THE LORD OF 
 
 THE HARVE S T 
 
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THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
NEW NOVELS AT THE LIBRARIES. 
 In Single Volume form, each Six Shillings. 
 
 TRICKS AND TRIALS ; or, SIX MONTHS IN 
 
 Westerford. By Christabel COLERIDGE, Author of 
 Waynflete,' ' The Main Chance,' &c. 
 
 RISING FORTUNES: THE STORY OF A 
 
 Man's Beginnings. By John Oxbnham, Author of 'God's 
 Pnsoner.' 
 
 FORTUNE AT THE HELM. By Mrs. Herbert 
 
 Martin, Author of ' Gentleman George,' &c. 
 
 THE FAITH THAT KILLS. By Emeric Hulme- 
 
 Beaman, Author of • The Prince's Diamond,' &c. 
 
 LOVE AND OLIVIA. By Margaret B. Cross, 
 
 Author of 'Thyme and Rue,' 'Blind Bats,' &c. 
 
 AYLWIN. By Theodore Watts-Dunton, Author 
 
 of • The Coming of Love : Rhona Bos well's Story,' &c. 
 LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED. 
 
THE 
 
 LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 BY 
 
 M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "KITTY," "DOCTOR JACOB," "A STORM-RENT SKY," 
 "BROTHER GABRIEL," ETC. 
 
 " He giveth his mind to make furrows " 
 
 ECCLESIASTICUS 
 
 LONDON 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET 
 
 1899 
 
 All Rights reserved 
 
PRINTED BY KELLY'S DIRECTORIES LIMITED, 
 LONDON AND KINGSTON. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 Bever 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 " The Muse of the Drift " 
 
 12 
 
 III. 
 
 Miss 'Ria 
 
 26 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Drive to Market 
 
 38 
 
 V. 
 
 A Flirtation by Rushlight . 
 
 53 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Old Hundredth 
 
 65 
 
 VII. 
 
 Shakespeare and the Musical Glasses . 
 
 76 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Among the Hen-Coops 
 
 91 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Last Waggon . . . . 
 
 100 
 
 X. 
 
 A Midnight Summons 
 
 122 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Stolen Barley .... 
 
 130 
 
 XII. 
 
 At the Turnpike Gate . . . . 
 
 146 
 
 XIII. 
 
 
 158 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Never, no More " . . . . 
 
 168 
 
 XV. 
 
 Two Sides to a Question . 
 
 178 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Market Day . ... 
 
 194 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Mrs. Karra Opens an Abyss. . 
 
 206 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A Rustic Paladin 
 
 217 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Halloo Largess 
 
 229 
 
 XX. 
 
 Halloo Largess — {continued.) . 
 
 246 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Cutting of the Gordian Knot. 
 
 262 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 270 
 
THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BEVER. 
 
 No inglorious son of Adam was this leader of men, 
 
 although his title depended neither on parchment nor 
 
 escutcheon, and his dignities lasted for one moon only. 
 
 But such lordship was self-earned, and therefore 
 
 all the more to be revelled in, authoritative, a 
 
 tribunal beyond appeal. This Suffolk usage 
 
 dating from the olden time recalled Homeric story ; 
 
 just as the strong, the wise and the bold obtained 
 
 a crown in legend and romance, so, when Queen 
 
 Victoria was a maiden, harvestmen of East Anglia 
 
 chose for their chief the best among them. Greater 
 
 I 
 
2 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 honour could befall none. For a brief space and over 
 a circumscribed area the Lord of the Harvest reigned 
 supreme. The first magistrate of London uttered no 
 weightier yea or nay. On his shoulders rested the 
 order and conduct of the cornfield. Did any hireling 
 break rules, shirk his duty, or abuse the beer-can, he 
 was summarily sent about his business. Bad language, 
 brawls, unseemly behaviour when womenfolk were 
 about, he must keep in check and punish, no easy task 
 when a quick harvesting was imperative and soldiers, 
 pedlars and even gipsies had to be hired at a pinch. 
 
 Elisha Sage, Master Sage, as he was called by his 
 employers, the title of Mister being reserved for 
 farmers and tradesmen, stood five feet eleven inches 
 in his corduroys and well-greased highlows. He 
 possessed the brawny limbs of the able-bodied man, of 
 him who could shoulder a coomb of corn and claim his 
 full ten shillings a week. Heavy-faced, dull-eyed, no 
 one would guess that he carried off kettle after kettle 
 at the yearly ploughing match, and although unable to 
 read or write, was first-rate at reckoning up. Elisha's 
 career as a son of the soil had begun forty years ago. 
 
BE VER, 3 
 
 From rook-scaring and stone-picking, when barely 
 breeched, to the position of head horseman was 
 certainly a stride, but a stride that meant the same 
 routine. To sow and to reap for others was he born, 
 the poor-house would most likely shelter his old age, 
 for thus seemed it good to the Almighty. 
 
 Harvest evoked a jovial mood, and even the stolid 
 Elisha felt himself at a kind of fete. His white teeth 
 now gleamed, his eyes very nearly sparkled as he 
 suddenly threw down his sickle, sprang to his feet, and, 
 glancing along the line of serried reapers, shouted : 
 
 "Halt for bever!" 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 With the utmost alacrity one and all gave the 
 same response and followed their lord's example. 
 Rhythmically the shining sickles fell to the ground, 
 and rhythmically the blowsed sweated harvesters rose 
 to their full height, filing off towards the nearest 
 hedge. 
 
 It was just upon four o'clock in the afternoon ; no 
 need for Elisha to take out his ponderous old watch, 
 he could tell that by the sun ; time therefore had come 
 
4 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 for the collation of harvest cake and beer still called 
 by its old French name. 
 
 The motley group squatted down, half-a-dozen 
 strangers being easily distinguishable from the village 
 folk. Alike garb and physiognomy proclaimed the 
 shiremen, or those who had come from the shires, a 
 term including newcomers generally. This geogra- 
 phical designation was vague, but the simplest under- 
 stood by it one thing, namely, that the shires lay 
 beyond London. 
 
 A hundred yards off, in broad-brimmed straw hat 
 and shirt sleeves, the farmer was shocking his sheaves. 
 Without a word he now took up his grey frock coat 
 and set off in the direction of a gabled roof, nestled 
 amid apple trees close by, as he went every eye watch- 
 ing him with curious eagerness. A few minutes later 
 and the oddest little figure imaginable was seen along- 
 side the uncut corn, his appearance, or rather that of an 
 enormous can of beer on his arm, being the signal for 
 a wild outburst of hilarity. The battered old soldier 
 threw up his cap and shouted, " God save the Queen," 
 the pedlar performed a wonderful pantomimic feat 
 
BE VER. 5 
 
 with the leg, the sheep-shearer, a lank veteran re- 
 nowned for his wit, put on the simper of a love-sick 
 maiden and blew the grotesque little Ganymede a kiss, 
 the three shiremen whistled a bucolic air, only Elisha 
 and his neighbours remained passive. They wiped 
 their steaming brows, and turned to their frails or 
 flat baskets as usual, getting out drinking horn and 
 harvest cake. 
 
 " Come, my lord," cried old Nat, the sheep-shearer, 
 "just hasten yonder smart little chap, will you, or 
 we shall be kept dry here till night. Don't you see 
 how he lags behind, hoping that your Amma will over- 
 take him. He is always thinking of the mawthers, 
 and no wonder, for they won't let him alone, the beauty 
 that he is." 
 
 There was no intended disrespect in the word, 
 mawthers, in local phraseology standing for girls or 
 maidens, nor were Nat's personalities meant ill- 
 naturedly. And heartily did the object of them join 
 in the general laugh. Little Smy, as the undersized, 
 crooked, monkey-faced man was called, knew his com- 
 rades too well to take their jokes amiss. They might 
 
6 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 get entertainment out of him, but he got something 
 more to the purpose out of them ; in harvest time he 
 fared sumptuously with the able-bodied, throughout 
 the winter he was welcome at the poorest board. 
 
 " I'd 'ammer your skull if I had a muck-fork handy," 
 growled the little man, setting down his heavy can. 
 Smy prided himself upon choice invective ; these big 
 lubberly chaps might rail at his bandy legs, apology 
 for a nose and dwarfish size ; with the tongue he was 
 more than their match. " Talk of Sodom and 
 Gomorrah," he muttered, " they were a fleabite to 
 the like of you. Jezebel herself wouldn't sit down 
 to tea with any such. Amma indeed! I want no 
 Ammas, and Ammas don't want me that I know on. 
 But come now, 'Lishy, don't keep me waiting till 
 wheat sowing. I'm wanted yonder." 
 
 Smy being barely a three-quarter man and there- 
 fore not eligible as a reaper, owed no allegiance to the 
 Lord of the Harvest, at other times known as 'Lishy. 
 Hence the familiarity. 
 
 The doling out of the strong, sweet, sparkling old 
 home-brewed now began, each man making a panto- 
 
BE VER. 7 
 
 mimic show of ecstacy as his especial horn was filled. 
 The large wheatfield must be reaped ere nightfall, and 
 extra hours were always feted in this way. When the 
 can of " old harvest " was caught sight of the men 
 knew what the farmer expected. 
 
 Paying no attention to the jokes of the others, little 
 Smy sipped his draught, then, wiping his mouth on his 
 sleeve, limped away, ejaculating to himself. The 
 jesters might shout and give way to uproarious mirth 
 at his expense, he never so much as turned his head, 
 the superlative qualities of the beer driving out every 
 other thought. At every step he formed a new inter- 
 jection, some fresh term of approval. 
 
 As to the harvestmen, faces grew ruddier, tongues 
 became more loquacious, but, wonderful as it seemed, 
 none got drunk. Each with infinite content munched 
 his hunk of harvest cake, that excellent dough cake, 
 well sugared, spiced and sprinkled with currants, made 
 in the shape of small loaves, and never seen except 
 during this season. 
 
 The one sober, silent figure present was EHsha Sage. 
 He was naturally a pallid man, and although gaunt of 
 
8 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 limb and muscularly strong, not particularly robust. 
 Truth to tell, like his wife, he was afflicted with a 
 delicate stomach, and being unable to digest the usual 
 ploughman's fare, fat salted pork and flour and 
 water dumplings, he lived mainly on bread and cheese. 
 
 Naturally, also, a man of few words, to-day he said 
 less than usual. He was evidently brooding, his 
 thoughts far from this hilarious scene. 
 
 " You don't look as if master's old beer made your 
 very big toe tingle," said Nat, the sheep-shearer, 
 turning to his chief. " Why, my lord, what matters 
 the Hall Farm to you? Farmer Betts may be dead 
 now, or live as long as Methuselah, you won't get the 
 offer of his lease I'm thinking." 
 
 There was a general laugh, which Elisha took '/ery 
 quietly. 
 
 "And you won't get the half-crown offered to the 
 first man who minds his own business," he replied, 
 dipping his head into the drinking horn and taking 
 a long draught. 
 
 " Well," continued the irrepressible sheep-shearer, 
 " what Teddie yonder is a thinking on morning, noon, 
 
BE VER. 9 
 
 and night we all know well enough, and what Mrs. 
 Betsey is a thinking on we needn't scratch our polls 
 about either. I'll lay the widow gets the lease, women 
 folks somehow always circumvent the men." 
 
 The persons alluded to were Mr. Edward Flindell, 
 tenant farmer, owning this wheat crop, and Mrs. 
 Elizabeth Askew, his neighbour, also tenant farmer, 
 and on the same scale. Without intending disrespect 
 country folks thus familiarly called their employers. 
 
 Elisha's face had grown sombre as he Hstened. 
 Nat's speech evidently displeased him. 
 
 " It's not for you to say who will get the lease, nor 
 for me either," he made somewhat surly reply. " No- 
 body is dead at the Hall Farm that we know on, and I 
 call it downright wicked to put fellow-beings into their 
 coffins afore their time." 
 
 Nat affected a ludicrous air of penitence. 
 
 " See if my lord don't put on a white choker and 
 take to preaching o' Sundays," cried the wag, " if so, 
 I'm blowed if I don't turn meetiner." 
 
 " The meeting-house mightn't do you much good, it 
 wouldn't harm you leastways," Elisha replied. Then 
 
lo THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 leal to duty as the hand of a clock, the Lord of the 
 Harvest slowly rose, the word of command was given, 
 and mechanically each reaper fell into his place. 
 
 What a scene was that corn-field under the hot 
 August sky! Fiery red glowed the faces of the 
 harvestmen, against the golden back-ground, a sea of 
 waving wheat, the famed ruddy-hued wheat of 
 Talavera. Not a cloud obscured the burning blue 
 heavens, whilst beyond the standing corn showed 
 here and there a bit of foliage, lofty hedge 
 starred with wild roses or low pollard oaks of deep 
 rich green. 
 
 As the afternoon drew on the sultriness increased, 
 and these brilliant contrasts of colour grew more 
 intense. Southern warmth and gorgeousness seemed 
 to invest that Suffolk harvest field. But the bucolic 
 mood of the reapers had passed. As the sickles 
 moved automatically backwards and forwards, not a 
 word passed their lips, a regiment of deaf mutes were 
 hardly quieter. From time to time, at a signal of the 
 leader, each stood up, wiped his brow, shook himself. 
 
BEVER, II 
 
 took a draught of beer, interchanged a word with his 
 fellow, then resumed work vigorously as before. 
 
 The sun sank behind the pollard oaks and twilight 
 succeeded, hardly bringing coolness. A little later, 
 although no breeze sprang up, pleasant freshness 
 lightened their labours ; another and yet another drink 
 from the master's can lent new strength, long after 
 moon rising, that mechanical swing of twenty arms, 
 that gleam of twenty sickles went on. Deep, almost 
 solemn silence reigned over the corn-field. Only the 
 rustle of footsteps and wheat falling on the stover 
 broke the stillness, a stillness and monotony emble- 
 matic of these noiseless, unheroic lives, the tide of 
 human existence that perpetually ebbs and flows, 
 leaving no memory behind. 
 
12 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 "the muse of the drift." 
 
 Separated from the harvest field by a mile of undu- 
 lating meadow stood Elisha's house, known as the 
 cottage in the drift. An enclosed lane or cartway 
 leading from field to field is always thus called in 
 Suffolk. Elisha's drift was a perpetual glory. 
 When spring came its banks were heaped with purple 
 and white violets — none to gather them — later on 
 every bit of hedge being garlanded with traveller's 
 joy, wild rose and honeysuckle. All the year round, 
 whether clothed with richest foliage or in wintry 
 white, its veteran oaks and elms made a beautiful 
 show, throughout the summer-time tenanted by 
 myriads of singing birds. The paramount charm of 
 the drift was a solitude sometimes unbroken through- 
 
*' THE MUSE OF THE DRIFT'' 13 
 
 out the entire day. Cattle were driven this way, occa- 
 sionally a turnip cart or waggon passed, and at morn 
 and eve one or two farming folks traversed the lane, 
 that was all. Few such solitudes existed hereabouts 
 even so long ago. 
 
 Master Sage had Httle to complain of in the matter 
 of house-room and garden. For a shiUing a week 
 he rented an ancient cottage with large brick-floored 
 kitchen from which a rude wooden stair led to two 
 bed-chambers. The garden possessed some fine old 
 apple trees, a row of veteran gooseberry bushes, 
 potato and pumpkin beds, flowers adorning the front 
 path. Here flourished " Welcome home husband tho' 
 never so drunk," as, nobody knows why, country folks 
 always called the yellow stonecrop, " granny's night- 
 cap " or monks'-hood, sweet Williams, picotees in 
 abundance, with lavender and rosemary for sweetening 
 bed linen, a few pot herbs, and rue to drive away fleas. 
 
 A pallid woman in neat lilac sunbonnet and well- 
 patched cotton gown sat on the doorstep sewing ; 
 from time to time she glanced towards the gate, as 
 she did so her expression changing from gentleness 
 
14 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 to indignation. It was a mild, pathetic, and even 
 refined face under that flapping sunbonnet. Not a 
 trace of coarseness marred the large, sallow features, 
 and not all her privations at home nor her labours 
 afield had imparted a rustic, hardy look. This poor 
 woman, like many another, was the victim of local 
 diet, that perpetual fare of fat salted pork, only found 
 digestible by the strongest. A daily bit of scraggy 
 mutton was her ideal of worldly good, her highest 
 conception of material enjoyment. 
 
 She had compensations. Nature, in denying a 
 sound digestion, had endowed her with something 
 much rarer, the poetic faculty. Karrenheppuch Sage 
 was a poet. She could not write, but she could put 
 her verses together for the more accomplished to 
 transcribe. And she could read; the Bible, the 
 " Pilgrim's Progress," and " City of Mansoul," the 
 " Dairy Man's Daughter," the " Shepherd of Salisbury 
 Plain," " Coelebs in Search of a Wife," the " Cottagers 
 of Glenburnie," and " Baxter's Saints' Rest," forming 
 her library. 
 
 On this sweet summer evening, as she sat sewing 
 
''THE MUSE OF THE DRIFTr 15 
 
 her gleaning poke or large pocketed apron, the medi- 
 tative glow on her face suddenly changed to rising 
 wrath. 
 
 A click of the garden gate, the appearance of a 
 slender girl's figure, and youthful copy of her own 
 features, in white sunbonnet, had wrought the trans- 
 formation. 
 
 "It's a pity you didn't stay away altogether, I 
 think," began the mother reproachfully ; " days and 
 days ago I sent for you. Ah ! Amma, were your poor 
 sister Delphie alive and well I should have some com- 
 fort in my mawthers." 
 
 Amma, as Emma was pronounced in those parts, 
 had unfortunately survived a more promising sister, 
 Philadelphia, a girl of much winningness and promise. 
 The loss of that fourteen-year-old idol had well-nigh 
 broken Karra's heart and wrecked her intellect. She 
 could not help it, she said, but neither Amma nor her 
 brothers, Nehemiah and Isaiah, must ever expect to be 
 loved like Delphie. 
 
 "The butter wouldn't come; it's not my fault, 
 mother," Amma repHed very complacently — she was 
 
1 6 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 used to these maternal ratings — '* and yesterday and 
 the day afore we were busy a'washing." Then, with a 
 look that said — have your say and have done — the 
 young woman squatted down and began to munch a 
 green apple. 
 
 " Amma," said her mother, fixing on the girl her 
 large, light grey, ever tearful eyes, " who rode home 
 from Ipswich last Saturday week in the miller's cart, 
 and got out with the mark of a floury arm around her 
 waist ? 'Tis well you had on your dark shawl, Madam, 
 or such 'havious would be unbeknown to me perhaps 
 till too late." 
 
 " Was I going to maul myself in the boiling sun for 
 three miles when offered a lift ?" Amma retorted, " and 
 if I got some flour on my shawl, what else could you 
 expect in a miller's cart ? " 
 
 " Such farmgs lead to — you know what," was the 
 severe reply. " Remember Martha Smith and the 
 poor fatherless child she brought into the world — 
 remember Ann Birch." 
 
 " Don't talk to me of Martha Smith and Ann Birch," 
 exclaimed Amma in high dudgeon ; " thanks to the 
 
''THE MUSE OF THE DRlFTr 17 
 
 Almighty I have not disgraced myself up till now, nor 
 shall I in time to come." 
 
 " Do you suppose that the Almighty troubles Him- 
 self about silly mawthers like you ? " Karra went on. 
 " He has that old serpent which is the Devil to look 
 after ; but I'm your mother, and married at church, and 
 if you don't go and do likewise, you know what to 
 expect." 
 
 A positive vicious look came into Karra's usually 
 mild face, and she shook her fist at her daughter 
 menacingly. 
 
 " A good horse-whipping and out you would have 
 to turn, no mercy must you count on from me or your 
 father. To think of nannicking (fooling) with a 
 miller's son." 
 
 " I tell you I wasn't a' nannicking, mother ; who's 
 been impinging my modestly, I should very much like 
 to know } " Amma had the maternal trick of picking 
 up fine words. 
 
 "If letting a fellow, and him a mere hudderen 
 
 (hobbledehoy), put his arm round your waist isn't a' 
 
 nannicking, what is ? " Karra continued, " Never mind 
 
 2 
 
1 8 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 how I heard on't, and I shall hear of anything else that 
 goes on, you won't baffle me, and remember Tat Turtle 
 may give you a lift in his father's cart, he won't take 
 such as you to church, he'll look higher." 
 
 All this time Karra had no idea of what was going 
 on in the girl's mind. Amma did not flinch from that 
 sharp maternal gaze, her own face remaining wholly 
 unreadable. Plain she undoubtedly was, but a cer- 
 tain pallor and plaintiveness, recalling her mother, lent 
 something that the neighbours took to be gentility 
 and something more! Unlike Karra, she had dark 
 hair and eyes expressive of patient resolve and im- 
 mense self-possession, even subtlety of character. 
 
 " Tat Turtle may look as high as he likes for all 
 me," she replied in her provoking passionless tone. 
 " So, mother, if that's all you have to say, I'll be off. 
 We've been a' churning all day, the butter, as I've just 
 told you, wouldn't come, and Miss 'Ria is as cross as 
 two sticks. I'll tell you what it is, I can't bide her any 
 longer, at Michaelmas I shall better myself." 
 
 " Think on what I say any ways," Karra said. 
 " You're my only comfort now, Amma, if comfort you 
 
''THE MUSE OF THE DRIFTS 19 
 
 are, and think of poor Delphie, that blessed lamb in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Amma tied her cotton bonnet strings, her thin red 
 fingers twitching nervously. She inwardly reproached 
 herself for the feeling but could not overcome it. 
 The very name of this dead sister, ever flung at her as 
 a reproach, aroused bitterness and rebellion. It was 
 " Delphie this, Delphie that," year in and year out. 
 
 " It isn't my fault that I am not a blessed lamb in 
 Heaven also," she replied with as much warmth as she 
 was capable of. " You wouldn't have me go and 
 drown myself, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Amma, will you mock your own mother ? " 
 
 " I'm not a' mocking you, but such harpings on 
 poor Delphie are more than flesh and blood can stand. 
 Well, good-night, mother, I must be off to fleet the 
 milk." She had reached the little wooden gate when 
 Karra called her back. 
 
 " Have you heard any news of the Hall Farm? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " I've seen neither feather nor bone of anyone from 
 
 the hall," was the curt reply, whereupon the white 
 
 2* 
 
20 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 cotton sunbonnet disappeared behind the trees. Her 
 mother sewed and mused. 
 
 Just over against the cottage, crowning glory of the 
 drift, stood a magnificent old elm. Karra never 
 tired of gazing at that ancient tree. Unlike her neigh- 
 bours she was of a reflective turn and loved Nature. 
 Everyone cultivated flowers, the poorest thatched 
 cabin had its roses and daffy-down-dillies and sweet 
 Williams, but these were regarded rather as so much 
 furniture than ideal wealth. Of beauty in the abstract, 
 beauty as a consolation, only Karra had an inkling. 
 
 She could not join the stone-pickers' gang or go 
 a' weeding on account of feeble health, and in her long 
 hours of solitude the tree had become a companion, 
 almost a fetish. Had Karra learned the elementary 
 laws of composition she might have turned her artless 
 rhymes into poetry. Thus ran two veress on the old 
 elm : — 
 
 " Indeed it is a very fine tree, 
 
 And its dress is a beautiful green, 
 When the autumn winds blow, its dress will lie low, 
 There'll scarce be a piece to^be^seen. 
 
''THE MUSE* OF THE DRIETr 21 
 
 At Christmas most likely we'll see the old tree 
 
 Dressed up all in silvery white, 
 And although the cold snow is pinching to bear, 
 
 It's a grand and beautiful sight." 
 
 Rhyming and meditation did not interfere with 
 housewifely tasks. As folks said, you could eat off 
 her brick floor, the deal flour-hutch was white as snow, 
 tin kettles, her husband's prizes at the ploughing match, 
 and saucepans shone bright as silver. Carpets, sofas, 
 and works of art had not yet found their way to 
 cottage homes, but on a little side table covered with 
 bright patterned oilcloth lay the family Bible, half- 
 a-dozen books, a pair of ornamental china candlesticks 
 with snuffers and tray, and lacquered tea-caddy. 
 Over the high fireplace with dog irons and enormous 
 chimney hung a sampler and two little prints repre- 
 senting bucolic scenes, in black wooden frames ; 
 an old-fashioned clock, deal table and six wooden 
 chairs completed the furniture; leading out of the 
 kitchen was a small back-house, or scullery, with 
 copper and bake-oven. 
 
 At other times of the year, Elisha's dinner hour was 
 three o'clock in the afternoon, when all ploughmen 
 
22 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 returned from the field ; during harvest the order of 
 things was reversed. Men, as well as masters, now 
 dined at midday, bever being taken abroad, and 
 supper as occasion served. More changed was the meal 
 than the meal-time. Instead of salt pork and hard 
 dumpling, the big boiler hanging from the spirket 
 now contained a bit of beef and a plum pudding. As 
 Karra laid the cloth she brought out not the usual flet 
 cheese, i.e., Suffolk cheese made of skimmed or 
 fleeted milk, but a piece of genuine Derby. 
 
 Complacently the muse of the Drift made all things 
 in readiness for her good man, then again took up the 
 gleaning poke. 
 
 This was a large wide apron of coarse whitey brown 
 calico, prepared expressly for the harvest field, the 
 hem being turned up so as to form an enormous 
 pocket. Karra's mild watery blue eyes beamed with 
 satisfaction as she contemplated her handiwork. 
 Gleaning corn meant the fortune of the year, golden 
 windfall of the poorest. There are gleaners and 
 gleaners, and none could fill a poke quicker than 
 Karra. To her, gleaning corn was not the mere vulgar 
 
" THE MUSE OF THE DRIFTS 23 
 
 filling of children's bellies, it implied the luxury and 
 distinction of a doctor's bill. Ever an invalid, ever 
 proud, Karra held aloof from the over-worked parish 
 doctor. Seven miles she tramped across country to con- 
 sult the best esteemed medical man in the neighbour- 
 hood, and seven miles more to pay his bill with the 
 proceeds of her gleaning corn, that is to say, the corn 
 was taken to the windmill, duly ground and weighed, 
 then its money value deducted week by week from 
 Elisha's wages. Karra prided herself harly less upon 
 her ailments and what they cost than upon her poetic 
 faculty. We have all our little weaknesses, and even a 
 poor digestion under certain circumstances may be- 
 come a title of honour. 
 
 It was dusk when Elisha entered, the pair sitting 
 down to supper by a farthing rushlight. Karra sipped 
 a cup of tea and ate daintily. The Lord of the 
 Harvest fell to with right good will. 
 
 " Our mawther has been here, and I gave it to her 
 pretty well," began the wife. " To think of her a' 
 ridin' in the Queen's highway with a man's arm round 
 her waist, and him a miller white from the mill ! " 
 
24 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Elisha's thoughts were evidently elsewhere. 
 
 " Any news from the Hall ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not that I knows on, a pretty thing 'Lishy if so be 
 that master does get the Hall Farm and our Amma 
 should meanwhile run after Tat Turtle and have a 
 misfortune! You wouldn't be headman long, I'm 
 thinking. Well, Amma knows what to expect from me 
 if she disgraces herself. Skinning alive would be 
 nothing to it. I'm not a holy woman, but a good 
 living one, and I've tried to bring up my children 
 respectable, though I don't take them to see folks 
 hanged, as Mrs. Warner does her mawthers, my inside 
 wouldn't stand it." 
 
 Elisha was slow in replying. Women ever had the 
 best of the argument hereabouts. The last word and 
 the spending of the weeks' wages were tacitly acknow- 
 ledged as feminine privilege. 
 
 " If master don't get the farm and Mrs. Askew do, 
 Jerry Hammond and his wife will crow over us finely, 
 for in course he'll be her headman." 
 
 " We haven't the ruling of principalities and powers 
 so must submit," Karra said, helping him to more 
 
''THE MUSE OF THE DRIFTS 25 
 
 plum pudding. " Like the fowls of the air we must 
 take our chance." 
 
 Then the pair lapsed into pensive silence. Both 
 were prone to pondering, and this dream of a head- 
 manship afforded constant matter for thought. To 
 be headman at the Hall meant for Elisha to be called 
 Mr. instead of Master, to attend Ipswich market with 
 samples of corn when his employer was prevented 
 from going himself, to be even invited to the rent- 
 dinner, occasionally also to pay the men o' Saturday 
 nights, and last, but not least, an extra shilling a week 
 and no deduction for wet days. To Karra it meant 
 much more. As headman's wife she would be conse- 
 quently in requisition at the Hall, now to help in ham- 
 pickling, now in beer-brewing, at the big monthly 
 washes, whenever a pig was put down, to say nothing of 
 spring cleanings and preparing for company. Helping, 
 as charing was called, meant sixpence a day with meals 
 and a basketful of odd pieces to carry home. 
 
26 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MISS 'RIA. 
 
 Mr. Edward Flindell, Elisha's master, was a 
 bachelor of forty farming a hundred and sixty acres 
 at a corn rent ; that is to say, when prices went down 
 he suffered Httle, but when prices ran up he did not, in 
 local phrase, eat five-pound notes between his bread 
 and butter. Bad times but moderately affected him, 
 by good times he profited less than his neighbours. 
 Farmers made money fifty years ago, and the lease of a 
 good holding was then as difficult to get as a seat in 
 Parliament, perhaps more so. Just as a constituency is 
 nursed long before a seat becomes vacant, every 
 available expedient being resorted to by the rival can- 
 didates, so leases would be watched for, strategically 
 striven after, awaited with a persistence and diplomacy 
 often grimly humorous and pathetic. 
 
