pause ensued, and the western gold of the sky began to fadeinto misty grey.

  "Dad," said the girl then, in a low tone--"Do tell me--what did theLondon doctor say?"

  He lifted his head quickly, and his old eyes for a moment flashed asthough suddenly illumined by a flame from within.

  "Say! What should he say, lass, but that I am old and must expect todie? It's natural enough--only I haven't thought about it. It's justthat--I haven't thought about it!"

  "Why should you think about it?" she asked, with quick tenderness--"Youwill not die yet--not for many years. You are not so very old.And you are strong."

  He patted her head again.

  "Poor little wilding!" he said--"If you had your way I should live forever, no doubt! But an' you were wise with modern wisdom, you would sayI had already lived too long!"

  For answer, she drew down his hand and kissed it.

  "I do not want any modern wisdom," she said--"I am your little girl andI love you!"

  A shadow flitted across his face and he moved uneasily. She looked upat him.

  "You will not tell me?"

  "Tell you what?"

  "All that the London doctor said."

  He was silent for a minute's space--then he answered.

  "Yes, I will tell you, but not now. To-night after supper will be timeenough. And then--"

  "Yes--then?" she repeated, anxiously.

  "Then you shall know--you will have to know--" Here he broke offabruptly. "Innocent!"

  "Yes, Dad?"

  "How old are you now?"

  "Eighteen."

  "Ay, so you are!" And he looked at her searchingly. "Quite a woman!Time flies! You're old enough to learn--"

  "I have always tried to learn," she said--"and I like studying thingsout of books--"

  "Ay! But there are worse things in life than ever were written inbooks," he answered, wearily--"things that people hide away and areashamed to speak of! Ay, poor wilding! Things that I've tried to keepfrom you as long as possible--but--time presses, and, I shall have tospeak--"

  She looked at him earnestly. Her face paled and her eyes grew dark andwondering.

  "Have I done anything wrong?" she asked.

  "You? No! Not you! You are not to blame, child! But you've heard thelaw set out in church on Sundays that 'The sins of the fathers shall bevisited on the children even unto the third and fourth generation.'You've heard that?"

  "Yes, Dad!"

  "Ay!--and who dare say the fourth generation are to blame! Yet, thoughthey are guiltless, they suffer most! No just God ever made such a law,though they say 'tis God speaking. _I_ say 'tis the devil!"

  His voice grew harsh and loud, and finding his stick near his chair, hetook hold of it and struck it against the ground to emphasise his words.

  "I say 'tis the devil!"

  The girl rose from her kneeling attitude and put her arms gently roundhis shoulders.

  "There, Dad!" she said soothingly,--"Don't worry! Church and churchthings seem to rub you up all the wrong way! Don't think about them!Supper will be ready in a little while and after supper we'll have along talk. And then you'll tell me what the doctor said."

  His angry excitement subsided suddenly and his head sank on his breast.

  "Ay! After supper. Then--then I'll tell you what the doctor said."

  His speech faltered. He turned and looked out on the garden, full ofluxuriant blossom, the colours of which were gradually merging intoindistinguishable masses under the darkeni
ng grey of the dusk.

  She moved softly about the room, setting things straight, and lightingtwo candles in a pair of tall brass candlesticks which stood one oneither side of a carved oak press. The room thus illumined showeditself to be a roughly-timbered apartment in the style of the earliestTudor times, and all the furniture in it was of the same period. Thethick gate-legged table--the curious chairs, picturesque, butuncomfortable--the two old dower chests--the quaint three-legged stoolsand upright settles, were a collection that would have been precious tothe art dealer and curio hunter, as would the massive eight-day clockwith its grotesquely painted face, delineating not only the hours anddays but the lunar months, and possessing a sonorous chime which justnow struck eight with a boom as deep as that of a cathedral bell. Thesound appeared to startle the old farmer with a kind of shock, for herose from his chair and grasped his stick, looking about him as thoughfor the moment uncertain of his bearings.

