FullReads

“Thou’rt not o’er-clean to touch, my good little mouse,” saith she, “but thou’rt cleaner than that stuff thou seest. There, lad, that’s for thee, if an thou’lt run to th’ other end o’ th’ village and bid them return at once with my lady Balfour’s carriage,” so saith she. Then, th’ lad having stuffed all ‘s doublet with th’ gold, she sets him on ‘s feet, and off a scuttles on th’ best-paid errand e’er chanced since th’ world began. And my lass, having courtesied to the thunder-stricken dame, gets her outside (where I go nigh to smothering her with kisses), and leaves her ladyship in possession o’ th’ kitchen.

Well, comrade, right sure am I that thou dost think that was the end on ‘t. Not a bit. Sir Dagonet did himself come to th’ cottage th’ very next day to see th’ lass, and they had many words together, and at last he did accuse her o’ false pride and proud humility. And saith he,

“Wouldst thou make misery for the man who loves thee best of all the world, merely to satisfy a notion o’ thine own? Greatness and goodness,” saith he, “dwell in the heads and hearts o’ mankind, not in their birth or purses. I do ask thee, with all respect, to be my wife, and I am prepared to face th’ anger o’ my mother and o’ th’ Queen. Ay,” saith he, his face gone red as a girl’s, and comes nigh to her–“ay, maiden,” saith he, “I am even ready to seek th’ new country with thee as my wife, and to leave title and lands and Queen and mother behind me.”

Then saith she–and I had not seen tears in her eyes for many a day–

“My lord,” saith she, “well and nobly hast thou spoken, and with all my soul do I honor thee for it, and I thank thee with all my heart and soul. But, my lord, even were there not thy rank and position atween us, there is atween us,” saith she, “which would hold us as far apart as the sea doth hold this England which we live in and th’ new country o’ which thou didst speak. For,” saith she–and she speaks in a steady voice, howbeit ’tis very low, and she keeps her sun-like eyes on his–“for, my lord,” saith she, “all the love that was mine to give hath been another man’s these many years.”

Then saith he never another word, but bends his knee and kisses her long brown hand as though ‘t had been th’ Queen’s; and he gets him from th’ cottage.

Now, two more years were sped since that Ruth had left us, and sometimes would we hear through friends o’ th’ little lad and ‘s mother and father, and always was Ruth a-sending of pretty messages to Keren–her love, and her thanks, and how happy she was, and th’ boy so like his father–and more than I remember.

A full year had th’ lass been at work in my shop, and my arm no more fit to hammer than afore. So I looks about to get a lad to help her in her work, seeing as ’twere too much for one wench. And, Lord! th’ trouble I had! Ten lads did I try, one right after th’ other; and one would be saucy, and another dull, and another would take ‘t into his pumpkin head to fall in love wi’ th’ lass; and all o’ ’em lazy. But, God-a-mercy! how’s a man to tell a lazy lad till he ha’ tried him?–unless it be old Butter. Ha! ha! I ha’ just minded me o’ th’ way he used to treat th’ lads that came to Amhurste to hire for under-gardeners. He would stand with ‘s owlish old visage a-set on ‘s hoe-handle, for all th’ world like a fantastic head carved out o’ a turnip and set on a stick, and a would let th’ lad go on with ‘s story o’ how Dame This commended him for that, and o’ how Dame That commended him for this, and o’ how a had worked under my lord So-and-So’s head-gardener and in my lady So-and-So’s own hot-houses; and when a had got through, never a word would old Butter say, but a would just step round behind th’ lad, as solemn as a gravedigger on a cold day, and a would lift up th’ tail o’ ‘s doublet and look at th’ seat o’ ‘s breeches. And if they were fairly worn a would hire th’ lad; but if an they were much worn a would say, “No work dost thou get from me, my lad,” would a say, “thou sittest down too often to work for Anthony Butter”–so would a say–every word o’t just as I ha’ told thee. Ha! ha! And all the time as sober as a coroner inspecting a corse. Ha! ha! ha! Methinks I can see him now–th’ old zany.