CHAPTER XXVII.
PANIC.
Christmas Day fell on a Friday that year, and the funeral of thatancient woman took place on the previous afternoon. The Curate had neverread the burial-service, before so small an audience. For the weatherwas bitterly cold, and poor Mrs. Tremlett had outlived all her friends,if she ever had any; no one expected a farthing from her, and no onecared to come and shudder at her grave. Of all her many descendantsnone, except the child Zip, was present; and she would have stood aloneupon the frozen bank, unless Mrs. Muggridge had very kindly offered tocome and hold the shivering and streaming little hand.
What was to be done with Zip? Nobody came forward. There were hundredsof kind people in the parish, and dozens to whom the poor waif wouldhave been a scarcely perceptible burden. Yet nobody cared to have aTremlett at his hearth, and everybody saw the duty marked out for hisneighbour.
"Then I will take her;" said Mr. Penniloe with his true benevolence,"but the difficulty is where to place her. She cannot well be among mychildren yet, until I know more about her. And, although the old familyis so reduced, the kitchen is scarcely the place for her." However, thatquestion soon answered itself; and though little Zip was at first a sadpuzzle (especially to the staid Muggridge), her grateful and lovingnature soon began to win a warm hold and a tranquil home for her.
That winter, although it began rather early, was not of prolongedseverity, for the frost broke up on Christmas night, at least in thewest of England, with a heavy fall of snow which turned to rain. ButChristmas Day itself was very bright and pleasant, with bracing air,hard frozen snow, and firm sunshine throwing long shadows on it, andsparkling on the icicles from thatch and spout and window-frame. As theboys of the Sunday school filed out, at the call of the bells in thetower chiming (after long silence while the arch was being cut) and asthey formed into grand procession, under the military eye of Jakes,joyfully they watched their cloudy breath ascending, or blew it in acolumn on some other fellow's cap. Visions were before them,--apageantry of joy, a fortnight of holidays, a fortnight of sliding, snowballing, bone-runners, Cooper Baker's double-hoops, why not even skates?
But alas, even now the wind was backing, as the four vanes with rareunanimity proclaimed, a white fog that even a boy could stand out of wasstealing up the valley, while the violet tone of the too transparentsky, and the whiteness of the sun (which used to be a dummy fireball),and even the short sharp clack of the bells, were enough to tell any boywith weather eyes and ears, that the nails on his heels would do nocobbler's click again, till the holiday time was over.
But blessed are they who have no prophetic gift, be it of the weather,or of things yet more unstable. All went to church in a happy frame ofmind; and the Parson in a like mood looked upon them. Every head wasthere that he had any right to count, covered or uncovered. Of thelatter perhaps more than a Sunday would produce; of the former not somany, but to a Christian mind enough; for how shall a greatchurch-festival be kept without a cook? But the ladies who were therewere in very choice attire, happy in having nothing but themselves todress; all in good smiling condition, and reserving for home use theircandid reviews of one another.
There was the genial and lively Mrs. Farrant, whose good word and goodsayings everybody valued; close at her side was her daughter Minnie,provided by nature with seasonable gifts--lips more bright than theholly-berry, teeth more pearly than mistletoe, cheeks that proved thehardiness of the rose in Devon, and eyes that anticipated Easter-tidewith the soft glance of the Forget-me-not. Then there was Mrs. JohnHorner, _interdum aspera cornu_, but _foenum habens_ for the roast-beeftime; and kind Mrs. Anning (quite quit of this tale, though the Perleruns through her orchard), and tall Mrs. Webber with two prettygirls--all purely distinct from the lawyer--and Mrs. James Hollyer, andMrs. John Hollyer, both great in hospitality; and others of equallyworthy order, for whom the kind hearts of Bright and Cobden would haveached, had they not been blind seers.
To return to our own sheep, themselves astray, there was no denying Mrs.Gilham, looking still a Christian, up a fathom of sea-green bonnet; andher daughter Rose, now so demure if ever she caught a wandering eye,that it had to come again to beg pardon; and by her side a young manstood, with no eyes at all for the prettiest girl inside the sacredbuilding!
