Jan of the Windmill Part 14

Some who had not thought half a ball of string, or a dozen nails as good as new, too much to pay for a single pig drawn on one side of their slates, and only lasting as long as they could contrive to keep the other side in use without quite smudging that one, were now disposed to be dissatisfied with their bargains. But as the school broke up, and Tom Green was seen loitering on the other side of the road, every thing was forgotten in the general desire to see Jan carry out his threat, and "whop" a boy bigger than himself for bullying a little girl.

Jan showed no disposition to s.h.i.+rk, and William acted as his friend, and held his slate and book.

Success is not always to the just, however; and poor Jan was terribly beaten by his big opponent, though not without giving him some marks of the combat to carry away.

Kitty Chuter wept bitterly for Jan's b.l.o.o.d.y nose; but he comforted her, saying, "Never mind, Kitty; if he plagues thee again, 'll fight un again and again, till I whops he."

But his valor was not put to the proof, for Tommy Green molested her no more.

Jan washed his face in the water-meadows, and went stout-heartedly home, where Master Lake beat him afresh, as he ironically said, "to teach him to vight young varments like himself instead of minding his book."

But upon Master Chuter, of the Heart of Oak, the incident made quite a different impression. He was naturally pleased by Jan's champions.h.i.+p of his child, and, added to this, he was much impressed by the sketch on the slate. It was, he said, the "living likeness"

of his own sow; and, as she had seven young pigs, the portrait was exact, allowing for the two which Jan had said were out of sight.

He gave Kitty a new slate, and kept the sketch, which he showed to all in-comers. He displayed it one evening to the company a.s.sembled round the hearth of the little inn, and took occasion to propound his views on the subject of Jan's future life.

(Master Chuter was fond of propounding his views,--a taste which was developed by always being sure of an audience.)

"It's nothing to me," said Master Chuter, speaking of Jan, "who the boy be. It be no fault of his'n if he's a fondling. And one thing's sure enough. Them that left him with Master Lake left something besides him. There was that advertis.e.m.e.nt,--you remember that about the five-pound bill in the paper, Daddy Angel?"

"Ay, ay, Master Chuter," said Daddy Angel; "after the big storm, five year ago. Sartinly, Master Chuter."

"Was it ever found, do ye think?" said Master Linseed, the painter and decorator.

"It must have been found," said the landlord; "but I bean't so sure about it's having been given up, the notice was in so long. And whoever did find un must have found un at once. But what I says is, five-pound notes lost as easy as that comes from where there's more of the same sort. And, if Master Lake be paid for the boy, he can 'fford to 'prentice him when his time comes. He've boys enough of his own to take to the mill, and Jan do seem to have such an uncommon turn for drawing things out, I'd try him with painting and varnis.h.i.+ng, if he was mine. And I believe he'd come to signs, too!

Look at that, now! It be small, and the boy've had no paint to lay on, but there's the sign of the Jolly Sow for you, as natteral as life. You know about signs, Master Linseed," continued the landlord. For there was a tradition that the painter could "do picture-signs," though he had only been known to renew lettered ones since he came to the neighborhood. "Master Lake should 'prentice him with you when he's older," Master Chuter said in conclusion.

But Master Linseed did not respond warmly. He felt it a little beneath his dignity as a sign-painter to jump at the idea, though the rest of the company a.s.sented in a general murmur.

"Scrawling on a slate," the painter and decorator began--and at this point he paused, after the leisurely customs of the district, to light his pipe at the leaden-weighted candlestick which stood near; and then, as his hearers sat expectant, but not impatient, proceeded: "Scrawling on a slate is one thing, Master Chuter: painting and decorating's another. Painting's a trade; and not rightly to be understood by them that's not larned it, nor to be picked up by all as can scrawl a line here and a line there, as the whim takes 'em. Take oak-graining,"--and here Master Linseed paused again, with a fine sense of effect,--"who'd ever think of taking a comb to it as didn't know? And for the knots, I've worked 'em--now with a finger and now a thumb--over a shutter-front till it looked that beautiful the man it was done for telled me himself,--'I'd rather,' says he, 'have 'em as you've done 'em than the real thing.'

But young hands is nowhere with the knots. They puts 'em in too thick."

The company said, "Ay, ay!" in a tone of unbroken a.s.sent, for Master Linseed was understood to have "come from a distance," and to "know a good deal." But an innkeeper stands above a painter and decorator anywhere, and especially on his own hearth, and Master Chuter did not mean to be put down.

"I suppose old hands were young uns once, Master Linseed," said he; "and if the boy were never much at oak-graining, I'd back him for sign-painting, if he were taught. Why, the pigs he draas out, look you. I could cut 'em up, and not a piece missing; not a joint, nor as much as would make a pound of sausages. And if a draas pigs, why not osses, why not any other kind?"

"Ay, ay!" said the company.

"I be thinking," continued Master Chuter, "of a gentlemen as draad out that mare of my father's that ran in the mail. You remember the coaches, Daddy Angel?"

"Ay, ay, Master Chuter. Between Lonnon and Exeter a ran. Fine days at the Heart of Oak, then, Master Chuter."