MISS 'RIA, 27 
 
 The Hall Farm of Burridge, the Hall, as folks 
 usually called it, was by far the most desirable occu- 
 pation in that part of Suffolk. You might ride a 
 black mare white, so folks said, before lighting on such 
 another, three hundred acres of good mixed roil, 
 plenty of meadow land, few trees in the fields, fine old 
 manor house to live in, excellent premises, and only 
 three miles separating them from market with one toll- 
 bar on the way. 
 
 Now Mr. Flindell came of first-rate farming stock, 
 which was an immense recommendation to land- 
 owners. His brothers, like their sire and grandsire 
 before them, were all what was called substantial men, 
 well known for their clean farming, fat bullocks and 
 sheep, and impregnable respectability. They went to 
 church, voted Tory, above all could show a full stack- 
 yard till the following haysel, or hay harvest — 
 undoubted sign of first-rate management and solid 
 means. To thresh out within a few months of harvest 
 had an unprosperous look. But among the numerous 
 applicants for Burridge Hall Edward Flindell knew 
 that he had at least one redoubtable rival, that rival a 
 
28 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 woman. Women farmers were pretty numerous in 
 the county. Any landlord who should deny the 
 renewal of a lease to widow, daughters, or even sisters 
 of an irreproachable tenant would have dubbed him- 
 self a churL When a farmer died without male issue, 
 the lease, like the crown of England, passed as a 
 matter of course to the female line. This rival, by 
 name Mrs. Betsey Askew, had unusual claims also on 
 the Honourable Captain de Medue, a retired Indian 
 officer, one of the largest landowners in the county, and 
 whose hobby it was to have as many women tenants 
 as possible. For this predilection he gave reasons 
 eccentric enough. Women could not go to the poll, 
 he used to say, and he objected to political farmers, 
 they might or might not vote with him, but when 
 precluded from voting at all there was an end of the 
 matter. 
 
 Again, Widow Askew came not only of substantial 
 but of moneyed stock. 
 
 " My last cow has calved," she had lately said, allud- 
 ing to the handsome legacy of a rich old uncle ; the 
 Captain knew well enough that if she had no more 
 
MISS 'RIA. 29 
 
 expectations she was already in a position to farm 
 high and he Hked tenants who farmed high. 
 
 Thinking of these things and weighing his chances 
 the farmer quitted the harvest field. Crossing a 
 pightle, or enclosed meadow, he reached his home, an 
 ordinary farm-house of the humbler kind, one-gabled, 
 red-tiled, with white-washed walls. In front a small 
 flower and fruit garden led to a well-stocked orchard, 
 at the back were barn, neat-house, fowl-houses and 
 farm-yard. Like many another in these parts Walnut 
 Tree Farm had no direct communication with the outer 
 world. Elisha's Drift and a cart-way in the opposite 
 direction led respectively to the high road a mile 
 and a half away. With many another also Walnut 
 Tree Farm possessed only one charm, that indescri- 
 bable as yet unspoiled aspect of old-world rustic 
 England. All was not idyllic, but the poetry of a fast 
 vanishing epoch and condition were here. No railway 
 had reached the ear of its youngest inhabitant. The 
 sound of the flail still echoed on the threshing-floor. 
 The tinder-box stood beside the housewife's bed. In 
 
30 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 clean smock frock or corduroy the labourer set off to 
 church or meeting-house. 
 
 Quietly as a mouse Mr. Flindell unlatched the back 
 house-door, a sharp snappish voice calling from 
 within : 
 
 " I hope you are wiping your shoes 1 " 
 
 Scrape, scrape, went the master's highlows on the 
 rude iron scraper, rub, rub, on the straw mat. 
 
 " I haven't been carting muck that I know of," he 
 replied meekly ironic. 
 
 Mr. Flindell was not without a touch of humour, few 
 Suffolkers are, but he stood somewhat in awe of his 
 housekeeper and was constantly restraining himself. 
 
 " Muck or no muck, Mr. Flindell, there are no carpets 
 abroad, and it's my business to keep your floors clean. 
 I'm not as clean as some folks, your sister Martha for 
 one, if I were, a pretty life of it you'd lead." 
 
 The farmer smiled to himself, but made no reply. 
 He was a man of few words and she was a woman of 
 many, better, he always thought, to let her have her 
 way. 
 
 " Will they finish cutting the home field to-night ? " 
 
MISS 'RIA. 31 
 
 she asked as he washed his hands at the sink. Had 
 Miss Maria Studd, Miss 'Ria, as the farming folks 
 called her, been Mr. Flindell's wife she could not have 
 testified more affectionate interest in his concerns, a 
 compliment accepted by him rather ruefully, but a 
 compliment not to be rejected. When two people sit 
 down day after day to the same board, one must of 
 necessity draw out, the other consent to be drawn. 
 
 The question being answered satisfactorily, they 
 passed into the keeping-room, as a farm-house parlour 
 was always called, Maria having her heavy key- 
 basket in one hand. She was a ruddy-cheeked, bright- 
 eyed little woman of about thirty-five, and, the fact 
 was apparent at a glance round the house, a first-rate 
 housekeeper. Another fact equally apparent to the 
 casual observer was this, Miss Maria Studd had 
 m_ade up her mind to marry Mr. Edward Flindell. 
 Less obvious to outsiders remained her employer's 
 attitude in the matter. Only those well up in the 
 book of human nature would detect a certain passive 
 resistance and recoiling, and at the same time a half 
 acknowledgment of his adversary's superiority. The 
 
32 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 pair were indeed playing a game in which everything 
 depended upon coolness and skill. Miss 'Ria could 
 not more resolutely decide to become Mrs. Edward 
 Flindell than the farmer decide to remain a bachelor, 
 at least as far as she was concerned. Hence the 
 piquancy of daily intercourse. It was a perpetual 
 parry and thrust, catch and throw, touch and go. 
 
 " Mr. Betts is much the same ; it is wonderful how 
 some people hold out," she said with the complacent 
 self-approval of the faithful steward. " I got Smy to 
 waylay the postman and enquire. You see if anything 
 happens you must not lose a moment in seeing the 
 Captain." 
 
 Mr. Flindell sugared his apple-turnover — ^he ever 
 supped lightly — cut it into mathematical little squares, 
 then, before poising one on the edge of his black- 
 handled knife, made reply: 
 
 " It's a bad business waiting for dead men's shoes," 
 
 "We must take the bad business with the good," 
 she rattled on, her speech having a ring of 
 unmistakable decision and self-assurance, no matter 
 the topic. " Remember what happened about Reaford 
 
MISS 'RIA, 33 
 
 Hall. For weeks and weeks afore Tom Smith died, 
 Ralph Spooner kept a horse saddled night and day, 
 and no sooner was the breath out of the poor man's 
 body than off he set in the dead of the night, galloped 
 straight to London, saw Sir Theobald Gosford, and 
 came home with the lease in his pocket. I should 
 like to see anyone of the name of Flindell doing the 
 same." 
 
 " You ain't likely to," rejoined the farmer. 
 
 His family — there were seven of them, all in the 
 farming line — had their code of honour ; one article of 
 faith was decency in business matters. No one's 
 mouth could more water for the lease of Burridge 
 Hall than Edward Flindell's. The notion of riding to 
 London on such an errand shocked his moral sense. 
 
 "We wriggle on if we don't make money as fast 
 as some folks," he added, as he ate his turnover, the 
 perfection of turnover it was, crust light as a feather, 
 the ribstone pippin apples spiced and baked to a 
 turn. Mr. Flindell was very particular about his 
 turnovers, as Miss 'Ria knew. 
 
 "Wriggle on, you may well say that," the little 
 
 3 
 
34 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 woman continued with flashes of her dark eyes. *' But 
 how are farmers to do that if Sir Robert Peel gets his 
 way? He ought to be hanged with darning-cotton 
 and drawn to his grave by hopping toads, the 
 scoundrel !" 
 
 Mr. Flindell had an immense respect for *' the 
 wealth and talent of the country," thus he styled 
 Government, whether Whig or Tory, but he let his 
 housekeeper rail on. It was not in the Flindell family 
 to call great folks names. Miss Studd, as he knew 
 well, came from a slightly lower social stratum. Thus 
 he excused her vituperations, whilst for her part she 
 regarded strong words as a tonic of which he stood 
 sorely in need. Truth to tell, he was a trifle 
 phlegmatic. 
 
 " I'll be on the look out, never fear," she added, then 
 with a change of tone put the question, " I suppose 
 you don't intend to go to market to-morrow ? " 
 
 During haysel and harvest farmers frequently 
 absented themselves from market, Mr. Ederd, as 
 Edward was called by his own people, among the 
 number. 
 
MISS 'RIA. 35 
 
 " Were you wanting to go yourself ? " he asked. 
 
 " I should say I have something better to do," was 
 the contemptuous reply, " what with drawing beer 
 at all hours of the day and the washing still about. I 
 only asked because I want some groceries, and as well 
 have them put in your gig as pay the butter woman 
 for bringing them o' Saturdays." 
 
 The farmer's richly-bronzed complexion took a 
 ruddier tone, and he suddenly coughed as if 
 a crumb had gone the wrong way. It was a 
 trick of his when conscious of blushing, a trick that 
 fortunately Miss 'Ria had not found out. When the 
 impediment was dislodged he merely said : 
 
 " Yes, Richard and Samuel will be there, and I 
 want to see about some oil-cake." 
 
 " Well, you've only to tell me how much beer is to 
 be drawn, I'll look after the people, never fear." 
 
 Miss Studd loved to sit beside Mr. Flindell in his 
 gig, hardly less flattering was the fact of being left in 
 charge at home. 
 
 Her companion answered mechanically, and 
 
 3* 
 
36 THE LORD OP THE HARVEST 
 
 was now left alone, off bustled the house- 
 keeper to draw the men's supper beer, see 
 that the cats had not got into the dairy, that the fowl- 
 houses were locked, the maids behaving themselves 
 and everything in order. Meantime an expression 
 stole over Mr. Ederd's face that rendered him for the 
 moment positively beautiful. He seemed to catch the 
 reflex of some heavenly vision, to consort in that 
 commonplace little keeping-room with angelic 
 visitants. 
 
 In bounced Miss 'Ria bearing key-basket and rush- 
 lights in tin candle-sticks. 
 
 " Don't you think it as well to save fire and candle 
 when we can ? " she asked, and suiting the action to 
 the words, snuffed out the tall tallow candles. *' Never 
 you fear, I'll drive the men and maids to bed." 
 
 The energetic little woman was fond of strong 
 language. It was " Roar in the clothes," if a heavy 
 shower fell just after filling the line ; " are you going 
 to sit guzzling there till Martimmas ? " if Amma and 
 'Liza lingered too long over their dinner, and so on. 
 
MJSS 'RIA. 37 
 
 A mild expletive was never used when a vehement 
 one could be thought of. Alike words and deeds 
 were in Mr. Flindell's interest. How then could he 
 object to either? 
 
38 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DRIVE TO MARKET. 
 
 Soon after five o'clock next morning Mr. Flindell was 
 abroad, and his well-known " coop, coop, coop," 
 resounded from one end of the premises to the other. 
 Before, indeed, their master had descended the 
 granary steps, his feathered dependants were 
 impatiently awaiting the morning meal ; dun-colouved 
 hens, gorgeous cocks, and the beautiful white and 
 grey guinea-fowls, or come-backs, so called from their 
 cry, " Come back, come back," now flocked about him 
 in such numbers that he could hardly move. And still 
 to the sound of that reiterated " Coop, coop, coop," 
 they came, the farmer as usual doing his best to insure 
 an equitable distribution. Some especially greedy 
 
THE DRIVE TO MARKET. 39 
 
 ones he roughly drove away, but, as he often said, 
 Solomon himself could not have here seen justice done. 
 Certain of his family hens would out-wit the Lord 
 Chief Justice himself. With an alacrity quite unusual 
 to him, Mr. Flindell got through the daily routine, fed 
 ♦ the pigs, gave out corn and oil-cake for horses and fat 
 stock, set Smy to work at jobbing, next visited the 
 buds or young steers in pightle and meadow, lastly 
 the harvest field. 
 
 Precisely at noon he was ready for the hurried 
 Tuesday's dinner on market days, a mere snack of cold 
 meat and glass of beer. Clean shaven, in his best 
 black stock and well-ironed collar neatly adjusted, a 
 fine yellow silk handkerchief in the pocket of his 
 black cloth surtout, he well represented the substantial 
 tenant farmer. 
 
 To-day Miss 'Ria did not dine with her employer. 
 After the manner of farmers' wives when not 
 accompanying their lords to market, she "got him 
 off," as the phrase went, before sitting down to table 
 herself. 
 
40 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Have you thought of the beer bungs ? " she asked 
 as Smy came up with the gig. 
 
 " On my word I had clean forgotten them." 
 
 " Someone must have bunged up your senses this 
 morning; you forget every mortal thing," cried the 
 little woman with affected impatience. In reality she 
 was delighted at finding herself so useful. 
 
 The bungs, of which he required duplicates, being 
 neatly wrapped up and put in the gig-box, she watched 
 him mount and drive off. 
 
 " Tell your sister Marthy not to expect me till the 
 moon after next," she called after him, as she did so 
 saying to herself, " If that doesn't show him and his 
 family that I study his interests, what will? As if I 
 did not prefer going out to tea to putting down pork 
 and ironing all day or getting red as a turkey-cock 
 over the jam saucepan ! " 
 
 Mr. Flindell was soon rattling down the Drift, she 
 had never known him in such a hurry. Once on the 
 high road he drove faster still, his brown, humorous, 
 kindly eyes lighting up as he approached the toll-gate. 
 
 Yes, he was in luck's way to-day. There she stood, 
 
THE DRIVE TO MARKET 41 
 
 beside good Mrs. Pipe, the toll-gate keeper's wife, 
 awaiting a chance ride to Ipswich. The young 
 governess at the Rectory could seldom count on a 
 seat in the Rector's four-wheeler, it being packed 
 with children, and as the family liked the liveliness 
 of market day, she was free to go marketing also, 
 provided that someone would take her up. The slender 
 figure in fan-shaped Tuscan bonnet, blue muslin 
 gown and white gauze scarf worn so daintily on the 
 shoulders, was distinguishable to certain eyes a long 
 way off. Mr. Flindell felt sure that he could not be 
 mistaken. Other girls wore blue muslin gowns and 
 white scarves, but the wearer, the way of wearing, made 
 all the difference. 
 
 As he drew up to pay his fourpence, Mrs. Pipe 
 turned to her companion : 
 
 " Now, Miss Aimay, jump in. This is the seventh 
 gig that has passed since she's been a' waiting, Mr. 
 Flindell, and all choke-full, true as I stand here. But 
 there's luck in some numbers, so folks say." 
 
 Mr. FlindelFs face showed that he here agreed 
 with the good woman, it shone like the brand new 
 
42 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 fourpenny bit he handed for toll. Meantime the girl 
 modestly awaited an invitation. 
 
 " The seat wants filling," was all he said, as he 
 arranged the gig cushions. 
 
 Lightly she sprang to her place, only just displaying 
 a neat little foot, white-stockinged, sandalled after 
 the fashion of the day. Then nodding to Mrs. 
 Pipe the pair drove off. Miss Aimay, as she was 
 always called, could hardly be styled handsome or 
 even pretty, but she did not in the least resemble local 
 beauties, hence, for some eyes, her charm. The face 
 was thin, not with the thinness of emaciation or poor 
 health, rather of delicate symmetrical proportion. On 
 each cheek, shaded by auburn curls, seemed to have 
 fallen a pale pink rose leaf, so pure fresh the healthful 
 carnation. And her eyes possessed that rarest, wholly 
 indefinable attribute, loosely called expressiveness. A 
 direct, arch glance now intoxicated the farmer. 
 
 " Is your horse lame that you drive at this snail's 
 pace ? " she asked suddenly. 
 
 For no sooner had they passed the toll-bar than 
 Mr. Flindell slackened speed, gig after gig, sulky and 
 
THE DRIVE TO MARKET, 43 
 
 cart rattling by. A poor pretext is better than none 
 at all. 
 
 "You should always walk a horse uphill," he 
 replied, conscious of arch hypocrisy. 
 
 Now it would require a very strong imagination to 
 find a hill in the whole county of Suffolk. Here the 
 ground just perceptibly rose. That was all, but Mr. 
 Flindell did not drive Miss Aimay to market every 
 day. He was in no hurry whatever to reach Ipswich. 
 
 " This a hill ! " the young lady cried, bursting into 
 a merry laugh. " What would you say to the hills in 
 Dauphine, the part of France I come from ? " 
 
 Mr. Flindell now pretended to hurry his horse a 
 bit, and after hearing a little more about Dauphine, 
 said: 
 
 " There is one place in France I should well like to 
 see, I mean Waterloo. Is it anywhere near the 
 mountains you speak of ? " 
 
 Again his companion's face beamed with mirth- 
 fulness, but she checked herself and replied very 
 gravely : 
 
 "No, Waterloo, although close to France, is in 
 
44 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 Belgium, on the frontier ; why do you so much wish to 
 see that ugly battlefield, Mr. Flindell ? " 
 
 For the look of the thing, as neighbours were 
 constantly passing, he had now put Jack to a slow 
 trot. He replied in the same easy, confidential 
 manner, it seemed easy to speak of his feelings to her. 
 
 " You know much more about history than I do, but 
 nobody forgets the things that he sees and hears, as 
 a child. Well, when I was an unbreeched boy, 
 Bonaparty wanted to conquer England, as you know, 
 and ' Bony is a' coming. Bony shall get you ! ' was 
 enough to quiet us whatever mischief we might be at. 
 That is why I should like to see Waterloo." 
 
 " I am glad Bonaparte never did set foot in 
 England, but he was a Corsican, with not a drop of 
 French blood in his body. No Frenchman would 
 have treated women as he did." Miss Aimay exclaimed 
 with great decision. She then elucidated that little 
 remark about Napoleon's origin, much to her 
 companion's admiration. How excellent a thing is 
 learning! he thought, ruefully calling to mind 
 his own modicum of instruction, the dame-school to 
 
TBE DRIVE TO MARKET, 45 
 
 begin with, followed by two or three years under an 
 old village schoolmaster, whose very name was 
 synonymous with pedagogic incompetence, a proverb 
 in folks' mouths. 
 
 The company of this young girl indeed transported 
 him into a wholly new atmosphere. It was as if he 
 gazed upon some lovely exotic, caught its fragrance, 
 realized the existence of far off, more beautiful 
 regions. 
 
 Perhaps, too, he was conscious of the difference 
 between her attitude and that of Maria Studd, over- 
 matched by his housekeeper in fetches and expedients, 
 he yet saw through all. Miss 'Ria regarded him as 
 her legitimate prey. Here the position was entirely 
 reversed. Airily naive and at her ease, without a 
 vestige of coquetry or self-interest, the little 
 governess bewitched him, hardly seeing, perhaps 
 hardly caring,, whether it was so or no. For 
 him now to adore, covet, dream of, instead of 
 being adored, after a fashion, coveted, dreamed of 
 from morning till night. Maria's hankering after the 
 name and position of Mrs. Edward Flindell hardly 
 
46 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 warranted a sentimental adjective. Mere senti- 
 mentality were more bearable. The girl now caught 
 his glance directed at her reticule, a little velvet bag 
 with silver clasps, on its upper side embroidered the 
 name — Aimee. 
 
 " You are perhaps wondering why I should have a 
 French name," she asked. " I will tell you. My 
 mother was a governess, as I am, and named me after 
 a favourite pupil, a little French girl, called Aimee. 
 She thought it a good omen, because, although Aimee 
 is a proper name, it is the past participle of a verb, and 
 means ' Beloved/ " 
 
 " You would always be that, I am sure." 
 
 The fcirmer had never before heard of verbs and 
 past participles, but he understood Miss Aimay's 
 speech, and got out those terribly venturesome words 
 in a low voice, and with his eyes fixed on the reins. 
 His companion continued vivaciously enough. Perhaps 
 this kind-hearted, homely, middle-aged farmer wore a 
 fatherly aspect in her eyes. 
 
 " I don't think the Rectory children are of your 
 opinion," she said ; " they would hate anyone who set 
 
THE DRIVE TO MARKET, 47 
 
 them to French grammar and sums. But let me tell 
 you about mamma." 
 
 " Yes, I like to hear about your mamma," was the 
 low-voiced reply. 
 
 Mr. Flindell could not at all understand himself to- 
 day. As his steady old nag trotted by field and 
 meadow, past blacksmith's shop, windmill and 
 " Barley-mow," familiar objects looked strange and 
 new. He felt somehow that the world had turned 
 upside down, and his too well-known Ego with it. 
 
 Miss Aimay prattled on. 
 
 " Mamma married a Frenchman of English descent, 
 named de Richemont; he used to say that he was 
 descended from the royal dukes of Richmond. Who 
 knows, it may be so.? but the name did not bring 
 good fortune." 
 
 " Your poor mamma and papa are dead and gone 
 then ? " asked the farmer compassionately. 
 
 " Oh dear no, thank God, both are as well as 
 possible," said the young lady ; " I go to see them 
 every year at Grenoble, where they keep a pension, 
 that is to say, a boarding-house." 
 
48 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 What could her parents' caUing in hfe matter to him ? 
 Yet his face fell. Farmers were very aristocratic in 
 their way. They rang the side door of titled land- 
 lords, and were never invited for refreshments beyond 
 the housekeeper's room. But among themselves 
 reigned an exclusiveness and an etiquette equally 
 stringent as that of the gentry. With shopkeepers 
 they never visited, and a boarding-house had 
 positively a low sound. Every moment he was 
 falling deeper in love, her concerns began to look 
 Hke his own. France, however, was not England, that 
 was a comfortable reflection. 
 
 " You can have a seat home, and welcome," he said, 
 after a little ; " I shall leave the ' Crown and Anchor ' 
 yard at five o'clock." 
 
 " How kind of you ! I always tell mamma that the 
 only nice people in Suffolk are the farmers. But I 
 am to drive back in the Rector's four-wheeler, and I 
 will get down at St. Margaret's Green, if you please." 
 
 Certain moments of life are veritable eternities. 
 Brief as they are to recall, they seem to have lasted 
 indefinitely. Now, to Edward Flindell came one. 
 
TBE DRIVE TO MARKET. 49 
 
 When he drew up by that old-fashioned tavern, 
 " The Woolpack/' gigs, sulkies, four-wheelers, and 
 carts half -filled St. Margaret's Green. The place was 
 deserted. 
 
 Mr. Flindell could have prolonged those last 
 minutes till nightfall, for ever. With graceful spring 
 she reached the ground, again displaying the small 
 feet in white stockings with open work and sandalled 
 shoes ; distractingly engaging too, in his eyes, was the 
 slim, genteel figure, and gauze scarf worn with such 
 elegance. More distracting still was the curtsey of 
 thanks and farewell. 
 
 Suddenly possessed by some daemonic force he said 
 as he drank in the vision : 
 
 "Do you really mean what you told your mamma 
 about us farmers ? " 
 
 " You would not ask the question if you were the 
 governess of some people's children," was the reply. 
 Then, with a smiling inclination of the fan-shaped 
 Tuscan bonnet, she tripped off. 
 
 The everyday world came back as Mr. Flindell 
 alighted in the " Crown and Anchor " yard. With 
 
 4 
 
5Q THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 the habitual retiringness of his class, he always entered 
 by a back street To dash in from the Cornhill was 
 only becoming in the clergy, gentry, and independent 
 people, that is to say, folks who lived on their means. 
 
 " I began to think you weren't a' coming," reproach- 
 fully exclaimed a bluff rubicund copy of himself. Mr. 
 Samuel Flindell always felt aggrieved if his brothers 
 stayed away from market. Whether or no farmers 
 had business on hand it was clearly their duty to be 
 seen o' Tuesdays. 
 
 " Is Marthy here ? " asked Edward. 
 
 " No, we don't like to be both away just now, with 
 bever beer to be drawn, and so much to look after 
 abroad. She said most likely you would be a' coming 
 next moon." 
 
 " The moon after next, Sammel," replied Edward 
 with decision. He was a stay-at-home man, seldom 
 visiting even his own people, and at this particular 
 time he had especial reasons for avoiding Martha. 
 His unmarried sister, too, was a bit of a match-maker, 
 and between her plotting and Miss Studd's counter- 
 
THE DRIVE TO MARKET. 51 
 
 plotting he felt, as the local phrase went, " like a toad 
 under two harrows." 
 
 Having nodded to this neighbour and that, the pair 
 sauntered on to the Cornhill, just in front of the inn- 
 yard, always a busy scene on Tuesday afternoon, but 
 in those days far from an imposing one. No palatial 
 structure, as now, ornamented the square, alike Corn 
 Exchange and streets showed the plainest architecture. 
 
 Little business was doing to-day. Few farmers had 
 brought the usual brown paper bags of sample corn. 
 But if not within, at least outside the Corn Exchange 
 there was active buying and selling. In every gig 
 lay a large frail basket to be filled with household 
 necessaries. Folks were too well off to stint them- 
 selves of tea at five shillings a pound, and as yet no 
 cheap American cheese had driven rich Derby and 
 Cheshire out of the field. The prevailing atmosphere 
 was of solid sober prosperity. The townsfolk were all 
 abroad, mingling with the rest, many a Quaker, in 
 collarless coat and broad-brimmed hat, and Quakeress 
 in coalscuttle bonnet, little black shawl, white lawn 
 kerchief and drab or brown dress. 
 
 4* 
 
52 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 "How do thee, friend Edward?" — "Glad to see 
 thee, friend Samuel," suavely said one and another to 
 the two jolly farmers as they threaded the crowd. 
 
 The scene was certainly exhilarating, farming talk 
 and farming ways were homely. The chats alike at 
 street corner and in tavern parlour were for the most 
 part personal. But comfortable circumstance begets 
 a charitable frame of mind and honest dealing, hs 
 a spectacle those tenant farmers thronging Cornhill 
 and adjacent streets engendered confidence in 
 humanity, and in the conduct of human affairs. 
 
53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A FLIRTATION BY RUSHLIGHT. 
 
 Amma Sage might well toss her head and " put on 
 parts," as the phrase went. In those days it was not 
 the village lass that sighed for a lover, but the lover 
 that sighed oft-times in vain for a lass. Emigration 
 had hitherto concerned felons only. The vast 
 Australian continent hardly boasted of a sheep- 
 fold. No grain-laden ships reached Liverpool from 
 the Far West or Argentina ; no Chicago stockyards 
 or Scandinavian dairies as yet supplied the provision 
 merchant and the butterman. 
 
 Thus it came about that in one sense, and that a 
 most important one, this Suffolk village, with many 
 
54 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 another, was a veritable Arcadia. Alike the able- 
 bodied, the three-quarter man, and the hudderen or 
 hobbledehoy were in request. Not one could be 
 spared by the farmer; and as occasionally young 
 women did " go into the shires," in other words, accept 
 situations at a distance, whilst their fathers, brothers 
 and sweethearts stayed behind, the hirsute, the 
 courting sex, ever remained a decided minority. 
 
 Amma, with her large languishing eyes, complexion 
 of genteel paleness, slim waist, was fully alive to the 
 above-named advantages. She was a farmhouse maid, 
 receiving eighteenpence a week as wages. She could 
 barely read or write, and had not a well-to-do relation 
 in the world. But she was a woman and conscious 
 of feminine power, often capriciously, even cruelly 
 used. 
 
 According to custom, Mr. Flindell boarded two 
 young ploughmen, so that Amma and her fellow- 
 servant 'Liza enjoyed the society of the stronger sex 
 at supper and every meal o' Sundays. In this farm- 
 house, as in every other, the most rigid decorum was 
 preserved. The maids' bed-chamber ever adjoined 
 
A FLIRTATION BY RUSHLIGHT 55 
 
 that of the mistress, whilst the men slept in an attic 
 approached by a back stair. But neither bolts, bars, 
 nor yet the ubiquitous eye of housewives like Miss 
 Maria Studd could prevent soft glances, whispered 
 vows, Sunday walks, and the sending of Valentines. 
 
 " Well, Ebby," said Amma, addressing the elder and 
 taller of the two youths, brothers of twenty-two and 
 seventeen; "how I've been a-waiting and a-looking 
 for you ! " 
 
 " It's all very fine to say that," rejoined the swain, 
 sullenly. 
 
 Men may follow the plough, fare on fat pork and 
 flour and water dumplings, the spark of romance, of 
 poetry, is nevertheless not to be extinguished in their 
 humble breasts. For Ebenezer Murphy, Amma's big 
 brown eyes were the luminaries of the universe, her 
 smile or frown the day's destiny. 
 
 " Why all very fine, pray ? Here, Zeky, you catch." 
 As she spoke, she threw across the kitchen a bit of 
 home-made toffee, called treacle sucker. Everyone 
 here made treacle sucker. 
 
 Zeky, or Ezekiel — for everyone gave children 
 
56 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Bible names — opened not his palm, but his mouth. In 
 went the sweetmeat, unerringly aimed, as unerringly 
 swallowed. 'Liza, with a hand on each hip, laughed 
 aloud. The stout, red-cheeked, unromantic, and 
 imperturbably cheerful dairymaid was a girl who, in 
 local phrase, " had had a misfortune." Young women, 
 in such case, Miss Studd said, made the best possible 
 servants. They did not mind how hard they worked, 
 nor what they ate, so long as they got plenty. And 
 they were not perpetually running after men folk, 
 having had more than enough of them to their cost. 
 The four sat down, Zeky's eyes brightening at the 
 regale ; a chunk of cold plum pudding was allotted to 
 each and the pewter mugs showed suggestive foam. 
 Ah! that good old harvest beer! Therein lay the 
 secret of tremendously long working days, and 
 prevailing good humour. Higher wages certainly 
 counted for something; the occasional taste of beef 
 and the daily plum puddings must be also be taken into 
 account. But it was the sweet, strong, sparkling 
 home-brewed that, for the time being, made life 
 exhilarating and toil almost a gracious dispensation. 
 