But strange as it may seem, he had eyes enough and to spare, for a youngman opposite; whose face he perused with perpetual enquiry, which theother understood, but did not want to apprehend. For instance, "How isyour very darling sister? Have you heard from her by the latest post?Did she say anything about me? When is she coming to Perlycross again?Do you think she is reading the same Psalm that we are? Have they gotany Christmas parties on? I hope there is no mistletoe up that way, orat any rate no hateful fellow near her with it?"
These, and fifty other points of private worship, not to be discoveredin the Book of Common Prayer--even by the cleverest anagram ofRitualist--did Frank Gilham vainly strive to moot with Jemmy Fox acrossthe aisle, instead of being absorbed and rapt in the joyful tidings ofthe day.
Neither was Jemmy Fox a ha'porth more devout. With the innateselfishness of all young men, he had quite another dish of fish to fryfor his own plate. As for Frank Gilham's, he would upset it joyfully, inspite of all sympathy or gratitude. And, if so low a metaphor can everbe forgiven, Jemmy's fish, though not in sight but in a brambly corner,was fairly hooked and might be felt; whereas Frank Gilham's, if she hadever seen his fly, had (so far as he could be sure) never even openedmouth to take it; but had sailed away upstream, leaving a long furrow,as if--like the celebrated trout in Crocker's Hole--she scorned anytackle a poor farmer could afford.
Fox, on the other hand, had reasonable hopes, that patience anddiscretion and the flowing stream of time, would bring his lovely prizeto bank at last. For the chief thing still against him was that blackand wicked charge: and even now he looked at all the women in thechurch, with very little interest in their features, but keen enquiry asto their expression. His eyes put the question to them, one afteranother,--"My good madam, are you still afraid of me?" And sad to say,the answer from too many of them was--"Well, I had rather not shakehands with you, till you have cleared your reputation." So certain is itthat if once a woman has believed a thing--be it good, or be itevil--nothing but the evidence of her own eyes will uproot that belief;and sometimes not even that.
Especially now with Lady Waldron, Fox felt certain that his case stoodthus; that in spite of all the arguments of Christie and of Inez, he wasnot yet acquitted, though less stubbornly condemned; and as long as thatstate of things lasted, he could not (with proper self-respect) presshis suit upon the daughter. For it should be observed that he had nodoubt yet of the genuine strength of her ladyship's suspicions. Mr.Penniloe had not thought it right or decent, placed as he was towardsthe family, to impart to young Jemmy Sir Harrison Gowler's hateful(because misogynic) conclusions.
That excellent preacher, and noble exemplar, the Reverend PhilipPenniloe, gave out his text in a fine sonorous voice, echoing throughthe great pillars of his heart, three words--as many as can ever rousean echo--and all of them short,--"On earth, peace."
He was gazing on his flock with large good will, and that desire to seethe best side of them which is creditable to both parties; for take themaltogether they were a peaceful flock--when a crack, as of thunder andlightning all in one, rang in every ear, and made a stop in every heart.Before any body could start up to ask about it, a cavernous rumblerolled into a quick rattle; and then deep silence followed.
Nervous folk started up, slower persons stared about, even the coolestand most self-possessed doubted their arrangements for the Day ofJudgment. The sunlight was shining through the south aisle windows, andnone could put the blame on any storm outside.
Then panic arose, as at a trumpet-call. People huddled anyhow, to rushout of their pews, without even sense enough to turn the button-latch.Bald heads were plunging into long-ribboned bonnets, fathers forgottheir children, young men their sweethearts, but mothers
pushed theirlittle ones before them. "Fly for dear life"--was the impulse of themen; "save the life dearer than my own"--was of the women. That is themoment to be sure what love is.
"Sit still boys, or I'll skin you"--Sergeant Jakes' voice was heardabove the uproar; many believed that the roof was falling in; every kindof shriek and scream abounded.
"My friends," said Mr. Penniloe, in a loud clear voice, and lifting uphis Bible calmly, "remember in Whose house, and in Whose hands we are.It is but a fall of something in the chancel. It cannot hurt you.Perhaps some brave man will go behind the screen, and just tell us whathas happened. I would go myself, if I could leave the pulpit."
People were ashamed, when they saw little Fay run from her seat to thenewly-finished steps, and begin groping at the canvas, while she smiledup at her father. In a moment three men drew her back and passed in.They were Jemmy Fox, Frank Gilham, and the gallant Jakes; and a cloud ofdust floated out as they vanished. Courage returned and the rush andcrush was stayed, while Horner and Farrant, the two churchwardens, camewith long strides to join the explorers.