"He weren't a sign-painter, that I knows on. A were somethin' more in the gentry way," said Master Chuter, not, perhaps, quite without malice in the distinction. "He were what they calls in genteel talk a" -

"Artis'," said Master Linseed, removing his pipe, to supply the missing word with a sense of superiority.

"No, not a artis'," said Master Chuter, "though it do begin with a A, too. 'Twasn't a artis' he was, 'twas a" -

"Ammytoor," said the travelled sign-painter.

"That be it," said the innkeeper. "A ammytoor. And he was short of money, I fancy, and so 'twas settled a should paint this mare of my father's to set against the bill. And a draad and a squinted at un, and a squinted at un and a draad, and laid the paint on till the pictur' looked all in a mess, and then he took un away to vinish.

But when a sent it home, I thought my vather would have had the law of un. I'm blessed if a hadn't given the mare four white feet, and shoulders that wouldn't have pulled a vegetable cart; and she near- wheeler of the mail! I'd lay a pound bill Jan Lake would a done her ever so much better, for as young a hand as a is, if a'd squinted at her as long."

"Well, well, Master Chuter," said the painter and decorator, rising to go, "let the boy draw pigs and osses for his living. And I wish he may find paint as easy as slate-pencil."

Master Linseed's parting words produced upon the company that somewhat unreasonable depression which such ironical good wishes are apt to cause; but they only roused the spirit of contradiction in Master Chuter, and heightened his belief in Jan's talents more than any praise from the painter could have done.

"Here's a pretty caddle about giving a boy's due!" said the innkeeper. "But I knows the points of a oss, and the makings of a pig, if I bean't a sign-painter. And, mark my words, the boy Jan 'ull out-paint Master Linseed yet."

Master Chuter spoke with triumph in his tone, but it was the triumph of delivering his sentiments to unopposing hearers.

There were moments of greater triumph to come, of which he yet wotted not, when the sevenfold fulfilment of his prediction should be past dispute, and attested from his own walls by more lasting monuments of Jan's skill than the too perishable sketch which now stood like a text for the innkeeper on the mantelpiece of the Heart of Oak.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE MOP.--THE SHOP.--WHAT THE CHEAP JACK'S WIFE HAD TO TELL.--WHAT GEORGE WITHHELD.

A mop is a local name for a hiring-fair, at which young men and women present themselves to be hired as domestic servants or farm laborers for a year. It was at a mop that the windmiller had hired George, and it was at that annual festival that his long service came to an end. He betook himself to the town, where the fair was going on, not with any definite intention of seeking another master, but from a variety of reasons: partly for a holiday, and to "see the fun;" partly to visit the Cheap Jack, and hear what advice he had to give, and to learn what was in the letter; partly with the idea that something might suggest itself in the busy town as a suitable investment for his savings and his talents. At the worst, he could but take another place.

The sun shone brightly on the market-place as George pa.s.sed through it. The scene was quaint and picturesque. Booths, travelling shows, penny theatres, quack doctors, tumblers, profile cutters, exhibitors and salesmen of all sorts, thronged the square, and overflowed into a s.p.a.ce behind, where some houses had been burnt down and never rebuilt; whilst round the remains of the market cross in the centre were grouped the lads and la.s.ses "on hire." The girls were smartly dressed, and the young men in snowy smocks, above which peeped waistcoats of gay colors, looked in the earlier part of the day so spruce, that it was as lamentable to see them after the hours of beer-drinking and s.h.a.g tobacco-smoking which followed, as it was to see what might have been a neighborly and cheerful festival finally swamped in drunkenness and debauchery.

George's smock was white, and George's waistcoat was red, and he had made himself smart enough, but he did not linger amongst his fellow- servants at the Cross. He hurried through the crowd, nodding sheepishly in answer to a shower of chaff and greetings, and made his way to the by-street where the Cheap Jack had a small dingy shop for the sale of coa.r.s.e pottery. Some people were spiteful enough to hint that the shop-trade was of much less value to him than the store-room attached, where the goods were believed to be not all of one kind.

The red bread-pans, pipkins, flower-pots, and so forth, were grouped about the door with some attempt at effective display, and with cheap prices marked in chalk upon their sides. The window was clean, and in it many knick-knacks of other kinds were mixed with the smaller china ware. And, when George entered the shop, the hunchback's wife was behind the counter. Like Mrs. Lake, he paused to think where he could have seen her before; the not uncomely face marred by an ugly mouth, in which the upper lip was long and cleft, and the lower lip large and heavy, seemed familiar to him. He was still beating his brains when the Cheap Jack came in.

George had been puzzled that the woman's countenance did not seem new to him, and he was puzzled and disturbed also that the expression on the face of the Cheap Jack was quite new. Whatever the hunchback had in his head, however, he was not unfriendly in his manner.

"Good morning, George, my dear!" he cried, cheerfully; "you've seen my missus before, eh, George?" George was just about to say no, when he remembered that he had seen the woman, and when and where.

