God's Good Man Part 3

Still they looked on me and smiled As if I were a boy!"

Such simple lines,--by Longfellow too, the despised of all the Sir Oracles of criticism,--yet coming to Walden's memory suddenly, they touched a chord of vivid emotion.

"And still they whispered soft and low! Oh, I could not choose but go!"

he hummed half under his breath, and then with a decided movement turned from the winding river towards the house.

"No, Nebbie, it's no use," he said aloud, addressing his four-footed comrade, who thereupon got up reluctantly and began to trot pensively beside him--"We mustn't be selfish. There are a thousand and one things to do. There is dinner to be served to the children at two o'clock--there is Mrs. Keeley to call upon--there are the school accounts to be looked into,--" here he glanced at his watch-- " Good Heavens!--how time flies! It is half-past eleven! I shall have to see Bainton later on."

He hurried his steps and was just in sight of his study window, when he was met by his parlourmaid, a neat, trim young woman who rejoiced in the euphonious name of Hester Rockett, and who said as she approached him:

"If you please, sir, Mrs. Spruce."

His genial face fell a little, and he heaved a short sigh.

"Mrs. Spruce? Oh, Lord!--I mean, very well! Show her in, Hester. You are sure she wants to see me? Or is it her girl Kitty she is after?"

"She didn't mention Kitty, sir," replied Hester demurely; "She said she wished to see you very particular."

"All right! Show her into my study, and afterwards just go round to the orchard and tell Bainton I will see him when he's had his dinner. I know I sha'n't get off under an hour at least!"

He sighed again, then smiled, and entered the house, Nebbie sedately following. Arrived in his own quiet sanctum, he took off his soft slouched hat and seated himself at his desk with a composed air of patient attention, as the door was opened to admit a matronly- looking lady with a round and florid countenance, clad in a voluminous black gown, and wearing a somewhat aggressive black bonnet, 'tipped' well forward, under which her grey hair was plastered so far back as to be scarcely visible. There was a certain aggrieved dignity about her, and a generally superior tone of self- consciousness even in the curtsey which she dropped respectfully, as she returned Walden's kindly nod and glance.

"Good morning, Mrs. Spruce!"

"Good morning, sir! I trust I see you well, sir?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Spruce, I am very well."

"Which is a mercy indeed!" said Mrs. Spruce fervently; "For we never knows from one day to another whether we may be sound or crippled, considering the diseases which now flies in the air with the dust in the common road, as the papers tell us,--and dust is a thing we cannot prevent, do what we may, for the dust is there by the will of the Almighty, Who made us all out of it."

She paused. John Walden smiled and pointed to a chair,

"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Spruce?"

"Thank you kindly, sir!" and Mrs. Spruce accordingly plumped into the seat indicated with evident relief and satisfaction. "I will confess that it is a goodish step to walk on such a warm morning."

"You have come straight from the Manor?" enquired Walden, turning over a few papers on his desk, and wondering within himself when the good woman was going to unburden herself of her business.

"Straight from the Manor, sir, yes,--and such a heat and moil I never felt on any May morning, which is most onwholesome, I am sure.

A cold May and a warm June is what I prefers myself,--but when you get the cuckoo and the nightingale clicketin' together in the woods on the First of May, you can look out for quarrelsome weather at Midsummer, leastways so I have heard my mother often say, and she was considered a wise woman in her time, I do a.s.sure you!"

Here Mrs. Spruce untied her bonnet-strings and flung them apart,-- she likewise loosened the top b.u.t.ton of her collar and heaved a deep sigh. Again the Reverend John smiled, and vaguely balanced a penholder on his fore-finger.

"I daresay your mother was quite right, Mrs. Spruce! Indeed, I believe all our mothers were quite right in their day. All the same, I'm glad it's a fine May morning', for the children's sakes. They are all down in the big meadow having a romp together. Your little Kitty is with them, looking as bright as a May blossom herself."

Mrs. Spruce straightened herself up, patted her ample bosom, with one hand, and threw her bonnet-strings still further back.