Deep silence reigned when Doctor Fox returned, and at the request ofFarmer John, addressed the Parson so that all could hear. "There is nodanger, sir, of any further fall. There has been a sort of settlement ofthe south-east corner. The stone screen is cracked, and one end of ithas dropped, and the small lancet window has tumbled in. All is nowquite firm again. There is not the smallest cause for fear."
"Thank God!" said Mr. Penniloe, "and thank you my friends, for tellingus. And now, as soon as order is quite restored, I shall beg to returnto the discussion of my text, which with your permission I will readagain."
As soon as he had finished a very brief discourse, worthy of moreattention than it could well secure, his flock hurried gladly away, withmuch praise of his courage and presence of mind, but no thought of theheavy loss and sad blow cast upon him. Fox alone remained behind, tooffer aid and sympathy, when the Parson laid his gown aside and came tolearn the worst of it. They found that the south-east corner of thechancel-wall, with the external quoin and two buttresses, had partedfrom the rest, and sunk bodily to the depth of a yard or more, bearingaway a small southern window, a portion of the roof and several panelsof that equally beautiful and unlucky screen.
At a rough guess, at least another hundred pounds would be required tomake good the damage. It was not only this, but the sense of mishaps sofrequent and unaccountable--few of which have been even mentionedhere--that now began to cast heavy weight and shadow, upon the cheerfulheart of Penniloe. For it seemed as if all things combined against him,both as regarded the work itself, and the means by which alone it couldbe carried on. And this last disaster was the more depressing, becauseno cause whatever could be found for it. That wall had not been meddledwith in any way externally, because it seemed quite substantial. Andeven inside there had been but little done to it, simply a shallowexcavation made, for the plinth, or footings, of the newly erectedscreen.
"Never mind, sir," said Fox; "it can soon be put to rights; and yourbeautiful screen will look ever so much better without that lancetwindow, which has always appeared to me quite out of place."
"Perhaps," replied the Parson, in a sad low voice, and with a shake ofhis head which meant--"all very fine; but how on earth am I to get themoney?"
Even now the disaster was not complete. Subscriptions had grown slack,and some had even been withdrawn, on the niggardly plea that no churchwas worth preserving, which could not protect even its own dead. And nowthe news of this occurrence made that matter worse again, for the blameof course fell upon Penniloe. "What use to help a man, who cannot helphimself?" "A fellow shouldn't meddle with bricks and mortar, unless hewas brought up to them." "I like him too well, to give him anotherpenny. If I did he'd pull the tower down upon his own head." Thus andthus spoke they who should have flown to the rescue; some even friendlyenough to deal the coward's blow at the unfortunate.
Moreover, that very night the frost broke up, with a fall of ten inchesof watery snow, on the wet back of which came more than half an inch ofrain, the total fall being two inches and three quarters. The ground wastoo hard to suck any of it in; water by the acre lay on streaky fieldsof ground-ice; every gateway poured its runnel, and every flinty laneits torrent. The Perle became a roaring flood, half a mile wide in themarshes; and the Susscot brook dashed away the old mill-wheel, andwhirled some of it down as far as Joe Crang's anvil, fulfilling therebyan old prophecy. Nobody could get--without swimming horse or self--fromPerlycombe to Perlycross, or from Perlycross to Perliton; and old motherPods was drowned in her own cottage. The view of the valley, from eitherBeacon Hill or Hagdon, was really grand for any one tall enough to wadeso far up the weltering ways. Old Channing vowed that he had never seensuch a flood, and feared that the big bridge would be washed away; butnow was seen the value of the many wide arches, which had puzzledChristie Fox in the distance. Alas for the Hopper, that he was so faraway at this noble time for a cross-country run! But he told Pikeafterwards, and Mrs. Muggridge too, that he had a good time of it, evenin the Mendips.
In this state of things, the condition of the chancel, with theshattered roof yawning to the reek of the snow-slides, and a Southerngale hurling floods in at the wall-gaps, may better be imagined thandescribed, as a swimming rat perhaps reported to his sodden family. Andpeople had a fine view of it at the Sunday service, for the canvascurtain had failed to resist the swag and the bellying of the blast, andhad fallen in a squashy pile, and formed a rough breakwater for themortary lake behind it.