A FLIRTATION BY RUSHLIGHT. 57 
 
 Ebenezer Murphy, like his younger brother, was 
 heavy-featured, square-built, with flaming complexion 
 and yellow hair, recalling the hues of full-blown 
 poppies and ripe corn. He was a typical Suffolker, 
 drawling in speech, first-rate at ploughing or nine- 
 pins, not without a touch of native wit, and 
 absolutely inoffensive. No night school, village club, 
 or penny newspaper had as yet opened his mind to 
 wider intellectual and social horizons. A head horse- 
 man's place, a cottage with garden, and Amma — 
 bevond these limits ambition soared not. 
 
 " Why all very fine, pray ? " he repeated, with a look 
 in his light blue eyes as of some timid animal entreating 
 mildness at the hand of its captor. " Because you 
 know that you are never a-waiting and a-looking for 
 me. 
 
 " I was, Ebby, but what I had to say isn't pending," 
 she replied provokingly. " If so be you are curious, 
 ask 'Liza." 
 
 'Liza was more addicted to giggling than speech, 
 where, as she expressed it, a good bellyful was 
 concerned. Miss Studd was a slave-driver, a nip- 
 
58 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 cheese, a skinflint, but she did heap her serving- 
 people's board. 'Liza vigorously plied black-handled 
 knife and fork with only a wink by way of reply. 
 
 " I'm going to leave at Michaelmas, I'm going into 
 the shires," pursued Amma. 
 
 " How can you go into the shires ? " asked Ebenezer, 
 the first word being on the note, the last on its upper 
 octave. Everyone's sentences hereabouts formed a 
 gamut after this fashion. 
 
 " I suppose the coach will take me there as well as 
 anyone else," Amma replied, quietly scornful. 
 
 Both 'Liza and Zeky laughed immoderately, but 
 Ebenezer remained grave. Love may render some 
 blind, others perspicacious. He was ready to credit 
 Amma with any enterprise, however daring. 
 
 " Why should you go to the shires ? " he asked. 
 
 " Why should I want to stay here 1 " was the 
 merciless retort. 
 
 Susceptibilities were not keen in this work-a-day 
 world. Folks called things by their names, and saw 
 them as they were. Amma reasoned in this way: 
 
A FLIRTATION BY RUSHLIGHT 59 
 
 " If Ebby cares for me, and I don't care for him, the 
 more fool he ; am I to blame ? " 
 
 " Because Ebby wants you," chuckled 'Liza. 
 
 The excellent soul entertained positive veneration 
 for the wedding ring, although she had missed it her- 
 self. She knew that here was one at Amma's service. 
 
 " Has he lost his tongue then, poor little dear ? " the 
 girl said, quizzing her adorer's habitual poverty of 
 speech. 
 
 Ebenezer took a deep draught of beer in order to 
 give himself a little courage. 
 
 " I sometimes wish that you had lost yours, Amma/' 
 was all he made reply. 
 
 The rebuke sobered 'Liza and Zeky, even Amma felt 
 herself worsted. 
 
 " What can you do in the shires ? " pursued Ebby. 
 
 " Isn't there a registry office at Ipswich ? Didn't 
 Betsy Last get a housemaid's place beyond London 
 with independent people, and have a lady's time of it ? 
 I'm going to do the same." 
 
 Ebenezer looked downcast enough. Was ever so 
 unaccountable a creation as womankind ? Why on 
 
6o THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 earth must Amma's head run upon the shires and 
 independent people ? 
 
 The bouncing in of Miss 'Ria put an end to further 
 talk. 
 
 " Have a care, what's all this bobbery about ? " cried 
 the little woman, rattling her keys. " If you can't be 
 quicker over your supper you must go without cold 
 plum pudding, that's about it. 'Liza, have you got the 
 tinder-boxes ready? Amma, take the bread and 
 cheese into the store-room. Am I to be kept driving 
 you to bed till midnight ? '* 
 
 Mute and sheepish, the young ploughmen took off 
 their highlows, then Ebby holding a rushlight in lan- 
 tern, the two crept up their attic stair. Miss Studd 
 following the maids in the opposite direction, noisily 
 bolting and barring doors as she went The weather 
 was sultry, and male nightgear here unheard of, bare as 
 Adam the stalwart youths soon snored side by side. 
 
 Without a whisper 'Liza and Amma undressed in 
 their bed-chamber adjoining the housekeeper's, their 
 shapely arms not as yet covered at night with the 
 matronly bedgown. 
 
A FLIRTATION BY RUSHLIGHT. 6i 
 
 Decently, comfortably, nevertheless, were these farm 
 folk housed fifty years ago, after lordly fashion indeed, 
 compared with the accommodation of liveried lacqueys 
 in some other countries. Nor was Walnut Tree Farm 
 the only household in which the temptations of the 
 flesh were guarded against. Rigid supervision was no 
 peculiarity of Miss Maria Studd. 
 
 'Liza no sooner laid her nightcapped head on the 
 pillow than she was sound asleep, but Amma gave a 
 quarter of an hour to day-dreams. " Mother may jaw 
 me as she likes, but I'm not going to church with a 
 clod-hopper, not I. When I marry it shall be someone 
 who wears a black coat o' Sundays, and is called 
 Mister. Tat Turtle is not the first tradesman who has 
 put his arm round my waist, or would like to. And 
 I've heard tell of a right-down gentleman marrying a 
 poor man's daughter afore now." Nor did Miss 'Ria 
 immediately put away daily concerns, and what with 
 her did duty for romance. 
 
 In neat frilled muslin nightcap and short white 
 bedgown she remained at the lattice-window, watching 
 
62 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 and pondering, half her faculties given to Mr. Flindell's 
 worldly interest, half to himself. 
 
 She had a habit of thus keeping awake, and even of 
 roaming about the house when everyone else 
 slumbered. The usual notice, " Man-traps and spring- 
 guns set on these premises," did not, as she knew, deter 
 nightly marauders ; tinkers of gipsy tribe would occa- 
 sionally poison pigs and rob fowl-house, orchard and 
 potato-clamp ; even stackyards were not safe. 
 
 Miss Studd yearned after a bit of successful thief- 
 catching. She had lately heard, or fancied that she 
 had heard, footsteps round the granary at nights, but 
 without opening her lips on the subject. What an arch 
 triumph for her, the pouncing upon fowl-stealer or 
 corn-purloiner ! She knew Mr. Flindell to be a just 
 man ; " Right is right, and justice is justice," he was 
 perpetually saying. On his conscientiousness she 
 could rely. It seemed plain as day that he would 
 consider himself immensely indebted to the woman 
 thus careful of his property, thus ever watchful on his 
 behalf. Only on the practical side was her employer 
 attackable. She realised that the evoking of senti- 
 
A FLIRTATION BY RUSHLIGHT. 6^ 
 
 ment was quite out of the question. Edward Flindell 
 might, or might not, have felt for some other woman 
 the fascination of the bee to the flower, the moth to 
 the candle, he would never be thus drawn towards her- 
 self. Sentiment was out of the question on her 
 side as well as his own. But she had made up her 
 mind to marry him, and to prove the best farmer's 
 wife in that part of the country. No modest ambition 
 as things went! Another train of thought followed. 
 To surprise a lurcher in the farmyard would improve 
 her hand vastly ; to forestall Mrs. Betsy Askew with 
 regard to the lease would be a veritable ace of trumps. 
 These big landlords, ah ! she knew their ways so well, 
 were as difficult to manage as Mr. Flindell himself. 
 If her own game required extraordinary skill, so did 
 the applicant's for Burridge Hall. Captain de Medue 
 was whimsical, hasty, apt to take sudden likes and 
 dislikes, but he was also a sharp man of business, ever 
 contriving to get the best men and the best rents. 
 You never knew which way the wind blew with him, 
 folks said, he might seem to be ready to let you a 
 farm to-day, and turn his back upon you to-morrow. 
 
64 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Could she only help Mr. Flindell here, procure for 
 him ever so slight an advantage, an influential word, 
 better still a first hearing ! 
 
 Neighbour Betts had rallied, the poor man might 
 live some days, nay, weeks yet. Miss Maria Studd 
 pondered and pondered, attaining a happy solution 
 ere launched into nightcapland. 
 
65 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 THE OLD HUNDREDTH. 
 
 Church-going at Burridge might be likened to the 
 Camera Oscura, that temple of marvels opened on 
 the Harwich sands for sixpence. There the delighted 
 traveller, for a trip from Ipswich to the sea constituted 
 travel fifty years ago, beheld the curved shore at a 
 glance, the animated panorama around passed within a 
 radius immediately under his nose. In the same way 
 did morning service here prove a centre of con- 
 vergence, a microcosm, as was the sea-side picture, 
 'epresentative of many another. 
 
 Not that every homely figure now passing up 
 the lane through the old wooden lich gate was 
 an orthodox churchgoer. Many a meetinger 
 attended simply because the meeting-house was 
 
66 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 closed, service being only held there in the 
 evening. The Rector — good, easy man — bore 
 such defalcations bravely, comforting himself with 
 the thought that when Christmas drew near his 
 congregation would be complete. Hundreds of years 
 before, some well-meaning parishioner had bequeathed 
 a certain sum to be laid out upon beef, coals — here 
 whimsically pronounced cools — and woollen petti- 
 coats, consequently, by the last week in November, 
 a parish census might have been taken from the pulpit 
 
 Typical as congregation, were church and church- 
 yard. Hundreds of such grey, ivy-covered churches, 
 perched on the highest spot available, characterise 
 England of the olden time, one and all so many monu- 
 ments of our glorious Reformation, one and all stand- 
 ing in the midst of grass-grown graves and abundant 
 greenery. Here too, as elsewhere, a small gabled 
 building abutting on the west side indicated the village 
 school, still as much an appendage of the church, and 
 as completely under clerical jurisdiction, as the burial 
 ground itself. 
 
 Whilst the male population, veterans, middle-aged, 
 
THE OLD HUNDREDTH. 67 
 
 and hudderens in Sunday smock or corduroy, lingered 
 outside the porch till the last bell tolled, the women 
 walked straight in, neither looking to the right nor left, 
 each carrying her prayer-book between neatly folded 
 pocket handkerchief. 
 
 The village boasted of one old maid only, and all 
 eyes respectfully followed the much revered figure of 
 Sarah Weedon as she now passed along, personifica- 
 tion of unassailable reputation and feminine austere- 
 ness. Although far as yet from the sere and yellow 
 leaf, still pursued by elderly swains, a cruel disillusion 
 to many, a sphinx to all, she held aloof from courtship 
 and wedlock. She had elected single blessedness, but 
 would never give the reason why. 
 
 Most likely it was of the simplest, an objection to 
 muddy highlows on her speckless brick floor, to 
 matronly cares, and perhaps the smell of tobacco. Be 
 this as it may, she preferred the smooth routine of a 
 washerwoman's life, wheeling her baskets of clean linen 
 on a hand barrow to Ipswich herself, beholden to none 
 for daily bread. The appearance of the younger and 
 
 5* 
 
68 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 flightier fair would evoke side-long glances, tittering 
 comments among the hudderens. 
 
 Amma, with her masterful brown eyes, might stare 
 them out of countenance, the next girl was sure to be 
 quizzed or criticised. This sort of thing went on every 
 Sunday and compensated for the dullness of church- 
 going. In very truth nothing could have been duller. 
 
 With their elders conversation would be sober, even 
 edifying. They took counsel together on the matter 
 in hand, discussed wheat-cutting, carting, and the 
 weather. 
 
 " Day, Master Sage, hope I see you well } " 
 
 " Day, Master Hammond, I'm good tightly, thank 
 you. 
 
 Thus the rivals greeted each other, Elisha and Jerry 
 no less eager for the place of head man at Burridge 
 Hall than their respective employers for the farm itself. 
 Just as Elisha enjoyed Mr. Flindell's confidence, so 
 Jerry stood high in the estimation of Mrs. Betsy Askew, 
 for years being her head horseman and Lord of the 
 Harvest. The pair were not quite equally matched 
 
THE OLD HUNDREDTH. 69 
 
 In bodily strength and a good stomach Jerry had the 
 advantage, mentally and morally he was inferior. 
 " You've nearly cut yer wheat ? " asked Jerry. 
 The two were now running a neck-and-neck race in 
 the harvest field. Mr. Flindell and Mrs. Askew grew 
 about the same acreage of corn. The first to get the 
 wheat all carted and stacked might fairly boast of 
 superlative management. 
 
 " Well nigh on it," was Elisha's proud reply. 
 Jerry looked a trifle disconcerted. He had a habit 
 of keeping his mouth open and uttering truisms, was 
 indeed a kind of Sancho Panza without his wit, if we 
 can imagine such a being, the clayey envelope without 
 the divine spark. 
 
 " I never see'd such a crop of Talavera," he went on, 
 " nor so much stover either." 
 
 " We can't have wheat without stover," Elisha 
 answered sententiously. " Why, even the Lord's 
 chosen hadn't the like of that." 
 
 Being Sunday scriptural allusion seemed appro- 
 priate. And the Lord of the Harvest was an assiduous 
 student of the Bible. He could not read, but had he 
 
70 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 not a most capable prelector and expounder by his 
 side ? The companionship of such a woman as Karra 
 was indeed an education in itself, as times went, a 
 pretty liberal one. 
 
 " I suppose you're right there," Jerry replied, 
 with the air of a man who has just learned something. 
 Then they chatted on still of crops and weather pros- 
 pects, how the barley looked, how the tares had yielded 
 and so on. Some naive listener dropped from the 
 clouds might have supposed these men to be Lords of 
 the Harvest in the fact, owners, or at least sharers of 
 the wealth under discussion, sweeps of golden corn and 
 silvery barley, fields of sweet-smelling turnip, luscious 
 meadow and pightle full of young stock. 
 
 Could human meekness go farther, long-suffering 
 reach a higher level } There was no envy in these 
 slow, drawling utterances, perhaps none in these honest 
 breasts, only an occasional feeling of wistfulness and 
 wonder. Was it so all the world over, a Heaven-sent 
 dispensation, that some must reap whilst others sowed ? 
 
 The bell now ceased and the Rector took his place. 
 His appearance was anything but sacerdotal. Shock- 
 
THE OLD HUNDREDTH. 71 
 
 headed, slovenly, blustering, uncouth, the outer man 
 even belied the inner. The Reverend Mr. Pascoe was 
 about as fitted to officiate at the altar as to wear the 
 triple crown itself. There he was, and perhaps 
 parishioners might have been, in their own words, " a 
 sight deal worse off." In an enormous pew immediately 
 under the pulpit sat Mrs. Pascoe and her elder 
 children ; in an overflow pew adjoining, ]\Iiss Aimay 
 frowned down the younger and led the village choir. 
 
 One and all of the little Pascoes were imbued with 
 an overwhelming sense of rectorial supremacy. Out- 
 side the Rectory, as outside the Church of England, 
 existed neither manners nor morals, to say nothing of 
 salvation. But their governess was more than their 
 match. She had the little crew well under command. 
 
 Miss Studd seldom accompanied the farmer to 
 morning service, preferring the shorter afternoon cere- 
 mony. '' If I don't baste the duck myself it would 
 be burnt to a cinder," she had said to-day. Mr. 
 Flindell chuckled. In his capacity of church- 
 warden he attended pretty regularly, and as good for- 
 tune would have it his pew adjoined the Rectory 
 
72 2 HE LORD OF TBE HARVEST. 
 
 annexe. Thus, throughout psalms, lessons and hymns, 
 he could feast his eyes on a captivating apparition 
 close by. Miss 'Ria's absence rendering enchantment 
 more complete. He felt free, more at liberty to drink 
 in the sweet picture. 
 
 That business of choir-leading might have been 
 onerous to a girl of less spirit than Aimee de 
 Richemont. Few and far between were the village 
 churches provided with an organ, harmoniums were 
 not as yet in use, night-schools and parish societies 
 unheard of. Here half-a-dozen of the elder Sunday 
 scholars were taught the Old Hundredth and 
 a few other hymns by the Rectory governess, 
 on Sunday gathering round Miss Aimay's pew, 
 and singing under her direction. On the whole, 
 it was a case of everyone doing her best, 
 and due consideration was shown for short- 
 comings. To-day, somehow, things went as wrong as 
 possible. 
 
 The lessons ended, Mr. Pascoe announced the Old 
 Hundredth, whereupon half-a-dozen Sunday school 
 
THE OLD HUNDRED7H. 73 
 
 girls quitted their low bench in the church and formed 
 a semi-circle by the open door of the annexe. 
 
 In a clear, loud, well-trained voice the young choir- 
 mistress began : 
 
 *' With one consent let all the earth 
 
 To God their cheerful voices raise." 
 
 What possessed Fanny Bent, Polly Cage, and 
 Lizzie Last, Miss Aimay's best girls? Usually they 
 followed suit with right goodwill, the other three, and 
 here and there the congregation, joining. 
 
 But something this morning had upset the minxes, 
 either a hudderen more bold than the rest was making 
 faces to them from the gallery, or the Rector's gown 
 had been put on inside out. Aimee found herself in 
 the cruellest dilemma, her six pupils, scarlet in the face, 
 stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths to check 
 their laughter, the whole audience tittering. 
 
 Even well-meaning folks are led astray unav/ares. 
 The few singers in the body of the church were mute ; 
 Mr. Turtle, the miller, reseated himself with a severe 
 expression of face, motioning Mrs. Turtle to do the 
 
74 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 same. The Rectory children giggled aloud. A grave 
 scandal seemed imminent. Mr. Flindell had not much 
 of a voice, and was nothing of a musician, but he 
 always joined in the hymns, and as church- 
 warden exercised hardly less authority within 
 the sacred precincts than Mr. Pascoe himself. 
 Over against Aimee's pew was a little side door, now 
 standing open on account of the great heat. Jumping 
 up, he put his hand on Fanny Bent's shoulder, pointing 
 to the exit with a gesture impossible to misunderstand. 
 One by one the crestfallen offenders filed out, Mr. 
 Flindell closing the door after them. Then con- 
 fronting his neighbours, inciting them to repair their 
 ill-behaviour, he added his deep bass to Aimee's pure 
 contralto, taking up the verse : 
 
 " Glad homage pay with awful mirth 
 
 And sing before Him songs of Praise." 
 
 Chivalrousness may prove even more infectious than 
 cowardly initiative. Hardly a voice now remained 
 silent. Many who had never sung before contrived 
 to do so to-day. With a volume of sound, a hearti- 
 
THE OLD HUNDREDTH. 75 
 
 ness and spontaneity, unexampled in Burridge annals, 
 the words rang out : 
 
 " Oh ! enter then the temple gate, 
 
 Thence to his court devoutly press." 
 
 Aimee was not a young lady addicted to sal 
 volatile, and the smelling-bottle. In that slender yet 
 strong frame beat a stout heart. But tears of morti- 
 fication had risen to her eyes when she found herself 
 unaccompanied, and the usually sure, steady voice had 
 faltered. The predicament over, Mr. Flindell 
 encountered a glance and a smile that rewarded him 
 only too well. 
 
76 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AND THE MUSICAL GLASSES. 
 
 Next day, at dinner-time, Mr. Flindell found a note 
 from the Rector, begging him to look in that evening 
 on parish business. As churchwarden the farmer was 
 often thus summoned to the Rectory, and even before 
 Aimee's arrival the command ever gave pleasure. 
 
 After a chat with Mr. Pascoe in his study, the pair 
 would adjourn to the drawing-room, music, a charade, 
 acted by the children, or a recitation, filling the interval 
 before supper. Here Mr. Flindell gained a glimpse of 
 that world from which he was otherwise shut out, the 
 world of gentility, Shakespeare, and the musical 
 glasses ; in plain language, he could realize, however 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES. 77 
 
 faintly, the existence of art and letters and what goes 
 by the name of culture. 
 
 Mrs. Pascoe, despite, poor woman, of ever-recurring 
 cares of maternity, contrived to keep up her slender 
 accomplishments. Her flowers painted from nature, in 
 Mr. Flindell's eyes, were works of art ; her French and 
 Italian sentences, interchanged with the children's 
 governess, savoured of high life and good breeding ; 
 when she sat down to the pianoforte and played duets 
 with Miss Cassy, the eldest girl, he listened as he 
 might have done to Mozart himself. Then at the tea 
 or supper table, in her soft Hsp — a Hsp betokened 
 aristocratic birth — she talked familiarly of great 
 writers, of a poet named Shakespeare, of a novelist 
 named Sir Walter Scott, of a critic named Dr. Samuel 
 Johnson, to himself mere names. Oh, dear! thought 
 he, what a thing was eddication to be sure ! 
 
 Very expeditiously he now doffed Sunday clothes, 
 mixed the flet milk and barley-meal for his pigs, 
 always the master's job ; next gave out oil-cakes for 
 the fat stock, and corn for the horses, finally changed 
 his dress and swallowed a hasty tea. 
 
78 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 There were important matters to be discussed to- 
 night, church and school-house repairs, last Sunday's 
 scandal, and so on. When the Rector and his guest 
 passed out of the study, Miss Aimee was taking the 
 younger children to bed. 
 
 A turbulent set of boys and girls the young 
 governess had to deal with, but in the matter of 
 discipline papa and mamma were her steadfast allies. 
 As the boisterous little crew filled the entrance-hall, 
 the Rector cried : 
 
 " Don't forget, Miss Aimee, if Jack doesn't say his 
 prayers properly he is to have a good thrashing to- 
 morrow, and Miss Esther Ann, another hb, and 
 instead of a box on the ear you'll get my cane — 
 remember — aye, and smartly too." 
 
 The words were hardly out of his mouth when down 
 came Bob, an unbreeched harum-scarum of four, 
 sliding from top to bottom of the bannisters. 
 
 To catch up the offender, administer a few stinging 
 spanks, and send him blubbering back was the work 
 of a moment, Aimee evidently distressed, hardly 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES. 79 
 
 acknowledging Mr. Flindeirs nod, coaxed her charges 
 upstairs. 
 
 " Humph ! " murmured the Rector gruffly, " it's well 
 that I've three promises for the Blue Coat School — • 
 off these youngsters will go as soon as they are ten 
 years old." 
 
 The little drawing-room looked cheerful and 
 inviting. Mrs. Pascoe lay on the sofa reading aloud ; 
 the poor lady was rarely, if ever, in a comfortable 
 state of health. Cassy and Anna, tall, handsome, 
 unkempt-looking girls of fifteen and twelve, were 
 copying pencil drawings at the table. 
 
 Mrs. Pascoe, smiling sweetly, lay down her book, 
 " Modern Society," by Catherine Sinclair. " It is very 
 good of you to come at this busy season," she lisped. 
 " As Mr. Pascoe says, he can always depend on yoti. 
 Indeed, were it not for one or two such parishioners, 
 where would poor parsons be now-a-days, with meeting 
 houses on the increase everywhere? But, Cassy, my 
 love, and you, my little Anna, show Mr. Flindell your 
 drawings." 
 
 The farmer recognised a house or a tree, even a 
 
8o THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 bridge or windmill, when delineated on paper or 
 canvas ; here his artistic perceptions began and ended. 
 
 He felt bound to be encouraging and compli- 
 mentary. 
 
 " Ah ! young ladies," he said, affecting to inspect the 
 drawings. " What a thing it is to have such a Ma ! 
 Make the most of your chances ; try to be as in- 
 genious." Mrs. Pascoe gracefully accepted the 
 flattery. The Rector put in with rough good nature : 
 
 " Farmers know more about porkers than pictures, 
 don't they, Mr. Flindell ? But come, girls, hurry down 
 your governess, and give us some music ; our neigh- 
 bour likes a merry tune." 
 
 Just then Aimee appeared. The look of discom- 
 posure had passed from her face. In seeming to smile 
 at all, the visitor made sure that she smiled at him. All 
 the old intoxication came back. The simile of the 
 toad under two harrows was clean forgotten, alike 
 Widow Askew and Miss 'Ria for the moment were 
 non-existent, and he fancied, nay, he felt sure that in 
 Aimee's glance he detected a kind of answer to the 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES. 8i 
 
 feeling, a secret sympathy, an attitude of trustingness 
 and appeal. 
 
 She wore — but what did it matter how she dressed ? 
 She would never look like any other woman, or rather, 
 no other woman could ever look like her. An inde- 
 scribable freshness and purity of outline, an exotic 
 daintiness and finish, lent this girlish figure in light 
 muslin its stamp and charm. There was, moreover, a 
 self-possession and sparkle about every act and word 
 that made outsiders forget her dependence. 
 
 " Here we are, Miss Aimee, all waiting impatiently 
 for the ' Battle of Prague,' or the ' Siege of Valen- 
 ciennes,' exclaimed the Rector. " Well, how did youi 
 pupils say their prayers? any to be whipped to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " Really, Zachary," put in Mrs. Pascoe, " you would 
 have Air. Flindell think that you are a second Dr. 
 Busby to your children." 
 
 " They deserve one sometimes, I'm sure," was the 
 blunt reply. " But thump away. Miss Aimee, or supper 
 time will be here. * The Battle of Prague ' first, and the 
 
 ' Siege of Valenciennes ' afterwards." 
 
 6 
 
82 THE LORD OF TBE HARVEST. 
 
 " No, indeed," lisped his wife. " Mr. Flindell must 
 hear the girls' duet, when Miss Aimee (she prided her- 
 self upon her correct pronunciation) has got through 
 her first piece." 
 
 " Thump away, I tell you," repeated Mr. Pascoe. " I 
 will explain the movements to our neighbour as you go 
 on" 
 
 Mrs. Pascoe's musical albums of former days were 
 now discarded. " Rory O'More," " Sich a gettin' up- 
 stairs," and other delightful melodies of her girlhood 
 being superseded by Rondo, Divertimento, and even 
 Sonata. But as a drawing-room piece, and a touch- 
 stone of domestic virtuosity, Kotzwarra's chef d'ceiivre 
 still held its own. Every young lady who could show 
 herself off at all, showed off with " The Battle of 
 Prague." 
 
 " You'll hear what a wonderful composition it is," said 
 the Rector. " The march to battle, the word of com- 
 mand, the signal cannon, the bugle horn, the trumpet- 
 call, and the attack. On my word, that's music, if you 
 like." 
 
 If Amy Richmond, as she was often called, thumped 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES. ^7, 
 
 away on the old-fashioned square pianoforte in good 
 earnest, it was hardly her fault. Musical excellence 
 meant this sort of thing, as much thunder and lightning 
 as folks could get for their money. 
 
 Away flew those nimble fingers, bringing out the 
 utmost possible din from the well-worn instrument, the 
 melee of bloodshed and battle triumphantly rendered 
 by flats and sharps, arpeggios and staccatos, grave and 
 allegro, tremendo and crescendo. 
 
 " Flying bullets !" said the Rector, nudging his guest. 
 Mr. Pascoe always followed the performance, music in 
 hand, an edition having for frontispiece the scene thus 
 made subservient to sweet sound. Thereon was re- 
 presented naively as in the Bayeux tapestry, fort and 
 plain, foot soldiers and cavaliers, hand-to-hand combat 
 and fury of contending hosts. 
 
 " Horses galloping ! Don't you hear them ? " 
 
 continued Mr. Pascoe, beating time on his knee ; " and 
 
 now, rat-tat-tat, boom, boom, boom, that's the beating 
 
 of drums, the roar of cannon, those sharp notes. Can't 
 
 you fancy you see the poor fellows, hear the shrieks 
 
 of the wounded. Well done, Miss Aimee, feelingly 
 
 6* 
 
84 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 you give this part, and now comes the trumpet of 
 victory, and ' God save the King ' to wind up with. 
 But why we should ask God to save the King of 
 Prussia, I don't see." 
 
 Mrs. Pascoe laughed away the unclerical speech with 
 a " Really, really, Zachariah ! " Meanwhile Mr. 
 Flindell was trying to frame an appreciative remark. 
 He dared not blurt out his honest opinion, namely, that 
 the squeaking of pigs seemed equally as melodious in 
 his ears, but Aimee's extraordinary skill, for that he 
 felt no praise could overshoot the mark. And, music 
 apart, this evening spent in her company was pure 
 enchantment. 
 
 " And how do you like the piece } " asked his hostess 
 sweetly. Mrs Pascoe ruled nursery and schoolroom 
 with the severity of her husband, but dissent was ram- 
 pant, parsons and parsons' wives could not make too 
 much of the orthodox. 
 
 " Oh ! you mustn't ask me, Mrs. Pascoe," cried the 
 farmer. " Where the pianoforty is concerned, I don't 
 know a heron from a hernshaw. But if I might be so 
 bold as to ask it, I'd like a song." 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES. 85 
 
 " Let Miss Aimee sing ' In my Cottage near a 
 Wood,' my dear," put in the Rector good naturedly. 
 " Then we will have the girls' duet, and go to supper." 
 
 Aimee turned to the visitor before re-seating herself 
 on the music-stool. 
 
 " I shall always think of Mr. Flindell's kind help on 
 Sunday when I sing now," she said, addressing herself 
 ostensibly to all, but in reality to one. 
 
 The farmer was dumbfounded. Then, of course, 
 he stammered out quickly the opposite of what was in 
 his mind. 
 
 " It isn't worth while doing that ! " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Flindell, I have arranged for something 
 else in the way of a choir," said the Rector. " Now 
 for the song." 
 
