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Jesse Cliffe
by
“Oh, grandfather, you’ll be sorry for this! I did not think you had been so hard-hearted!” sobbed Phoebe. “You’ll be very sorry for this.”
“Yes, very sorry, that he will. God bless you, Miss Phoebe,” said Jesse.
“What! does he threaten? Take him off, Daniel. And you, Phoebe, go to bed and compose yourself. Heaven bless you, my darling!” said the fond grandfather, smoothing her hair, as, the tears still chasing each other down her cheeks, she stood leaning against his knee. “Go to bed and to sleep, my precious! and you, Sally, bring me my pipe:” and wondering why the fulfilment of a strong desire should not make him happier, the honest farmer endeavoured to smoke away his cares.
In the meanwhile, old Daniel conducted Jesse to the Chequers, and having lodged him safely in an upper room, sought out “an ancient, trusty, drouthy crony,” with whom he sate down to carouse in the same apartment with his prisoner. It was a dark, cold, windy, October night, and the two warders sate cosily by the fire, enjoying their gossip and their ale, while the unlucky delinquent placed himself pensively by the window. About midnight the two old men were startled by his flinging open the casement.
“Miss Phoebe! look! look!”
“What? where?” inquired Daniel.
“Miss Phoebe!” repeated the prisoner; and, looking in the direction to which Jesse pointed, they saw the flames bursting from Farmer Cob-ham’s house.
In a very few seconds they had alarmed the family, and sprung forth in the direction of the fire; the prisoner accompanying them, unnoticed in the confusion.
“Luckily, master’s always insured to the value of all he’s worth, stock and goods,” quoth the prudent Daniel.
“Miss Phoebe!” exclaimed Jesse: and even as he spoke he burst in the door, darted up the staircase, and returned with the trembling child in his arms, followed by aunt Dorothy and the frightened servants.
“Grandpapa! dear grandpapa! where is grandpapa? Will no one save my dear grand-papa?” cried Phoebe.
And placing the little girl at the side of her aunt, Jesse again mounted the blazing staircase. For a few moments all gave him up for lost But he returned, tottering under the weight of a man scarcely yet aroused from heavy sleep, and half suffocated by the smoke and flames.
“Miss Phoebe! he’s safe, Miss Phoebe!–Down, Venus, down–He’s safe, Miss Phoebe! And now, I sha’n’t mind going to prison, ’cause when I come back you’ll be living at the Moors. Sha’n’t you, Miss Phoebe? And I shall see you every day!”
One part of this speech turned out true and another part false–no uncommon fate, by the way, of prophetic speeches, even when uttered by wiser persons than poor Jesse. Phoebe did come to live at the Moors, and he did not go to prison.
On the contrary, so violent was the revulsion of feeling in the honest hearts of the good yeoman, John Cobham, and his faithful servant, old Daniel, and so deep the remorse which they both felt for their injustice and unkindness towards the friendless lad, that there was considerable danger of their falling into the opposite extreme, and ruining him by sudden and excessive indulgence. Jesse, however, was not of a temperament to be easily spoilt. He had been so long an outcast from human society that he had become as wild and shy as his old companions of the fields and the coppice, the beasts of the earth and the birds of the air. The hare which he had himself given to Phoebe was easier to tame than Jesse Cliffe.
Gradually, very gradually, under the gentle influence of the gentle child, this great feat was accomplished, almost as effectually, although by no means so suddenly, as in the well-known case of Cymon and Iphigenia, the most noted precedent upon record of the process of reaching the head through the heart. Venus, and a beautiful Welsh pony called Taffy, which her grandfather had recently purchased for her riding, had their share in the good deed; these two favourites being placed by Phoebe’s desire under Jesse’s sole charge and management; a measure which not only brought him necessarily into something like intercourse with the other lads about the yard, but ended in his conceiving so strong an attachment to the animals of whom he had the care, that before the winter set in he had deserted his old lair in the wood, and actually passed his nights in a vacant stall of the small stable appropriated to their use.