There was nothing to be done for the present except to provide againstfurther mischief. The masons from Exeter had left work, by reason of thefrost, some time ago; but under the directions of Mr. Richard Horner thequoin was shored up, and the roof and window made waterproof withtarpaulins. So it must remain till Easter now; when the time of year,and possibly a better tide of money, might enable beaten Christians toput shoulder to the hod again. Meanwhile was there any chance of findingany right for the wrong, which put every man who looked forward to hisgrave out of all conceit with Perlycross?
"Vaither, do 'e care to plaze your luving darter, as 'e used to doo? Orbe 'e channged, and not the zame to her?"
"The vurry za-am. The vurry za-am," Mr. Penniloe answered, with his eyesglad to rest on her, yet compelled by his conscience to correct hervowel sounds. It had long been understood between them, that Fay mightforsake upon occasion what we now call 'higher culture,' and try herlissome tongue at the soft Ionic sounds, which those who know nothing ofthe West call _Doric_.
"Then vaither," cried the child, rising to the situation; "whatt vor do'e putt both han's avore the eyes of 'e? The Lard in heaven can zee 'e,arl the zaam."
The little girl was kneeling with both elbows on a chair, and her chinset up stedfastly between her dimpled hands, while her clear eyes,gleaming with the tears she was repressing, dwelt upon her father'sdowncast face.
"My darling, my own darling, you are the image of your mother," Mr.Penniloe exclaimed, as he rose, and caught her up. "What is the mammonof this world to heaven's angels?"
After that his proper course would have been to smoke a pipe, if thatform of thank-offering had been duly recommended by the rising school ofChurchmen. His omission however was soon repaired; for, before he couldeven relapse towards "the blues," the voice of a genuine smoker washeard, and the step of a man of substance, the time being now theafternoon of Monday.
"Halloa, Penniloe!" this gentleman exclaimed; "How are you, thisfrightful weather? Very glad to see you. Made a virtue of necessity;can't have the hounds out, and so look up my flock. Never saw the watersout so much in all my life. _Nancy_ had to swim at Susscot ford. Thoughtwe should have been washed down, but Crang threw us a rope. Says nobodycould cross yesterday. _Nancy_ must have a hot wash, please Mrs.Muggridge. I'll come and see to it, if you'll have the water hot.Harry's looking after her till I come back. Like to see a boy that takeskindly to a horse. What a job I had to get your back-gate open! N
everuse your stable-yard, it seems. Beats me, how any man can live without ahorse! Well, my dear fellow, I hope the world only deals with you,according to your merits. Bless my heart, why, that can never be Fay!What a little beauty! Got a kiss to spare, my dear? Don't be afraid ofme. Children always love me. Got one little girl just your height. Won'tI make her jealous, when I get home? Got something in my vady, that willmake your pretty eyes flash. Come, come, Penniloe, this won't do. Youdon't look at all the thing. Want a thirty mile ride, and a drop ofbrown mahogany--put a little colour into your learned face. Just youshould have a look at my son, Jack. Mean him for this little puss, ifever he grows good enough. Not a bad fellow though. And how's yourlittle Mike? Why there he is, peeping round the corner! I'll have it outwith him, when I've had some dinner. Done yours, I daresay? Anythingwill do for me. A rasher of bacon, and a couple of poached eggs is adinner for a lord, I say. You don't eat enough, that's quite certain.Saw an awful thing in the papers last week. Parsons are going tointroduce fasting! Protestant parsons, mind you! Can't believe it. Shallhave to join the Church of Rome, if they do. All jolly fellowsthere--never saw a lean one. I suppose I am about the last man youexpected to turn up. Glad to see you though, upon my soul! You don'tlike that expression--ha, how well I know your face! Strictly clerical Icall it though; or at any rate, professional. But bless my heartalive--if you like that better--what has all our parish been about? Whya dead man belongs to the parson, not the doctor. The doctors have donefor him, and they ought to have done with him. But we parsons never backone another up. Not enough colour in the cloth, I always say. Gettingtoo much of black, and all black."
