CHAPTER XIV.
When our things were nearly settled, and I was sitting by myself, withdirty hands and covered with dust, there came a little timid tap at thedoor, followed by a shuffling outside, as if some one contemplatedflight, yet feared to fly. Opening the door, I was surprised to findthe child whom I expected a massive figure, some six feet and a quarterhigh, and I know not how many feet in width, but wide enough to fill theentire passage. He made a doubtful step in advance, till his greatopen-hearted face hung sheepishly above my head.
"Have I the pleasure of seeing Mr. Huxtable?" I asked.
"Ees 'um," he stammered, blushing like a beet-root, "leastways Miss, Iort to zay, no plasure 'um to the laikes of thee, but a honour to ai.Varmer Uxtable they karls me round about these 'ere parts, and some on'em Varmer Jan, and Beany Dawe, he karl me 'Varmer Brak-plew-harnish, astosses arl they Garnish,' and a dale he think of his potry as it pleaseGod to give 'un: but Maister, may be, is the riglar thing, leastways youknows best, Miss." "Danged if I can coom to discourse with girt folksnohow, no more nor a sto-un." This was an "aside," but audible a longway off, as they always are on the stage.
"But I am a very small folk, Mr. Huxtable, compared at least with you."
"I humbly ax your parding, Miss, but ai didn't goo for to be zuch a beg,nockety, sprarling zort of a chap. I didn't goo for to do it nohow.Reckon 'twar my moother's valt, her were always draining of hayricks."This also was an "aside."
"Come in," I said, "I am very glad to see you, and so will my motherbe."
"Noo! Be e now? Be e though undade, my dear?" he asked with the truestand finest smile I ever saw: and I felt ashamed in front of the strongsimplicity which took my conventional words for heart's truth.
"Them's the best words," he continued "as ai 've 'eered this many a dai;for ai'll be danged if ever a loi could coom from unner such eyes asyourn."
And thereupon he took my puny weak hand in his rough iron palm, like analmond in the nut-crackers, and examined it with pitying wonder.
"Wull, wull! some hands be made for mulking coos, and some be made ofthe crame itself. Now there couldn't be such a purty thing as this ere,unless it wor to snow war'rm. But her bain't no kaind of gude forrarstling? and ai be aveared thee'll have to rarstle a rare bout wi theworld, my dearie: one down, tother coom on, that be the wai of 'un."
"Oh, I am not afraid, Mr. Huxtable."
He took some time to meditate upon this, and shook his head when he hadfinished.
"Noo, thee bain't aveard yet I'll warr'ne. Gude art alaive, if e bain'ta spurrity maid. But if ere a chap zays the black word on e--andthiccy's the taime when a maid can't help herzell, then ony you karl JanUxtable that's arl my dear, and if so be it's in the dead hoor of thenaight, and thee beest to tother zaide of Hexymoor, ai'll be by thezaide of thee zooner nor ai could thraw a vorehip."
Before I could thank him for his honest championship my mother enteredthe room, and all his bashfulness (lost for the moment in the pride ofstrength) came over him again like an extinguisher. Although he did nottremble--his nerves were too firm for that--he stood fumbling with hishat, and reddening, and looking vaguely about, at a loss where to puthis eyes or anything else.
My mother, quite worn out with her morning's walk, surprised at heruncouth visitor, and frightened perhaps at his bulk, sank on ournew-fangled sofa, in a stupor of weakness. Then it was strange and fineto see the strong man's sense of her feeble state. All hisembarrassment vanished at once; he saw there was something to do; and alook of deep interest quickened his great blue eyes. Poising his heavyframe with the lightness of a bird, he stepped to her side as if thefloor had been holy, and, scarcely touching her, contrived to arrangethe rude cushions, and to lay her delicate head in an easy position, asa nurse composes a child. All the while, his looks and manner expressedso much feeling and gentleness, that he must have known what it was tolose a daughter or mother.
"Poor dear leddy," he whispered to me, "her be used to zummut more plumnor thiccy, I reckon. Her zimth crule weist and low laike. Hath herbeen long in that there wai?"
"Yes, she has long been weak and poorly; but I fear that her health hasbeen growing worse for the last few months." I couldn't help crying alittle; and I couldn't help his seeing it.