 Aimee turned her face to the piano and began in a 
 pretty, not untrained voice, this sentimental Rosa 
 Matilda ballad then in vogue : 
 
 " In my cottage near a wood, 
 
 Love and Rosa now are mine, 
 Rosa ever fair and good 
 
 Charm me with those smiles of thine. 
 
S6 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Rosa, partner of my life, 
 
 Thee alone my heart shall prize, 
 Thee the tender friend and wife, 
 
 Ah, too swift. Life's current flies ! 
 
 Linger yet, ye moments stay 
 
 Why so rapid is your wing, 
 Whither would ye haste away. 
 
 Stay and hear my Rosa sing. 
 
 Love and you still bless my cot. 
 
 Fortune's frowns are for our good. 
 May we live by pride forgot. 
 
 In our cottage near a wood ! ' ' 
 
 Poor although music and words, both were unpre- 
 tentious, and not devoid of a certain artless grace and 
 plaintiveness. After the flashy clap-trap that had 
 gone before, Moreland's ballad seemed melody indeed, 
 at least to the naive hearer. Mr. Flindell hearkened 
 as if the very heavens had opened, letting in angelic 
 minstrelsy. 
 
 There was no opportunity of thanking the singer. 
 Hardly had she reached the key-note when all were 
 hustled into the dining-room. 
 
 " We must have the ' Siege of Valenciennes ' 
 another time," cried Mr. Pascoe ; then he added, for 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES? 87 
 
 the blustering, burly Rector dearly liked a joke, 
 " Come, Mr. Flindell, you are a lady's man, I know ; 
 just look after Miss Aimee, and help her to what she 
 wants." 
 
 There was intoxication of milder kind about the 
 supper-table, with its floral centre-piece, its silver 
 forks, its table napkins, hereabouts a great and aristo- 
 cratic novelty, its cut glass saucers of confectionery, 
 its claret-jug. The farmer did his best to behave like 
 others, manipulated the unaccustomed silver forks 
 gingerly, and took care not to cut his bread or misuse 
 his knife. Aimee sat beside him, but he dared not 
 look at her, much less open a conversation. 
 
 "Mr. Flindell," exclaimed Miss Cassy— Miss 
 Pascoe, as she insisted on being called — a big, good- 
 looking, but ill-finished girl of fifteen, "we want a 
 ride in your waggon; ma says that clergymen's 
 children may do anything, and we should so love it." 
 
 " Cassy, my love," lisped her mamma, " Mr. Flindell 
 will, of course, understand my meaning. Had he 
 daughters of his own I am sure he would not permit 
 them to ride in his waggon. With you and Lady 
 
88 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Louisa's children (Lady Louisa was a distant relation 
 of the Rector's wife, who occasionally visited her) the 
 case is quite different ; you will never have anything 
 to do with the farming people, and so need fear no 
 familiarity." 
 
 " When I begin to cart you may have a ride, and 
 welcome." 
 
 " All of us? " asked Anna, the second girl, a hoyden 
 of twelve, dressed in the delectable style of the da)^ 
 low-necked, short-sleeved frock, barely reaching to 
 the knee, and white trousers, tucked and starched, all 
 but touching the ground. 
 
 " The waggon would hold you all, I fancy," said the 
 farmer, seeing in this scheme a delight for himself, 
 " and if you come at bever time, and your ma doesn't 
 object, you shall taste bever-cake and harvest-beer." 
 
 The child clapped her hands in ecstacy, truth to tell, 
 in spite of plate, cut glass, and claret-jug, the nursery 
 fare at the Rectory was Spartan — home-made bread, 
 often a week old, a scrape of dripping by way of 
 butter, and dough-cake just floured with seeds and 
 
THE MUSICAL GLASSES. 89 
 
 coarse sugar. To sit up to supper, when visitors came, 
 was a treat of the first water. 
 
 " I shall be very pleased to send them all under Miss 
 Aimee's care. It will be quite a picnic for my poor 
 darlings," Mrs. Pascoe lisped ; she ever spoke thus 
 endearingly of her children, although as good at 
 spanking as the Rector, " and so like you to propose it, 
 dear Mr. Flindell ! " 
 
 " May we go to-morrow ? " asked Anna. 
 
 " As I said, I haven't began carting yet. Missy, but 
 I'll let your ma know when I do. You must come to 
 see the last waggon brought home trimmed with 
 boughs and flowers, and hear the harvest folks sing." 
 
 The matter being happily settled, host and church- 
 warden discussed the proposed choir. Yes, it was 
 quite impossible to go on in this way any longer. 
 The Bishop and the parishioners must be appealed to, 
 a fund raised for purchase of a second-hand organ, a 
 choir formed. 
 
 It was past ten o'clock when the farmer quitted the 
 Rectory. As the night was dark he did not betake 
 himself to field paths, but kept the turnpike road, 
 
90 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 to-day hardly less fragrant and solitary. Sweetbriar 
 and honeysuckle scented every inch of the way. The 
 very genius of peace brooded here, and such influences 
 of time and place harmonized with the wayfarer's 
 mood. His sweet and wholesome nature was uncon- 
 sciously alive to the evening's experience, a feeling 
 of rapture took possession of him, a feeling more akin 
 to spiritual revelation than mere hope and joy. 
 
91 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 AMONG THE HEN-COOPS. 
 
 Amma sallied forth into the orchard, one part of which 
 was dotted with hen-coops. It was her business to 
 tend these late broods the last thing, scatter corn 
 and refill saucers with water. 
 
 A miller's cart stood at the back gate, and naturally 
 where the flour sacks are, there will the miller be also. 
 
 Without once turning her head, but all the time 
 quite well assured of Tat Turtle's movements, Amma 
 now went from coop to coop, replenishing the red 
 earthen saucers, and scattering corn from her quart 
 measure. As thus engaged on her knees a voice of 
 lover-like insinuation whispered in her ear : 
 
92 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " I've been a-lookin' for you high and low, Amma." 
 
 " I hope you don't think I've been a-lookin' for 
 you," was the brisk reply. 
 
 Amma understood, none of her sex better, the 
 worth of sheer outspoken contemptuousness in dealing 
 with the other. Show a man that you don't care a 
 fardin' for him, and he will crawl on his hands and 
 knees before you, was her favourite dictum, a dictum 
 on which she acted. Hence her enviable position ; 
 every damsel hereabouts owned a lover. Amma could 
 boast of a round dozen. 
 
 Now the miller's son was not like Saul, the son of 
 Kish, a choice young man and a goodly. Outwardly, 
 Tat Turtle possessed few attractions. The much- 
 despised Ebenezer was by far a finer specimen of 
 humanity to look at, being tall and well-proportioned. 
 His rival, on the contrary, was short, thickset, and 
 pugnacious of feature. The elder Turtle enjoyed a 
 wide reputation for personal strength. In the matter 
 of thews and sinews no one would vie with him ; none 
 dared encounter him in the wrestling-ring. The 
 younger prided himself upon the inheritance of these 
 
AMONG THE HEN-COOPS. 93 
 
 qualities. He, in turn, promised to be the strong man 
 of his own generation, as his father had been that of 
 the preceding one. 
 
 But Tat Turtle occupied a different social position to 
 that of Amma and her family. His sisters were appren- 
 ticed to dressmakers and milliners at Ipswich, and 
 were called " IMiss " this, " Miss " that ; his father had 
 an account at the bank, went to the poll on election 
 days, fulfilled the office of churchwarden and actually 
 took in a weekly newspaper. 
 
 In view of these considerations it might be supposed 
 that Amma's manner would change, become softer, 
 more engaging. But no, the saucy little baggage was 
 as consummate a coquette as Calypso herself! In 
 dealing with the men folk, she knew well enough what 
 she was about. 
 
 The swain stood arms akimbo, watching the 
 adorable figure before the hen-coop. 
 
 " No, I'm not such a gaby as to expect any attention 
 from you," he replied, moving a step nearer. 
 
 Amma was now kneeling in order to push in her 
 saucers between the bars. 
 
94 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 With a sudden movement he now stole behind her, 
 bent down and kissed the dainty neck, set off by snow- 
 white, turn-down collar and pink ribbon. 
 
 With a movement deft as his own, the young woman 
 raised her bowl and threw it backward, the culprit 
 receiving the full contents in his face. 
 
 He mopped himself briskly, his lover-like ardour 
 not at all damped, on the contrary, the deliciousness 
 of that stolen embrace seemed thereby enhanced. 
 Inadequate payment for another were a veritable 
 ducking ! 
 
 " You confounded little hussy," he cried, " I've all 
 the mind in the world to get into my cart and drive 
 away." 
 
 " And why don't you ? " coolly asked Amma, rising 
 and making for the next hen-coop. 
 
 " Just let me finish, will you ; get into my cart and 
 drive away without saying what I had to say, was 
 what I meant." 
 
 " You'll be coming again this side of Christmas, I 
 daresay," said the maiden with an air of absolute 
 indifference. 
 
AMONG THE HEN-COOPS. 95 
 
 " Some news will keep and some won't," the young 
 man replied, his voice and manner thrilling Amma, 
 despite her careless attitude. 
 
 He drew nearer, this time for the purpose of 
 speaking low. 
 
 " Father's had some money left him," he began. 
 
 '* Is that all ? " quoth Amma, feigning disillusion ; 
 " why, I thought at least you had 'listed as a soldier, 
 or was goin' to Ameriky." 
 
 The uncomplimentary suggestions evoked yet a 
 more loverlike glance. 
 
 " Father's a-going to take a farm," he began. 
 
 " Fine parts you'll be puttin' on then," interrupted 
 the girl. " I think I see you a-drivin' to market in 
 a- gi& your hat shinin' like master's o' Sunday." 
 
 " Father wants me to marry," said the adorer. 
 
 " He wants to be rid of you, well he may," quoth 
 the adored, looks and behaviour saying : " and pray 
 what is your marriage to me ? " 
 
 " You're not to talk to anyone about this, nor about 
 something else either. I am asked in church with you 
 gr nobody, that's the long and the short of it." 
 
96 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " The short, most hkely. Lor', Tat, you must have 
 been under your father's beer-tap, drinking the barrel 
 dry ; as if he would ever let you go to church with a 
 poor mawther like me." 
 
 " When I do a day's work for him and take a day's 
 wage I am bound to please father. When I take a 
 missus, I take her to please myself! " Tat said 
 gallantly. 
 
 " My ! " said the young woman, " how fine you do 
 talk. Tat. But how contrary things do happen to be 
 sure ! I've given Miss 'Ria warnin' ! I'm going at 
 Michaelmas to a place in the Shires." 
 
 " No, you're not," was the sturdy reply. " Father's 
 in a hurry to see me settled, and I'm in a hurry too." 
 Just then the speaker caught sight of Mr. Flindell by 
 the gate. 
 
 " Teddie will think I've been looking at his walnuts," 
 he added hurriedly. " Good-bye then till Sunday." 
 
 With all the aplomb imaginable, for, compared to 
 Ebenezer, Tat Turtle was a finished man of the world, 
 he shouted : 
 
AMONG THE HEN-COOPS. 97 
 
 " Hullo, Mr. Flindell ! What might you think of 
 asking for your nice little brush of walnuts ? " 
 
 The farmer made for his interlocutor, and Tat, 
 nothing loth, awaited him among the hen-coops. 
 Amma went on with her task. She held aloof from 
 the pair, never once looking back. 
 
 A pretty girl is the poetry of the work-a-day world, 
 and Tat Turtle knew no other. When in their survey 
 the two men moved nearer that slim figure his heart 
 gave a leap ; when she was hidden by the fruit-trees 
 the place seemed empty. 
 
 " You've got a beautiful lot of damsons too, I see, 
 Mr. Flindell," he said ; having discussed the walnuts, 
 he contrived this excuse for further loitering. 
 
 " They're worth nothing, for sale I mean," replied 
 the farmer ; " if your people make damson cheese 
 they're welcome to a peck or two." 
 
 W^hat a sight was that orchard as the sun sank ! 
 No need was there of loverlike raptures to turn it into 
 a scene of enchantment. The veteran trees were laden 
 with fruit, damsons making a soft blue cloud here and 
 there, in striking contrast, the old-fashioned bullace, 
 
 7 
 
98 THE LOBD OF 2 HE HARVEST. 
 
 its pale yellow globes just touched with crimson ; 
 patriarchal too, was every pear and apple tree, some 
 of these evidently in the last stage, yet like serene 
 old age, beautiful to the last, bent, leafless branches, 
 adorned with mellowing fruit. The orchard, with 
 every other feature of Walnut Tree Farm, had no 
 pretension to symmetry or horticultural art, but 
 damson trees had been grouped in one spot, pear 
 trees in another, and so on ; their especial fruit and 
 foliage being massed together ; fragrant and rich-hued 
 above all was the walnut-leaf now tingling with warm 
 sunshine. 
 
 Farmer and miller strolled hither and thither, 
 neither, perhaps, accounting to himself for his secret 
 transport. Nature and its varying aspects, like life 
 and its accidents — birth, marriage and death — was 
 taken very much by these country folks as a matter 
 of course. They no more went into raptures over a fair 
 prospect or a lovely sunset, than into depths of despair 
 at bereavement or calamity. Existence here was 
 singularly free from complication, simple to artless- 
 ness, yet sane and robust. 
 
AMONG THE HEN-COOPS. 99 
 
 Why were the peace and pleasantness of 
 this famiHar scene so brought home to the 
 two men to-night ? Such rosy glow, such wafted 
 balminess, such placidity were things of every day, 
 yet both seemed conscious of all for the first time. 
 
 Tat Turtle tasted by anticipation the bridegroom's 
 happy portion, dark eyes to shoot their ineffable 
 glances, a brisk tongue making merry the hours, a 
 second and more piquant presence to enliven his 
 home. 
 
lOO 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LAST WAGGON. 
 
 Perfect weather had favoured the harvesters. Mr. 
 Fhndell's stackyard showed a goodly array of wheat 
 stacks, only one held now remained to clear, that 
 held dedicated to rustic ceremonial, festive song and 
 love! 
 
 From time immemorial the return of the last 
 waggon had been celebrated with exuberant joy 
 and triumph. Boughs and posies decorating the piled 
 up corn, reapers and their woman and child folk 
 accompanying it with merry chorus. 
 
 At the Rectory all was delight and expectation. 
 Capacity for affection and docility had not been 
 wholly spanked, cuffed and boxed out of its turbulent 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. loi 
 
 little crew. These innumerable boys and girls were 
 ready enough to like their governess when not inter- 
 fered with, after Spartan fashion. Let alone, Amy 
 Richmond would have found her task supportable. 
 To-day, however, not a ripple troubled the surface. 
 Nursery and schoolroom treats were rare when the 
 little Princess Victoria trundled a hoop in Kensington 
 Gardens ; a plum cake on birthdays, the annual flower 
 show at Ipswich, a bag of nuts, oranges and ginger- 
 bread from the May Fair, were here the only extras. 
 No wonder, therefore, that Mr. Flindell's invitation 
 put one and all into extravagant spirits. 
 
 At last came the ecstatic moment of departure. 
 Singing, pirouetting, shouting, Amy's little troop 
 poured into the Drift, that cool unbrageous lane 
 leading from the turnpike road to Mr. Flindell's stack- 
 yard. The afternoon was sultry. Blowsed and 
 scarlet were alike harvest men and gleaners, even this 
 delicious avenue seemed heavy with warmth to-day. 
 But the children exuberated, and Amy too, breathed 
 the air of romance. 
 
 The farmer's brown eyes now shyly, yet adoringly, 
 
102 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 meeting her own, now brightening with kindliness 
 and quiet humour, had of late changed daily routnie 
 and the current of her ideas. A girl can no more help 
 dreaming of love than a stripling of bridegroom's 
 rapture. 
 
 It was the sense of entire freedom, also of feminine 
 supremacy that rendered Mr. Flindell's homely fete so 
 exhilarating. A woman's unerring instinct told her 
 that these simple preparations were not all made for 
 half-a-dozen boisterous children. Would Cassy and 
 Anna have noticed whether he wore highlows, and 
 was in his shirt-sleeves or no ? Would the little ones 
 be any the wiser for his semi-Sunday and market 
 garb ? When their host met them at the stackyard 
 gate, she saw that he wore well-polished boots and 
 pepper and salt tweed surtout Above his black silk 
 stock showed a rim of white collar, a new handkerchief 
 of rich oriental pattern, in orange and crimson, pro- 
 truded from his pocket. His bronzed, ruddy face was 
 close shaven. Alike in dress, person and manner, the 
 well-to-do tenant farmer was here admirably 
 represented. 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 103 
 
 '* There is the waggon, it will soon be unloaded/' 
 he said, pointing to the bright blue waggon with red 
 wheels inside the stackyard. " And here comes Smy 
 with the bever." 
 
 For a moment the children were literally trans- 
 hxed with delight. Even the coming ride was for- 
 gotten, lost in anticipation of other kind. There 
 came Smy, muttering and making grimaces, as was his 
 habit, his odd, crooked little figure bending under the 
 weight of two enormous frail baskets, the one piled 
 to the brim with bever cakes, the other shewing a 
 two-quart stone bottle of harvest beer, drinking-horns 
 and goblets. 
 
 " I don't want to make these little ladies' and 
 gentlemen's heads go round, so I have sent to the 
 * Barley Mow ' for some ginger-pop. They'll like it 
 better, I'll be bound, and it don't make folks' tongues 
 run on," explained the host. 
 
 The children clapped their hands and danced for 
 joy. Ginger-pop and a penny bun had ever rewarded 
 them after the agonies of tooth-drawing, and now 
 they were to have as much of it as they wanted, and 
 
I04 THE LORD 01^ THE HARVEST. 
 
 bever cake to boot, without the dentist and his 
 horrible forceps. 
 
 Wrigghng and writhing, curhng and uncurHng his 
 mis-shapen hmbs, mouthing and mumbhng, Smy 
 contrived to free himself from his burden. 
 
 " Mussy on us, I've to go back, Miss 'Ria says, 
 another prog basket's a' waitin'," he said, pausing a 
 moment to mop his face, that small face, monkeyish 
 as it was, an anticipatory argument in favour of Dar- 
 winism, yet alert with boorish wit and rude good nature. 
 
 '' I s'pose we're all a' going to eat for a week," he 
 added ; " leastways, I'll match the best at that game, 
 'gin I have a chance." 
 
 Busy as were are harvesters, two a' top the half 
 stacked wheat, two pitchforking the sheaves from the 
 fast emptying waggon below, they found time for a 
 joke. 
 
 " That's it, Smy, don't go without anything for want 
 of axing," said one. 
 
 " Miss 'Ria's a' callin' you, Smy," said another ; 
 " she'll have you by the ears if you don't mind." 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 105 
 
 " And be sure not to stop a' nannicking with Amma," 
 cried the third. 
 
 The fourth just showed his ivory teeth, but said 
 nothing. Too busy for jest or merriment to-day was 
 the Lord of the Harvest. From sheer force of habit, 
 EHsha's heart now rejoiced unenvyingly in the 
 plenteousness around him — the piled up corn he had 
 helped to sow, reap, and garner ; the abundant 
 evidence of a rich and prosperous season. By the 
 time Smy's comical figure re-appeared, the waggon 
 was empty, and the fascinating business of packing 
 in began. First, Mr. Flindell aided Ehsha to stow 
 away the frails and arrange a seat of sacks for Aimee 
 and her eldest pupil ; next the ladder was adjusted 
 for their use, the rest preferring to do without. 
 Scrambling up with the agility of sailors boarding a 
 ship, aiding themselves by wheel and shaft, the noisy 
 little troop took possession, a few minutes more and 
 they were off. 
 
 Aimee had not a vestige of sentimentality in her com- 
 position. But the isolation of dependency, the natural 
 hauteur of clerical employers, made the least show of 
 
io6 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 interest and liking, especially in the other sex, welcome 
 indeed. Occasionally she had chaperoned the elder 
 girls to some neighbouring vicarage or rectory, when 
 a dance would be improvised. That sleek young 
 curate who should invite a governess to quadrille or 
 lancers must expect a covert reprimand. The gover- 
 ness's business was at the piano, her share of tlie 
 evening's gaiety, the playing for others. 
 
 Upon one occasion a visitor from London, not, 
 however, in holy orders, had committed the 
 transgression. 
 
 " Arn't you allowed to t " was the rough yet 
 good-natured query of a young lawyer, when she 
 refused. 
 
 She was certainly " not allowed to," although the 
 condition formed no part of agreement, as Mrs. Pascoe 
 blandly observed. 
 
 " Miss Aimee was uppish about many things, but 
 she did know her place.'' 
 
 The girl's pride served to stave off humiliation. 
 
 " Oh ! that dear little man, he will fall, I am sure ! " 
 cried Esther Ann, at sight of Smy taking his place. 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 107 
 
 The small mis-shapen figure at the last moment had 
 caught hold of a dangling rope, and fixing one foot 
 firmly against the shaft, literally swung in mid-air. 
 
 " Don't you be afeard, missy," said Elisha, smiling 
 gravely ; " Law's mussy, he's as safe as a tomtit on a 
 laylock bough." 
 
 That slight perturbation over, how delightful the 
 jig- jog through field and lane, how enthralling the 
 present moment, how blissful the moments to come ! 
 Leaning on the edge of the waggon the children sang, 
 shouted, danced, hurrah'd. The thumps and bumps, 
 the jerks and lunges by the way only heightened their 
 enjoyment. It was so much pleasanter to ride than 
 go afoot, and so much more delightful to ride in a 
 waggon than be mewed up in papa's four-wheeler ! 
 
 On Aimee equally had the spell fallen. She knew 
 well enough that her presence, and her presence only, 
 made the farmer's festival. He said little, readiness 
 of speech was not Edward Flindell's strong point, but 
 a certain reticence, a shy, almost tearfully joyous 
 glance — an impulse to speak held in constant check, 
 these things may be more eloquent than any words. 
 
io8 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 And alike wooded lane, cornfield and pightle echoed 
 with the stockdove's note, that low, tender, unwearied 
 call, as if it were the very genius of love summoning 
 its votaries, the one voice of all to which none of mortal 
 born are wholly deaf ! 
 
 " Halt for bever ! " 
 
 " All right, my lord." 
 
 Squatted under a hedge near harvestmen and 
 waggons, the children had impatiently awaited the 
 summons. 
 
 " When are the frails to be unpacked ? " little Esther 
 Ann had asked again and again, almost crying of 
 hunger and impatience. The Rectory dinner, alv/ays 
 called lunch for gentility's sake, had been dispatched 
 earlier than usual ; visions of bever cake eaten abroad 
 took away all relish from cold boiled beef and flour and 
 water dumplings. Tantalizing too was the sight of 
 Smy standing between the prog baskets, as he called 
 them ; now the little Jack-in-the-box of a man poised 
 himself upon one foot, now upon another, his small, 
 sharp eyes watching Elisha Sage, his ears alert, not for a 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 109 
 
 second that railing little tongue of his still. Expletives, 
 jeers, innuendoes poured forth in a veritable cataract. 
 
 " My lord, indeed," quoth he, " his whistle don't wan't 
 whetting as mine do, I'll lay, or he wouldn't stand there, 
 a'lookin' as grave as the prophet Elisha himself. Come, 
 Master Sage, here we be hungry and dry and the clock 
 gone four. If it warna for these little ladies here, 
 wouldn't I creep up unbeknown and give you a kick in 
 your hinder part ? Lor's a mussy, how folks would 
 split with laughin' to yon him sent half across the field. 
 Tomtit, he called me! I'd Tom-tit him, if it warna 
 harvest time, and he lorded it over master's old ale." 
 
 Thus he muttered and ejaculated, Amy answering 
 the child's question. 
 
 " Esther Ann, what can you be thinking of? Don't 
 you know that we've all changed places like the people 
 in Arabian Nights? Ehsha Sage is Grand Vizier. 
 Were the Archbishop of Canterbury here himself he 
 would have to wait for cake and ale till yonder good 
 man gives permission." 
 
 Hardly was the mechanically-uttered bidding out of 
 Elisha's mouth than the scene changed. With the 
 
no THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 swiftness of stage machinery, rakes and pitchforks were 
 laid aside, horses tethered under the shade, then in a 
 long file, as soldiers summoned to bivouac, the har- 
 vesters sat down, each provided with a small frail 
 containing stone bottle and cake. Hilarity reigned. 
 Settling day, Harvest home, and Largess-spending 
 were neai. The crowning labours of the field would 
 soon receive crowning reward. None now took full 
 harvest wages o' Saturday nights. Alike full-bodied, 
 three-quarter men and hudderens, had a balance due 
 for extra work, that balance to be paid when the last 
 load of barley should enter the stackyard. 
 
 Mr. Flindell and his guests sat under the same hedge, 
 but a hundred and odd yards off, Smy acting the part 
 of waiter. For the matter of that, ceremony was 
 *set aside. With his huge clasp-knife the farmer now 
 cut off large hunks of bever cake, first serving Aimee, 
 then her pupils. Next he bade his whimsical cup- 
 bearer tilt the heavy stone bottle of "old harvest,'* 
 himself holding a battered silver goblet. Bright and 
 sparkling as Sack or Canary, effervescing as sea-foam, 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. m 
 
 the potation he now proffered, Aimee the beloved 
 toasting him with a smile. 
 
 " If I live to be as old as grandmamma, now in her 
 ninetieth year, I shall never forget that draught," she 
 said, restoring the goblet. 
 
 He stared as one whose senses reeled with reckless 
 drinking. Edward Flindell was as temperate as a man 
 could well be. He had never been drunk in his life till 
 now ! Smy, muttering and gesticulating all the while, 
 had begun to serve the children. Pop, pop, pop, went 
 one ginger beer bottle after another, the little tipplers 
 shrieking with delight, clamouring for more and yet 
 more. Mr. Flindell's dazed expression soon changed 
 to one of rapture ; if only he could have put that rapture 
 into words ! 
 
 There was something incongruous in Aimee's 
 reminder of a nonagenarian, the coupling of vision so 
 exquisite with bald, toothless, wrinkled age ! The 
 hinted hold on memory, the notion of being recollected 
 throughout a lifetime, the implied interest in himself 
 could but arouse passionate thoughts. Without the 
 ability to say so, he felt that existence now possessed 
 
112 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 only one meaning for him. Edward Flindell had 
 ceased to belong to himself. The world of every day 
 seemed slipping from him as the solid globe slips from 
 the balloonist. 
 
 " It is only old harvest ale," he got out at last. " We 
 farmers cannot offer anything better than we have" 
 
 The speech was modest to humility, intoxicating as 
 had been her words, doubt and self-depreciation suc- 
 ceeded to rapture. How could creature so dainty, a 
 young lady able to speak French and play the piano- 
 forty care for a tenant farmer without eddication? 
 What had she in common with dairy maids and market- 
 women? How unsuited those slender white fingers 
 for the churn and the bake oven, the business of 
 pickling hams or making gruel for sick cows ! 
 
 Men and women only read each other's thoughts by 
 fits and starts, at rare intervals, and under peculiar 
 circumstances. Well aware of her host's embarrass- 
 ment, with feminine intuitiveness imputing it to the true 
 motive, her thoughts ran thus : oh, heart of gold, thou 
 art then mine, mine! This young girl was neither 
 mercenary nor a coquette, but with the revelation of 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 113 
 
 triumph came day dreams of less romantic kind. 
 Hitherto existence had been hard ; schooled in human 
 nature and versed in fortune's caprices, she knew, none 
 better, the pricelessness of modest independence, the 
 dignity of an assured position. This unpretending, but 
 prosperous, tenant farmer, was as the fairy prince to 
 Cinderella. 
 
 Meantime the picnic went on gaily. Deep hidden 
 emotion yields to happy circumstance and the 
 exigences of the moment. Edward Flindell could not 
 be loquacious or mirthful, but he could enjoy things in 
 his own way. The children's voracity evoked a quiet 
 smile. 
 
 " I am glad the little folks don't find bever cake 
 amiss," he said. 
 
 " We had dinner, lunch I mean, but, of course, the 
 little one's dinner, earlier than usual," replied Miss 
 Cassy, adding, with the patronising air learned of her 
 mother, " and if we ate nothing you might think that 
 what you offered us was not good enough." 
 
 " Pray eat all you like," Mr. Flindell replied, his huge 
 
 clasp-knife being in constant requisition. The glossy 
 
 8 
 
114 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 brown loaves rich with currants and spice were dis- 
 appearing as if by magic. 
 
 Love knows not the commonplace. The Beloved 
 can never speak, behave, or look after commonplace 
 fashion. Whilst thus employed the farmer's attention 
 was wholly given to the distracting figure opposite. 
 Aimee wore fine black sillv mittens, setting off ivory 
 hue and glossiness of taper fingers and rounded arm. 
 As she daintily broke off bit after bit of her cake he 
 contrasted the action with the children's, that ravenous 
 sticking into their morsels with the teeth, that cramming 
 and stuffing as if for a wager. 
 
 Then her voice, vivacious, yet gentle, by no means 
 monotonous, yet never abrupt, and graceful diction, 
 how unlike his housekeeper's rasping speech, inter- 
 larded with invective, or even sister Martha's blunt 
 utterances ! Most of all did her looks betoken 
 superior birth and bringing up ; fair as those of court 
 beauties in Martha's Keepsake were this girl's features, 
 a certain composure and self-control adding dignity 
 and charm ; no frowns, twinkling of the eye, compres- 
 sion in pouting of the lips, no contortion whatever her 
 
THE LAST WAGGON: 115 
 
 humour might be. Miss Maria Studd, on the contrary, 
 knit her brows, nodded, winked, gesticulated with 
 every syllable. 
 