The Rev. John Chevithorne, Rector of the parish, was doing his best atthe present moment to relieve "the cloth" of that imputation. For hiscoat was dark green, and his waistcoat of red shawl-stuff, and hisbreeches of buff corduroy, while his boots--heavy jack-boots cominghalfway up the thigh--might have been of any colour under the sun,without the sun knowing what the colour was, so spattered, andplastered, and cobbed with mud were they. And throughout all his talk,he renewed the hand-shakes, in true pump-handle fashion, at shortintervals, for he was strongly attached to his Curate. They had been atthe same College, and on the same staircase; and although of differentstanding and very different characters, had taken to one another with aliking which had increased as years went on. Mr. Penniloe had anEnglishman's love of field-sports; and though he had repressed it fromdevotion to his calling, he was too good a Christian to condemn thosewho did otherwise.
"Chevithorne, I have wanted you most sadly," he said, as soon as hisguest was reclad from his vady, and had done ample justice to rashersand eggs; "I am really ashamed of it, but fear greatly that I shall haveto be down upon you again. Children, you may go, and get a good runbefore dark. Things have been going on--in fact the Lord has not seemedto prosper this work at all."
"If you are going to pour forth a cloud of sorrows, you won't mind myblowing one of comfort."
The Rector was a pleasant man to look at, and a pleasant one to dealwith, if he liked his customer. But a much sharper man of the world thanhis Curate; prompt, resolute, and penetrating, short in his manner, andwhen at all excited, apt to indulge himself in the language of thelaity.
"Well," he said, after listening to the whole Church history, "I am nota rich man, as you know, my friend. People suppose that a man with threelivings must be rolling in money, and all that. They never think twiceof the outgoings. And Jack goes to Oxford in January. That meanssomething, as you and I know well. Though he has promised me not to huntthere; and he is a boy who never goes back from his word. But Chancel ofcourse is my special business. Will you let me off for fifty, at anyrate for the present? And don't worry yourself about the debt. We'llmake it all right among us. Our hunt will come down with another fifty,if I put it before them to the proper tune, when they come back to work,after this infernal muck. Only you mustn't look like this. The worldgets worse and worse, every day, and can't spare the best man itcontains. You should have seen the rick of hay I bought last week, justbecause I didn't push my knuckles into it. Thought I could trust mybrother Tom's churchwarden. And Tom laughs at me; which digs it in toohard. Had a rise out of him last summer though, and know how to do himagain for Easter-offerings. Tom is too sharp for a man who has got nofamily. Won't come down with twopence for Jack's time at Oxford. And hehas got all the Chevithorne estates, you know. Nothing but the copyholdcame to me. Always the way of the acres, with a man who could put achild to stand on every one of them. However, you never hear mecomplain. But surely you ought to get more out of those Waldrons. Anoffering to the Lord _in memoriam_--a proper view of chastisement; haveyou tried to work it up?"
"I have not been able to take that view of it," Mr. Penniloe answered,smiling for a moment, though doubtful of the right to do so. "How can Iask them for another farthing, after what has happened? And leavingthat aside, I am now in a position in which it would be unbecoming. Youmay have heard that I am Trustee for a part of the Waldron estates, tosecure a certain sum for the daughter, Nicie."
"Then that puts it out of the question," said the Rector; "I know whatthose trust-plagues are. I call them a tax upon good repute. 'Thefriendly balm that breaks the head.' I never understood that passage,till in a fool's moment I accepted a Trusteeship. However, go on withthat Waldron affair. They are beginning to chaff me about it shamefully,now that their anger and fright are gone by. Poor as I am, I would givea hundred pounds, for the sake of the parish, to have it all cleared up.But the longer it goes on, the darker it gets. You used to be famous forconcise abstracts. Do you remember our Thucydides? Wasn't it old Shortthat used to put a year of the war on an oyster-shell, and you beat himby putting it on a thumbnail? Give us in ten lines all the theories ofthe great Perlycrucian mystery. Ready in a moment. I'll jot them down.What's the Greek for Perlycross? Puzzle even you, I think, that would.Number them, one, two, and so on. There must be a dozen by this time."
Mr. Penniloe felt some annoyance at this too jocular view of thesubject; but he bore in mind that his Rector was not so sadly bound upwith it, as his own life was. So he set down, as offering the shortestform, the names of those who had been charged with the crime, either bythe public voice, or by private whisper.