  "How fast the hours go by!" he muttered, dreamily. "When we're youngthey don't count--but when we're old we know that every hour brings usnearer to the end-the end, the end of all! Another night closingin--and the last load cleared from the field--Innocent!"

  The name broke from his lips like a cry of suffering, and she ran tohim trembling.

  "Dad, dear, what is it?"

  He caught her outstretched hands and held them close.

  "Nothing--nothing!" he answered, drawing his breath quick andhard--"Nothing, lass! No pain--no--not that! I'm only frightened!Frightened!--think of it!--me frightened who never knew fear! And I--Iwouldn't tell it to anyone but you--I'm afraid of what's coming--ofwhat's bound to come! 'Twould always have come, I know--but I neverthought about it--it never seemed real! It never seemed real--"

  Here the door opened, admitting a flood of cheerful light from theoutside passage, and Robin Clifford entered.

  "Hullo, Uncle! Supper's ready!"

  The old man's face changed instantly. Its worn and scared expressionsmoothed into a smile, and, loosening his hold of Innocent, hestraightened himself and stood erect.

  "All right, my lad! You've worked pretty late!"

  "Yes, and we've not done yet. But we shall finish stacking tomorrow,"answered Clifford--"Just now we're all tired and hungry."

  "Don't say you're thirsty!" said the old farmer, his smile broadening."How many barrels have been tapped to-day?"

  "Oh, well! You'd better ask Landon,"--and Clifford's light laugh had atouch of scorn in it,--"he's the man for the beer! I hardly ever touchit--Innocent knows that."

  "More work's done on water after all," said Jocelyn. "The horses thatdraw for us and the cattle that make food for us prove that. But wethink we're a bit higher than the beasts, and some of us get drunk toprove it! That's one of our strange ways as men! Come along, lad! Andyou, child,"--here he turned to Innocent--"run and tell Priscilla we'rewaiting in the Great Hall."

  He seemed to have suddenly lost all feebleness, and walked with a firmstep into what he called the Great Hall, which was distinguished bythis name from the lesser or entrance hall of the house. It was a noblyproportioned, very lofty apartment, richly timbered, the roof beingsupported by huge arched beams curiously and intricately carved. Longnarrow boards on stout old trestles occupied the centre, and these werespread with cloths of coarse but spotlessly clean linen and furnishedwith antique plates, tankards and other vessels of pewter which wouldhave sold for a far larger sum in the market than solid silver. A tallcarved chair was set at the head of the largest table, and in thisFarmer Jocelyn seated himself. The men now began to come in from thefields in their work-a-day clothes, escorted by Ned Landon, their onlyattempt at a toilet having been a wash and brush up in the outhouses;and soon the hall presented a scene of lively bustle and activity.Priscilla, entering it from the kitchen with her two assistants,brought in three huge smoking joints on enormous pewter dishes,--thenfollowed other good things of all sorts,--vegetables, puddings,pasties, cakes and fruit, which Innocent helped to set out all alongthe boards in tempting array. It was a generous supper fit for a"Harvest Home"--yet it was only Farmer Jocelyn's ordinary way ofcelebrating the end of the haymaking,--the real harvest home wasanother and bigger festival yet to come. Robin Clifford began to carvea sirloin of beef,--Ned Landon, who was nearly opposite him, activelyapportioned slices of roast pork, the delicacy most favoured by themajority, and when all the knives and forks were going and voices beganto be loud and tongues discursive, Innocent slipped into a chair byFarmer Jocelyn and sat between him and Priscilla. For not only the farmhands but all the servants on the place were at table, this haymakingsupper being the annual order of the household. The girl's smalldelicate head, with its coronal of wild roses, looked strange andincongruous among the rough specimens of manhood about her, andsometimes as the laughter became boisterous, or some bucolic witticismcaught her ear, a faint flush coloured the paleness of her cheeks and alittle nervous tremor ran through her frame. She drew as closely as shecould to the old farmer, who sat rigidly upright and quiet, eatingnothing but a morsel of bread with a bowl of hot salted milk Priscillahad put before him. Beer was served freely, and was passed from man toman in leather "blackjacks" such as were commonly used in olden times,but which are now considered mere curiosities. They were, however,ordinary wear at Briar Farm, and had been so since very early days. TheGreat Hall was lighted by tall windows reaching almost to the roof andtraversed with shafts of solid stonework; the one immediately oppositeFarmer Jocelyn's chair showed the very last parting glow of the sunsetlike a dull red gleam on a dark sea. For the rest, thick home-madecandles of a torch shape fixed into iron sconces round the wallsillumined the room, and burned with unsteady flare, giving rise tocurious lights and shadows as though ghostly figures were passing toand fro, ruffling the air with their unseen presences. PriscillaPriday, her wizened yellow face just now reddened to the tint of awinter apple by her recent exertions in the kitchen, was not so muchengaged in eating her supper as in watching her master. Her beady browneyes roved from him to the slight delicate girl beside him withinquisitive alertness. She felt and saw that the old man's thoughtswere far away, and that something of an unusual nature was troublinghis mind. Priscilla was an odd-looking creature but faithful;--herattachments were strong, and her dislikes only a shade moreviolent,--and just now she entertained very uncomplimentary sentimentstowards "them doctors" who had, as she surmised, put her master out ofsorts with himself, and caused anxiety to the "darling child," as sheinvariably called Innocent when recommending her to the guidance of theAlmighty in her daily and nightly prayers. Meanwhile the noise at thesupper table grew louder and more incessant, and sundry deep potationsof home-brewed ale began to do their work. One man, seated near NedLandon, was holding forth in very slow thick accents on the subject ofeducation:

  "Be eddicated!" he said, articulating his words withdifficulty,--"That's what I says, boys! Be eddicated! Then everything'sright for us! We can kick all the rich out into the mud and take theirgoods and enjoy 'em for ourselves. Eddication does it! Makes us all wewants to be,--members o' Parli'ment and what not! I've only oneboy,--but he'll be eddicated as his father never was--"

  "And learn to despise his father!" said Robin, suddenly, his clearvoice ringing out above the other's husky loquacity. "You're right!That's the best way to train a boy in the way he should go!"

  There was a brief silence. Then came a fresh murmur of voices and NedLandon's voice rose above them.

  "I don't agree with you, Mr. Clifford," he said--"There's no reason whya well-educated lad should despise his father."

  "But he often does," said Robin--"reason or no reason."

  "Well, you're educated yourself," retorted Landon, with a touch ofenvy,--"You won a scholarship at your grammar school, and you've beento a University."

  "What's that done for me?" demanded Robin, carelessly,--"Where has itput me? Just nowhere, but exactly where I might have stood all thetime. I didn't learn farming at Oxford!"

  "But you didn't learn to despise your father either, di
d you, sir?"queried one of the farm hands, respectfully.

  "My father's dead," answered Robin, curtly,--"and I honour his memory."

  "So your own argument goes to the wall!" said Landon. "Education hasnot made you think less of him."

  "In my case, no," said Robin,--"but in dozens of other cases it worksout differently. Besides, you've got to decide what education IS. Theman who knows how to plough a field rightly is as usefully educated asthe man who knows how to read a book, in my opinion."

  "Education," interposed a strong voice, "is first to learn one's placein the world and then know how to keep it!"

  All eyes turned towards the head of the table. It was Farmer Jocelynwho spoke, and he went on speaking:

  "What's called education nowadays," he said, "is a mere smattering anddoes no good. The children are taught, especially in small villageslike ours, by men and women who often know less than the childrenthemselves. What do you make of Danvers, for example, boys?"

  A roar of laughter went round the table.

  "Danvers!" exclaimed a huge red-faced fellow at the other end of theboard,--"Why he talks yer 'ead off about what he's picked up here andthere like, and when I asked him to tell me where my son is as went toMexico, blowed if he didn't say it was a town somewheres near New York!"

