CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of thesucceeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had prophesied thathe would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest of the Lindsay people,took it for granted that he was a poor college student working his waythrough as Larry West had been doing. Eric did not disturb this belief,although he said nothing to contribute to it.
The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in. Mrs.Williamson was the "saint in spectacles and calico" which Larry West hadtermed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a slight, gray-haired woman,with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the records ofoutlived pain. She talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent countryphrase she never spoke but she said something. The one thing thatconstantly puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to marry RobertWilliamson.
She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on thewhite-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside of thewindow behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, wasa tremulous splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into goldenbillows by every passing wind.
Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a small, leanold man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him.When he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to behimself.
The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek andcomplacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert hadtaken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate itdaintily and purred resonant gratitude.
"You see we're busy waiting for you, Master," said old Robert. "You'relate this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in? That's a foolish wayof punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them. One teacher we hadfour years ago used to lock them in and go home. Then he'd go back inan hour and let them out--if they were there. They weren't always. TomFerguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out thatway. We put a new door of double plank in that they couldn't kick out."
"I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work," said Eric briefly.
"Well, you've missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if youcould play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left word foryou to go up and have a game some evening soon. Don't beat him toooften, even if you can. You'll need to stand in with him, I tell you,Master, for he's got a son that may brew trouble for you when he startsin to go to school. Seth Tracy's a young imp, and he'd far sooner be inmischief than eat. He tries to run on every new teacher and he's runtwo clean out of the school. But he met his match in Mr. West. WilliamTracy's boys now--you won't have a scrap of bother with THEM. They'realways good because their mother tells them every Sunday that they'llgo straight to hell if they don't behave in school. It's effective. Takesome preserve, Master. You know we don't help things here the way Mrs.Adam Scott does when she has boarders, 'I s'pose you don't want any ofthis--nor you--nor you?' Mother, Aleck says old George Wright is havingthe time of his life. His wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit hersister and he is his own boss for the first time since he was married,forty years ago. He's on a regular orgy, Aleck says. He smokes in theparlour and sits up till eleven o'clock reading dime novels."
"Perhaps I met Mr. Tracy," said Eric. "Is he a tall man, with gray hairand a dark, stern face?"
"No, he's a round, jolly fellow, is Aleck, and he stopped growing prettymuch before he'd ever begun. I reckon the man you mean is Thomas Gordon.I seen him driving down the road too. HE won't be troubling you withinvitations up, small fear of it. The Gordons ain't sociable, to say theleast of it. No, sir! Mother, pass the biscuits to the Master."
"Who was the young fellow he had with him?" asked Eric curiously.
"Neil--Neil Gordon."
"That is a Scotchy name for such a face and eyes. I should rather haveexpected Guiseppe or Angelo. The boy looks like an Italian."
"Well, now, you know, Master, I reckon it's likely he does, seeingthat that's exactly what he is. You've hit the nail square on the head.Italyun, yes, sir! Rather too much so, I'm thinking, for decent folks'taste."
"How has it happened that an Italian boy with a Scotch name is living ina place like Lindsay?"
"Well, Master, it was this way. About twenty-two years ago--WAS ittwenty-two, Mother or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two--'twas thesame year our Jim was born and he'd have been twenty-two if he'd lived,poor little fellow. Well, Master, twenty-two years ago a couple ofItalian pack peddlers came along and called at the Gordon place. Thecountry was swarming with them then. I useter set the dog on one everyday on an average.
"Well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick upthere at the Gordon place, and Janet Gordon took her in and nursed her.A baby was born the next day, and the woman died. Then the first thinganybody knew the father skipped clean out, pack and all, and was neverseen or heard tell of afterwards. The Gordons were left with the fineyoungster to their hands. Folks advised them to send him to the OrphanAsylum, and 'twould have been the wisest plan, but the Gordons werenever fond of taking advice. Old James Gordon was living then, Thomasand Janet's father, and he said he would never turn a child out of hisdoor. He was a masterful old man and liked to be boss. Folks used to sayhe had a grudge against the sun 'cause it rose and set without hissay so. Anyhow, they kept the baby. They called him Neil and had himbaptized same as any Christian child. He's always lived there. Theydid well enough by him. He was sent to school and taken to church andtreated like one of themselves. Some folks think they made too much ofhim. It doesn't always do with that kind, for 'what's bred in boneis mighty apt to come out in flesh,' if 'taint kept down pretty well.Neil's smart and a great worker, they tell me. But folks hereaboutsdon't like him. They say he ain't to be trusted further'n you can seehim, if as far. It's certain he's awful hot tempered, and one time whenhe was going to school he near about killed a boy he'd took a spiteto--choked him till he was black in the face and Neil had to be draggedoff."
"Well now, father, you know they teased him terrible," protested Mrs.Williamson. "The poor boy had a real hard time when he went to school,Master. The other children were always casting things up to him andcalling him names."
"Oh, I daresay they tormented him a lot," admitted her husband. "He'sa great hand at the fiddle and likes company. He goes to the harbour agood deal. But they say he takes sulky spells when he hasn't a wordto throw to a dog. 'Twouldn't be any wonder, living with the Gordons.They're all as queer as Dick's hat-band."
"Father, you shouldn't talk so about your neighbours," said his wiferebukingly.
"Well now, Mother, you know they are, if you'd only speak up honest. Butyou're like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say anything uncharitableexcept in the way of business. You know the Gordons ain't like otherpeople and never were and never will be. They're about the only queerfolks we have in Lindsay, Master, except old Peter Cook, who keepstwenty-five cats. Lord, Master, think of it! What chanct would a poormouse have? None of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hain't foundit out if we are. But, then, we're mighty uninteresting, I'm bound toadmit that."
"Where do the Gordons live?" asked Eric, who had grown used to holdingfast to a given point of inquiry through all the bewildering mazes ofold Robert's conversation.
"Away up yander, half a mile in from Radnor road, with a thick sprucewood atween them and all the rest of the world. They never go awayanywheres, except to church--they never miss that--and nobody goesthere. There's just old Thomas, and his sister Janet, and a niece oftheirs, and this here Neil we've been talking about. They're a queer,dour, cranky lot, and I WILL say it, Mother. There, give your old man acup of tea and never mind the way his tongue runs on. Speaking of tea,do you know Mrs. Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin took tea together atFoster Reid's last Wednesday afternoon?"
"No, why, I thought they were on bad terms," said Mrs. Williamson,betraying a little feminine curiosity.
"So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit M
rs. Fosterthe same afternoon and neither would leave because that would beknuckling down to the other. So they stuck it out, on opposite sidesof the parlour. Mrs. Foster says she never spent such an uncomfortableafternoon in all her life before. She would talk a spell to one and thent'other. And they kept talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs.Foster says she really thought she'd have to keep them all night, forneither would start to go home afore the other. Finally Jim Martin camein to look for his wife, 'cause he thought she must have got stuckin the marsh, and that solved the problem. Master, you ain't eatinganything. Don't mind my stopping; I was at it half an hour afore youcome, and anyway I'm in a hurry. My hired boy went home to-day. He heardthe rooster crow at twelve last night and he's gone home to see which ofhis family is dead. He knows one of 'em is. He heard a rooster crow inthe middle of the night onct afore and the next day he got word that hissecond cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if the Master don't wantany more tea, ain't there some cream for Timothy?"