1. Fox.
2. Gronow.
3. Gowler.
4. Some other medical man of those parts--conjecture founded very oftenupon the last half-year's account.
5. Lady Waldron herself.
6. Some relative of hers, with or without her knowledge.
"Now I think that exhausts them," the Curate continued, "and I willdiscuss them in that order. No. 1 is the general opinion still. I meanthat of the great majority, outside the parish, and throughout thecounty. None who knew Jemmy could conceive it, and those who knownothing of him will dismiss it, I suppose, when they hear of his longattachment to Miss Waldron.
"Nos. 2, 3, and 4, may also be dismissed, being founded in each case onpersonal dislikes, without a _scintilla_ of evidence to back it. Asregards probability, No. 4 would take the lead; for Gronow, and Gowler,are out of the question. The former has given up practice, and hates it,except for the benefit of his friends. And as for Gowler, he could haveno earthly motive. He understood the case as well as if he had seen it;and his whole time is occupied with his vast London practice. But No. 4also is reduced to the very verge of impossibility. There is no one atExeter, who would dream of such things. No country practitioner woulddare it, even if the spirit of research could move him. And as for Bath,and Bristol, I have received a letter from Gowler disposing of allpossibility there."
"Who suggested No. 5? That seems a strange idea. What on earth shouldLady Waldron do it for?"
"Gowler suggested it. I tell you in the strictest confidence,Chevithorne. Of course you will feel that. I have told no one else, andI should not have told you, except that I want your advice about it. Youhave travelled in Spain. You know much of Spanish people. I reject thetheory altogether; though Gowler is most positive, and
laughs at myobjections. You remember him, of course?"
"I should think so," said the Rector, "a wonderfully clever fellow, butnever much liked. Nobody could ever get on with him, but you; and twomore totally different men--however, an opinion of his is worthsomething. What motive could he discover for it?"
"Religious feelings. Narrow, if you like--for we are as Catholic as theyare--but very strong, as one could well conceive, if only they suitedthe character. The idea would be, that the wife, unable to set aside thehusband's wishes openly, or unwilling to incur the odium of it, wassecretly resolved upon his burial elsewhere, and with the rites whichshe considered needful."
"It is a most probable explanation. I wonder that it never occurred toyou. Gowler has hit the mark. What a clever fellow! And see how itexculpates the parish! I shall go back, with a great weight off mymind. Upon my soul, Penniloe, I am astonished that you had to go toLondon, to find out this _a_, _b_, _c_. If I had been over here a littlemore often, I should have hit upon it, long ago."
"Chevithorne, I think that very likely," the Curate replied, with themildness of those who let others be rushed off their legs by themselves."The theory is plausible,--accounts for everything,--fits in with thevery last discoveries, proves this parish, and even the English nation,guiltless. Nevertheless, it is utterly wrong; according at least to myview of human nature."
"Your view of human nature was always too benevolent. That was whyeverybody liked you so. But, my dear fellow, you have lived long enoughnow, to know that it only does for Christmas-day sermons."
"I have not lived long enough, and hope to do so never," Mr. Penniloeanswered very quietly; but with a manner, which the other understood, ofthe larger sight looking over hat-crowns. "Will you tell me,Chevithorne, upon what points you rely? And then, I will tell you what Ithink of them."
"Why, if it comes to argument, what chance have I against you? You canput things, and I can't. But I can sell a horse, and you can buyit--fine self-sacrifice on your side. I go strictly upon common sense. Ihave heard a lot of that Lady Waldron. I have had some experience ofSpanish ladies. Good and bad, no doubt, just as English ladies are. Itis perfectly obvious to my mind, that Lady Waldron has done all this."
"To my mind," replied Mr. Penniloe, looking stedfastly at the Rector,"it is equally obvious that she has not."
"Upon what do you go?" asked the Rector, rather warmly, for he pridedhimself on his knowledge of mankind, though admitting very handsomelyhis ignorance of books.
"I go upon my faith in womankind." The Curate spoke softly, as if such athing were new, and truly it was not at all in fashion then. "This womanloved her husband. Her grief was deep and genuine. His wishes weresacred to her. She is quite incapable of double-dealing. And indeed, Iwould say, that if ever there was a straightforward simple-heartedwoman----"
"If ever, if ever," replied Mr. Chevithorne, with a fine indulgentsmile. "But upon the whole, I think well of them. Let us have a game ofdraughts, my dear fellow, where the Queens jump over all the poor men."
"Kings, we call them here," answered Mr. Penniloe.