  Another roar went round the table. Farmer Jocelyn smiled and held uphis hand to enjoin silence.

  "Mr. Danvers is a teacher selected by the Government," he thenobserved, with mock gravity. "And if he teaches us that Mexico is atown near New York, we poor ignorant farm-folk are bound to believehim!"

  They all laughed again, and he continued:

  "I'm old enough, boys, to have seen many changes, and I tell you, allthings considered, that the worst change is the education business, sofar as the strength and the health of the country goes. That, andmachine work. When I was a youngster, nearly every field-hand knew howto mow,--now we've trouble enough to find an extra man who can use ascythe. And you may put a machine on the grass as much as you like,you'll never get the quality that you'll get with a well-curved bladeand a man's arm and hand wielding it. Longer work maybe, and risk ofrain--but, taking the odds for and against, men are better thanmachines. Forty years we've scythed the grass on Briar Farm, andhaven't we had the finest crops of hay in the county?"

  A chorus of gruff voices answered him:

  "Ay, Mister Jocelyn!"

  "That's right!"

  "I never 'member more'n two wet seasons and then we got last load in'tween showers," observed one man, thoughtfully.

  "There ain't never been nothin' wrong with Briar Farm hay cropsanyway--all the buyers knows that for thirty mile round," said another.

  "And the wheat and the corn and the barley and the oats the same,"struck in the old farmer again--"all the seed sown by hand and theharvest reaped by hand, and every man and boy in the village or near ithas found work enough to keep him in his native place, spring, summer,autumn and winter, isn't that so?"

  "Ay, ay!"

  "Never a day out o' work!"

  "Talk of unemployed trouble," went on Jocelyn, "if the old ways werekept up and work done in the old fashion, there'd be plenty for allEngland's men to do, and to feed fair and hearty! But the idea nowadaysis to rush everything just to get finished with it, and then to playcards or football, and get drunk till the legs don't know whether it'sland or water they're standing on! It's the wrong way about, boys! It'sthe wrong way about! You may hurry and scurry along as fast as youplease, but you miss most good things by the way; and there's only oneend to your racing--the grave! There's no such haste to drop into THAT,boys! It'll wait! It's always waiting! And the quicker you go thequicker you'll get to it! Take time while you're young! That time forme is past!"

  He lifted his head and looked round upon them all. There was a strangewild look in his old eyes,--and a sudden sense of awe fell on the restof the company. Farmer Jocelyn seemed all at once removed from them toa height of dignity above his ordinary bearing. Innocent's rose-crownedhead drooped, and tears sprang involuntarily to her eyes. She tried tohide them, not so well, however, but that Priscilla Priday saw them.

  "Now, lovey child!" she whispered,--"Don't take on! It's only thedoctors that's made him low like and feelin' blue, and he ain't takin'sup or morsel, but we'll make him have a bite in his own roomafterwards. Don't you swell your pretty eyes and make 'em red, for thatwon't suit me nor Mr. Robin neither, come, come!--that it won't!"

  Innocent put one of her little hands furtively under the board andpressed Priscilla's rough knuckles tenderly, but she said nothing. Thesilence was broken by one of the oldest men present, who rose, tankardin hand.

  "The time for good farming is never past!" he said, in a heartyvoice--"And no one will ever beat Farmer Jocelyn at that! Full cups,boys! And the master's health! Long life to him!"

  The response was immediate, every man rising to his feet. None of themwere particularly unsteady except Ned Landon, who nearly fell over thetable as he got up, though he managed to straighten himself in time.

  "Farmer Jocelyn!"

  "To Briar Farm and the master!"

  "Health and good luck!"

  These salutations were roared loudly round the table, and then thewhole company gave vent to a hearty 'Hip-hip-hurrah!' that rousedechoes from the vaulted roof and made its flaring lights tremble.

  "One more!" shouted Landon, suddenly, turning his flushed face fromside to side upon those immediately near him--"Miss Jocelyn!"

