"The gentlemen of the robe would thank you, Polly. Do you know, I have a great respect for a learned barrister."
"All that Polly knows about them is, they wear a wig and carry a blue bag," observed Roy, with one of his odd chuckles.
"What a Bohemian you are, Polly."
"I like what is best and brightest and most loveable in life," returned Polly, undauntedly. "I think you are an artist by nature, because you care so much for beautiful scenery, and are so quick to see different shades and tints of colouring. Dad Fabian is older, and grander, far--but you talk a little like him, Roy; your words have the same ring, somehow."
"Polly is a devout believer in Roy"s capabilities," observed Dr. Heriot, half-seriously and half-laughing. "You are fortunate, Roy, to have inspired so much faith already; it must warm up your landscapes and brighten your horizons for you. After all, there is nothing like sympathy in this world," with a scarcely audible sigh.
"Dr. Heriot, tea is ready," broke in Polly, with one of her quick transitions from enthusiasm to matter-of-fact reality, as she moved as though by right to her place at the head of the table, and looked as though she expected her guardian to seat himself as usual beside her; while Dr. Heriot drew up a comfortable rocking-chair for Mildred.
Certainly the den presented a cheerful aspect to-night; the little gla.s.s-house, as Dr. Heriot generally termed it, with its easel and flowers, and its pleasant glimpse of the narrow garden and blue hills behind, looked picturesque in the afternoon light; the rain had ceased, the canaries burst into loud song, there was a delicious fragrance of verbena and heliotrope; Roy stretched his lazy length on the little red couch, his fair head in marked contrast with Mildred"s brown coils; a great crimson-hearted rose lay beside her plate.
Dr. Heriot"s den certainly lacked no visible comfort; there were easy-chairs for lounging, small bookcases filled with favourite books, a writing-table, and a marble stand, with a silver reading-lamp, that gave the softest possible light; one or two choice prints enlivened the walls. Dr. Heriot evidently kept up a luxurious bachelor"s life, for the table was covered with good things; and Mildred ventured to praise the excellent Westmorland cakes.
"Marjory makes better girdle-cakes than Nan," observed Polly. "Do you know what my guardian calls them, Aunt Milly?"
"You should allow Miss Lambert to finish hers first," remonstrated Dr.
Heriot.
"He calls them "sudden deaths.""
"Miss Lambert is looking quite pale, and laying down hers. I must help myself to some to rea.s.sure her;" and Dr. Heriot suited his action to his words. "I perfectly scandalise Marjory by telling her they are very unwholesome, but she only says, "Hod tongue o" ye, doctor; t" kyuks are au weel enuff; en"ill hurt nin o" ye, if y"ill tak "em i" moderation.""
"I think Marjory is much of a muchness with Nan in point of obstinacy."
"Nan"s habits bewilder me," observed Mildred. "She eats so little flesh meat, as she calls it; and whatever time I go into the kitchen, she seems perpetually at tea."
"Ay, four o"clock tea is the great meal of the day; the servants certainly care very little for meat here. I am often surprised, when I go into the cottages, to see the number of cakes just freshly baked; it is the most tempting meal they have. The girdle-cakes, and the little black teapot on the hob, and not unfrequently a great pile of brown toast, have often struck me as so appetising after a cold, wet ride, that I have often shared a bit and a sup with them. Have you ever heard of Kendal wigs, Miss Lambert?"
Mildred shook her head.
"They are very favourite cakes. Many a farmer"s wife on a market-day thinks her purchases incomplete without bringing home a goodly quant.i.ty of wigs. I am rather fond of them myself. All my oat-bread, or havre-bread as they call it, is sent me by an old patient who lives at Kendal. Do you know there is a quaint proverb, very much used here, "as crafty as a Kendal fox"?"
"What is the origin of that?" asked Mildred, much amused.
"Well, it is doubtful. It may owe its origin to some sly old Reynard who in days long since "escaped the hunter many times and oft;" or it might possibly originate in some family of the name of Fox living at Kendal, and noted for their business habits and prudence. There are two proverbs peculiar to this country."
"You mean the Pendragon one," observed Roy.
"Yes."
"Let Uter Pendragon do what he can, Eden will run where Eden ran."
"You look mystified, Miss Lambert; but at Pendragon Castle in Mallerstang there may still be seen traces of an attempt to turn the waters of Eden from their natural and wonted channel, and cause them to flow round the castle and fill the moat."
"How curious!"
"Proverbs have been rightly defined "as the wisdom of the many and the wit of one." In one particular I believe this saying has a deep truth hidden in it. One who has studied the Westmorland character, says that its meaning is, that the people living on the banks of the Eden are as firm and persevering in their own way as the river itself; and that when they have once made up their minds as to what is their duty, all attempts to turn them aside from walking in the right way and doing their duty are equally futile."
"Hurrah for the Edenites!" exclaimed Roy, enthusiastically. "I don"t believe there is a county in England to beat Westmorland."