"Dang thee, Jan Uxtable, for a doilish girt zinny. Now doon e tak on so,Miss; doon e, that's a dear. Avore her's been here a wake, her'll be aspeart as a gladdy. There bain't in arl they furren parts no place thelaike of this ere to make a body ston upraight. The braze cooms off oHexymoor as frash as a young coolt, and up from the zay as swate as thebreath of a coo on the clover, and he'll zit on your chake the zame as adove on her nestie; and ye'll be so hearty the both on ye, that ye'llkarl for taties and heggs and crame and inyons avore e be hout of bed.Ee's fai ye wull." With this homely comfort he departed, after acheering glance at my mother.
Before I proceed, the Homeric epithet "Break-plough-harness," applied bythe poet to Mr. Huxtable, needs some explanation. It appears that thefarmer, in some convivial hour (for at other times he detestedvaunting), had laid a wager that he and Timothy Badcock, hisfarm-labourer, would plough half an acre of land, "wiout no beastessy inthe falde." Now, it happened that the Parracombe blacksmith had latelybeen at Barnstaple, and there had seen a man who had heard of ploughingby steam. So when the farmer's undertaking got noised abroad andmagnified, all Exmoor assembled to witness the exploit, wondering,trembling, and wrathful. Benches and tables were set in the "higherBarton," a nice piece of mealy land, just at the back of the house,while Suke and Mrs. Huxtable plied the cider-barrel for the yeomen ofthe neighbourhood. The farmer himself was not visible--no plough orploughing tackle of any description appeared, and a rumour began tospread that the whole affair was a hoax, and the contriver afraid toshow himself. But as people began to talk of "sending for theconstable" (who, of course was there all the time), and as cart-whipsand knob-sticks began to vibrate ominously, Mrs. Huxtable made a signalto Mr. Dawe, who led off the grumbling throng to the further end of thefield, where an old rick-cloth lay along against the hedge. While thetilting was moved aside, the bold sons of Exmoor shrunk back, expectingsome horrible monster, whose smoke was already puffing. All they sawwas a one-horse plough with the farmer, in full harness, sitting upon itand smoking his pipe, and Timothy Badcock patiently standing at theplough-tail. Amid a loud hurrah from his friends, Mr. Huxtable leapedto the fore, and cast his pipe over the hedge; then settled thebreast-band across the wrestling-pads on his chest, and drew tight boththe chain-traces. "Gee wugg now, if e wull," cried stout Tim Badcockcheerily, and off sailed the good ship of husbandly, cleaving a deepbright furrow. But when they reached the corner, the farmer turned toosharply, and snapped the off-side trace. That accident impressed themultitude with a deeper sense of his prowess than even the strikingsuccess which attended his primitive method of speeding the plough.
To return to my mother. As spring came on, and the beautiful countryaround us freshened and took green life from the balmy air, I evenventured to hope that the good yeoman's words would be true. He hadbecome, by this time, a great friend of ours, doing his utmost that wemight not feel the loss of our faithful Thomas Henwood.
Poor Thomas had been very loth to depart; but I found, as we gotsettled, that my mother ceased to want him, and it would have been wrongas well as foolish to keep him any longer. He invested his savings in apublic-house at Gloucester, which he called the "Vaughan Arms," and soonafterwards married Jane Hiatt, a daughter of our head game-keeper; or Iought to say, Mr. Vaughan's.
Ann Maples remained with us still. We lived, as may be supposed, in themost retired manner. My time was chiefly occupied in attendance upondear mother, and in attempts to create for her some of those countlesscomforts, whose value we know not until they are lost. After breakfast,my mother would read for an hour her favourite parts of Scripture, andvainly endeavour to lead me into the paths of peace. Her soul discardedmore and more the travel garb and
wayfaring troubles of this lowerexistence, as, day by day, it won a nearer view of the golden gate, andthe glories beyond; with which I have seen her eyes suffused, like thelucid heaven with sunrise. It has been said, and I believe, that thereis nothing, in all our material world, so lovely as a fair woman lookingon high for the angels she knows to be waiting for her.
Even I, though looking in an opposite direction, and for an oppositebeing, could not but admire that gentle meekness, whose absence formedthe main fault of my character. Not that I was hard-hearted, or cross,(unless self-love deceives me), but restless yearning and hatred wereever at work within me; and these repel things of a milder nature, as abullet cries tush to the zephyr.