  There followed a deafening volley of cheering,--tankards clinkedtogether and shone in the flickering light and every eye looked towardsthe girl, who, colouring deeply, shrank from the tumult around her likea leaf shivering in a storm-wind. Robin glanced at her with ahalf-jealous, half-anxious look, but her face was turned away from him.He lifted his tankard and, bowing towards her, drank the contents. Whenthe toast was fully pledged, Farmer Jocelyn got up, amid much clappingof hands, stamping of feet and thumping on the boards. He waited tillquiet was restored, and then, speaking in strong resonant accents, said:

  "Boys, I thank you! You're all boys to me, young and old, for you'veworked on the farm so long that I seem to know your faces as well as Iknow the shape of the land and the trees on the ridges. You've wishedme health and long life--and I take it that your wishes are honest--butI've had a long life already and mustn't expect much more of it.However, the farm will go on just the same whether I'm here orelsewhere,--and no man that works well on it will be turned away fromit,--that I can promise you! And the advice I've always given to you Igive to you again,--stick to the land and the work of the land! There'snothing finer in the world than the fresh air and the scent of the goodbrown earth that gives you the reward of your labour, always providingit is labour and not 'scamp' service. When I'm gone you'll perhapsremember what I say,--and think it not so badly said either. I thankyou for your good wishes and"--here he hesitated--"my little girl herethanks you too. Next time you make the hay--if I'm not with you--I askyou to be as merry as you are to-night and to drink to my memory! Forwhenever one master of Briar Farm has gone there's always been anotherin his place!--and there always will be!" He paused,--then lifting afull tankard which had been put beside him, he drank a few drops of itscontents--"God bless you all! May you long have the will to work andthe health to enjoy the fruits of honest labour!"

  There was another outburst of noisy cheering, followed by a new kind ofclamour,

  "A song!"

  "A song!"

  "Who'll begin?"

  "Where's Steevy?"

  "Little Steevy!"

  "Steevy! Wheer be ye got to?" roared one old fellow with very whitehair and a very red face--"ye're not so small as ye can hide in yermother's thimble!"

  A young giant of a man stood up in response to this adjuration,blushing and smiling bashfully.

  "Here I be!"

  "Sing away, lad, sing away!"

  "Wet yer pipe, and whistle!"

  "Tune up, my blackbird!"

  Steevy, thus adjured,
straightened himself to his full stature of oversix feet and drank off a cupful of ale. Then he began in a remarkablyfine and mellow tenor:

  "Would you choose a wife For a happy life, Leave the town and the country take; Where Susan and Doll, And Jenny and Moll, Follow Harry and John, While harvest goes on, And merrily, merrily rake!"

  "The lass give me here, As brown as my beer, That knows how to govern a farm; That can milk a cow, Or farrow a sow, Make butter and cheese, And gather green peas, And guard the poultry from harm."

  "This, this is the girl, Worth rubies and pearl, The wife that a home will make! We farmers need No quality breed, But a woman that's won While harvest goes on, And we merrily, merrily rake!"

  [Footnote: Old Song 1740.]

  A dozen or more stentorian voices joined in the refrain:

  "A woman that's won While harvest goes on, And we merrily, merrily rake."

  "Bravo!"

  "Good for you, Steevy!"

  "First-class!"

  "Here's to you, my lad!"

  The shouting, laughter and applause continued for many minutes, thencame more singing of songs from various rivals to the tuneful Steevy.And presently all joined together in a boisterous chorus which ran thus:

  "A glass is good and a lass is good, And a pipe is good in cold weather, The world is good and the people are good, And we're all good fellows together!"

  In the middle of this performance Farmer Jocelyn rose from his placeand left the hall, Innocent accompanying him. Once he looked back onthe gay scene presented to him--the disordered supper-table, the easylounging attitudes of the well-fed men, the flare of the lights whichcast a ruddy glow on old and young faces and sparkled over theburnished pewter,--then with a strange yearning pain in his eyes heturned slowly away, leaning on the arm of the girl beside him, andwent,--leaving the merry-makers to themselves.