 When, in scriptural phrase, everyone had eaten and 
 was filled, he rose, stone bottle in hand. 
 
 " I must go to the men now," he said. " Perhaps the 
 little ladies and gentlemen will like to cut boughs and 
 gather posies with Smy till the last waggon is ready. 
 There are plenty of pretty flowers in yonder barley 
 field." 
 
 Aimee and her charges set off. Smy following, he too, 
 as he forcibly expressed it, " being full to the bung- 
 hole." 
 
 Mr. Flindell made for the harvesters. 
 " That's it, Teddie," shouted Nat, the sheep-shearer, 
 with all wits, he was no respecter of persons. " We've 
 been a-longin' for your old harvest, Teddie dear, as 
 David for the water of the well at Bethlehem." 
 
 The farmer took no notice. Such sallies formed 
 part of the season's programme. Walking straight up 
 to Elisha he put the stone bottle in his hand. Then as 
 
 silently, amid jokes, shouts, and guffaws, the Lord of 
 
 8* 
 
ii6 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 the Harvest made the round, fiUing each man's drink- 
 ing-horn. Bever ended, carting went on more diUgently 
 than ever, the children and Smy busy enough in the 
 adjoining field. 
 
 Amid this sea of pale gold, wave upon wave of ripe 
 barley, bright flower-heads showed here and there, the 
 corn-cockle of deepest carmine, the wild convolvulus, 
 blue as a baby's eye, fiery-red poppies, wild marigold, 
 and purple loosestrife. Smy creeping along the 
 stetches could gather these, but it was the hedgerow 
 that attracted the children. 
 
 " That will do for nosegays, now for the green 
 boughs and garlands, Master Smy," they cried. 
 
 Obedient to their behest the little man climbed bank 
 and tree like a squirrel. With shouts of delight Aimee's 
 pupils pounced upon each treasure as it fell, now a 
 trailing mass of honeysuckle, traveller's joy, and wild 
 rose, now a branch of sycamore, with its pale yellow 
 tassels, now an oak bough showing many an acorn. 
 
 If entrancing this task, even more so was that of 
 decorating the last waggon, for all here could lend a 
 helping hand. 
 
THE LAST WAGGON, 117 
 
 Whilst the Lord of the Harvest and his men covered 
 the piled-up corn with greenery and flowers, Aimee and 
 the children garlanded horses and harness. Elisha's 
 favourite, Smiler, must have his necklace of poppies, 
 the rest their floral adornments. 
 
 " On my word, a bowery indeed," observed Mr. 
 Flindell, eyeing the waggons. 
 
 It was evenfall when the joyous business of prepara- 
 tion began ; twilight faded ere it came to an end. 
 Then indescribably beautiful, only to be faintly sug- 
 gested became that rustic scene. The group of har- 
 vesters had now considerably swelled. One by one 
 came up wives and sweethearts to participate in the 
 jubilation, and add to the general air of festivity. From 
 his perch on the piled up sheaves Elisha caught sight of 
 Karra's pale, emotional face, Ebenezer of Amma's slim 
 figure. The presence of their womankind, the only 
 amiable influence they knew, rendered these toilers all 
 the gayer, more expansive. They whistled, sang, 
 shouted, with the self-abandonment of Burgundian 
 vintagers. Troubles and hardships were forgotten, 
 jollity and rollicking fun held sway. 
 
ii8 THE LORD OF 2 HE HARVEST. 
 
 Hitherto the prevaihng lovehness had been of 
 subdued hues and mellow sobriety. 
 
 Amid pearly tints the sun went down, light clouds 
 just touched with purple and rose soon giving place to 
 soft uniform greyness. For a brief spell cornfield and 
 hedgerow, waggon and harvesters, formed part of a 
 neutral landscape, outlined features hardly deeper in 
 tone than their dim surroundings. 
 
 But all at once, just as sudden passion transforms a 
 beautiful nature, so was this scene changed — enriched, 
 glorified. 
 
 It was the rising, rather, revelation, of the harvest 
 moon ; here came no heralding illumination, no prepara- 
 tory rays, as at sunrise. This vesper world, so uniformly 
 grey and quiet the moment before, now seemed afire. 
 From that resplendent orb, trembling above the 
 horizon, emanated a glory, wrapping heaven and earth, 
 and perhaps, although unconsciously, not a soul here 
 but was impressed by the sight. Every year rose the 
 harvest moon, brightest, largest, most irradiating of the 
 year, yet the experience lost not novelty. Folks 
 gazed and admired as if they had never seen it before. 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 119 
 
 At last, noisily and joyfully, the procession moved 
 off, some before, some alongside, others behind the 
 waggon. 
 
 " We are clergymen's children, remember, and can do 
 anything," Cassy had reminded her little brothers and 
 sisters. 
 
 So the six abreast fell in with the others, brandishing 
 rakes, cheering, hurrahing lustily as any. 
 
 Just behind followed their host and governess, the 
 farmer having no word to say, Aimee's sprightly talk 
 ended. Side by side they kept measured pace, the fact 
 of such nearness affording new, unaccountable pleasure, 
 were indeed pleasure the word! That long, joyous 
 spell of holiday, that understanding brought about by 
 simple happiness mutually shared, had now changed to 
 deeper, untranslatable feeling. In such moods speech 
 is indeed not needed. It suffices for lover and beloved 
 to breathe the same air, gaze on the same scene, take 
 part in the same event. 
 
 The long wooded drift, more beautiful than ever, 
 thus irradiated, was now left behind and the stackyard 
 reached. 
 
120 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Here, as the wreathed, garlanded waggon turned, 
 the procession broke up ; instead of a long file, the har- 
 vesters and their guests formed a compact crowd at 
 the stackyard gate. A final cheer and the glorious 
 evening would be over. 
 
 " Have a care, Aimee," cried the farmer, almost un- 
 consciously he had called her by her French name of 
 such sweet significance. 
 
 Around the stackyard, separating it from the thicket, 
 was a deep ditch, partly choked up with briar and 
 undergrowth ; as the waggon turned in, folks fell back 
 so eagerly that there was barely standing room. In 
 ignorance of the pitfall Aimee suddenly receded, her 
 cavalier's outstretched arm being only just in time to 
 prevent a mishap. For several minutes she stood thus 
 imprisoned, no one before them stirring an inch. 
 Unable to utter a word, Mr. Flindell held her tight, the 
 pair trembling, weeping, smiling. Passion suddenly 
 awakened to consciousness is slow to find expression, 
 deepest feeling is shy to unutterableness. These two 
 had now only one thing to say, but although voiceless, 
 each reached the other's heart, probed the other's 
 
THE LAST WAGGON. 121 
 
 nature. The tell-tale kiss, the one kiss that has no 
 fellow, which fates us against our will, did duty for 
 words. 
 
 How could the farmer know that her lips would meet 
 his own with such utter self-abandonment, that indeed 
 she was waiting for it, soul and body suddenly his, and 
 for life? These things are riddles. 
 
 " Make an errand to Ipswich next market day," was 
 all he whispered. " My gig is as good as yours, you 
 know." 
 
122 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT SUMMONS. 
 
 From broken yet happy slumbers, with sweet dreams, 
 the farmer was rudely awakened. 
 
 That low thrice repeated knock, that hushed yet 
 so clearly reiterated " Mr. Flindell, Mr. Flindell," could 
 not surely belong to dreamland ? 
 
 He rose in his bed and felt the hands of his large 
 old-fashioned watch, long habit enabled him thus to 
 dispense with flints and tinder-box. It wanted a few 
 minutes to midnight. 
 
 "Mr. Flindell, Mr. Flindell," cried Miss 'Ria in 
 the same penetrating undertone. " You must get up 
 at once. There is not a moment to lose. Don't stop 
 to strike a light." 
 
A MIDNIGHT SUMMONS. 123 
 
 The door was now opened an inch, and a rushUght 
 in chamber-lantern pushed through, bedroom candle- 
 sticks being as yet a luxury. Thinking that fowl- 
 stealers were about, or that a horse had been seized 
 with the gripes, neither being infrequent occurrences, 
 Mr. Flindell jumped out of bed and into his nether 
 garments. A minute later the door was thrown wide. 
 
 There stood Maria Studd, like himself, clothed 
 certainly, but presenting an unaccustomed vision to 
 bachelor eyes. The little woman, perhaps, showed 
 to no disadvantage in her mixed day and night gear. 
 The frilled nightcap quite becomingly set off twinkling 
 black eyes and ruddy cheeks, whilst the plaid shawl, 
 thrown over bedgown, and " coat " as underskirt was 
 called, although displaying well-turned stockingless 
 ankles, at the same time answered every requisite of 
 decorum. 
 
 The farmer's eyes seemed elsewhere ; nor, indeed, 
 had Maria Studd just now studied effect. Her power 
 lay in a wholly different direction. She did not wait 
 to be questioned, but blurted out — 
 
124 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Mr. Betts breathed his last exactly three-quarters 
 of an hour ago." 
 
 " How came you to know it ? " asked the farmer, 
 with a bewildered look. 
 
 " Never mind that now ; what you have to do is to 
 saddle Jack and post to London. Captain de Medue 
 I hear is at Brighton. You will then have a day's start 
 of everyone else." 
 
 Mr. Flindell tried to put in a word. 
 
 " First come, first served, has been Captain dc 
 Medue's motto more than once," she went on with the 
 same familiar peremptoriness. " He isn't the man to 
 refuse a tenant like you the offer of the Hall Farm, 
 when you have travelled over a hundred miles to ask 
 for it. And you have not five minutes to lose." 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, I don't like putting myself 
 so forward," he said, his slow wavering accents in 
 striking contrast to her own ; " and how can I be 
 away in harvest time? Barley mowing begins to- 
 morrow." 
 
 She laughed derisively. 
 
 " Can't I set the men to work every bit as well as 
 
A MID NIGHT SUMMONS. 125 
 
 yourself? I know which field you said you should 
 have mown first. Master Sage, too, wants no looking 
 after at harvesting." 
 
 "You have said right there," the farmer replied 
 absently. He felt netted, entangled, whilst a few hours 
 before the future had seemed clear as day, straight 
 ahead as a turnpike-road! 
 
 Thus, on the homeliest, as on the most splendid 
 stage of human existence, Fortune ever wears a two- 
 fold guise. The nod of propitious fate must be 
 followed, but not without anxious questioning and 
 flutter of apprehension and lingering looks behind. 
 
 " It won't do to stop talking, hand me your tail 
 coat and black trousers, I'll go and put them up with 
 a clean shirt, and something to eat and drink on the 
 way. And when you're dressed, we'll get Jack saddled 
 between us in a jiffy." 
 
 With that she left him. The swift shutting of the 
 door cut short further discussion. Mechanically he 
 undressed and dressed again, now wearing second best 
 or market clothes. The plain, practical, and welcome 
 fact was not to be argued away. Complications and 
 
126 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 imbroglios occupying his mind a moment before might 
 prove chimerical or easy to deal with. One thing was 
 quite certain. He now stood a chance of obtaining 
 the most desirable occupation in that part of the 
 country. Etiquette in such matters was strict and 
 clearly defined. No farmer, however mercenary, 
 would ask the reversion of a lease during a tenant's 
 lifetime. His wishes might reach the owner's ears 
 in a roundabout way ; indirectly, he might seek to 
 influence him. A direct offer for the farm could only 
 be made when it became tenantless by death. Thus, 
 his journey savoured of nothing mean or underhand. 
 Under such circumstances every man was free to do 
 the best for himself. And the late occupier of the 
 Hall Farm left neither widow, son, or son-in-law who 
 should stand first. The held lay open to all. 
 
 Moreover, he knew Captain de Medue's character 
 well. The wealthy Squire and retired Militia officer 
 was a sharp man of business, a whimsicality, and the 
 lover of a joke. This stealthy ride, this taking oppor- 
 tunity by the forelock, this forestalling of Widow 
 Askew — and how many more rivals ?- — would be sure 
 to tickle his fancy. 
 
A MIDNIGHT SUMMOAS. 127 
 
 The Captain was fully alive to the advantage of 
 securing a good tenant. Yes, sure enough, he should 
 return from the Steyne, Brighton, with the lease in 
 his pocket. 
 
 Downstairs he found Miss 'Ria, now, like himself, 
 fully dressed and holding lantern and cloak-bag. 
 
 " What about money ? " she asked, much as if she 
 were already his wife. '* Will you take all the cash 
 I have ? " 
 
 " Haven't I time to go to my bureau and write a 
 cheque ? " he asked. " Suppose I don't get back in 
 time to pay the men ? " 
 
 " Lor' ! how you do talk, Mr. Flindell ! As if I spent 
 sixteen pound a year on my back! Here are ten 
 guineas, and I have more than enough for Saturday 
 upstairs." 
 
 He brought out his knitted silk purse with silver 
 rings, gold pieces at one end, silver at the other, and 
 counted the former. 
 
 " I'll take just five," he said ; " and you can square 
 off the sum with the ^gg and butter money. Turtle 
 too, will bring thirty shillings for the walnuts." 
 
128 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Never mind the money, but be off," she said 
 pettishly, again with famihar insistance, neither wife 
 nor sister could have testified more anxiety about the 
 success of his errand. 
 
 They crossed the farm-yard and entered the stable. 
 
 At the door he turned round sharply : " You are 
 sure that poor Betts is really gone ? " he asked. 
 
 " As if I shouldn't be the first to know ! " she 
 replied ; " why, Mr. Betts' nurse always sends to me if 
 she wants anything, and now she begs me to go and 
 stay with her a bit." 
 
 " Who came with the message ? " again the farmer 
 asked. 
 
 " Dick, the old baccus (backhouse) boy ; I wouldn't 
 keep him a moment." 
 
 After a few more words on business he mounted 
 horse, and at a walking pace passed quietly out of the 
 farmyard. 
 
 Miss Studd closed the stable-door with a significant 
 nod. She had a habit of muttering to herself in such 
 moments. As she now re-entered the house, little 
 chuckling ejaculations passed her lips. 
 
A MIDNIGHT SUMMONS. 129 
 
 " I shall nab him at last," she muttered to herself. 
 
 Once out of the Drift Mr. Flindell put his horse to 
 a canter. So hushed the landscape, and so dry the 
 turnpike road that had it been frostbound his horse's 
 hoofs could hardly have aroused wider echo. Bodily 
 exercise so brisk precluded alike calculation and senti- 
 ment. The farmer could neither prepare himself for 
 the coming interview, nor review the day's delicious- 
 ness. All his energies must be bent upon one object, 
 namely, that of forestalling the London coach, and 
 getting on to Brighton as fast as possible. 
 
 Yet a thrill ran through him as he passed the 
 Rectory gate. Tears for an instant rose to his eyes, 
 his lips trembled. He pictured his Aimee as she lay 
 so fair on her white pillows, and wondered if she slept 
 indeed, or in a wakeful moment, might hear him pass ? 
 And true enough, between dream and dream, Aimee 
 caught the echo. She even half rose to listen, then 
 fell back with a smile. What were nightly messengers 
 and the clatter of swift horses' hoofs to her? How 
 could any errand of life or death affect her newly 
 gained possession — a true lover's heart? 
 
 9 
 
1 3° 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE STOLEN BARLEY. 
 
 It was the night after Mr. FHndeirs departure. 
 
 Miss Maria Studd was no devotee of the workbox. 
 Few farming women were that. What with kneading 
 bread and churning butter, curing hams, chopping 
 sausages, ironing, pickhng and jam making their hands 
 became too stiff and horny for skilful plying of the 
 needle. As a rule, therefore, very little needlework 
 was got through by farmers' wives and daughters. The 
 notion of making a gown or trimming a bonnet would 
 never have entered into anybody's head. Dressmakers, 
 milliners, and sempstresses therefore had no better cus- 
 tomers than those of market day. 
 
 Miss 'Ria, however, was consistency itself, and having 
 
THE STOLEN BARLE Y. 1 3 1 
 
 formed a plan of life, never in the least particular 
 deviated from it. She had made up her mind to marry 
 Mr. Edward Flindell. To this end all other aims and 
 inclinations were subservient. Thus she had ever lying 
 about some ingratiating reminder in the shape of 
 needlework ; now a basketful of her master's white 
 collars or grey woollen stockings to be mended, now a 
 cotton shirt in need of collar, front and wristbands. 
 Both jobs tried her sorely. Not that she was near- 
 sighted or a botcher, but she hated sitting still, and the 
 stitching of Irish linen shirt-cuffs seemed next door to 
 oakum picking itself. Ennui and secret disgust availed 
 nothing. One's heart's desire is no more obtained 
 without an effort than a leg of mutton or a smock at 
 fair time without climbing a greased pole or footing 
 it bravely. To win Mr. Edward Flindell might be a 
 far harder task than winning of such prizes. But of 
 success she never doubted. 
 
 So unbroken the hush around that she seemed alone 
 on the premises to-night. Fowl-houses and granary 
 had been secured long before, ploughmen and maids 
 
 9' 
 
132 7 HE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 snored in their attics, although not yet nine o'clock the 
 place was quiet as a graveyard. 
 
 " I'll just take a look round," she thought to herself. 
 " It's not the first time that I've heard footsteps by the 
 granary late o' nights. And two fowl stealers were 
 caught at Woodbridge last week. The wonder is that 
 farmers can keep so much as a cat since Bobby Peel, 
 the old scoundrel, abolished hanging for sheep steal- 
 ing!" 
 
 Musing thus, she put on a nankeen sunbonnet, and 
 stole out of the backhouse door. 
 
 All w^as quite still, only as she passed the fowl-house, 
 some hens more wakeful than the rest gave an uneasy 
 " cluck, cluck " and fluttered on the roost. Otherwise 
 not a creature stirred. Neathouse, stable and pigstye 
 gave no sign. 
 
 The harvest moon shed gentle light, and as she 
 reached the granary steps she noticed a dark object half 
 hidden by the lower rung. Stooping down she felt the 
 round smooth surface of a four-peck measure ; a second 
 touch told her that it was piled with barley. 
 
 To step aside, secrete herself behind the nearest shed 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY. 133 
 
 was the work of a second. Then holding her breath, 
 she peered and waited. 
 
 But not long. Five minutes later she heard a slow, 
 stealthy step, and discerned a tall man's figure making 
 for the stolen corn. As he stooped Miss 'Ria pounced 
 upon him, neither cat nor ferret more murderously 
 seizing its prey. 
 
 " You scum, you vile toad ! " cried the infuriated little 
 woman, all but throttling her prisoner. " Men and 
 maids, wake up, wake up, d'ye hear? Thieves, mur- 
 derers, on the premises ! Ebby, Zeky, mawthers, will 
 you leave me here to have my throat cut t " 
 
 So startling and immense the hubbub created by that 
 single throat, so shrill and piercing Miss 'Ria's cries, 
 screeches, yells, that not only were those leaden 
 slumberers in attic and chamber aroused, but 
 fourfooted and feathered folk in the farmyard. Horses 
 neighed, cows lowed, pigs squeaked, cocks began to 
 crow. Tumbling down back stairs, in various stages 
 of undress, came 'Liza, leading the way, at her heels, 
 truth to tell, quaking with fear and only half awake, the 
 young ploughmen, Miss Amma, always mindful of 
 
134 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 appearance and the proprieties, having stopped to put 
 on slip and stockings, brought up the rear. 
 
 " Lay a-hand, seize him, fetch a Hnen Hne, cable him 
 to the bannisters ; you, 'Liza, pop on your gown and run 
 like a hare for Mr. Mumpford." Mr. Mumpford was 
 the parish constable. " Amma, you go to the pightle- 
 gate and halloo your father," vociferated, at the top of 
 her voice, Mr. Flindell's intrepid housekeeper. " Oh, 
 you're trying to wriggle away, are you ? " and with that 
 she gave her prisoner a doughty kick. 
 
 By a desperate effort the stalwart figure, thus held in 
 a vice, managed to free his throat, but attempted no 
 further resistance. There he stood his knees a- tremble, 
 his face white with shame and terror, unable to articu- 
 late a word. 
 
 Maria fell back, no less consternated than himself, 
 for a moment ; the rest were equally overcome. 
 
 " You," hissed out Miss 'Ria at last. " So it's you, 
 oh, you brazen Gehazi ! " 
 
 The Lord of the Harvest, for indeed it was he, did 
 not reply, his teeth chattered, he was shaking from 
 head to foot. 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY, i35 
 
 " What are you all a-gaping at ? " continued the 
 bloodthirsty little woman ; this capture was to her a 
 moment of sweetest triumph. How would her em- 
 ployer praise such vigilance, appreciate such care for his 
 interests ! " Do as I bid you or you'll all repent it." 
 
 Then she turned to her prey : " Well may you look 
 as if you expected to be swallowed up Hke Korah, 
 Dathan and Abiram, Elisha Sage! To Ipswich jail 
 or Botany Bay you'll go to a dead certainty, picking 
 oakum and turning the treadmill in company of strum- 
 pets and cardsharpers, or road mending in chains with 
 highwaymen and false coiners. How long, pray, have 
 you carried on this nice trade, fattening hogs on the 
 sly or guzzling beer brewed with your master's barley ? 
 We want spring guns and mantraps for our own folks 
 it seems, not for travelling tinkers and gipsies. Nicely 
 you've done for yourself ! Who do you think will give 
 you a job when you come out of jail } " 
 
 Crushed though he was, EHsha retorted almost scorn- 
 fully, Amma slapping his back by way of encourage- 
 ment, whispering in his ear, " Give it to her, father, gxMO, 
 it to her well." 
 
136 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 " 'Twas neither for hog nor beer barrel of mine that 
 I filled this here measure unbeknown," he said, " but for 
 master's own horses " 
 
 " And you don't call that stealing ? " Maria stormed 
 on. " But judge and jury won't be of your opinion, and 
 so you'll find out to your cost. Humph ! Of course, it's 
 the ploughing match you're thinking of, your horses 
 must be the sleekest there ; as if Mr. Flindell starved 
 any brute beast on his premises ! " 
 
 " The horses don't get no corn to speak of in harvest 
 time. Miss 'Ria," put in Elisha, despite Amma's prompt- 
 ings, remaining meekest of the meek. 
 
 " Why on earth should they when they've next to 
 nothing to do? But don't stand there defying me. 
 Into the house with you till Mr. Mumpford comes. 
 Ebby, where's the linen line ? " 
 
 Now Miss Studd knew well enough that Elisha was 
 harmless as a lamb, and even if he had any place to 
 run to would no more dream of running away than of 
 preparing his own legal defence before judge and jury. 
 But the bare mention of linen line and banisters 
 sounded awful in Elisha's ears. Many years before a 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY. i37 
 
 farmyard marauder had indeed thus been made fast to 
 this very staircase until the arrival of the parish con- 
 stable. Elisha, with a shudder, recalled the incident 
 which he had witnessed as a lad, the bemired, tattered, 
 dishevelled wretch tied to the stair rail, bearing, with a 
 hang-dog look, taunts of lookers-on. And to find 
 himself in the same degrading position, laughing stock 
 of his neighbours, butt of raillery and outrage. 
 
 But Miss 'Ria was reckoning without her host. Full 
 of filial ardour, having charged 'Liza to summon Karra 
 to the scene of action, Amma now placed herself 
 between captive and captor. " Who lays a hand on my 
 own father must first lay hands on me, his daughter 
 lawfully begotten," she cried. "Do you suppose 
 master's the man to take anything father should do for 
 his own horses amiss ? Hasn't Mr. Flindell summer'd 
 and winter'd father for years and years, and you've only 
 been here a twelvemonth come Michaelmas ? " 
 
 " Have a care, Amma," Elisha said in a low voice. 
 
 " There, go home and tuck yourself up in bed, father 
 do ! " Amma continued, growing bolder and bolder. 
 " There's nothing to be afraid of, you've not been 
 
138 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 stealin', only givin' the horses an extra bait without 
 leave." 
 
 Matters seemed coming to a climax when Karra 
 bustled up, her cheeks aflame, ready with a cataract of 
 words ; immediately behind followed Mr. Mumpford, 
 the village carpenter and sole representative of law 
 and police in Burridge and the neighbouring hamlets. 
 
 " Lawk's a mussy me, Miss 'Ria, what's all this bob- 
 bery about? My husband, though I repeat it as 
 shouldn't, as Mr. Flindell says, to be trusted with untold 
 gold, and you a-treatin' him as if he was dirt under your 
 feet only fit for the gallows." 
 
 To Karra, as to her daughter, this conflict with the 
 unpopular middlewoman was by no means disagree- 
 able. " And what do you think is your business here, 
 Mr. Mumpford ? " she added, turning to the meek-faced 
 embodiment of police. " Lawk's, go home, you know 
 Miss 'Ria, always a'makin' and a'meddlin' with us 
 poor folk." 
 
 " Parish constable," shrieked Miss Studd, " do your 
 duty, you see before you a night prowler, a thief " 
 
 " No names, ma'am," Karra cried, shaking her fists 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY, 139 
 
 in the other's face. " Law and justice when befittin', 
 but no names ! " 
 
 " Mr. Mumpford," again remonstrated Maria, " you 
 hear this ? " 
 
 " And he'll hear more if he don't go back about his 
 business, and that pretty quick," Mrs. Sage went on. 
 " I'm not a'goin' to see my husband, as honest a man 
 as ever wore highlows " 
 
 " You hear her, parish constable } " put in Miss 'Ria. 
 
 " As I say," Karra continued, not one whit abashed, 
 " I'm not a'goin' to see 'Lishy treated like one of your 
 trampin' folks caught a'fowl stealin' ; home with me, his 
 lawful wife, this night he'll go, in his own bed he'll sleep, 
 and those who want him will know where to find him 
 to-morrow, if the Lord sees fit to spare us all, the 
 righteous and unrighteous together," here she glanced 
 viciously at the housekeeper. " Come along, 'Lishy, 
 I say, what's the use of me a'spendin' my breath to the 
 last gasp whilst you stand there mute as Guy Fawkes 
 on Gunpowder Plot day ? There, come along." 
 
 " Mr. Mumpford," once more interposed Maria, this 
 time with an air of portentous severity. There stood 
 
I40 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Ebby making signs to Amma, the linen line playfully 
 swung over his shoulder, there stood 'Liza and Zeky 
 giggling and tittering, and there was Karra, in defiance 
 of all authority, tugging away at her husband's coat 
 tails, trying to drag him homewards. The situation 
 was critical ; Miss Studd felt that her dignity, her 
 authority, her very future were at stake ; that 
 idiot of a parish constable not lifting a finger, 
 men and maids in open defiance, and to make matters 
 ten times worse, cocks crowing, hens cackling, ducks 
 quacking, guinea-fowls " come backing " as if foxes 
 were making themselves at home in a fowl house ! 
 
 Meekest of the meek, and even in terror of feminine 
 tongues, Mr. Mumpford had always a thunderbolt in 
 his shirt sleeve. Terrible is the majesty of the law, and 
 under an almost girl-like exterior he knew how to brow- 
 beat the most daring. 
 
 Putting on an air solemn as that of any judge de- 
 livering sentence, he turned to the housekeeper, " I 
 must please put a question or two to you. Miss Studd." 
 
 " As many as you please," was the brisk reply. 
 
 " No offence then, Miss, but now for number one. 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY. 141 
 
 Did the prisoner at the bar make an assault upon your 
 chastity ? " 
 
 Now it spoke volumes for Mr. Mumpford, and the 
 way in which he exercised his judicial functions that 
 the propounding of this question was listened to 
 breathlessly and with an awe-struck look by all ; only 
 Maria blushed and smiled; the very suggestion 
 savoured of romance, and recalled sweet episodes of 
 boarding-school fiction. 
 
 " Lor, Mr. Mumpford, what are you thinking of ? " 
 she replied coyly. 
 
 " As I said just now, Miss, no offence meant, but the 
 law is the law, and as matters stand it's Mr. Flindell 
 who's the plaintiff and no one else." 
 
 " I told you so ; there, come along, 'Lishy," said 
 Karra, again tugging at her husband's arm. 
 
 " Till Mr. Flindell lodges a complaint against Master 
 Sage, nobody else can do anything, so we'd best 
 adjourn." 
 
 Mr. Mumpford loved legal phraseology, and as Miss 
 Studd looked unwilling to let the episode pass off thus 
 quietly, he added, "You see. Miss Maria, we've a 
 
142 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Habeyus Scorpyus in this country, and we must abide 
 by the consequences, so I'll wish you good-night, Miss. 
 Master Sage, we know where to find you when 
 wanted." 
 
 Elisha, on reaching home, still looked and felt the 
 veriest coward alive. " You see," he said, " I feel that 
 bad and low that if the Ipswich police constable were 
 to show himself at the door I believe I should drop 
 down dead." 
 
 " There, don't be so cut up. Take off your highlows 
 and eat your supper." 
 
 " I couldn't swallow a morsel, I couldn't really. She 
 called me Gehazi," Elisha said, gulping down a sob. 
 
 " Oh, she'd better read her Bible, a'thinking of her- 
 self," quoth Karra. " She isn't Elisha the prophet, 
 leastways, and there is no turning folks into lepers in 
 our time." 
 
 Elisha watched his wife's face. She had not as yet 
 realised the worst. 
 
 " Drink a drop of beer," she added, and going to the 
 little cask of home-brewed harvest ale in the back- 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY. 143 
 
 house, filled his pewter pint. The draught imparted 
 courage to speak out. 
 
