Cradock Nowell: A Tale of the New Forest. Volume 3 of 3. Blackmore Richard Doddridge

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СКАЧАТЬ to see out this Sir Cradock; folk would say I were shabby to leave him now he be gettin’ elderly. Man and boy for sixty year, and began no more than boot–cleaning; man and boy for sixty–three year, come next Lammas–tide. I should like it upon my tombstone, sir, with what God pleases added, if I not make too bold, and you the master of the churchyard, if so be you should live long enough, when my turn come, God willing.”

      “It will not be in my power, Job. But if ever it is, you may trust me.”

      “And I wants that in I was tellin’ my niece about, ‘Put Thy hand in the hollow of my thigh.’ Holy Bible, you know, sir, and none canʼt object to that.”

      “Come, Job, my good friend, you must not talk so sepulchrally. Leave His own good time to God.”

      “To be sure, sir; I bainʼt in no hurry yet. Iʼve a sight of things to see to, and my master must go first, he be so very particular. Iʼll live to see the young master yet, as my duty is for to do. He ‘ont carry on with a Hismallitish woman; he ‘ont say, ‘What, Hogstaff, are your wits gone wool–gatherinʼ?’ and his own wits all the time, sir, fleeced, fleeced, fleeced – ”

      Here John Rosedew cut short the contrast between the present and the future master (which would soon have assumed a golden tinge as of the Fourth Eclogue), for the parson was too much a gentleman to foster millennial views at the expense of the head of the household.

      “Job, take my card to your master; and tell him, with my compliments, that I wish to see him alone, if he will so far oblige me. By–the–by, I ought to have written first, to request an interview; but it never occurred to me.”

      He could scarcely help sighing as he thought of formality re–established on the ruins of familiarity.

      “Heʼll be in the little coved room, no doubt, long o’ that Hismallitish woman. But step in here a moment, sir.”

      Instead of passing the doorway, which the butler had thrown open for him, Mr. Rosedew stood scrupulously on the mat, as if it marked his territory, until the old man came back and showed him into the black oak parlour.

      The little coved room was calmly and sweetly equal to the emergency. The moment Jobʼs heels were out of sight, Mrs. Corklemore, who had been indulging in a nice little chat with Sir Cradock, “when she ought to have been at work all the while, plain–sewing for her little household, for who was to keep the wolf from the door, if she shrank from a womanʼs mission – though irksome to her, she must confess, for it did hurt her poor fingers so” – here she held up a dish–cloth rather rougher than a coal–sack, which she had stolen cleverly from her hostʼs own lower regions, and did not know from a glass–cloth; but it suited her because it was brown, and set off her lily hands so; – ”oh, Uncle Cradock, in all this there is something sweetly sacred, because it speaks of home!” She was darning it all the while with white silk, and took good care to push it away when any servant came in. It had lasted her now for a week, and had earned her a hundred guineas, having made the most profound impression upon its legitimate owner. She would earn another hundred before the week was out by knitting a pair of rough worsted socks for her little Flore, “though it made her heart bleed to think how that poor child hated the feel of them.”

      Now she rose in haste from her chair, and pushed the fortunate dish–cloth, with a very expressive air, into her pretty work–basket, and drew the strings loudly over it.

      “What are you going for, Georgie? You need not leave the room, I am sure.”

      “Yes, uncle dear, I must. You are so clear and so honest, I know; and most likely I take it from you. But I could not have anything to do with any secret dealings, uncle, even though you wished it, which I am sure you never could. I never could keep a secret, uncle, because I am so shallow. Whenever secrecy is requested, I feel as if there was something dishonest, either done or contemplated. Very foolish of me, I know, but my nature is so childishly open. And of course Mr. Rosedew has a perfect right, and is indeed very wise, to conceal his scheme with respect to his daughter.”

      “Georgie, stay in this room, if you please; he is not coming here.”

      “But that poor simple Amy will, if he has brought her with him. Well, I will stay here and lecture her, uncle, about her behaviour to you.”

      After all this the old man set forth, in some little irritation, to receive his once–loved friend. He entered the black oak parlour in a cold and stately manner, and bowed without a word to John, who had crossed the room to meet him. The parson held out his hand, as a lover and preacher of peace should do; but the offer, ay, and the honour too, not being at all appreciated, he withdrew it with a crimson blush all over his bright clear cheeks, as deep as his daughterʼs would have been.

      Then Sir Cradock Nowell, trying to seem quite calm and collected, addressed his visitor thus:

      “Sir, I am indebted to you for the honour of this visit. I apologize for receiving you in a room without a fire. Pray take a chair. I have no doubt that your intentions are kind towards me.”

      “I thank you,” replied the parson, speaking much faster than usual, and with the frill of his shirt–front rising; “I thank you, Sir Cradock Nowell; but I will not sit down in the house of a gentleman who declines to take my hand. I am here much against my own wishes, and only because I supposed that it was my duty to come. I am here on behalf of your son, a noble but most unfortunate youth, and now in great trouble of mind.”

      If he had only said “in great bodily danger,” it might have made a difference.

      “Your interest in him is very kind; and I trust that he will be grateful, which he never was to me. He has left his home in defiance of me. I can do nothing for him until he comes back, and is penitent. But surely the question concerns me rather than you, Mr. Rosedew.”

      “I am sorry to find,” answered John, quite calmly, “that you think me guilty of impertinent meddling. But even that I would bear, as becomes my age and my profession,” – here he gave Sir Cradock a glance, which was thoroughly understood, because they had been at school together, – ”and more than that I would do, Cradock Nowell, for a man I have loved like you, sir.”

      That “sir” came out very oddly. John poked it in, as a retractation for having called him “Cradock Nowell,” and as a salve to his own self–respect, lest he should have been too appealing. And to follow up this view of the subject, he made a bow such as no man makes to one from whom he begs anything. But Sir Cradock Nowell lost altogether the excellence of the bow. The parson had put up his knee in a way which took the old man back to Sherborne. His mind was there playing cob–nut as fifty years since, with John Rosedew. Once more he saw the ruddy, and then pugnacious, John bringing his calf up, and priming his knee, for the cob–nut to lie upon it. This he always used to do, and not care a flip for the whack upon it, instead of using his blue cloth cap, as all the rest of the boys did; because his father and mother were poor, and could only afford him one cap in a year.

      And so the grand bow was wasted, as most formalities are: but if John had only known when to stop, it might have been all right after all, in spite of Georgie Corklemore. But urged by the last infirmity (except gout) of noble minds, our parsons never do know the proper time to stop. Excellent men, and admirable, they make us shrink from eternity, by proving themselves the type of it. Mr. Rosedew spoke well and eloquently, as he was sure to do; but it would have been better for his cause if he had simply described the sonʼs distress, and left the rest to the fatherʼs heart. At one time, indeed, poor old Sir Cradock, who was obstinate and misguided, rather than cold and unloving, began to relent, and a fatherly yearning fluttered in his grey–lashed eyes.

      But at this critical moment, three little kicks at the door were СКАЧАТЬ