"I"m still forbidden to speak to you. The last time I did it, grandfather beat me."
"The old brute!" Taffy nipped the hot iron savagely in his pincers.
"I wonder if he"ll do it again. Somehow I don"t think he will."
Taffy looked at her. She had drawn herself up, and was smiling.
In her close-fitting habit she seemed very slight, yet tall, and a woman grown. He took the bar to the anvil and began to beat it flat.
His teeth were shut, and with every blow he said to himself "Brute!"
"That"s beautiful," Honoria went on. "I stopped Mendarva the other day, and he told me wonders about you. He says he tried you with a hard-boiled egg, and you swung the hammer and chipped the sh.e.l.l all round without bruising the white a bit. Is that true?"
Taffy nodded.
"And your learning--the Latin and Greek, I mean; do you still go on with it?"
He nodded again, towards a volume of Euripides that lay open on the workbench.
"And the stories you used to tell George and me; do you go on telling them to yourself?"
He was obliged to confess that he never did. She sat for a while watching the sparks as they flew. Then she said, "I should like to hear you tell one again. That one about Aslog and Orm, who ran away by night across the ice-fields and took a boat and came to an island with a house on it, and found a table spread and the fire lit, but no inhabitants anywhere--You remember? It began "Once upon a time, not far from the city of Drontheim, there lived a rich man--""
Taffy considered a moment and began "Once upon a time, not far from the city of Drontheim--" He paused, eyed the horse-shoe cooling between the pincers, and shook his head. It was no use. Apollo had been too long in service with Admetus, and the tale would not come.
"At any rate," Honoria persisted, "you can tell me something out of your books: something you have just been reading."
So he began to tell her the story of Ion, and managed well enough in describing the boy and how he ministered before the shrine at Delphi, sweeping the temple and scaring the birds away from the precincts: but when he came to the plot of the play and, looking up, caught Honoria"s eyes, it suddenly occurred to him that all the rest of the story was a sensual one, and he could not tell it to her.
He blushed, faltered, and finally broke down.
"But it was beautiful," said she, "so far as it went: and it"s just what I wanted. I shall remember that boy Ion now, whenever I think of you helping your father in the church at home. If the rest of the story is not nice, I don"t want to hear it." How had she guessed?
It was delicious, at any rate, to know that she thought of him; and Taffy felt how delicious it was, while he fitted and hammered the shoe on Aide-de-camp"s hoof, she standing by with a candle in either hand, the flame scarcely quivering in the windless night.
When all was done, she raised a foot for him to give her a mount.
"Good-night!" she called, shaking the reins. Half a minute later Taffy stood by the door of the forge, listening to the echoes of Aide-de-camp"s canter, and the palm of his hand tingled where her foot had rested.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SQUIRE"S WEIRD.
He took leave of Mendarva and the Jolls just before Christmas.
The smith was unaffectedly sorry to lose him. "But," said he, "the Dane will be entered for the championship next summer, so I s"pose I must look forward to that."
Every one in the Joll household gave him a small present on his leaving. Lizzie"s was a New Testament, with her name on the flyleaf, and under it, "Converted April 19, 187-." Taffy did not want the gift, but took it rather than hurt her feelings.
Farmer Joll said, "Well, wish "ee well! Been pretty comfiable, I hope. Now you"m goin", I don"t mind telling "ee I didn"t like your coming a bit. But now "tis wunnerful to me you"ve been wi" us less than two year"; we"ve made such friends."
At home Taffy bought a small forge and set it up in the church at the west end of the north aisle. Mr. Raymond, under his direction, had been purchasing the necessary tools for some months past, and now the main expense was the cost of coal, which pinched them a little.
But they managed to keep the fire alight, and the work went forward briskly. Save that he still forbade the parish to lend them the least help, the old Squire had ceased to interfere.
Mr. Raymond"s hair was greyer, and Taffy might have observed--but did not--how readily towards the close of a day"s laborious carpentry he would drop work and turn to Dindorf"s _Poetae Scenici Graeci_, through which they were reading their way. On Sundays the congregation rarely numbered a dozen. It seemed that, as the end of the Vicar"s task drew nearer, so the prospect of filling the church receded and became more shadowy. And if his was a queer plight, Jacky Pascoe"s was queerer. The Bryanite continued to come by night and help, but at rarer intervals. He was discomforted in mind, as anyone could see, and at length he took Mr. Raymond aside and made confession.