 " You don't think I shall be sent to the Assizes } " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I'd raise a hue and cry through the country first. 
 I'd tramp to London and petition the Queen, and if so 
 be that to jail you go, 'Lishy, out you would soon come, 
 like Margaret Catchpole," quoth Karra. "With a 
 couple of sheets and my clothes line I'd bafHe judge, 
 jury and jailors as true as my name is Karrenheppuch 
 and we were married in church." 
 
 Intensely pious as she was, of tried integrity also, che 
 good woman refused to see crime, even wrong doing 
 here. The barley had been purloined, but for its 
 owner's beasts, not to enrich the thief. 
 
 " You haven't thought of one thing," at last her hus- 
 band got out, painfully anticipating the effect of his 
 words. " Master may overlook this business, but what 
 if he turn me off after harvest .? And whoever else may 
 get to Burridge Hall, it won't be you and me, I reckon.'^ 
 
 " There don't talk any more, my poor head is all of a 
 swim," replied Karra, on the point of breaking down 
 
144 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 again. " Try to get down a bit of this onion turnover, 
 it's easy to swallow, and very temptin'. I do believe I 
 could eat a dollop myself." 
 
 " If you will, I will," Elisha replied. 
 
 Karra was renowned for her turnovers ; as she now 
 cut open the compound, the small discs of pork gar- 
 nished with onions, recalling white marble having 
 green veins, the sight was certainly appetizing. 
 
 With one hand on his shoulder, helping herself from 
 his plate as she stood, she ate a mouthful or two whilst 
 Elisha made a meal. The food and drink invigo- 
 rated ; much more power of resistance, mental and 
 physical, was accorded by that wifely caress. There 
 was no sentimentality in these rustic partnerships, but 
 wedded couples stood loyally by each other till the 
 workhouse, or a kinder friend still — Death — separated 
 them. 
 
 " You go to bed, I'll read a chapter of Nehemiah 
 first," Karra said, when he had done. " We've all of 
 us a Sanballat to laugh us to scorn, I reckon, but the 
 Lord will prosper his servants who desire to fear His 
 name. Why, you haven't taken off your highlows ! " 
 
 Meek as a lamb Elisha unlaced his heavy, well- 
 
THE STOLEN BARLEY. 145 
 
 greased boots, and in his stockings— slippers being un- 
 known — climbed the creaking stairs. 
 
 Karra brought out the family Bible, a quarto printed 
 in great primer and having full-page illustrations. Her 
 eyesight was not over good, but she hardly needed a 
 farthmg dip so at home was she with the cupbearer's 
 beautiful story. All country folks had their favourite 
 book or chapter of the Bible, and Karra's was this. 
 Devotional, resigned, the Scriptures yet appealed to 
 her intellect rather than to her heart. In those mar- 
 vellous pages she sought less for spiritual solace than 
 for mental upholding or enlightenment. Nor was she 
 disappointed now. That building of the wall, despite 
 scoffers and detractors by the light of to-day's events, 
 seemed an allegory. Elisha Sage was a God-fearing 
 man, and thus would his good name be re-established 
 however his enemies might strive against him. 
 
 As later the pair lay side by side the Lord of the 
 Harvest felt a certain sense of security steal over him. 
 The heavy sleep induced by weariness at last closed 
 their eyes. And not even the thought of jail came as 
 a nightmare, not even the echo of Miss 'Ria's threats 
 could disturb those leaden slumbers. 
 
 10 
 
^^('. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AT THE TURNPIKE GATE. 
 
 The longed for comes at last, and next market day 
 Aimee woke up to an all too happy world. Everything 
 had turned out well. 
 
 " Mr. Pascoe will take the dear children to Ipswich 
 to-day, and give each a halfpenny to spend as a treat, 
 not one having been whipped for a whole week," lisped 
 out Mrs. Pascoe, after breakfast, which consisted of 
 bread and milk, or bread and treacle for the younger 
 fry, dripping toast and weak tea for the elder. " So, 
 the afternoon is at your own disposal. Miss Aimee, 
 unless, indeed, you prefer a quiet reading of Corinne 
 with myself." 
 
AT THE TURNPIKE GATE. 147 
 
 " Thank you," was the quick reply, " but I parti- 
 cularly want to go to Ipswich this afternoon." 
 
 "Ah! there are the requisites for Cassy's wax- 
 flower making. The dear child is wild with delight at 
 the thought of her first lesson, and I confess I long for 
 the result. What so decorative in winter as wax 
 flowers? But five shillings. Miss Aimee, remember, 
 I cannot go beyond that sum. These accomplish- 
 ments will soon compel Mr. Pascoe and myself to 
 forego warm underclothes, and winter at hand! Do 
 you hear, my poor darlings ? " 
 
 Although well accustomed to threats quite as 
 distressing the young faces fell. Sad, indeed, it 
 seemed that on their account poor mamma should 
 have to leave off buying flannel petticoats and papa 
 his woollen vests! But thus were things ordered. 
 They had been taught to regard themselves as so 
 many trying dispensations. How this had come about 
 they did not understand. 
 
 Once again lesson time went off like a rocket, and 
 Aimee found leisure to finish that long, ecstatically 
 fond and blissful letter to her mother begun at dawn. 
 
 10* 
 
148 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 There could not be any possible reason for conceal- 
 ment. Mr. Flindell was no Lovelace whose pastime 
 it was to win and break maidens' hearts. This sober 
 farmer, with the kindly brown eyes and humorous 
 smile, would never, she felt sure, tread on a worm, 
 much less wrong a fellow-creature, especially a woman. 
 His whispered charge was nothing else but a declara- 
 tion, an honest offer of marriage. " Mind and make 
 an errand to Ipswich next market day," he had said ; 
 " my gig is as good as yours." Such words from a 
 man of his stamp and calibre could mean nothing else. 
 One nail drives out another, but love in a sound, 
 wholesome nature intensifies rather than weakens 
 prior affections. Immediately after Aimee's first sense 
 of triumph, the consciousness of empire over a manly 
 nature, came a second and hardly less overwhelming 
 joy. That sorely tried, ever fond and anxious mother, 
 what would be her delight and satisfaction at this good 
 news? Her father too, how he would revel in the 
 thought that his child would not grow pinched and 
 grey in dependency, instead, become a happy wife, 
 mistress of a highly respected, substantial house. The 
 
AT THE TURNPIKE GATE. 149 
 
 woman, however deeply she may be in love, is of 
 necessity more prosaic, less given to romance than the 
 man. A girl's existence is entirely altered, her lover's 
 only modified by wedlock. He can give all his 
 thoughts to sentiment, she must perforce dwell on 
 worldly circumstances. Aimee was not alone in thus 
 counting up welcome accessories, anticipating in detail 
 altered and happier fortunes. 
 
 This wealthy farmer, so at least he seemed to her, 
 knew nothing, would never know anything of the 
 petty carking cares amid which she had been brought 
 up. And who could tell } The prosperous union might 
 end in another circumstance longed for if less roman- 
 tically, yet with deep pious fervour, already she saw her 
 parents settled within reach of their daughter, perhaps 
 under Mr. Flindell's supervision, like their frugal but 
 independent neighbours in France, cultivating a few 
 acres, living upon the produce of their labour. 
 
 The crossed and re-crossed letter, folded and 
 wafered, dinner over, the Rector's phaeton off, 
 she set out for the turnpike-gate. Mr. Flindell 
 was a very punctual man, and never spent more time 
 
I50 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 at market than he could possibly help. His turn on 
 the Corn Exchange and general business over, in 
 company of Samuel, and perhaps a neighbour or two, 
 he would take a glass of sherry at the " Crown and 
 Anchor," putting down a shilling without taking 
 change, " for the look of the thing," then drive home. 
 
 She knew when he was sure to quit the Drift, and of 
 course he would neither be too early, nor too late on 
 this especial occasion. The afternoon was intensely 
 hot, but weather so glorious accorded with her 
 exuberant spirits. She had perhaps bestowed less 
 thought on her toilette to-day, knowing well that the 
 beloved can do no wrong. Yet no neater, daintier 
 figure, and certainly no happier, tripped under that 
 bright heaven. 
 
 Every sound of wheels flushed her cheeks and made 
 her heart beat quicker. Already she seemed to see 
 the lover-like glance of those kindly brown eyes, to 
 hear those shyly uttered words, hardly needed by way 
 of supplement. Neither looks nor speech indeed were 
 needed. She knew it, oh ! how well she knew it ; 
 his heart was hers. 
 
AT THE TURNPIKE GATE, 151 
 
 One, two, three gigs came rattling behind her, but 
 without slackening pace as they approached. Should 
 she stroll on, or await him under the tall shady hedge ? 
 But no, folks might talk, better reach the toll-bar 
 in the ordinary way. If anyone else offered her a seat 
 she could frame an excuse. She stole a hasty glance 
 or two at her watch, smiling at impatience so foolish, 
 so uncalled for. In his anxiety not to miss her, Mr. 
 Flindell would naturally start a little later than usual, 
 whilst she had started a good quarter of an hour 
 earlier. 
 
 As the moments wore on, her listening powers 
 became painfully acute, yet, she asked herself, why 
 hearken to gig wheels with such desperate eagerness ? 
 His own were only a little behind. 
 
 When at last the turnpike-gate came in sight the 
 buoyant step dragged slowly, the slight, graceful 
 figure showed signs of lassitude, the face, so radiant a 
 few minutes before, showed unmistakable signs of 
 suspense. 
 
 Good Mrs. Pipe, standing at her post, her left hand 
 full of fourpenny bits, nodded cheerfully. 
 
152 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " All the Burridge folks be gone, Miss Aimay, but 
 Mr. Pain, of Battleigh, will be here, I daresay ; he's a 
 family man, you can ride with him." 
 
 Over Aimee's features flashed a look of agonized 
 enquiry. Only half interpreting it, the toll-gate 
 keeper added : 
 
 " It's no use a-waitin' for Mr. Flindell. He's in the 
 shires — somewheres the other side of London anyhow." 
 
 Pride for the moment got the mastery. 
 
 " I'll just stroll on, thank you, Mrs. Pipe," Aimee 
 said, not giving the good woman time to notice her 
 scarlet cheeks and rising tears. 
 
 Once more alone on the high road, disappointment, 
 mortification, and wounded self-love would have vent 
 She felt inclined to take a field-path home and seeking 
 some secluded spot, there weep her fill. 
 
 " How cowardly, how cruel ! " she murmured 
 between her sobs. 
 
 The first impulse was soon checked. Wiping her 
 hot cheeks and subduing her tears, she hastened on, 
 her little head higher than usual, her slender feet self- 
 assertively striking the ground. Schooled in adver- 
 
AT THE TURNPIKE GATE. 153 
 
 sity, not without experience of the human heart, 
 Aimee de Richemont possessed one priceless treasure, 
 one goodUest, unpurchasable gift, namely, an adequate 
 share of feminine pride. No woman should ever be 
 lessened in men's eyes through conduct of hers, no 
 masculine arrogance be increased by her own self- 
 depreciation. Ah, that self-depreciation of her sex! 
 For how much wretchedness, debasement and folly 
 has this vice to answer ! 
 
 It naturally crossed Aimee's mind that Mr. Flindell's 
 behaviour meant one thing and one thing only. He 
 had repented of his advances and was drawing back. 
 Otherwise, why no letter ? How easy for him to have 
 sent a line, or even a message. The Rector and his 
 wife would, of course, comment on either. Well, were 
 his intentions straightforward and manly, what of 
 that? Nor did "the Shires" lie at the Antipodes. 
 Every morning the postman brought London letters, 
 and from distances beyond, the transit occupied only 
 twenty-four hours. Franks were not to be had by 
 everybody, but what was eighteenpence in considera- 
 
154 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 tion to her feelings? She would have willingly paid 
 the postage many times over to save his ! 
 
 " Can I offer you a seat, ma'am ? " shouted a bluff, 
 good-natured voice close by. 
 
 Indignation had blunted, as hope had just before 
 sharpened, her hearing. There sat jolly Farmer Pain 
 in his high gig, and she had never so much as heard his 
 wheels. 
 
 She jumped in, smiling her thanks, and the pair 
 drove off at a brisk trot, for Mr. Pain was late. 
 
 " Time out of mind I've seen you a driving with the 
 Burridge folks, but I don't know who you be .? " he 
 said, by way of opening conversation. 
 
 An uncommonly fine girl, thought the family man ; 
 wouldn't I like her for Abraham ? 
 
 Abraham was his eldest son, a prosperous fellow, 
 but a bit of a clown, holding a nice little occupation in 
 an adjoining parish. " Eddication " was now beginning 
 to be thought of in the farming world, many a gover- 
 ness had settled down as a farmer's wife. 
 
 Mr. Pain loved to joke young ladies about matri- 
 mony ; it was indeed considered a compliment among 
 
AT THE TURNPIKE GATE. 155 
 
 his set, and topics of conversation were few and far 
 between. 
 
 "Yes," Aimee replied, forcing herself into com- 
 posure, " I am governess to Mr. Pascoe's children, and 
 we often go to Ipswich on market-days." 
 
 " Mr. Flindell, of Burridge, has took you up in his 
 gig sometimes, hasn't he .? " asked the farmer. 
 
 " Yes," again Aimee said. " The children dearly 
 love a drive, and Mr. Pascoe's four-wheeler won't hold 
 us all." 
 
 " Come now," pursued her good-natured conductor, 
 " shall I tell you what I think .? Drivin' to market, you 
 know, often ends in drivin' to church." He just 
 tickled his horse's sides, quickening the pace. " There 
 was Miss Crisp, teacher to Squire Chaplin's young 
 'uns. She can play the pianoforty and spell anything, 
 such a beautiful writer, you never see'd ; well, Mr. 
 Simpson, of Stowe Farm, my neighbour, married her 
 last year, and a notable wife she's turned out to be." 
 
 " I think I have seen them driving to market," Aimee 
 got out, feeling compelled to say something. 
 
 " And I shall see you doing the same some day, I'll 
 
156 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 lay. With all your learning you wouldn't look down 
 on a farmer, if he be a proper sort of a man, would you 
 now ? There's Ederd Flindell, what a husband he'd 
 make, sure-ly ! " 
 
 Aimee felt that her powers of endurance were giving 
 way. 
 
 " I will ask you to set me down at the ' Woolpack,' 
 please," she said, desperately, keeping back her tears. 
 
 " Just where you like, and if you want a lift home, 
 be at the ' Crown and Anchor ' yard before five. You 
 know I'm a family man, and my old woman won't be 
 jealous." 
 
 " Thank you, I may be very glad to accept your 
 offer," the poor girl replied ; then, to her great relief, he 
 said no more. 
 
 " Lord ! " miuttered the farmer, as he watched her 
 spring to the ground, curtsey, and hasten off. '* I'm 
 blowed if I ever set eyes on such an ankle, and such a 
 stocking, so fine you can see through it, and fitting like 
 her skin ! " 
 
 A rucky, ill gartered, above all, soiled stocking, was 
 regarded as next door to disreputableness by country 
 
AT THE TURNPIKE GATE. 157 
 
 folks. Aimee, schooled in French fastidiousness, was, 
 to use Farmer Pain's expression, " a right down pictur' 
 as she jumped down ; a queen couldn't be better shod." 
 Hastily and excitedly she got through the after- 
 noon's business, making her way back on foot. Oh, to 
 be hundreds of miles away, she thought, to take fare- 
 well of once too happy, now ever hateful Burridge for 
 once and for all ! 
 
iSB 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DRAWING THE STETCHES. 
 
 Mr. Flindell did not return. 
 
 After several days of alternating hopes and fears the 
 Lord of the Harvest felt himself again. Hilarious 
 Elisha Sage had never been ; exhilaration was a mental 
 phase absolutely foreign to this as to other sons of the 
 soil, but passiveness, perhaps conscious resignation die 
 duty for joy. Elisha, no more than his fellows, was 
 religious in the ordinary sense. His mood partook 
 rather of philosophy. Things were as they were be- 
 cause the Almighty so willed it ; no one with a grain 
 of good sense could affirm that they might not be 
 better. 
 
 Teddy Flindell was an upright man, very exact in 
 
DRAWING THE STETCHES. 159 
 
 business dealings and it seemed unlikely that he would 
 pass such a dereliction by ; on the other hand, his head 
 horseman had worked on Walnut Tree Farm, year out 
 and year in, for well nigh forty summers. Surely he 
 would not let his mind be poisoned by that cross-patch, 
 that meddlesome hussey, Miss 'Ria, and pay him off 
 after Halloo Largess, to say nothing of going to law ? 
 With Largess-spending harvest virtually ended, odd 
 hands were dismissed, wages dropped to the normal. 
 
 What if the woman did get her way, and for the hrst 
 time in his life he had to look out for a job ? The 
 neighbours too ! Elisha felt as if wasps and earwigs 
 were stinging him when he conjured up Jerry's offen- 
 sive wink and Lyddy's still more odious smirk o' 
 Sundays. 
 
 Then the hudderens, they meant no kind of harm, 
 poor lads and knew no better, but they could no more 
 help jeering any one in evil plight than the Httle child- 
 ren of Bethel could help mocking his awful namesake 
 of the bald head. 
 
 On this especial morning depression had fallen from 
 him as a garment. It was a ravishing day to begin 
 
i6o THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 with ; delicious the fragrance of turnip fields, bright 
 the heavens with swiftly scudding, silvery clouds, un- 
 touched by autumn as yet the rich foliage of drift and 
 pightle. But for Elisha the charm lay elsewhere. 
 
 For the first time since harvest he resumed the 
 plough. In company of his favourite Smiler he was 
 to spend the long day a-field, from seven in the morn- 
 ing till three in the afternoon, drawing stetches, by 
 force of natural aptitude and habit making them 
 straight as mathematical lines, the accomplishment 
 having won for him local renown. 
 
 For just upon thirty years Elisha had drawn stetches, 
 and his horses had been regarded as so many com- 
 rades. But cart horses, like human beings, are not all 
 formed after one pattern; there are degrees of in- 
 telligence, docility and affectionateness. Now, Smiler, 
 in Elisha's eyes, resumed all the excellencies of his 
 species, and, having never known any other master, 
 had attached himself to him with dog-like devotion. 
 
 " As true as I stand here," he would say at ploughing 
 matches, " that there animal knows as much as most 
 folks that can speak. I believe that if he had but a 
 
DRAWING THE STETCHES. i6i 
 
 tongue he would answer Bible questions before the best 
 scholar of the Sunday school." 
 
 But for the capacities of the enormously strong lamb- 
 like creature he should never have won kettle after 
 kettle at the ploughing match. Smiler had an eye for 
 a straight line and turned at the sound of " Come 
 hather," and " Wouree," the ploughman's call to right 
 and left as a soldier at drill. Tim, his yoke-fellow, was 
 an excellent beast, but between Tim and Elisha 
 existed no such understanding and sympathy, 
 
 " And lor' bless you," he had often said over his pot 
 of ale at the " Barley Mow," " though book larnin' hasn't 
 done it, there's as much difference between those two 
 horses as between parson and myself." 
 
 Much pride too he took in Smiler's beauty, and in 
 his own adornment of fine proportions, sleek coat and 
 long tail. Smiler was far and away the handsomest 
 animal of his kind to be seen for miles round, and like 
 all Suffolk cart horses possessed a long plume-like 
 tail, which was combed, brushed, braided and trimmed 
 as tresses of a court beauty. A wealth of fancy and 
 fondness was lavished upon this task, and no equine 
 
 II 
 
i62 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 hairdresser in those parts was here so skilful as Elisha. 
 Not Karra's poetic reputation, not Amma's facility of 
 repartee, not the good character of his hudderens more 
 elated him than Smiler's repute. 
 
 Well pleased then was he once more to breathe the 
 air of the fallow and freshly-turned earth. Scythe 
 and sickle meant good fare and jolly comradeship, 
 but at the same time strain and sweat. The 
 autumnal job of carting manure from Ipswich was not 
 to his taste. He little relished the pot-house talk of 
 town loafers, nor the coarse jokes of ostlers. Here he 
 had the broad field and Smiler to himself. 
 
 What does the ploughman think of all day as he 
 automatically draws stetch after stetch? Perhaps 
 none could answer the question, but the hours pass, and 
 not so slowly as lookers-on might think. Hunger, not 
 ennui, is found in the husbandman's vocabulary. 
 
 On this especial evening, as he was turning into the 
 drift, more cheerful than he had felt for days, Miss 
 Studd called him back. The events of that terrible 
 evening had never once been mentioned since. 
 
 " Master Sage," she said, with the tone of every day, 
 
DRAWING THE STETCHES. 163 
 
 *' you're not to go a'ploughing to-morrow, but to ride 
 Smiler to Mr. Sammel's, so your master writes word. 
 Take the fields and don't heat him. I daresay you'll 
 get a lift home by the road." 
 
 Elisha stood stock still, his mouth agape. Not 
 Jerry Hammond himself could have looked blanker, 
 more tongueless just then. 
 
 The housekeeper fumbled in her pockets and 
 brought out sixpence. 
 
 " You're sure to get victuals and drink at the house," 
 she said, " but here's something for a pot of beer on the 
 way home." 
 
 Still Elisha looked positively moonstruck, his tongue 
 clave to the roof of his mouth — ^he had become white 
 as when surprised at the granary steps. 
 
 Not till he saw her turning away did he 
 manage to stammer, " Arn't I to bring that there horse 
 back. Miss 'Ria?" 
 
 " No, Master Sage, Mr. Sammel wants the best cart 
 
 horse your master can spare, and the best is no other, 
 
 he says." 
 
 " You're right there and no mistake," almost groaned 
 
 II* 
 
1 64 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Elisha, Miss 'Ria paying no attention, her thoughts 
 seemed elsewhere. Without waiting to hear 
 more she went indoors, merely pausing at the back- 
 house scraper for a parting injunction. 
 
 " Have a good look at the horse's shoes afore you 
 start," she shouted, " those lanes are good tightly 
 rough." 
 
 The Lord of the Harvest waited for a moment, all 
 the manhood having gone out of him. Then he moved 
 a step or two in the direction of the house, a wild, almost 
 insane, impulse prompting him. He would seek his 
 master and out with a bold : " Mr. Flindell, if so be that 
 Smiler goes for good, you'll pay me off come 
 Saturday." 
 
 But an instant later his true position flashed upon 
 him. " As things had happened," he asked himself, 
 " what right had he to put on such parts and f arings ? 
 Why, master may be a'turnin' me off o' Saturday 
 anyways, and how should I look then ? " 
 
 The thought came too, though not to stay, that his 
 favourite horse was thus to be got rid of as punishment 
 for having been held too dear. But no, Teddy Flindell 
 
DRAWING THE STETCHES. 165 
 
 was not the man to give anyone a back-handed slap, and 
 besides, the stolen corn had fed Tim as well ! Was it 
 Miss 'Ria's doing, a nasty turn of her contriving? 
 Women were more crafty than men folk, there was no 
 circumventing a female, and the harridan owed his 
 missus a grudge. Again, he negatived the idea. No, 
 Mr. Flindell was about to take the Hall, stock, crop, and 
 valuation ; he had a horse or two to spare, and Mr. 
 Samuel, as he knew, had lately lost one by the gripes. 
 Things were merely taking their course. 
 
 Nevertheless Elisha could not shake off a certain 
 sense of retribution. What else was the loss of his 
 favourite but the penalty of wrong doing ? And right 
 was right and justice is justice in small matters as in 
 great ; why had he not left the barley alone ? 
 
 Put in another way, perhaps his self-reproach really 
 ran thus : Why had he not kept the stolen bushel out 
 of Miss 'Ria's sight .^ The corn certainly was Mr. 
 Flindell's, but so were the horses' bellies. Here lay a 
 metaphysical problem beyond his capacities to solve. 
 So many peccadilloes seem pardonable to most folks 
 unless found out ! 
 
i66 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 He said nothing of the next day's errand to Karra,. 
 For the first time in Hfe he felt that the wife of his 
 bosom could not comfort him, and fortunately that 
 night she was not chattily inclined. 
 
 As they sat down to their pork and onion turnover, 
 bread a week old, and flet cheese, it became evident 
 that her thoughts soared upwards. Whilst Elisha drew 
 deep draughts of home-brewed from his pewter pot 
 and she sipped her tea, she said : 
 
 " Lawks a mussy me, 'Lishy, my head is that 
 a runnin' on Sanballat and the rhymes accordin' that I 
 forgot to bile you a tater. Sanballat and ballad go 
 together, but ballad isn't a Bible word, and salad is 
 wus, not but that the Egyptians had leeks and onions, 
 but we don't hear talk of 'em being served with 
 mustard and vinegar." 
 
 She did not inform him that she was inditing a 
 parable in verse appropriate to passing events. 'Lishy 
 was no king's cup-bearer like Nehemiah, to be sure, nor 
 was Jerry quite a second Horonite, but had he not 
 winked last Sunday as her husband passed by, and did 
 she not know as well as he could tell her what that 
 
DRAWING THE STETCHES. 167 
 
 wink meant ? Miss 'Ria, the spiteful hussey, had, of 
 course, let the cat out of the bag, and made the most 
 of that paltry corn ! Well, in good time, she'd hear of 
 herself too, perhaps even read of herself! Karra's 
 literary ambitions as yet remained secret. 
 
i68 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " NEVER, NO MORE ! " 
 
 Next morning Elisha was up earlier than usual. 
 
 " I shan't be in to dinner, master's sendin' me on an 
 arrand," was all he said as he left the house, then 
 swallowing a little beer and stuffing a chunk of bread 
 and cheese into his pockets he set off for the stable. 
 To-day Smiler made a spectacle even for urban eyes, 
 that wonderful coat of his shining like burnished 
 copper, the long flaxen plume, not a hair out of place, 
 artistically coiled. 
 
 And the animal world has its little vanities no less 
 than the human. Conscious of beauty as strength 
 looked Smiler thus prepared for no common occasion, 
 so much the sagacious animal divined. For his toilette 
 
''NEVER, NO MORE!'' 169 
 
 varied as that of his master's ; it was not the same when 
 drawinsf stetches for Mr. FHndell or before crowds for 
 a prize kettle. 
 - Thus Ehsha had tidied, but not be-Sundayed him- 
 self. His coarse whitey-brown shirt was speckless, 
 his corduroys not " seated," i.e., patched in the nether 
 region ; over his red waistcoat he wore a linen slop. 
 
 The day promised to be one of extraordinary splen- 
 dour, but at present brilliant heavens were a promise 
 only. Dew lay heavily on bank and hedgerow ; like 
 jet gleamed blackberries amid leaves of bespangled 
 vermilion, of frosted silver seemed every spike of wild 
 oats or barley. No Raja's diadem even scintillated as 
 did wayside fruitage and leaf under the swiftly 
 advancing sun. 
 
 From end to end of the level landscape came notes 
 of stock-dove and field lark, whilst every coppice rang 
 with chirps and pipings, and around every wayside pool 
 flashed kingfishers, wagtail and yellow hammer. Rural 
 England of fifty years agone yet remained a bird- 
 haunted, bird-beautified land. In lane and spinney 
 folks listened to woodland singers, instead of identify- 
 
170 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 ing them in that mausoleum of animal life, the Natural 
 History Museum. 
 
 Upon any other occasion, such a journey to Elisha 
 Sage would have been an adventure, holiday of rare 
 and instructive kind, as such to be made the most of. 
 His eye would have remained wide open during each 
 inch of the road, for weeks after his tongue would 
 have been loosened at home, at bowls and in the ale- 
 house parlour. To-day he coasted meadow and 
 hardly glancing around him. Nothing arrested 
 his gaze, neither young stock afield, pigs acorn- 
 ing on the fallow, pyramidal wheat and barley 
 in wayside stockyards. With a dejected, almost 
 morose face, he pursued his way, no more pitiable 
 figure under that mellow heaven. 
 
 " Halloo, Master Sage, it is you with the horse, is 
 it ? " shouted Samuel, cheerily, as he caught sight of the 
 pair. " There's nobody handy about just now, but 
 we'll bait him and then you can go indoors and have a 
 bit of wittals yourself." 
 
 Unlike his brother, Samuel Flindell was a garrulous 
 man and asked twenty questions whilst the business 
 
''NEVER, NO MORE!'' 171 
 
 of stabling Smiler went on. Elisha dawdled and 
 dawdled, but his companion was not to be got rid of. 
 The farmer must talk to somebody, the perpetual 
 sound of his own voice constituting a necessity of 
 existence second only to that of air itself. His listener's 
 capacity was quite a secondary matter. 
 
 When at last they left the stable, he said -. 
 
 " That horse is turning his head round, he knows 
 you're leaving him, I'll lay, but he'll be well off here, 
 never fear." 
 
 Elisha did not look back, he felt in a dream. 
 
 They entered the kitchen where all was bustle and 
 activity. Martha and her maids were in the midst of 
 ham-pickling, on the hob simmered a boiler of harvest 
 beer emitting spicy odour, one stout wench plied pestle 
 and mortar, a second carefully deposited hams in 
 earthen pans, whilst the mistress carefully stirred her 
 seething compound. 
 
 "Mornin', Master Sage," said Martha. "Just sit 
 down, will you. Thank Mr. Ederd kindly for setting 
 us up with a horse. We have had a sad misfortune 
 with one of ours, as you know. Poor creature, how he 
 
172 • THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 suffered surely, and took his gribbals (gripe-bails) like 
 a Christian. But, lor bless you, never were so many 
 horses carried off by the gripes as this yearl Well, 
 sit down. Here, Sukey," she added to the wielder of 
 the pestle, " lend a hand with the boiler, but don't pour 
 out till I come back." 
 