"Kitty's a good la.s.s," she said, "though a bit mettlesome and wild; but I'm not saying anything again her. The Lord forbid that I should run down my own flesh and blood! An' she's better than most gels of her age. I wouldn't grudge her a bit of fun while she's got it in her,--Heaven knows it'll be soon gone out of her when she marries, which nat'rally she will do, sooner or later. Anyhow, she's all I've got,--which is a marvel how the Lord deals with some of us, when you see a little chidester of a woman like Adam Frost's wife with fifteen, boys and girls, and me with only one nesh maid."

Walden was silent. He was not disposed to argue on such marvels of the Lord's way, as resulted in endowing one family with fifteen children, and the other with only a single sprout, such as was accorded to the righteous Jephthah, judge of Israel.

"Howsomever," continued Mrs. Spruce, "Kitty's welcome to jump round the Maypole till she's wore her last pair of boots out, if so be it's your wish, Mr. Walden,--and many thanks to you, sir, for all your kindness to her!"

"Don't mention it, Mrs. Spruce!" said Walden amicably, and then, determining to bring the worthy woman sharply round to the real object of her visit, he gave a side-glance at the clock. "Is there anything you want me to do for you this morning? I'm rather busy--"

"Beggin' your pardon, I'm sure, sir, for troubling you at all!-- knowin' as I do that what with the moithering old folks and the maupsing young ones, your 'ands is always full. But when I got the letter this morning, I says to my husband, William--'William,' says I, very loud, for the poor creature's growing so deaf that by and by I shall be usin' a p'lice whistle to make him 'ear me--'William,'

says I, 'there is only one man in this village who's got the right to give advice when advice is asked for. Of course there's no call for us to follow advice, even when we gets it,--howsomever, it's only respectable for decent church-going folks to see the minister of the parish whenever there's any fear of our makin' a slip of our souls and goin' wrong. Therefore, William,' says I, shaking him By the arm to make the poor silly fool understand me, 'it's to Pa.s.son Walden I'm goin' this mornin' with this letter,--to Pa.s.son Walden, d'ye 'ear?' And he nodded his head wise-like, for all the world as though there were a bit of sense in it, (which there ain't), and agrees with me;--for the Lord, knows, if William doesn't, that it may make an awsome change for him as well as for me. And I do confess I've been took back."

Following as best he could the entangled thread of the estimable lady's discourse, Walden grasped the fact, albeit vaguely, that some unexpected letter with unexpected news in it had arrived to trouble the Spruces' domestic peace. Suppressing a slight yawn, he endeavoured to a.s.sume the proper show of interest which every village parson is expected to display on the shortest notice concerning any subject, from the birth of the latest baby paris.h.i.+oner, to the death of the earliest sucking pig.

"I'm sorry you're in trouble, Mrs. Spruce," he said kindly; "What letter are you speaking of? You see I don't quite understand--"

"Which it's not to be expected you should, sir!" replied Mrs. Spruce with an air of triumph,--"Considerin' as you wer'n't here when she left, and the Manor has been what you may call a stately 'ome of England deserted as most stately 'omes are, for more'n ten years, you couldn't be expected to understand!"

The Reverend John looked as he felt, completely mystified. He 'wasn't here when she left.' Who was 'she'? With all his naturally sweet temper he began to feel slightly irritated.

"Really, Mrs. Spruce," he said, endeavouring to throw an inflection of sternness into his mellow voice, "I must ask you to explain matters a little more clearly. I know that the Manor has been practically shut up ever since I've been here,--that you are the housekeeper in charge, and that your husband is woodman or forester there,--but beyond this I know nothing. So you must not talk in riddles, Mrs. Spruce,"--here his kind smile shone out again--"Even as a boy I was never good at guessing them! And I am getting old now."