"Dreadful night that was, Mr. Sannel!" said the Cheap Jack's wife, with a smile on her large mouth. George a.s.sented, and by the hospitable invitation of the newly married couple he followed them into the dwelling part of the house, trying as he did so to decide upon a plan for his future conduct.

Here at last was a woman who could probably tell all that he wanted to know about the mystery on which he had hoped to trade, and--the Cheap Jack had married her. If any thing could be got out of the knowledge of Jan's history, the Cheap Jack, and not George, would get it now. The hasty resolution to which George came was to try to share what he could not keep entirely to himself. He flattered himself he could be very civil, and--he had got the letter.

It proved useful. George was resolved not to show it until he had got at something of what the large-mouthed woman had to tell; and, as she wanted to see the letter, she made a virtue of necessity, and seemed anxious to help the miller's man to the utmost of her power.

The history of her connection with Jan's babyhood was soon told, and she told it truthfully.

Five years before her marriage to the Cheap Jack, she was a chambermaid in a small hotel in London, and "under notice to leave."

Why--she did not deem it necessary to tell George. In this hotel Jan was born, and Jan's mother died. She was a foreigner, it was supposed, and her husband also, for they talked a foreign language to each other. He was not with her when she first came, but he joined her afterwards, and was with her at her death. So far the Cheap Jack's wife spoke upon hearsay. Though employed at the hotel, which was very full, she was not sleeping in the house; she was not on good terms with the landlady, nor even with the other servants, and her first real connection with the matter was when the gentleman, overhearing some "words" between her and the landlady at the bar, abruptly asked her if she were in want of employment. He employed her,--to take the child to the very town where she was now living as the Cheap Jack's wife. He did not come with her, as he had to attend his wife's funeral. It was understood at the hotel that he was going to take the body abroad for interment. So the porter had said. The person to whom she was directed to bring the child was a respectable old woman, living in the outskirts of the town, whose business was sick-nursing. She seemed, however, to be comfortably off, and had not been out for some time. She had been nurse to the gentleman in his childhood, so she once told the Cheap Jack's wife with tears. But she was always shedding tears, either over the baby, or as she sat over her big Bible, "for ever having to wipe her spectacles, and tears running over her nose ridic'lus to behold." She was pious, and read the Bible aloud in the evening.

Then she had fainting fits; she could not go uphill or upstairs without great difficulty, and she had one of her fits when she first saw the child. If with these infirmities of body and mind the ex- nurse had been easily managed, the Cheap Jack's wife professed that she could have borne it with patience. But the old woman was painfully shrewd, and there was no hoodwinking her. She never allowed the Cheap Jack's wife to go out without her, and contrived, in spite of a hundred plans and excuses, to prevent her from speaking to any of the townspeople alone. Never, said Sal, never could she have put up with it, even for the short time before the gentleman came down to them, but for knowing it would be a paying job. But his arrival was the signal for another catastrophe, which ended in Jan's becoming a child of the mill.

If the sight of the baby had nearly overpowered the old nurse, the sight of the dark-eyed gentleman overwhelmed her yet more. Then they were closeted together for a long time, and the old woman's tongue hardly ever stopped. Sal explained that she would not have been such a fool as to let this conversation escape her, if she could have helped it. She took her place at the keyhole, and had an excuse ready for the old woman, if she should come out suddenly.

The old woman came out suddenly; but she did not wait for the excuse. She sent the Cheap Jack's wife civilly on an errand into the kitchen, and then followed her, and shut the door and turned the key upon her without hesitation, leaving her unable to hear any thing but the tones of the conversation through the parlor wall.

She never opened the door again. As far as the Cheap Jack's wife could tell, the old woman seemed to be remonstrating and pleading; the gentleman spoke now and then. Then there was a lull, then a thud, then a short pause, and then the parlor-door was burst open, and the gentleman came flying towards the kitchen, and calling for the Cheap Jack's wife. The fact that the door was locked caused some delay, and delay was not desirable. The old nurse had had "a fit." When the doctor came, he gave no hope of her life. She had had heart disease for many years, he said. In the midst of this confusion, a letter came for the gentleman, which seemed absolutely to distract him. He bade Sal get the little Jan ready, and put his clothes together, and they started that evening for the mill. Sal believed it was the doctor who recommended Mrs. Lake as a foster- mother for the baby, having attended her child. The storm came on after they started. The child had been very sickly ever since they left London. The gentleman took the Cheap Jack's wife straight back to the station, paid her handsomely, and sent her up to town again.

She had never seen him since. As to his name, it so happened she had never heard it at the hotel; but when he was setting her off to the country with the child, she asked it, and he told her that it was Ford. The old nurse also spoke of him as Mr. Ford, but--so Sal fancied--with a sort of effort, which made her suspect that it was not his real name.

"Yes, it be!" said George, who had followed the narrative with open- mouthed interest. "It be aal right. I knows. 'Twas a gentleman by the name of Ford as cried his pocket-book, and the vive-pound bill in the papers. 'Tis aal right. Ford--Jan Ford be the little varment's name then, and he be gentry-born, too! Missus Lake she allus said so, she did, sartinly."