"I must go away; that"s what "tis. My burden is too great for me to bear."
"Why," said Mr. Raymond, who had grown surprisingly tolerant during the last twelve months, "what cause have you, of all men, to feel dejected? You can set the folk here on fire like flax." He sighed.
"That"s azactly the reason--I can set "em afire with a breath, but I can"t hold "em under. I make "em too strong for me--_and I"m afeard_. Parson, dear, it"s the gospel truth; for two years I"ve a been strivin" agen myself, wrastlin" upon my knees, and all to hold this parish in." He mopped his face. ""Tis like fightin" with beasts at Ephesus," he said.
"Do you want to hold them in?"
"I do, and I don"t. I"ve got to try, anyway. Sometimes I tell mysel" "tis putting a hand to the plough and turning back; and then I reckon I"ll go on. But when the time comes I can"t. I"m afeard, I tell "ee." He paused. "I"ve laid it before the Lord, but He don"t seem to help. There"s two voices inside o" me. "Tis a terrible responsibility."
"But the people: what are you afraid of their doing?"
"I don"t know. You don"t know what a runaway hoss will do, but you"re afeared all the same." He sank his voice. "There"s wantonness, for one thing--six love-children born in the parish this year, and more coming. They do say that Vashti Clemow destroyed her child. And Old Man Johns--him they found dead on the rocks under the Island--he didn"t go there by accident. "Twas a calm day, too."
As often as not Taffy worked late and blew his forge-fire alone in the church, the tap of his hammer making hollow music in the desolate aisles. He was working thus one windy night in February, when the door rattled open and in walked a totally unexpected visitor--Sir Harry Vyell.
"Good evening! I was riding by and saw your light in the windows dancing up and down. I thought I would hitch up the mare and drop in for a chat. But go on with your work."
Taffy wondered what had brought him so far from his home at that time of night, but asked no questions. And Sir Harry placed a ha.s.sock on one of the belfry steps, and taking his seat, watched for a while in silence. He wore his long riding-boots and an overcoat with the collar turned up about a neckcloth less nattily folded than usual.
"I wish," he said at length, "that my boy George was clever like you.
You were great friends once--you remember Plymouth, hey? But I dare say you"ve not seen much of each other lately."
Taffy shook his head.
"George is a bit wild. Oxford might have done something for him; made a man of him, I mean. But he wouldn"t go. I believe in wild oats to a certain extent. I have told him from the first he must look after himself and decide for himself. That"s my theory.
It makes a youngster self-reliant. He goes and comes as he likes.
If he comes home late from hunting I ask no questions; I don"t wait dinner. Don"t you agree with me?"
"I don"t know," Taffy answered, wondering why he should be consulted.
"Self-reliance is what a man wants."
"Couldn"t he have learnt that at school?"
Sir Harry fidgeted with the riding-crop in his hands. "Well, you see, he"s an only son--I dare say it was selfish of me. You don"t mind my talking about George?"
Taffy laughed. "I like it. But--"
Sir Harry laughed too, in an embarra.s.sed way. "But you don"t suppose I rode over from Carwithiel for that? Well, well! The fact is--one gets foolish as one grows old--George went out hunting this morning, and didn"t turn up for dinner. I kept to my rule and dined alone.
Nine o"clock came; half-past; no George. At ten Hoskins locked up as usual, and off I went to bed. But I couldn"t sleep. After a while it struck me that he might be sleeping here over at Tredinnis; that is, if no accident had happened. No sleep for me until I made sure; so I jumped out, dressed, slipped down to the stables, saddled the mare and rode over. I left the mare by Tredinnis great gates and crept down to Moyle"s stables like a housebreaker, looked in through the window, and sure enough there was George"s grey in the loose box to the right. So George is sleeping there, and I"m easy in my mind.
No doubt you think me an old fool?"
But Taffy was not thinking anything of the sort.
"I couldn"t wish better than that. You understand?"