CHAPTER X.
THE next day the hay-mowing was completed, and a large portion of the hay already made carted away to be stacked. Kenelm acquitted himself with a credit not less praiseworthy than had previously won Mr.
Saunderson"s approbation. But instead of rejecting as before the acquaintance of Miss Jessie Wiles, he contrived towards noon to place himself near to that dangerous beauty, and commenced conversation. "I am afraid I was rather rude to you yesterday, and I want to beg pardon."
"Oh," answered the girl, in that simple intelligible English which is more frequent among our village folks nowadays than many popular novelists would lead us into supposing, "oh, I ought to ask pardon for taking a liberty in speaking to you. But I thought you"d feel strange, and I intended it kindly."
"I"m sure you did," returned Kenelm, chivalrously raking her portion of hay as well as his own, while he spoke. "And I want to be good friends with you. It is very near the time when we shall leave off for dinner, and Mrs. Saunderson has filled my pockets with some excellent beef-sandwiches, which I shall be happy to share with you, if you do not object to dine with me here, instead of going home for your dinner."
The girl hesitated, and then shook her head in dissent from the proposition.
"Are you afraid that your neighbours will think it wrong?"
Jessie curled up her lips with a pretty scorn, and said, "I don"t much care what other folks say, but is n"t it wrong?"
"Not in the least. Let me make your mind easy. I am here but for a day or two: we are not likely ever to meet again; but, before I go, I should be glad if I could do you some little service." As he spoke he had paused from his work, and, leaning on his rake, fixed his eyes, for the first time attentively, on the fair haymaker.
Yes, she was decidedly pretty,--pretty to a rare degree: luxuriant brown hair neatly tied up, under a straw hat doubtless of her own plaiting; for, as a general rule, nothing more educates the village maid for the destinies of flirt than the accomplishment of straw-plaiting. She had large, soft blue eyes, delicate small features, and a complexion more clear in its healthful bloom than rural beauties generally retain against the influences of wind and sun. She smiled and slightly coloured as he gazed on her, and, lifting her eyes, gave him one gentle, trustful glance, which might have bewitched a philosopher and deceived a _roue_.
And yet Kenelm by that intuitive knowledge of character which is often truthfulest where it is least disturbed by the doubts and cavils of acquired knowledge, felt at once that in that girl"s mind coquetry, perhaps unconscious, was conjoined with an innocence of anything worse than coquetry as complete as a child"s. He bowed his head, in withdrawing his gaze, and took her into his heart as tenderly as if she had been a child appealing to it for protection.
"Certainly," he said inly, "certainly I must lick Tom Bowles; yet stay, perhaps after all she likes him."
"But," he continued aloud, "you do not see how I can be of any service to you. Before I explain, let me ask which of the men in the field is Tom Bowles?"
"Tom Bowles?" exclaimed Jessie, in a tone of surprise and alarm, and turning pale as she looked hastily round; "you frightened me, sir: but he is not here; he does not work in the fields. But how came you to hear of Tom Bowles?"
"Dine with me and I"ll tell you. Look, there is a quiet place in yon corner under the thorn-trees by that piece of water. See, they are leaving off work: I will go for a can of beer, and then, pray, let me join you there."
Jessie paused for a moment as if doubtful still; then again glancing at Kenelm, and a.s.sured by the grave kindness of his countenance, uttered a scarce audible a.s.sent and moved away towards the thorn-trees.
As the sun now stood perpendicularly over their heads, and the hand of the clock in the village church tower, soaring over the hedgerows, reached the first hour after noon, all work ceased in a sudden silence: some of the girls went back to their homes; those who stayed grouped together, apart from the men, who took their way to the shadows of a large oak-tree in the hedgerow, where beer kegs and cans awaited them.
CHAPTER XI.
"AND now," said Kenelm, as the two young persons, having finished their simple repast, sat under the thorn-trees and by the side of the water, fringed at that part with tall reeds through which the light summer breeze stirred with a pleasant murmur, "now I will talk to you about Tom Bowles. Is it true that you don"t like that brave young fellow? I say young, as I take his youth for granted."
"Like him! I hate the sight of him."
"Did you always hate the sight of him? You must surely at one time have allowed him to think that you did not?"
The girl winced, and made no answer, but plucked a daffodil from the soil, and tore it ruthlessly to pieces.
"I am afraid you like to serve your admirers as you do that ill-fated flower," said Kenelm, with some severity of tone. "But concealed in the flower you may sometimes find the sting of a bee. I see by your countenance that you did not tell Tom Bowles that you hated him till it was too late to prevent his losing his wits for you."
