Through Welsh Doorways Part 22

"Jane Elin's gone, too; she left Gelligaer over half an hour past," said Keturah slowly.

"The schoolmistress gone?" questioned Deb. "What for, indeed?"

"To be with him."

"To be with him!"

"Aye, ye're blind, blind as a bat, Deborah, an' that trustin' ye see nothin' and believe anythin'. Believin' the whale swallowed Jonah is nothin' to what ye're capable of takin' on faith," ended Keturah, with infinite sarcasm.

"Dear, dear, dear, Keturah, I cannot believe this whatever! What shall we do? Och, the disgrace it'll be!"

There was an imperative rap on the door: "Keturah, where is my sister?"

"Gone, Mr. Tudur, to be with the minister."

"She left word his mother was ill. I do not believe it. Is she?"

"Nay, to my knowledge, the old lady Jones is not ill."

"Och, the scoundrel! I thought it of him. There, you Deb, where's your mistress?"

"She's--she's gone, too," Deb answered, shaking from her ankles up.

"Gone where?"

"To Qwyllyn."

"I'll go after," he shouted, slamming the door.

Keturah sank back by the fire. "Well, indeed, well, indeed!" she said, with the peaceful accent of one who has accomplished an end, "they're all off now. Ye've no need to cry, for what will be, will be," she continued dryly to Deb, who was sobbing. "The old lady Jones will manage."

"Och, but 'tis shockin', shockin'; an' they'll never have him in Gelligaer again."

"So 'tis. Well, they're all on the road now. The master's about at Dinas; Jane Elin, if her train's on time, is at Llanengan; the widow Morgan, if her coach is makin' good speed, is about at Abersoch; and Tudur's just leavin' Gelligaer. The old lady Jones will have her hands full, but she's a wise old lady, a very wise old lady. 'Twill all get settled when she takes it up, aye, so 'twill."

_A Last Discipline_

"Barbara, the flummery's sour!"

Samuel pushed back his dish and dropped his spoon.

"Aye, dad, a bit sour; I'm sorry."

"A bit sour!" exclaimed the husband, "a bit sour! tut, _more'n_ a bit sour, whatever!"

Barbara looked at him, the corners of her sweet old mouth trembling, "Father, I'm sorry; I thought it was better nor usual."

"Better nor usual! Ye're full of fancies, Barbara, a-runnin' round nursin' other folks, an takin' other folks' troubles, all except your own. Yesterday ye made broth for the servant-men, an' it was every bit meat; broth like that'll ruin my pocket, an' anyhow we arn't providin'

for gentlemen's families."

"Aye, father dear, but for a long while they've had nothin' but barefoot porridge, an' there was a little extra meat in the house, an' I thought----"

"An' ye thought! Ye needn't think, mother. Such thinkin' as ye do is ruinin' my prospects."

"Dad dear, I'll not do it again if ye say no."

"I did not say 'no,' I said yesterday ye gave the men an all-meat broth an' it was no holiday."

The old man's voice grew petulantly angry, the childlike appeal of his wife's eyes, the trembling lips, her gentle sweetness, irritated him.

"Very well, dear."

"Mother, they've milk on the farm, which is more'n they'd have in their own homes; if they lived at home they'd be scramblin' with their children to suck herrin'-bones. Stirabout with plenty of milk is good for any man, an' it's especially good for a workin' man; they have all the stirabout they can eat here, an' some kind of meat-broth an' tart every day."

"Very well, dear, I'll see that it doesn't happen again."

"Aye, an' mother, I found one of the tubs of b.u.t.ter in the dairy touched; there was most a half a pound of b.u.t.ter taken out. Do ye know who took it?"

"Dad, I took it for Mrs. Powell the carpenter, who's ill."

"For Mrs. Powell the carpenter! An' then how are we goin' to pay the landlord, think ye, if ye go takin' the b.u.t.ter to sick people?"

"She's very sick, father, an' they're very poor, an' I thought it would be such a nice to her just now, and she did relish it so."

"Relish it! Aye, soon ye'll be distributin' the sheep to the neighbours.

An', mother, I found some broken crockery in the garden out by the corner of the hedge. It looked most as if it had been hidden there; do ye know anythin' about it?"

"Aye, I know somethin' about it."

"An' what do ye know?"

"Father, that I shall not be tellin' ye, whatever."

"Not be tellin' me! not be tellin' _me_?" he exclaimed hotly. "Tut, Barbara, what's come over ye?"

"No, father, not be tellin' ye," answered Barbara, with gentle deliberateness.

"Indeed, we'll see. Maggie, Maggie," shouted Samuel, "Maggie, come here!"

Maggie came hurrying to the door, anxiety in every feature of her face.

"Maggie Morgan, what do ye----" began Samuel.

"Father, that will do," interrupted Barbara; "Maggie, ye may go."