 Av/ay she went to draw Elisha's pot of ale and fetch 
 his bait from the store-room, her jolly mawthers 
 nothing loth. What so much interests every 
 Eve as the first Adam she meets ? Sukey 
 and Sally relished the society of the other sex 
 above all things, and during their mistress's brief 
 absence contrived to obtain what did duty for a flirta- 
 tion. Elisha Sage, in his own words, had never " nan- 
 nicked with a female in his born days," but he was a 
 man, as such to be made eyes at, joked and 
 giggled with, flattered into coquetry. These buxom 
 lasses did not lack admiration of a certain kind ; what 
 a Transatlantic writer calls, " the pathos of unsought 
 women," was a pathos wholly unknown in this Arcadia. 
 But an Adam was an Adam whether comely or ill- 
 favoured, sober paterfamilias or dashing heart-breaker. 
 
''NEVER, NO MORE!'' 173 
 
 "I say, Suke," said Sally, looking up from 
 her ham pan, "aren't men folk good-looking 
 at Burridge ? " 
 
 Quoth Sukey, not to be outdone, " And I'm in just 
 the trim for a kiss. But if I let this here blessed beer 
 boil over, shouldn't I catch it ? So you can get one 
 for me." 
 
 " That's easily done," was the reply, and before 
 Elisha could remonstrate, up sprang Sally and put her 
 arms round his neck. Now Elisha had no natural 
 moroseness in his disposition, but he was just then in 
 little mood for a joke — moreover, he entertained posi- 
 tive aversion for what in local parlance passed as " out- 
 daciousness in a female," that is to say, want of decorum 
 in the fair sex. Time and opportunity admitted of no 
 fitting reproof. He had only an instant in which to dis- 
 engage himself and quietly threaten the sauce-box with 
 " a smack that would send her into the middle of next 
 week," when Martha returned with a pewter pint of 
 ale and a plateful of bread and meat. Elisha had little 
 more stomach for the mistress's dainties than for her 
 wenches' rough coquetry. He munched the appetizing 
 
174 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 cold beef pie hardly knowing what he ate, then, having 
 swallowed his ale, rose to go. 
 
 *' You're very welcome, Fm sure. Master Sage," said 
 Martha, as he stammered out his thanks, " and Mr. 
 Samuel left word you were to have a shilling, here it is, 
 my respects to my brother, and good day to you.'' 
 
 At any other time the windfall of a shilling would 
 have brightened Elisha's stolid countenance. House- 
 wives, who hereabouts always laid out the weekly 
 wages, generally contrived from time to time to allow 
 their husbands a few pence, as pocket money. Karra 
 indeed, boasted that Elisha had ever a piece of silver 
 in his breeches pocket, there, like the Miss Primrose's 
 guineas to remain intact. With others he had his pet 
 luxuries but rarely gratified, a little tobacco, a game of 
 bowls, an occasional half pint at the " Barley Mow," in 
 such items an extra shilling went far. To-day the 
 biggest gold piece of the realm would have seemed a 
 mere clod. 
 
 Pulling his front hair, hat in hand, the countryman's 
 most respectful salute, and nodding to the maids, he 
 went out, stood for a moment as if pondering, then 
 
" NE VER, NO MORE ! " 175 
 
 crossed the back yard leading to neathouse and stable. 
 
 Just at this hour the farmyard was silent, the plough- 
 men were afield, Mr. Samuel and his odd hands were 
 busy clamping potatoes in the potato garden, the pigs 
 were acorning in the fallow, only the flail sounded on 
 the barn floor. Elisha was evidently irresolute ; should 
 he make at once for the high road or take another look 
 at his favourite, bid him final farewell ? 
 
 His first impulse was to master the longing and 
 stride off fast as legs would carry him. And the con- 
 sideration for another's feelings were uppermost, that 
 other the mute four-legged companion of years. 
 
 Throughout the last troubled hours, indeed, his pity 
 had been rather for Smiler than for himself. 
 
 " I know all about it," he mused ; " that it must be so 
 and can't be helped, but how should a poor dumb 
 thing understand ? How will he feel when the mornin* 
 comes, and he hears another in the stable ? For never 
 no more, never no more, 'twill be mine, Smiler." 
 
 Looking cautiously to the right and the left, creeping 
 along like a thief, he now hastened across the farm- 
 yard, and unlatching the stable door, entered softly. 
 
176 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 The gentle creature turned round, then, as if re-assured 
 by the sight of his old master, again dipped his head 
 into the well-filled bin. 
 
 " He thinks I shall be a'takin' him home later," 
 mused Elisha, and once more hesitated, half turning 
 to go. But no, if he now tore himself away, no good- 
 bye said, Smiler in some dim way would feel tricked, 
 heartlessly abandoned. Better to make him under- 
 stand the truth, for, reasoned Elisha, folks may prate 
 as they will, some things dumb beasts understand as 
 well as any judge and jury, better then to make him 
 understand than that at night a stranger hand would 
 fill his bin, next morning some other voice would 
 summon him to the furrow, that indeed they should 
 see each other " never, never no more." Poor Elisha's 
 piled-up negatives, implying as they did the climax 
 of desolation, again rose to his lips. 
 
 He approached the bin and patted the bent-down 
 neck, Smiler was evidently relishing his oats to the 
 utmost. 
 
 " I'm a'goin' to leave you, Smiler," murmured Elisha, 
 " you'll see me never, never no more." 
 
NEVER, NO MORE!'' i77 
 
 The voice broke down, and with a loud sob he 
 threw his arms around the animal's neck. Smiler had 
 turned again quickly, and into his eyes also flashed the 
 anguish of that artless adieu. The good horse reahsed 
 as well as his master that they were parting, that they 
 should never again belong to each other. No one was 
 by, no need, therefore, for false shame or enforced self^ 
 command. Again and again Elisha kissed the broad 
 forehead, wetting it with his sobs. Bitterer tears the 
 Lord of the Harvest had hardly shed by his little 
 Delphie's grave years before, and from those patient 
 yet how expressive eyes fixed on his own so wistfully 
 tears now streamed plenteously also. The Suffolk 
 cart-horse wept for sorrow as had done his immortal 
 predecessor of Homeric story. 
 
 " No more, never no more ! " Elisha murmured, but 
 the sight of Smiler's grief was more than he could bear. 
 With a last inarticulate word of endearment he closed 
 the stable door, as quickly as might be, gaining the 
 high road. 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TWO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 
 
 When Edward Flindell again found himself at 
 Burridge, it was much with the feeUng of one who had 
 just circumnavigated the globe. Although a biblio- 
 grapher, and a man of the world, Captain de Medue 
 relished homely wit and farming talk. He had a 
 hundred questions to ask about rural affairs. His 
 brother-in-law, too, wanted agricultural training for his 
 second son. The lad's godmother had left him a 
 small estate, and he was to spend the next few years 
 as pupil in a farm-house. Flindell might perhaps 
 entertain the matter himself ; a hundred guineas yearly 
 was worth having. (I should think so indeed, thought 
 Mr. Flindell.) It was the Dean's express wish that 
 
TIVO SIDES TO A QUESTION, 179 
 
 Robert should go to plough; he would thus earn 
 his keep. So, despite some show of resistance, 
 the Suffolk farmer was carried from Brighton to 
 Chichester, lodged in the Deanery, and, as he after- 
 wards related, " there saw high life, and no mistake, 
 the ladies at dinner without stay or habit-shirt ; " thus 
 he described the fashion of low dresses ; " the valets so 
 thick you stumbled over them ; the dinner-table so 
 crowded that what with plate, crystal and flowers, you 
 couldn't find room for a pin." 
 
 Then the Captain, who was of a restless, mercurial 
 disposition, bethought himself of sundry purchases in 
 which Mr. Flindell's experience would be valuable ; 
 he wanted a horse for his luggage-cart, a sulky, besides 
 several farm implements. 
 
 " You must really give me a day or two in town, 
 Flindell," he said. " We will lie at my Piccadilly 
 lodging, so that you are put to no expense on my 
 account, and everyone visits London now-a-days. 
 You shall see some of the sights." 
 
 The Captain was also a fidgety, fractious bargainer, 
 
 and by the time he had decided upon a horse, a sulky, 
 
 12* 
 
i8o THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 a churn and a chaff-cutter, httle leisure remained for 
 sightseeing. However, the results more than satisfied 
 Mr. Flindell's wildest ambition. He saw that marvel 
 of modern times, the Thames Tunnel, the legislative 
 palace, in which, to quote the Suffolk farmer, " we are 
 governed by the wealth and talent of the country," 
 and to wind up spent an evening at Vauxhall, crowning 
 experience of sherry cobbler, illuminated gardens, 
 fairy dancers and a blaze of fireworks. It was a gala 
 night, and the fireworks being of unusual splendour, 
 positively awed Mr. Flindell. 
 
 No wonder that he returned home with a bewildered 
 mind, an aching head and a disordered liver ! 
 
 Miss 'Ria felt as nervous folk do in a thunder- 
 storm when she heard her master's wheels. Did that 
 slow deliberate pace indicate the depression of failure, 
 or the modesty of too much success? When Mr. 
 Flindell's gig turned into the Drift she was, in local 
 phrase, " cleaning herself " for tea, that is to say, 
 putting on a stuff dress, fresh habit-shirt and neck- 
 ribbon, and carefully re-adjusting the loops of hair 
 on her temples. Not without visible trepidation she 
 
TIVO SIDES TO A QUESTION. i8i 
 
 went downstairs, key-basket in hand, Mr. Flindell 
 meeting her by the doorway. 
 
 So glum, so utterly cast down, and so wretchedly ill 
 did he look, that her first conclusion was, things had 
 turned out as ill as possible. 
 
 As a rule, none knew better when to hold the 
 tongue, but, to-night, suspense got the better of 
 prudence. 
 
 " You haven't travelled all those miles for nothing. 
 I hope ? " she said, as soon as the door was shut. 
 
 " No, indeed," was the almost morose reply. " I 
 have brought back a splitting headache." 
 
 She paused, debating in her own mind whether 
 curiosity might go further. Had she not a right to be 
 taken into his confidence ? 
 
 "And something more worth having, I hope," she 
 said opening the tea-caddy. 
 
 The keeping-room wore a warm welcoming look ; 
 Mr. Flindell was a chilly subject and those evenings 
 of early autumn were chilly. A bright, but 
 economical fire burned on the hearth ; in the least little 
 particular Miss Studd ever made ostentatious display 
 
i82 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 of her thrift ; with thoughtful decision a teaspoonful 
 or two of brandy was poured into his tea instead of 
 cream, with the wifely remark : 
 
 " Nothing like a drop of brandy in one's tea after a 
 journey." 
 
 And instead of hot buttered toast, as on market 
 days, she now prepared the thinnest possible bread 
 and butter, adding, as she helped him : 
 
 " Don't eat too much ; when one is out of sorts just 
 a snack is best, and that of the plainest. Perhaps 
 you would prefer a bit of dry toast, there it is at your 
 elbow." 
 
 Could any mood fail to melt under such influence? 
 And with womanly wile. Miss Studd had not repeated 
 her question, bided her time, every sigh of self- 
 restraint and self-abnegation making Mr. Flindell feel 
 doubly indebted. Then she chatted of the barley and 
 bean harvest, fat stock, and the rest ; things had gone 
 on precisely as under the master's eye. And as for 
 Master Sage, no more purloining of barley ! She had 
 taken good care of the granary key, and, well, of 
 course it was not her business, but for the sake of 
 
TWO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 183 
 
 example, such pilfering ought to be severely punished. 
 
 All this time Mr. Flindell sipped his tea, and 
 munched his dry toast with an absolutely blank face, 
 Miss Studd's not more skilfully veiled than his 
 own. She began to think that after all she had 
 committed a blunder, that his errand had failed, and 
 he lacked courage to tell her so. Plain-spoken, 
 unversed in the ways of the world, apt to call a spade 
 a spade, he ever shrank from anything like secrecy. 
 
 At last, when the tea and cordial had somewhat 
 revived him, he looked up and began slowly : 
 
 " You meant well, I know, in calling me up the night 
 poor Betts died." 
 
 " Course I make it my business to study your in- 
 terest in everything," the little woman blurted forth 
 with flaming cheeks and aggressively bright eyes. Her 
 manoeuvre had failed then ? She must make the best 
 of it. The farmer continued deliberately as before : 
 
 "And course I shall always feel beholden to you 
 Miss Studd, but I am not so sure that I have done the 
 best for myself, and there are always two sides to a 
 question." 
 
1 84 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Miss 'Ria chuckled inwardly. The glow in her 
 ruddy cheeks was now of relief rather than misgiving, 
 the sparkle in her eyes had changed from suspense to 
 triumph. Mr. Flindell would go to the Hall and she 
 with him. No need for another word. 
 
 " You are always afraid of something or other, Mr. 
 Flindell," was all she put in. 
 
 " The Hall is a fine occupation, I don't deny it, an 
 out and outer and no mistake, and poor Betts' folks 
 would carry it on till Michaelmas twelvemonth I dare- 
 say, but all the same, it is a big business, I've plenty 
 to think of." 
 
 " Humph ! If Captain de Medue has not twenty 
 applicants for this farm, you could find fifty to take it off 
 your hands to-morrow, stock, crop and valuation. 
 Turtle, the miller, for instance, you heard it I daresay ? 
 He has come into some money." 
 
 The farmer mused. 
 
 " In course," he said after a pause, " no occupation 
 in these parts is a drug in the market nowadays. But 
 as I said, I have plenty to think about, and you know. 
 
TIVO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 185 
 
 as well as I do, that there were scores after the Hall, 
 some folks will owe me a grudge." 
 
 Miss Studd tossed her head with marked assump- 
 tion. 
 
 " So that's all the thanks I'm to get for helping you 
 to one of the best farms in the county ! But now, what 
 about Master Sage ? You are surely going to make an 
 example of him, head horseman too." 
 
 " I'll see about that at Michaelmas," was the reply. 
 Mr. Flindell had bitterly resented his housekeeper's 
 action in this affair. 
 
 " Well, all I can say is, you must take your choice, 
 look out for another horseman or another house- 
 keeper." 
 
 And with that she flounced out of the room. 
 
 Mr. FHndell's sunburnt face took a deeper tone as he 
 looked after her, but it was an expression of relief, not 
 of vindictiveness that came over him. 
 
 The farmer's worst ailment was remorse. During 
 the turmoil of the last few days again and again he had 
 seen Aimee the Beloved as in a vision. Now they were 
 taking bever with the Rectory children, and now side 
 
1 86 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 by side were following- the last waggon. Then 
 he recalled the flaming harvest moon and the strange 
 heart-beating, with which had been stolen, nay, ac- 
 corded, that passionate kiss. Last of all he remem- 
 bered his words, " Make an errand to Ipswich next 
 market day. My gig is as good as yours, 
 you know." 
 
 Ten days had elapsed since. What must she think 
 of such behaviour? The appointment unkept, no 
 apology forthcoming, not so m-uch as a message from 
 him! 
 
 More than once indeed he had made up his mind, 
 even dipping his pen in ink and getting as far as " Dear 
 
 Miss Aimay. I hope this finds you well " But 
 
 letter writing was ever an onerous business to so poor a 
 scholar, the composition of a love-letter seemed utterly 
 beyond his powers. Again, epistles were few and far 
 between in those days. Everyone at the Rectory 
 would know from whom Aimee's came, and the poor 
 girl would be teazed about it from morning till night. 
 He should see the Rector blundering into his keeping- 
 room with a blunt " Come, come, Mr. Flindell, this is 
 
TIVO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 187 
 
 a case of banns, of course? I want to know the when 
 and the where," or something of the kind. 
 
 So matters stood as he drove to market the day after 
 his return. And as he was loyalest of the loyal, and 
 in the words of his own people, " would not tread on a 
 wurrum," as moreover, he was still Aimee de Rich- 
 mont's not mere adorer, but would-be suitor, he deter- 
 mined to repair the mischief in the only manly and 
 honest if not exactly prudeiit way. He should be sure 
 to overtake her some market day soon. He would 
 then put the question point blank : 
 
 " Miss Aimay, will you go to church with me — on a 
 week day, I mean, and straight away come in my gig ?" 
 Thus and thus only could he state his case. Love 
 making in the ordinary acceptation of the words, 
 flowery speech, compliments were impossible to him. 
 As he now neared the toll bar, suddenly his bronzed, 
 comely features deepened in tone, his eyes dilated with 
 joy, so confused did he become that he pulled out half 
 a sovereign for Mrs. Pipe instead of a fourpenny bit. 
 There she stood, evidently waiting for him, the sylph- 
 like figure arrayed as he had last seen it, but looking 
 
1 88 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 lovelier, even more bewitching. She carried her head 
 high, not a lady in that part of the world had such a 
 carriage, erectness adding great dignity to girlish 
 bloom and grace. 
 
 " Jump up, Miss Aimay," cried good Mrs. Pipe. " 1 
 told you Mr. Flindell would be coming along ; no, no, 
 sir, toll is as it was afore you went into the shires ; here's 
 your half-sovering, and I've plenty of change if so be 
 that you are out of f ourpenny bits." 
 
 With trembling hand Mr. Flindell fumbled first in 
 one pocket, then in another, at last bringing out a 
 shilling. Having received his change and asked Aimee 
 if she were comfortably seated, he drove on. 
 
 " I wanted to see you. Miss Aimay," he began ; he 
 had tickled Jack into a trot. It seemed easier to say 
 what he had to say when driving fast. 
 
 " And I wanted to see you, Mr. Flindell," Aimee 
 replied. 
 
 The farmer turned round quickly. Something in 
 her voice told him all. It was no longer the Aimee of 
 ten days ago who sat beside him, but a stranger ! The 
 voice that had seemed a caress in the harvest 
 
TIVO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 189 
 
 field now chilled his very veins, paralysed his speech, 
 rendered him powerless to make an effort on his own 
 behalf. The face lately so radiant, so confiding, so 
 easy to read, was hard, cold, enigmatic. 
 
 Nothing more rapidly matures the character than 
 wounded self-love ; precocity of insight is ofttimes but 
 another name for precocity of feeling. Aimee de 
 Richmont had seen more of the world and of human 
 nature than most young women barely twenty-four. 
 Not for the first time she now smarted under the slight 
 put upon dependence, not for the first time she reaUsed 
 the questionable boon that beauty may be to the por^ 
 tionless. Thus, at least, she regarded Mr. Flindell's 
 affront, mere negligence, forgetfulness, press of busi- 
 ness it could not surely be. 
 
 " I wanted to say," she continued in the same quick, 
 matter-of-fact tones, "how sorry I am for what 
 happened in the stackyard. You were wrong to 
 behave as you did, and I was still more wrong to 
 permit it." 
 
 With a slight blush and just perceptible tremor, she 
 added : 
 
i9o THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " You had ever showed me kindness, and I was very 
 grateful. I thought too that there was at least one 
 person in Burridge who forgot my position, to whom 
 it made no difference that I was a poor governess." 
 
 " Miss Aimay," began the poor farmer, he was on 
 the verge of crying, " I've never deceived any living 
 creature yet, leastways a woman. No such thoughts 
 as you speak of ever entered my head." 
 
 " We need not say another word about the matter," 
 she went on, her composure and readiness of speech 
 only adding to his own confusion. " But I waited for 
 you at the turnpike gate because I had this to say, and 
 because I may not have another opportunity. I think 
 of going back to France." 
 
 " Miss Aimay," again began the farmer, desperation 
 not lending eloquence but at least restoring powers of 
 utterance, " I had to go away on business ; I am no 
 scholar or I would have written to say that I could not 
 be at market last Tuesday, and if you'll go to church 
 with me, I'll have the banns asked as soon as you like. 
 No man can say more than that." 
 
 Aimee's cheeks reddened haughtily. 
 
TPVO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 191 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Flindell," she retorted, " you utterly mis- 
 understand me. The indiscretion was chiefly mine ; 
 it was not to obtain redress from you that I sought 
 this interview. You are under no sort of obhgation, 
 and shameless indeed were any woman so to punish a 
 man for his folly." 
 
 Mr. Flindell was crushed. What weapon of self- 
 defence had he with which to meet that ready speech, 
 those proud, castigating glances ? More helpless than 
 ever he felt thus confronted, thus worsted at the first 
 blow. Oh ! for skill m words. Oh ! for the power of 
 laying bare his thoughts ! 
 
 " I wish I could make you understand," he began. 
 " We had much better not say another word on the 
 subject," was the unconciliating, perfectly composed 
 answer. " And that reminds me, Mr. Pascoe would be 
 glad if you could send him half a load of straw for the 
 stable. I was within an inch of forgetting his 
 message." 
 
 Just then a neighbour passed slowly, greeting the 
 pair as he drove by, the farmer, making a tremendous 
 effort, swallowed his tears and put on a semblance of 
 
192 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 every day. But for the life of him he could not feign 
 a smile or get out more than a monosyllable. Aimee 
 asked him about his journey; how had Brighton 
 struck him ; what did he think of London ? and so 
 on. " Yes, no, no, yes," her companion made answer, 
 to-day not lengthening the drive as usual when having 
 her by his side ; on the contrary, he was as eager as 
 herself to have it over. The pair meantime looked 
 straight ahead, and had it been otherwise neither would 
 have read the other's thoughts. Passion may blind or 
 confer double vision, rendering men and women in- 
 scrutable, maybe transparent. Love is at times an 
 interpreter, at others, a lying prophet. We are alter- 
 nately sphinxes and oracles to those we love, whilst 
 to the world in general we remain as common parlance. 
 
 " Will you set me down at the ' Wool Pack,' please ?" 
 Aimee said, as they came within sight of St. Margaret's 
 Green. 
 
 On former occasions that setting down of his lovely 
 burden had spoiled the rest of the day. This after- 
 noon it came as a relief. With accustomed lightness 
 and grace Aimee sprang to the ground, and with all 
 
TIVO SIDES TO A QUESTION. 193 
 
 the old elegance and finish of manners she curtsied 
 her adieu and thanks. But the joyfulness and 
 witchery were gone, and the last touch to the poor 
 farmer's disenchantment came with her parting words. 
 
 " I shall see you before you go back to France ? " he 
 murmured, in a distressed, appealing voice. 
 
 " Oh, yes," was the apparently careless reply, " on 
 Sundays, after church, of course." 
 
 Mr. Flindell generally interchanged a few words 
 with the Pascoe family after service. On Communion 
 days he usually chatted with Aimee and the children 
 till separating at the Rectory gate. But she had at 
 least said " Sundays." The date of departure then was 
 not fixed. 
 
 She tripped off, the Tuscan bonnet with its pink top- 
 knot, yellow spencer, white gown and small sandalled 
 feet fast disappearing behind St. Margaret's Church. 
 
 The farmer brushed his eyes with his coat-sleeve, 
 and slowly took the back street leading to the " Crown 
 and Anchor " yard, to his satisfaction meeting no 
 acquaintance on the way. 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MARKET DAY. 
 
 The folks we seldom want to see, however, are sure to 
 cross our path when we want to see nobody at all. As 
 with a downcast face Mr. Flindell now turned into the 
 inn yard, the first person he lighted upon was Mrs. 
 Betsey Askew. 
 
 Farming women might be the best possible managers 
 out of doors as well as in, a match for the best farmers 
 going, but they affected no mannishness, they 
 sedulously shunned anything that looked like eccen- 
 tricity. Thus Mrs. Betsey, though quite capable of ad- 
 ministering gribbals or gripe balls to a horse that had 
 eaten too much green food or gruel to a sick cow, was 
 scrupulous about appearances. She did not herself 
 handle the reins on market days, but was driven by a 
 former backhouse boy, now a well-grown hudderen 
 
MARKET DAY. 195 
 
 tidily dressed in black cloth and wearing gloves, an 
 indisputable mark of respectability. 
 
 " Good day, Mr. Flindell," she said, dropping a curt- 
 sey, and what a curtsey ! It was the veriest parody of 
 Aimee's graceful obeisance, burlesque after fairy move- 
 ment. She wore a shawl folded angularly according to 
 the fashion, and her large heavy person, as she now 
 plumped down, seemed indeed a mockery of the vision 
 that had gone before. 
 
 " I hope I see you well, Mrs. Askew," the farmer 
 replied. 
 
 " That's more than you are, I lay," she cried, stepping 
 back and staring at him. " Goodness gracious, you 
 look for all the world like a come-back in a thunder- 
 storm, or a chicken that has got the pip." 
 
 " So would you if you had a splitting headache," 
 rejoined Mr. Flindell. 
 
 " So you've been into the shires and got the lease ? " 
 added the widow. 
 
 It was not necessary for her to specify which lease. 
 
 " As you seem to know my business better than 1 
 do myself, I won't detain you," replied the farmer 
 
 13* 
 
196 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 huffishly. He was irritated with her, and still more so 
 with himself. Why had he taken Maria Studd's advice 
 and posted to Brighton ? In his present mood he did not 
 care two straws about the Hall Farm, or indeed about 
 anything. 
 
 " No offence meant, and I've a good many things to 
 do, so good day, for the present," she added with 
 malicious insinuation. The range of business on market 
 day v/as circumscribed. Neighbours jostled each other 
 not once but twenty times during the afternoon. 
 
 Hardly had Mrs. Askew's large figure disappeared 
 than Samuel caught him by the button. 
 
 " Marthy particularly wants you to drive round to 
 tea this afternoon," he said in a low, confidential tone. 
 " You will get the moon by waiting half an hour later, 
 but she's here, somewhere," he added, looking round. 
 Miss Martha FHndell had just stopped for a word with 
 Mrs. Betsey. She now came up, ambling as she walked, 
 corns and bunions from time to time made her almost 
 lame, and she was one of those women who affect years, 
 apparently taking as much pains to look old as others 
 to look young. Dress, too, in those days was no re- 
 
MARKET DAY. 197 
 
 juvenating, beautifying process. The large square- 
 shaped straw bonnet covering the ears, the shawl 
 with its angular folds, the stuff dress, ugly in design 
 as in colour, the heavy shoes and coarse white 
 stockings, would have prosified Venus herself. But 
 Martha's standpoint in life was not that of sex. Her 
 shrewd face, humorous smile, and kindly expression 
 betokened a very different character to that of Mrs. 
 Askew, and one much more engaging. Here was the 
 same homeliness, but unallied with vulgarity, virtues of 
 the work-a-day world, as in her brother Edward's case, 
 softened by innate self-respect and a sense of propriety. 
 Nothing more delighted Mrs. Betsey than a broad joke 
 or highly-spiced dish of scandal. Martha Flindell's 
 humour was of finer quality. She somewhat tyrannized 
 over her family, but in her own words, " for their good,'* 
 and she carried herself high. 
 
 " You've come back then, Ederd," she said, eyeing 
 the traveller almost proudly. In their way, these 
 Flindells were what was called " a united family." The 
 numerous brothers and sisters never quarrelled, a rare 
 exception in family annals of the period. Railways 
 
iq8 the lord of the HARVEST. 
 
 had not as yet accomplished their beneficent mission 
 of enabhng relations to get away from each other easily 
 and expeditiously. Folks had to take brothers and 
 sisters, uncles and aunts, cousins german, and cousins 
 once removed, as they took partners in wedlock, " for 
 richer, for poorer, for better, for worse." There was 
 no crossing the charmed circle. 
 
 " Thank God, yes, Marthy, and glad enough to." 
 
 Her eyes, to use a Shakesperian phrase, coasted him 
 round. She did not like his depressed look and dismal 
 voice. Had that inconvenient and costly trip been 
 made in vain ? 
 
 " You'll drive round to tea and tell us — what you 
 thought of London," she said. An ostler was taking out 
 Mr. Flindell's horse and another gigful had just driven 
 up. She durst not here venture upon more direct ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " I can't to-day," replied the farmer, speaking so pet- 
 tishly that Martha's first thought was of disaster. He 
 had been then a fool for his pains .'' 
 
 " I can't to-day," he repeated as the three moved 
 down the inn yard. " You'll see me next moon, sure 
 enough." 
 
MARKET DAY. 199 
 
 Just as they turned into the Cornhill, Samuel was 
 waylaid by a neighbour. Amid the crowd and prevail- 
 ing hubbub, Martha now found her opportunity. 
 
 " You got the farm ? " she asked in an undertone, 
 stopping short, her large bonnet screening her from 
 passers by. 
 
 " I suppose so," he replied, his indifference puzzling 
 the listener. 
 
 " Maybe a long lease ? " 
 
 " Maybe," he replied in the same tone. 
 
 " And maybe means must be, where something else 
 is concerned ; you know what I mean, I suppose, 
 Ederd ? " 
 
 " Not more than the dead in the grave, Marthy." 
 
 " It's so much and no more," she added, always with 
 that sly twinkle in her keen grey eyes, " you know I've 
 always been against a certain somebody marrying you, 
 but if she's been the means of your getting the farm, 
 why, you can't but marry her." 
 
 The farmer opened his lack lustre eyes. 
 
 " How came you to know that I was called up in the 
 night by Miss 'Ria ? " he asked. 
 
200 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " We've always been friendly," his sister replied, 
 " and she had to write to me about some ducks'-eggs. 
 So she just said how it was, we'd been a-wondering 
 enough about it." 
 
 He turned towards the Corn Exchange, no imposing 
 structure in those days, but like other accessories of 
 existence, serviceable and homely. 
 
 " I've some samples to show, and time is going. 
 If I don't see you again to-day, look for me next 
 moon," he said, and with that he turned away. The 
 brothers and sisters rarely shook hands, whilst as to 
 a warmer embrace, that was reserved for final leave- 
 taking on earth, the death-bed solemnity. Martha, 
 still with that meaning look in her eyes, went one 
 way, Mr. Flindell another, each being stopped every 
 five minutes by some neighbour. 
 