"No; I was n"t so bad as that," said Jessie, looking, nevertheless, rather ashamed of herself; "but I was silly and giddy-like, I own; and, when he first took notice of me, I was pleased, without thinking much of it, because, you see, Mr. Bowles (emphasis on _Mr._) is higher up than a poor girl like me. He is a tradesman, and I am only a shepherd"s daughter; though, indeed, Father is more like Mr. Saunderson"s foreman than a mere shepherd. But I never thought anything serious of it, and did not suppose he did; that is, at first."
"So Tom Bowles is a tradesman. What trade?"
"A farrier, sir."
"And, I am told, a very fine young man."
"I don"t know as to that: he is very big."
"And what made you hate him?"
"The first thing that made me hate him was that he insulted Father, who is a very quiet, timid man, and threatened I don"t know what if Father did not make me keep company with him. Make me indeed! But Mr. Bowles is a dangerous, bad-hearted, violent man, and--don"t laugh at me, sir, but I dreamed one night he was murdering me. And I think he will too, if he stays here: and so does his poor mother, who is a very nice woman, and wants him to go away; but he will not."
"Jessie," said Kenelm, softly, "I said I wanted to make friends with you. Do you think you can make a friend of me? I can never be more than friend. But I should like to be that. Can you trust me as one?"
"Yes," answered the girl, firmly, and, as she lifted her eyes to him, their look was pure from all vestige of coquetry,--guileless, frank, grateful.
"Is there not another young man who courts you more civilly than Tom Bowles does, and whom you really could find it in your heart to like?"
Jessie looked round for another daffodil, and not finding one, contented herself with a bluebell, which she did not tear to pieces, but caressed with a tender hand. Kenelm bent his eyes down on her charming face with something in their gaze rarely seen there,--something of that unreasoning, inexpressible human fondness, for which philosophers of his school have no excuse. Had ordinary mortals, like you or myself, for instance, peered through the leaves of the thorn-trees, we should have sighed or frowned, according to our several temperaments; but we should all have said, whether spitefully or envyingly, "Happy young lovers!"
and should all have blundered lamentably in so saying.
Still, there is no denying the fact that a pretty face has a very unfair advantage over a plain one. And, much to the discredit of Kenelm"s philanthropy, it may be reasonably doubted whether, had Jessie Wiles been endowed by nature with a snub nose and a squint, Kenelm would have volunteered his friendly services, or meditated battle with Tom Bowles on her behalf.
But there was no touch of envy or jealousy in the tone with which he said,--
"I see there is some one you would like well enough to marry, and that you make a great difference in the way you treat a daffodil and a bluebell. Who and what is the young man whom the bluebell represents?
Come, confide."
"We were much brought up together," said Jessie, still looking down, and still smoothing the leaves of the bluebell. "His mother lived in the next cottage; and my mother was very fond of him, and so was Father too; and, before I was ten years old, they used to laugh when poor Will called me his little wife." Here the tears which had started to Jessie"s eyes began to fall over the flower. "But now Father would not hear of it; and it can"t be. And I"ve tried to care for some one else, and I can"t, and that"s the truth."
"But why? Has he turned out ill?--taken to poaching or drink?"
"No, no, no; he"s as steady and good a lad as ever lived. But--but--"
"Yes; but--"
"He is a cripple now; and I love him all the better for it." Here Jessie fairly sobbed.
Kenelm was greatly moved, and prudently held his peace till she had a little recovered herself; then, in answer to his gentle questionings, he learned that Will Somers--till then a healthy and strong lad--had fallen from the height of a scaffolding, at the age of sixteen, and been so seriously injured that he was moved at once to the hospital. When he came out of it--what with the fall, and what with the long illness which had followed the effects of the accident--he was not only crippled for life, but of health so delicate and weakly that he was no longer fit for outdoor labour and the hard life of a peasant. He was an only son of a widowed mother, and his sole mode of a.s.sisting her was a very precarious one. He had taught himself basket-making; and though, Jessie said, his work was very ingenious and clever, still there were but few customers for it in that neighbourhood. And, alas! even if Jessie"s father would consent to give his daughter to the poor cripple, how could the poor cripple earn enough to maintain a wife?
"And," said Jessie, "still I was happy, walking out with him on Sunday evenings, or going to sit with him and his mother; for we are both young, and can wait. But I dare n"t do it any more now: for Tom Bowles has sworn that if I do he will beat him before my eyes; and Will has a high spirit, and I should break my heart if any harm happened to him on my account."
"As for Mr. Bowles, we"ll not think of him at present. But if Will could maintain himself and you, your father would not object nor you either to a marriage with the poor cripple?"
"Father would not; and as for me, if it weren"t for disobeying Father, I"d marry him to-morrow. _I_ can work."
"They are going back to the hay now; but after that task is over, let me walk home with you, and show me Will"s cottage and Mr. Bowles"s shop or forge."
"But you"ll not say anything to Mr. Bowles. He would n"t mind your being a gentleman, as I now see you are, sir; and he"s dangerous,--oh, so dangerous!--and so strong."