FullReads

“All in course, sir. Well, gentlemen, it was hard times pretty often with my grandfather and his friends, as you may suppose; and never so much as when they had to trudge it across country, with the nor’-easter buzzin’ in their teeth and the snow piled on their cockt hats like lemon sponge on entry dishes. The rewards, I’ve heard him say–for he lived to be ninety, nevertheless–was poor compensation for the drifts, and the inflienza, and the broken chilblains; but now and again they’d get a fair skinful of liquor from a jolly squire, as ‘d set ’em up like boggarts mended wi’ new broomsticks.”

“Ho-haw!” broke in a hurdle-maker in a corner; and then, regretting the publicity of his merriment, put his fingers bashfully to his stubble lips.

“Now,” said the banjo, “it’s of a pertikler night and a pertikler skinful that I’m a-going to tell you; and that night fell dark, and that skinful were took a hundred years ago this December, as I’m a Jack-pudden!”

He paused a moment for effect, before he went on:–

“They were down in the sou’-west country, which they little knew; and were anighing Winchester city, or should ‘a’ been. But they got muzzed on the ungodly downs, and before they guessed, they was off the track. My good hat! there they was, as lost in the snow as three nutshells a-sinkin’ into a hasty pudden. Well, they wandered round; pretty confident at first, but getting madder and madder as every sense of their bearings slipped from them. And the bitter cold took their vitals, so as they saw nothing but a great winding sheet stretched abroad for to wrap their dead carcasses in.

“At last my grandfather he stopt and pulled hisself together with an awful face, and says he: ‘We’re Christmas pie for the carrying-on crows if we don’t prove ourselves human. Let’s fetch out our pipes and blow our trouble into ’em.’ So they stood together, like as if they was before a house, and they played ‘Kate of Aberdare’ mighty dismal and flat, for their fingers froze to the keys.

“Now, I tell you, they hadn’t climbed over the first stave, when there come a skirl of wind and spindrift of snow as almost took them off of their feet; and, on the going down of it, Jem Sloke, as played the hautboy, dropped the reed from his mouth, and called out, ‘Sakes alive! if we fools ain’t been standin’ outside a gentleman’s gate all the time, and not knowin’ it!’

“You might ‘a’ knocked the three of ’em down wi’ a barley straw, as they stared and stared, and then fell into a low, enjoyin’ laugh. For they was standin’ not six fut from a tall iron gate in a stone wall, and behind these was a great house showin’ out dim, with the winders all lighted up.

“‘Lord!’ chuckled my grandfather, ‘to think o’ the tricks o’ this vagarious country! But, as we’re here, we’ll go on and give ’em a taste of our quality.’

“They put new heart into the next movement, as you may guess; and they hadn’t fair started on it, when the door of the house swung open, and down the shaft of light that shot out as far as the gate there come a smiling young gal, with a tray of glasses in her hands.

“Now she come to the bars; and she took and put a glass through, not sayin’ nothin’, but invitin’ some one to drink with a silent laugh.

“Did any one take that glass? Of course he did, you’ll be thinkin’; and you’ll be thinkin’ wrong. Not a man of the three moved. They was struck like as stone, and their lips was gone the colour of sloe berries. Not a man took the glass. For why? The moment the gal presented it, each saw the face of a thing lookin’ out of the winder over the porch, and the face was hidjus beyond words, and the shadder of it, with the light behind, stretched out and reached to the gal, and made her hidjus, too.