Olla Podrida Part 24

_Nelly._ Is that all that thou hast gathered?

_Bill._ All! Enough too, did ye know the sarc.u.mstances. Travelled last night good twelve miles before I could light on this here cretur. Never seed such a scarcity o' fowl. Farmers above tending sich like things now-a-days, dom pride! says I.

_Nelly._ But what kept ye out till morning?

_Bill._ 'Cause why I was kept in. Lock'd up, by gos.h.!.+ Why, arter dark, I'd just nabbed this here, when out pops on me the farmer's wife; and so she twists her scraggy neck round like a weatherc.o.c.k in a whirlwind, till at last she hears where Master Redcap wor a gobbling. I'd just time to creep under a cart, when up she comes; so down goes I on all fours and growls like a strange dog.

_Nelly._ And one day thou wilt be hung like one.

_Bill._ Every one gets his promotion in time. In goes the woman and calls her husband; and though on all fours, I warn't a match for two; so I slinks into a barn and twists the neck of the hanimal, that a might not peach. Well; farmer comes out, and seeing nought but barn door open, curses his man for a lazy hound and locks it, then walks home, leaving I fixed. Warn't that a good un?

_Nelly._ How did'st thou contrive to escape?

_Bill._ I burrowed into the back of the wheat. Two jockies came in at daylight to thrash----

_Nelly._ And they would have done well to have begun upon the rogue in grain.

_Bill._ Thank ye, mistress. But, howsomdever, the farmer came wi 'um, and a waundy big dog that stagged me, and barked like fury. "There be summut there," says farmer; so I squealed like a dozen rats in the wheat. "Rats agen," says he. "Tummus, go fetch the ferrets; and Bob, be you arter the terriers. I'll go get my breakfast, and then we'll rout un out. Come, Bully." But Bully wouldn't, till farmer gave un a kick that set un howling; and then out they all went, and about a minute arter I makes a bolt. Terrible fuss about a turkey; warn't it, Nell?

_Nelly._ Hast thou seen Richard?

_Bill._ Never put eyes on him since we parted last night; but, as his tongue is as well hung as he will be himself, he'll gie ye a triple bob major, for here he comes.

_Enter d.i.c.k, pulls out two geese, and flings them down._

_d.i.c.k._ Ah, missus, I sha'n't last long. I shall soon be scragged. I'm growing honest. Out of a flock of forty, I've only prigged two. To make amends, I did gnaw off the heads of two more, and so the foxes will have the credit of the job.

_Bill._ That was well thought of, my pal.

_d.i.c.k._ May I one day grow honest, if I don't make up for last night's paltry prig. Come, let's have one roasted, missus--I prefers roast goose. Honest hanimal! only fit to be plucked and eaten. I say, missus, I stumbled on a cove this morning, that I thinks will prove a bleeding cull,--honest hanimal, only fit to be plucked----

_Bill._ And eaten, d.i.c.k?

_d.i.c.k._ Yes, with your dom'd jaw, and so cly it. This here cove sits him down under a tree, with his head a-one side, like a fowl with the pip, and, with a book in his hand talks a mortal deal of stuff about shaking spears and the moon. So, when I had spied enow, I gets up and walks straight to him, and axes him, could he tell where the great fortin-telling woman were to be found in the wood; she as knew the past, the present, and the future. Laid a coil for him, my girl. He be the son of the great Squire's steward, that lives at the Hall, and he says that he be mightily anxious to have his fortin told. He seems to be mortal simple.

_Nelly._ What didst thou hear him mouth about?

_d.i.c.k._ May I grow honest if I bees able to tell, 'twere sich outlandish gibberish. What have the rest done, missus?

_Nelly._ Why, like you, Richard, they're growing honest.

_d.i.c.k._ Ah! ware o' that. My grandam, who was the real seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, said of I, in my cradle, "The moment this here child grows honest, he'll be hung." I've done my best, all my life, to keep my neck out of the halter.

_Nelly._ So you have, Richard. I went up to the Hall to beg for the fragments off the rich man's table. Lady Bountiful, who was bountiful in nought but reviling, was the person whom I met. Bridewell and the stocks was the tune, and the big dog sang the chorus at my heels. But I'll be more than even with her. If I have the heart to feel an injury, she shall find that I've a head to help my heart to its revenge. Revenge--I love it!

_Bill._ That you do, missus; I'll answer for you there. If you be affronted, you be the most cantackerous hanimal that ever boiled a pot.

Come, d.i.c.k, let's take the jacket off our customers, for fear of mischief. (_d.i.c.k and Bill retire with the poultry._)

_Nelly_ (_a.s.suming a more elevated manner_). Heigho! how many things, long forgotten, come to my memory on this spot! Hard by I was brought up, and even from this place I can see where my father and mother lie buried. Here I was once innocent and happy. No, not happy, or I should have stayed, and still been innocent. But away with the useless thought!

The steward's son--it must be young Bargrove. I did not meet him yesterday when I was at the village, but I saw and spoke to Lucy, his sister, who was nursed at this breast; and how I yearned to press her to it! Pretty creature, how she hath grown! Little did my lady think, when she drove me away, that I was the Nelly who used to be so much at the Hall, nursing Lucy, whilst Mrs Bargrove gave her breast to Miss Agnes.

Little did Lucy, when she loaded my wallet with victuals, think that she had so long lain in these arms. Heigho! bye-gone is bye-gone! What a haughty woman is that Lady Etheridge! And yet, she was once a farmer's daughter, but little better than myself. Could I be revenged on her! Ah!

I may; I know every particular connected with the family; but here comes the lad. [_Nelly retires_

_Enter Peter Bargrove, book in his hand._

_Peter._ O solitude--solitude! what a quiet thing is solitude!

especially when you hold your tongue. I only wish that I had a dozen of my old schoolfellows here to enjoy it with me, for, as this divine Shakespeare says, it is so sweet to be alone. I wonder whether, if I were to take to study, if I could not in time write a Shakespeare myself? I'm blessed if I couldn't! How proud father ought to be of such a son! But father wouldn't care if I did: he thinks of nothing but the harvest: what a difference there is between father and me! I can't account for it. O, here comes the woman of fate. What a gaunt-looking body! What eyes! She can see through a post! Her looks go through me already.

_Nelly_ (_advancing_). There is a bright leaf in the book of your fate, young sir, that waits only for my finger to turn it.

_Peter._ Then wet your thumb, good woman, and let's have the news in a twinkling.

_Nelly._ Not so fast, thou youth of l.u.s.trous fortunes! The time is not yet come. Time was, time is, and time shall be!

_Peter._ Bless me! how very prophetical!

_Nelly._ Meet me here, three hours hence; I shall then have communed with the astral influences!

_Peter._ Astral influences! I know of no such people hereabouts.

_Nelly._ The stars--the noonday stars!

_Peter._ The noonday stars! who can see the stars at noonday?

_Nelly._ The gifted.

_Peter_ (_looking up_). Well, then, I ar'n't one of the gifted.

_Nelly._ Yes; but you might be, if you had but faith.

_Peter._ Well, I'm sure I've got plenty--try it.

_Nelly._ Very well; stand thus. Now wave your hands thus high in the air, then shade the sight, and close the left eye; look up, and tell me what thou seest there.

_Peter._ Three carrion crows.

_Nelly._ Nought else?

_Peter._ No.

_Nelly._ Not all the heavenly hosts?

_Peter._ Not a star as big as a sparkle from a red-hot horse-shoe.

_Nelly_ (_pointing up_). Seest thou not those two bright stars, Castor and Pollux?

_Peter._ No, I can't, upon my honour.