"So you are, sir--so you are!" agreed Mrs. Spruce sympathetically; "And 'tis a shame for me to come worryin' of you,--for no one more truly than myself can feel pity for the weariness of the flesh, when 'tis just a burden to the bones and no pleasure in the carryin' of it, though you don't put much of it on, Pa.s.son Walden, you don't, I do a.s.sure you! But it's Gospel truth that some folks wears thin like a knife, while others wears thick like a pig, and there is no stopping them,--either way bein' the Lord's will,--but I'm feelin'

real okkard myself to have put you about, Pa.s.son, only as I said, I've been took back,--and here's the letter, sir, which if you will kindly glance your hi over, you will tell me whether I've done the right thing to call on my way down here and get in a couple of scrubbers at eighteen-pence a day, which is dear, but they won't come for less, jest to get some of the rough dirt off the floors afore polis.h.i.+n', which polis.h.i.+n' will have to be done whether we will or no, for the boards are solid oak, and bein' ancient take the s.h.i.+ne quickly, which is a mercy, for this day week is none too far off, seein' all that's put upon me suddint."

Here, being short of breath, she paused, and fumbling in a large black calico pocket which hung loosely at her side, attached to her ample waist by a string, she drew out with great care a rather large, square-looking missive, and then rising from her chair with much fluttering of her black gown and mysterious creaking sound, as of tight under-wear strained to breaking point, she held it out toward Walden, who had durng her last oratorical outburst unconsciously put his hand to his head in a daze of bewilderment.

"There is the letter sir," she continued, in the tone of one who should say: 'There is the warrant for execution'--"'Short and sweet,' as the farmer's wife said when she ate the pig's tail what dropped off while the animal was a-roastin'."

Allowing this brilliant simile to pa.s.s without comment, Walden took the thick, creamy-white object she offered and found himself considering it with a curious disfavour. It was a strictly 'fas.h.i.+onable' make of envelope, and was addressed in a particularly bold and a.s.sertive hand-writing to

MRS. SPRUCE, Housekeeper, Abbot's Manor, St. Rest.

Opening it, the Reverend John read as follows:

"Miss Vancourt begs to inform Mrs. Spruce that she will arrive at Abbot's Manor on the 7th inst., to remain there in residence. Mrs.

Spruce is requested to engage the necessary household servants, as Miss Vancourt will bring none except the groom in charge of her two hunters."

Over and over again Walden read this curt and commonplace note, with a sense of irritation which he knew was perfectly absurd, but which, nevertheless, defied all reason. The paper on which it was written was thick and satiny,--and there was a faint artificial odour of violets about it which annoyed him. He hated scented notepaper.

Deliberately he replaced it in its envelope, and holding it for a moment as he again studied the superscription, he addressed the expectant Mrs. Spruce, who had re-seated herself and was waiting for him to speak.

"Well, Mrs. Spruce, I don't think you need any advice from me on such a simple matter as this," he said slowly. "Your duty is quite plain. You must obey orders. Miss Vancourt is, I suppose, the mistress of Abbot's Manor?"

"She is, sir,--of course it all belongs to Miss Maryllia--"

"Miss--what?" interrupted Walden, with a sudden lightening of his dark blue eyes.

"Maryllia, sir. It is a kind of family name, p.r.o.nounced 'Ma-rill- yer,'" explained Mrs. Spruce with considerable pomposity; "Many folks never gets it right--it wants knowledge and practice. But if you remember the pictures in the gallery at the Manor, sir, you may call to mind one of the ancestresses of the Vancourts, painted in a vi'let velvet; ridin' dress and holdin' a huntin' crop, and the name underneath is 'Mary Ella Adelgisa de Vaignecourt' and it was after her that the old Squire called his daughter Maryllia, rollin' the two fust names, Mary Elia, into one, as it were, just to make a name what none of his forebears had ever had. He was a queer man, the old Squire--he wouldn't a-cared whether the name was Christian or heathen."

"I suppose not." said the Reverend John carelessly, rising and pus.h.i.+ng back his chair with a slightly impatient gesture; whereupon Mrs. Spruce rose too, and stood 'at attention,' her loosened bonnet- strings flying and her large black calico pocket well in evidence to the front of her skirt.

"Here's your letter, Mrs. Spruce;" and as she took it from his hand with a curtsey he continued: "There is evidently nothing for it but to get the house in order by the day appointed and do your best to please the lady. I can quite understand that you feel a little worried at having to prepare everything so quickly and unexpectedly,--but after all, you must have often thought that Miss Vancourt's return to her old home was likely to happen at any time."