"I must tell you what a quaint old writer says of it. "Here is cold comfort from nature," he writes, "but somewhat of warmth from industry: that the land is barren is G.o.d"s good pleasure; the people painful (_i.e._ painstaking), their praise." But I am afraid I must not enlighten your minds any more on proverbial philosophy, as it is time for me to set off on my evening round. A doctor can use scant ceremony, Miss Lambert."
"It is time you dismissed us," returned Mildred, rising; "we have trespa.s.sed too long on your time already;" but, in spite of her efforts, she failed to collect her party. Only Olive accompanied her home. Roy returned to his painting and whistling, and Polly stayed behind to water the flowers and keep him company.
The next day proved fine and cloudless, and at the appointed time the old vicarage wagonette started off, with its bevy of boys and girls, with Mildred to act as _chaperone_.
Mildred was loath to leave her brother alone for so long a day, but Dr.
Heriot promised to look in on him, and bring her a report in the afternoon.
The drive to Castlesteads was a long one, but Roy was in one of his absurd moods, and Polly and he kept up a lively exchange of _repartee_ and jest, which amused the rest of the party. On their way they pa.s.sed Musgrave, the church and vicarage lying pleasantly in the green meadows, on the very banks of the Eden; but Roy snorted contemptuously over Mildred"s admiring exclamation--
"It looks very pretty from this distance, and would make a tolerable picture; and I don"t deny the walk by the river-bank is pleasant enough in summer-time, but you would be sorry to live there all the year round, Aunt Milly."
"Is the vicarage so comfortless, then?"
"Vicarage! It is little better than a cottage. It is positively bare, and mean, miserable little wainscoted rooms looking on a garden full of currant-bushes and London-pride. In winter the river floods the meadows, and comes up to the sitting-room window; just a place for rheumatism and agues and low fevers. I wonder Mr. Wigram can endure it!"
"There are the Northcotes overtaking us, Cardie," interrupted Chriss, eagerly; "give the browns a touch-up; I don"t want them to pa.s.s us."
Richard did as he was requested, and the browns evidently resenting the liberty, there was soon a good distance between the two wagonettes; and shortly afterwards the pretty little village of Castlesteads came in sight, with its beeches and white cottages and tall May-pole.
"There is no time to be lost, Cardie. I can hear the band already. We must make straight for the park."
"We had better get down and walk, then, while George sees to the horses, or we shall lose the procession. Come, Aunt Milly, we are a little late, I am afraid; and we must introduce you to Mrs. Chesterton of the Hall in due form."
Mildred obeyed, and the little party hurried along the road, where knots of gaily-dressed people were already stationed to catch the first glimpse of the rush-bearers. The park gates were wide open, and a group of ladies, with a tolerable sprinkling of gentlemen, were gathered under the shady trees.
Mr. Delaware came striding across the gra.s.s in his ca.s.sock, with his college cap in his hand.
"You are only just in time," he observed, shaking hands cordially with Mildred; "the children are turning the corner by the schools. I must go and meet them. Susie, will you introduce Miss Lambert to these ladies?"
Mrs. Chesterton of the Hall was a large, placid-looking woman, with a motherly, benevolent face; she was talking to a younger lady, in very fashionable attire, whom Mrs. Delaware whispered was Mrs. de Courcy, of the Grange: her husband, Major de Courcy, was at a little distance, with Mr. Chesterton and the Trelawnys.
Mildred had just time to bow to Ethel, when the loud, inspiriting blare of brazen instruments was heard outside the park gates. There was a burst of joyous music, and a faint sound of cheering, and then came the procession of children, with their white frocks and triumphant crowns.
The real garland used for the rush-bearing is of the shape of the old coronation crowns, and was formerly so large that it was borne by each child on a cushion; and even at the present time it was too weighty an ornament to be worn with comfort.
One little maiden had recourse to her mother"s support, and many a little hand went up to steady the uneasy diadem.
Mildred, who had never seen such a sight, was struck with the beauty and variety of the crowns. Some were of brilliant scarlet and white, such as covered May Chesterton"s fair curls; others were of softer violet. One was of beautifully-shaped roses; and another and humbler one of heliotrope and large-eyed pansies. Even the cottage garlands were woven with taste and fancy. One of the poorest children, gleaning in lanes and fields, had formed her crown wholly of b.u.t.tercups and ox-eyed daisies, and wore it proudly.
A lame boy, who had joined the procession, carried his garland in the shape of a large cross, which he held aloft. Mildred watched the bright colours of moving flowers through the trees, and listened to the music half-dreamily, until Richard touched her arms.
"Every one is following the procession. You will lose the prettiest part of the whole, if you stand here, Aunt Milly; the children always have a dance before they go into church." And so saying, he piloted her through the green park in the direction of the crowd.
By and by, they came to a little strip of lawn, pleasantly shaded by trees, and here they found the rush-bearers drawn up in line, with the crowns at their feet; the sun was shining, the b.u.t.terflies flitted over the children"s heads, the music struck up gaily, the garlands lay in purple and crimson splashes of colour on the green sward.