 Modern Ipswich no more resembles the Ipswich of 
 two generations ago, than the townsfolk of to-day 
 their sober grandparents. Despite its veritable grove 
 of churches, little splendour characterized the East 
 Anglican metropolis, although such simplicity was more 
 than compensated by picturesqueness and natural 
 
MARKET DAY, 201 
 
 charm. As some superb heirloom found in middle- 
 class households, some masterpiece of the goldsmith's 
 or woodcarver's art, rose that Ancient House in the 
 homely butter-market, magnificent pile of sculptured 
 oak, without its rival throughout England. Farther on, 
 not far from the busy wharves and river, the stranger 
 came upon Wolsey's Gate, then, as now, a piece of 
 sad and beautiful antiquity, apparently crumbling to 
 pieces ; then, as now, propped up by substantial 
 modern buildings. That bit of ruin, so imposing in 
 decay, doubtless, to many, recalled its builder's fate, 
 the majesty and downfall of Ipswich's greatest son, 
 him whose name even at this time figured on the 
 legendary shopsign. Edward Flindell, with his neigh- 
 bours, ordered their Christmas beef of Mr. Thomas 
 Wolsey, principal butcher in the place, and, as he 
 proudly boasted, " a relation of the late Cardinal." 
 The farming world had heard of Henry the Eighth 
 and his numerous wife-murders. Mr. Wolsey's naiver 
 customers, as he chatted to them of " his relation the 
 late Cardinal," whilst weighing a quarter of suet or 
 three-pennyworth of bones, would ask if he remem- 
 
202 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 bered the great man, and in which parish he 
 happened to be buried? Ever a stronghold of Non- 
 conformity and progress, Ipswich yet plumed herself 
 on her Wolsey. 
 
 It was not till he approached the river that a 
 stranger would realize the graces of Gippiswick. 
 How comes it about that no poet has arisen to immor- 
 talize these romantic banks of Orwell, no romancer 
 to give the sweet haunts around Ipswich a local 
 habitation and a name ? By an irony of fate, as fairy- 
 like a dell as ever inspired lyrist, obtained the name 
 of Hog Island. To those who gambolled there as 
 children, to whom Hog Island afforded the first lesson 
 in natural beauty, the first thrill of impersonal joy, 
 this misnomer matters little ; it recalls exquisite en- 
 joyment of dimpled sward, shady nooks, noble trees 
 close to the flashing river. A flash of light indeed, 
 was that clear tide amid densest foliage. x\nd as it 
 widened towards the sea, the wooded banks diminish- 
 ing in height, the blue expanse gaining in splendour, 
 Ipswich holiday-makers were unanimous on one point. 
 The world had surely no more delightful cruise than 
 
MARKET DAY. 203 
 
 their own little trip from Hog Island to Landguard 
 Fort. 
 
 To-day, and on every market day, farmers and 
 farmeresses seldom got beyond the streets abutting 
 on the Cornhill. Thus, they were perpetually running 
 against each other, and at any other time the circum- 
 stance would have appeared mere matter of course. 
 Now Mr. Flindell resented these perpetual 
 encounters ; never, throughout the course of his 
 existence, had he felt so disposed to curse and swear, 
 mutter maledictions forbidden by Scripture and the 
 usages of society. 
 
 Having shown his samples in the Corn Exchange 
 he made for the saddler's close by, and why on earth 
 must Mrs. Betsey Askew be there too, joking, 
 insinuating and jeering as before? The good lady 
 was inspecting some horses' collars under repair, but 
 looked up and curtsied with a loud — 
 
 " Come, Mr. Flindell, you're the man for roaming 
 about the world ; how do they trim horses' collars in 
 the shires? He's just been to Brighton," she added 
 to Mr. Croft, the saddler, an old acquaintance of both. 
 
204 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Humph ! I wish, Mr. FHndell, you had taken me 
 with you as your wallet " (valet was the word 
 intended), " I'm sick of sticking here, year out and year 
 in," replied Mr. Croft ; he was a bit of a wag and also 
 of an enquiring mind. 
 
 " Lor ! don't wish that, my good man," quoth the 
 widow ; " why, you might come back like him," here 
 she pointed to Mr. Fhndell, " cross as two sticks, full 
 of prickles as a bit of hulver. Well, that will do, 
 mind I have the things by next Saturday's butter- 
 woman, or you'll get the length of my tongue, I'll 
 warrant you." 
 
 " She's a proper lady for a joke," observed Mr. 
 Croft, " but I'd rather have the length of her tongue 
 than the weight of her hand. Didn't I catch that one 
 day when I contradicted her ? I'm blest if she didn't 
 clap me a box on the ear, playful like, in course, but 
 a stinger that makes me tingle all over when I think 
 on it. So you've been a'gaddin', Mr. Flindell ? Ah ! 
 no gaddin' for poor me till I gad to the grave." 
 
 With all possible dispatch the farmer ordered some 
 new cart-horse traces and belly-bands, then turned 
 
MARKET DAY. 205 
 
 into the grocer's, and, of course, Mrs. Askew must be 
 there also. A third bop, or curtsey, and more in- 
 nuendoes about his recent journey, neighbours being 
 by, aggravated Mr. PHndell's ill-temper and depression. 
 And the last hair was laid upon the camel's back by 
 a benevolent old Quaker, head of the historic foundry 
 for which East Anglia was famous. 
 
 " How do thee, friend Edward ? " asked the great 
 ironmaster blandly. " Glad to see thee back again, 
 have heard of thy expedition — to Brighton, was it 
 not ? Thee will surely have much to tell us ? " 
 
 The very name of Brighton irritated his listener 
 beyond endurance. 
 
 Mr. Flindell was a courteous man, and at any other 
 time would have delighted in chatting with the 
 Quaker. To-day he edged away awkwardly. 
 Making what haste he could he got his horse put to, 
 and cleared the " Crown and Anchor " yard, as good 
 luck would have it, without encountering Marthy and 
 Sammel. For the first time in his marketing experi- 
 ences he had forborne the conventional glass of 
 sherry ! 
 
2o6 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 MRS. KARRA OPENS AN ABYSS. 
 
 And for the first time during Miss 'Ria's reign the 
 domain over which she presided as tutelary goddess 
 appeared an unbearable place. Hurrying over his tea, 
 anxious to be quit of that most harrowing fellowship, 
 the vis-a-vis of a peevish woman, Mr. Flindell took up 
 his hat and went abroad. 
 
 To-night he did not feed the pigs, on account of 
 wearing Sunday clothes. Just glancing round the 
 farmyard, he now crossed orchard and pightle, making 
 straight for Elisha's cottage in the Drift. 
 
 There might be reserve between farmer and man, 
 but never ceremony. Mr. Flindell lifted the latch and 
 walked in as if at home. 
 
MRS. KARRA OPENS AN ABYSS. 207 
 
 " Has Master Sage come back ? " he asked. 
 
 Karra, with Miss Sage, was in a tetchy humour. She 
 divined her master's errand. 
 
 It's always us females who get the lecturin', she 
 thought. What else should the farmer come about 
 but the stolen barley } 
 
 " I'm not my husband's keeper," she replied, snap- 
 pishly. " And 'Lishy's a'cartin' your beans, and no- 
 body else's. You ought to know, if any one does, 
 where your own men are, Mr. Flindell." 
 
 Dropping into a chair the farmer looked ready to 
 take these acerbities in good part. That threat of 
 Miss Studd's, that flouncing out of the room, had 
 wonderfully raised his spirits. 
 
 " I wanted to see Elisha," he began. 
 
 " No sort of need to tell me what for," quoth Karra, 
 more aggressively than before. " That meddlin' and 
 makin' up-start of a woman up yonder," here she 
 pointed towards the farm, " wants to carny you over 
 by spyin' and pryin' on us poor folks. If 'Lishy took 
 the corn unbeknown, was it for the fillin' of his own 
 belly .? " 
 
2o8 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Look you here, Mrs. Sage," mildly interposed Mr. 
 Flindell, " I don't want to make a piece o' work about 
 that. I'm not a'goin' to prosecute this time — " 
 
 " I should think not, indeed," quoth Karra. " And 
 you needn't be afraid, Mr. Flindell. The granary key 
 might lie on this here table year out and year in now 
 for all 'Lishy would be tempted of Satan. It was the 
 horse you sent to Mr. Sammel he stole corn for. Many 
 a word have I had with my husband about Smiler ; a 
 good beast enough, and more sensible than half the 
 folks as go to church and walk on two legs, only a bit 
 of a guzzler ; them animals have their failin's like the 
 rest on us, and lawks, 'Lishy had made a graven image 
 of that there one, he humoured every whim. It's 
 better he should be gone." 
 
 " Mr. Sammel had lost a horse by the gripes, and I 
 had one to spare, so I let him have Smiler," Mr. Flindell 
 replied, carelessly. He knew that the head horseman 
 loved his team dearly. How could he divine that any 
 special attachment existed between Elisha Sage and 
 the big, shiny-coated Suffolk cart-horse bred on the 
 farm ? 
 
MRS. KARRA OPENS AN ABYSS. 209 
 
 " And a good job if somebody else would go too," 
 Mrs. Karra continued ; " but, lawks a mussy me, Mr. 
 Flindell, you menfolk be as blind as bats where us 
 females are concerned. Don't you see what Miss 'Ria 
 is a'drivin' at } She wants to be missus in your house. 
 Aye, and once missus, she'd be master too." 
 
 " Well," Mr. Flindell interrupted, rising from his 
 seat, " I've said what I had to say, so I'll wish you good 
 evening, Mrs. Sage." 
 
 Karra's expression changed from vindictiveness and 
 irritation to profound gravity. She rose also, and with 
 quite a solemn air closed the door. 
 
 " I'm not for a'forgettin' my place, Mr. Flindell, but 
 if you won't hear a word in season from me who laid 
 out your poor ma, then — the quotin' o' the Scriptures 
 is never insultin' — I'll take it upon myself to say that 
 you'll be like the wild ass alone by himself spoken of 
 by Hosea. That audacious baggage yonder is takin' 
 away your good name afore you've made it over to her 
 in church." 
 
 " Come, come, Mrs, Sage, that's neither here nor 
 
 14 
 
2IO THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 there ; you are talking at random." Nevertheless the 
 speaker resumed his chair. 
 
 " I'm never for a'interferin'," Karra went on, " but 
 you're a good master, Mr. Flindell, and I can't sit quiet 
 whilst folks talk against you behind your back. What 
 did I hear with my ovvn ears the last time I went to 
 Ipswich ? The Rector gave me a back-seat in his four- 
 wheeler, and a'ridin* with him in front was Mr. Webb, 
 of Fordham, him who lost his grey horse by the gripes 
 three weeks come Sunday. Says the Rector in his 
 jokey way : * I'll bet you sixpence, Webb, Ted Flindell 
 posted to Brighton after poor Betts' lease ! ' Mr. Webb 
 looked that concerned you can't think. ' Humph ! ' 
 says he, ' I should never have thought it of Flindell. I 
 suppose my neighbour, Joe Frost, will be after my 
 lease next afore the doctors have given me up ! ' * A 
 better fellow than Ted Flindell doesn't breathe,' says 
 Mr. Pascoe, * but I wish you farmers would not be in 
 such a devil of a hurry — parsons can swear in season 
 like us lay folks — to step into dead men's shoes.' 
 These be the very words, and if I repeat them, Mr. 
 Flindell, 'tis for your good." 
 
MRS. KARRA OPENS AN ABYSS. 211 
 
 The farmer writhed as he had done under Aimee's 
 stinging reproaches, and naturally enough he now re- 
 proached Miss Studd rather than himself, the inciter, 
 rather than the agent, of what now looked like a dirty- 
 trick. 
 
 Those who serve us with more zeal than discretion 
 soon wear the guise of enemies. This trying to do 
 one's friends a good turn is ever a ticklish concern. 
 Most often we drive them head foremost against a 
 brick wall, ourselves being ignominiously sent back- 
 wards. No ! alike in matters spiritual and material, in 
 love and in lucre, the golden rule, the only livable 
 axiom among friends is that of " Let alone." Just now 
 the farmer's v/ould-be benefactress, the energetic little 
 woman who had helped him to the best farm in the 
 neighbourhood, seemed his worst foe. 
 
 Mrs. Sage, perceiving her advantage, thundered on : 
 
 " But it's not only what folks are a'sayin' of you that 
 
 keeps me awake o' nights," she said, " there's something 
 
 worse to come," here she eyed her visitor with quite a 
 
 startling look of dismay and forboding. " A bad 
 
 name " 
 
 14* 
 
212 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Come, come, ]\Irs. Sage, you forget yourself- 
 
 " I'm not a'forgettin' myself, Mr. Flindell ; well, a 
 name no longer what it was then is bad enough, but 
 a whole family a'swoopin' down upon you without 
 shirts and shifts to their backs and without good livin' 
 principles, that's a sight deal worse than waggin' 
 tongues. Maria Studd, the person you hired at the 
 register office after your poor ma died, who's she } 
 You don't know perhaps, but I do ; and when once 
 you've taken her, as she hopes you will, for better for 
 worse, for richer for poorer, in church, 'twill be too late 
 to learn. Why, her father kept a public-house 
 at Eye, and was sold up, leaving I don't know 
 how many mawthers to shift for themselves, not that 
 they haven't kept themselves respectable. I'm not 
 a'goin' for to take away any poor female's character, 
 but just think o' the lot of 'em — there's Eliza now 
 a'leavin' her situation, there's Mary Anne, who can't 
 go out, poor thing, because she has fits, there's Caro- 
 line, that mannish and gruff-speakin' you'd fancy it was 
 some fellow dressed up — she's a female jailer at Bury 
 as I've heard tell — the lot of 'em, I say, are only a'waitin' 
 
MRS. KARRA OPENS AN ABYSS. 213 
 
 a good home with Miss 'Ria when she's got to be 
 ma'am'd and missus'd in your house, Mr. FHndell ; ah I 
 and I'm blest if I haven't forgot Arabella, she what's 
 left a widow with three children and not a fardin' to 
 bless herself with. You'd be like a toad under a harrow, 
 like a pig squeezed in a gate. I can't bear to think 
 on 't, as I say, having laid out your poor ma and known 
 you since you were breeched " 
 
 Mrs. Karra stopped from sheer want of breath, and 
 Mr. Fhndell seized the opportunity of escape. 
 
 " Well, you'll tell Master Sage what I've been sayin'," 
 he said on the doorstep ; the kitchen, of course opened 
 on to the garden. " I'll not think any more about the 
 barley this time, but he must mind what he's about, and 
 set a good example. I'll wish you good night, Mrs. 
 Sage." 
 
 Karra dropped a curtsey, the reverence usually re- 
 served for squiredom and rectory folk. 
 
 Master's not a man of many words, but he thinks 
 the more, she thought. I've opened his eyes. We 
 shan't have that meddle-makin' baggage a'drivin' us 
 Hke brute beasts, that I feel sure on. 
 
214 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 The farmer did not go straight indoors. Aimlessly, 
 pensively, yet with a sense of relief, he strolled along 
 the Drift, that delicious alley never more inviting than 
 at evenfall and at this season of the year. Nature to 
 the farming world meant bean-carting and wheat sow- 
 ing, haysel and harvest, not the fragrant yellowing and 
 purpling of meadows with cowslip and violet, the flash 
 of kingfisher and wagtail athwart willow-banked ponds, 
 the thousand-throated carol of drift and pightle. 
 
 But newly-awakened feeling is an immense educator. 
 As Edward Flindell now trod familiar ground all 
 seemed sweet and strange. By little and little the 
 cruelty of Aimee's reproaches lost its sting. Her out- 
 burst of womanly pride but heightened his admiration, 
 and somehow, how he could not tell, Karra's warning 
 was as a mallet upon fetters ; forewarned is forearmed, 
 he felt free. Yes, Maria Studd should be taken at her 
 word. Unconsciously paraphrasing the speech of a 
 French king, he said to himself that he could find 
 twenty housekeepers, but where to look for a second 
 Elisha Sage! Punctual, inoffensive, skilled, his Lord 
 of the Harvest was a treasure upon any farm; on a 
 
MRS. KARRA OPENS AN ABYSS. 215 
 
 larger occupation he would be invaluable. The 
 incident of the stolen barley was really as a bless- 
 ing in disguise. Had it not proved an eye-opener, 
 a finger post, a storm signal ? But for this most fortui- 
 tous occurrence, this windfall of windfalls, he might, 
 rather he must, have drifted into unpropitious wedlock 
 
 against his will. 
 
 In the strangest mood imaginable, sweet because it 
 was sad, and none the less sad by reason of its sweet- 
 ness, he gazed around him, mused, pondered. 
 
 He now took heed of everything, rosey cloudlet, 
 bloomy blackberry, oak leaf tingling with last sunray, 
 little caressing lay of redbreast, social twitter of ground 
 lark above the sweet-smelling turnips. Sights and 
 sounds familiar to him from childhood were for the first 
 
 time realised. 
 
 There is an ecstasy of love, there is an ecstasy of 
 hate, perhaps the ecstasy of deliverance outdoes both. 
 It was this consciousness of regained freedom that 
 made Edward Flindell's heart beat quicker, and his 
 eyes shine now. Aimee the Beloved had not promised 
 to be his wife, but Maria Studd, in homely phrase, had 
 
2i6 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 given warning. Joy maketh afraid, hope deferred 
 maketh the heart sick, to loose one's feet from skilfully- 
 laid toils brings the keenest satisfaction man or woman 
 can feel. 
 
2l7 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A RUSTIC PALADIN. , 
 
 The Sunday afternoon or evening tryst was regarded 
 by village lovers as solemn and binding. Barely in 
 their teens, mawthers and hudderens " walked to- 
 gether," but a stroll taken hand in hand often ended 
 there. Very differently folks regarded the rendezvous 
 of suitors' appointing. Herein they saw nothing less 
 than a direct offer of marriage, preliminary of the 
 asking in church to follow. Did any flighty wench 
 play her follower false, he felt straightway at liberty 
 to go a'courting elsewhere. Did any swain so 
 saucily trick his mistress, the best thing she could do 
 also was to . seek consolation in another quarter. 
 Neither by the one nor the other could such an affront 
 be otherwise interpreted. With States and legisla- 
 
2i8 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 tures, rustic society possessed its unwritten code, its 
 court of equity. 
 
 Had Tat Turtle been as good as his word, Amma 
 would already have heard his name coupled with her 
 own in church. But the proud moment was deferred. 
 Thews and sinews do not always represent moral 
 courage, and it was well known that both the miller 
 and his son stood in awe of Mrs. Turtle. Spare, acrid, 
 with a voice of ringing quality, boasting also boarding- 
 school reputation for genteelness, the little woman 
 ruled her household as Rehoboam ruled Israel. No 
 weakling dreaded big bully more than the two strong 
 men of Burridge dreaded their housewife's wrath. 
 So the last time that Tat had caught sight of Amma at 
 the granary steps, with hang-dog air he confessed the 
 truth — he dared no more open his lips about the banns 
 for the present. 
 
 " Mother gave me the length of her tongue, and 
 no mistake, last night," he added with a drawing 
 together of the Hps as if being pinched ; " but she'll 
 cool down, and she shan't prevent me leastways from 
 walking with you o' Sundays." 
 
A RUSTIC PALADIN. 219 
 
 The courting day had come round, and Amma, 
 whose evening it was out, set off for the Drift. She 
 generally awaited her lover at the farther end, then, 
 instead of turning into the high road, they would 
 strike across the fields, now in one direction, now in 
 another, always getting as far as possible from home. 
 There were no hills or dales within walking, or for the 
 matter of that, driving, reach. Few folks hereabouts 
 had ever seen so much as a monticule ; but honey- 
 suckle gathered in the next parish smelt unlike that 
 of native bowery, and if anything to be called perspec- 
 tive remained mythical, at any rate the level landscape 
 before their eyes was not Burridge. 
 
 A young woman could not be well freer from senti- 
 mentahty than Amma. With her existence was no 
 happy-go-lucky affair, no matter of odds and hazards, 
 but of diplomacy and calculation. As she now arrayed 
 herself for this meeting, it was less with a flutter of 
 alternating hopes and fears than with a deliberate 
 weighing of chances. Would Tat Turtle fail her or 
 comport himself gallantly? Such was the problem 
 now revolved and revolved again. The probabilities 
 
2 20 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 were in his favour, and indeed, but for this conclusion, 
 Amma would have stayed at home. Of no brittle 
 quality that heart of hers, but she wanted to marry a 
 Mister, a wearer of broadcloth, possible church- 
 warden, and one who did business at the Ipswich 
 Bank. The evening was of intense, almost southern 
 beauty and voluptuousness, of deepest, ruddiest gold 
 the facets of sunshine amid the oak leaves, of faint 
 caressing sweetness the breath of travellers' joy and 
 wild thyme, a personal love-note too, inviting softness 
 and passion seemed the stock-doves' cooing ; accom- 
 paniment of the pastoral ; other sounds were heard 
 between whiles, in the hedgerow, twitter of wren and 
 robin, from afar the cawing of rooks, but the wood- 
 pigeons were everywhere as much a part of the hour 
 and scene as sky and languorous air. 
 
 Amma's mood just now was of impressionability, 
 if not of sentiment. These subtle influences affected 
 her, but not in the ordinary way. For the most 
 exquisite visions, rather revelations of the outer world, 
 to which none can be wholly insensible, act very 
 differently upon opposed natures. Such an hour as 
 
A RUSTIC PALADIN, 221 
 
 this, with its wooing deUciousness, would have driven 
 many a girl into her lover's arms— and into the gulf of 
 destruction. A kiss would have done duty for 
 wedding-ring. Over Amma came a spell of quite 
 another kind. 
 
 Dairy maids and country wenches could no 
 more lay claim to a watch than to the style and 
 title of Miss, but Amma could reckon the time with- 
 out help. These farming folks carried a clock as well 
 as a calendar in their heads. 
 
 The cool, wooded Drift led to the high road, now 
 hot and dusty enough, but on one side a little spinney 
 or plantation of larch trees offered shade. It was a 
 sweet corner, the mossy ground being broken up 
 into little knolls, the young trees making brilliant 
 avenues, light screens of emerald green against a 
 background of clearest, warmest blue. An excellent 
 hiding place was this, and here Amma hid herself, 
 now determined that if Tat came an hour behind time, 
 he should come for nothing. The position of the sun 
 soon told her that it was long past the appointed hour. 
 By and by she did perceive a man's figure on the 
 
2 22 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 other side, and her heart gave a leap, not the leap of 
 relief or allayed misgiving. As she now caught sight 
 of Ebby's square but not ungainly form arrayed in 
 best corduroy, a sudden thought struck her. Start- 
 ing up from the brushwood, she cried engagingly : 
 
 " Where may you be making for, Ebby, looking 
 that long-faced? " 
 
 Utterly taken aback by the lovely apparition, 
 imagining Amma to be far away, strolKng across 
 distant fields with her miller, the young man dropped 
 his eyes and stammered out : 
 
 " You know I'm a meetener," he said with a shame- 
 faced air, " leastways when there's a meetin' to go to." 
 
 " There, leave the ranters alone for once, and come 
 along a' me." 
 
 Religiousness in the proper acceptation of the word 
 was as foreign to Ebenezer and his fellow-ploughmen 
 as aesthetic perception or intellectual rapture. But 
 when a full-grown man can neither read nor write, 
 when, moreover, he cares not to go a'courting, the 
 meeting-house offers a better-than-nothing in the way 
 of recreation, a veritable windfall of a pastime. Any 
 
A RUSTIC PALADIN. 223 
 
 local preacher holding forth in the village Bethel was 
 therefore sure of an audience. 
 
 A ray of ecstasy came into Ebby's pale blue eyes, 
 followed by a look of almost vindictive disallusion. 
 
 With all his untutoredness Amma's lover possessed 
 the soul of a man and some sense of moral dignity. 
 A crushing taunt of a week or two back, " You shall 
 be one of my weddeners, never fear," was fresh in his 
 mind, it galled, stung, festered still. With bold retort 
 he turned on his heel. 
 
 " If you want to see Tat Turtle and me a'goin' at each 
 other like fightin' cocks, it shan't be on a Sunday, 
 Amma, and so I tell you." 
 
 Amma hastened after him. 
 
 " Look you here, Ebby," she said, " I'm not a'jokin'. 
 I'll keep company with you, true as I stand here." 
 
 " I know all about that," Ebby got out mockingly, 
 yet drinking in the ineffable picture with mingled rap- 
 ture and despair. Never before had Amma looked so 
 genteel, so superior to the rest of Burridge womankind I 
 No face was hers round and red as an apple, no pudgy 
 
2 24 2 HE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 proportions recalling the distich of ill-natured urban 
 rhymester : 
 
 " You can see at a glance, could not be mistaken, 
 These misses of Burridge have thriven on bacon." 
 
 Milk-white was Amma's complexion, setting off those 
 large brown eyes so full of changeful, mysterious ex- 
 pression, very fair too the long neck, becomingly 
 arrayed in white collar and pink neck-ribbon ; any lady 
 of the land who played the pianoforty and rode single 
 might own those small hands uncoarsened, unreddened 
 by toil. And her slender symmetrical proportions 
 would have graced silks and satins as well as neat print 
 or figured muslm de I aim. But after all it is not the 
 setting, but the jewel which implies pricelessness. 
 Amma's character, parts, ready wit, made her excep- 
 tional, not pearly skin, big eyes, nor slender waist. 
 
 " No, you don't, you know nothing about it at all, 
 Ebby," she replied, turning with him, motioning him to 
 go on, " nor did I afore the clock had gone six this day. 
 But let us cross yonder fields towards Tuddenham." 
 
 Ebenezer's tall, athletic figure looked proportional, 
 even graceful, when wielding scythe or sickle in his 
 
A RUSTIC PALADIN. 225 
 
 shirt sleeves ; the Sunday suit and shiny boots made him 
 gawky and loutish. But Amma was in no critical mood 
 just then, this devoted lover could now serve her turn, 
 and should be duly rewarded. 
 
 " Don't stand there a'turnin' up your eyes like a duck 
 in a thunderstorm," she cried impatiently ; " I tell you 
 you're to go to Tuddenham along o' me." 
 
 The road before them led straight to Ipswich, that 
 behind to Helmingham, but over against the spinney a 
 five-barred gate opened upon wide fallow fields with 
 enticing Httle paths under lofty hedges. 
 
 Before Ebby could reply his companion had cleared 
 the gate, her feat rousing him from his stupor. Amma 
 possessed a shapely foot and the prettiest leg ima- 
 ginable, black cashmere boots laced at the side, 
 and coarse but speckless white cotton stockings fitting 
 to a nicety. She wore too a many-tucked, well-starched 
 and ironed white muslin slip, now shown under the 
 daintily-lifted blue and pink skirt. 
 
 She walked on quickly, never turning to look round, 
 and they were soon at the gate of the next field. Here 
 she paused, letting him somewhat awkwardly help her 
 
 15 
 
226 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 over. Then she did just glance towards the road left 
 behind. No one was there. 
 
 " Till the clock had gone six I took Tat Turtle to be 
 a man of his word, and if a man won't have me when he 
 might, when he would, he must go without. That's 
 the long and the short of it, Ebby, my dear." 
 
 Ebenezer, who had been gathering nuts for her, now 
 pressed them into her hand with extraordinary self- 
 confidence and hilarity. She permitted the lover-like 
 grasp and began at once to crack the nuts with her 
 strong white teeth. There was not a vestige of 
 romance in her composition. Before the realistic novel 
 was thought of, Amma regarded existence from the 
 realistic novelist's point of view. 
 
 Ebby, on whom the most dulcet flavour of nuts was 
 wasted just then, watched his enchantress with dilating 
 eyes. 
 
 " I'll give it to him, or I'll try to," he said. 
 
 " Now, Ebby, don't you go a'gettin' yourself into a 
 scrape, but leave Tat this or Tat that to me. Don't you 
 s'pose it will be a'givin' it to him enough to hear our 
 banns asked in church ? " 
 
A RUSTIC PALADIN. 227 
 
 The young man looked positively awestruck. Of 
 course Amma would have her way — an enchanting, in- 
 toxicating way too ; he was only " bound," as the phrase 
 went, to Mr. Flindell till Michaelmas. He would then 
 be free to quit the farmhouse and earn the weekly nine 
 shillings of an able-bodied labourer. But the finding of 
 a cottage, the furnishing of it 't His whole savings 
 amounted to just six pounds, which his master kept for 
 him in his bureau. 
 
 With Amma's brisk utterance, mental hobgoblins and 
 bogies vanished as mist before the sun. 
 
 " You just leave everything to me, Ebby," said the 
 
 young woman, speaking coolly, as if the matter under 
 
 consideration were a half -holiday for visiting the fair, 
 
 " everything except the asking in church, I mean. 
 
 We're close upon Michaelmas, master will want a sight 
 
 more hands at the Hall, and if Miss 'Ria spites me, she 
 
 don't spite you. And whether father is made head man 
 
 or no, there'll be a couple of ploughmen wanted out of 
 
 doors as well as in. And the little cottage with the 
 
 bowery, poor old widow Watts', stands empty at a 
 
 shilling a week. And a help is always wanted two or 
 
 15* 
 
2 28 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 three days a week at the Rectory, what with washin' 
 and brewin' and bakin', that's a shilHn' a day and a 
 
 bellyful. And " 
 
 On rattled that facile tongue, Ebby listening with 
 the stupefaction of overjoy, Amma speaking gaily, mor- 
 tified self-love and bitterest disillusion lost sight of in 
 this foretaste of revenge. 
 
229 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HALLOO LARGESS. 
 
 Largess-spending has long since become matter of 
 hearsay, legendary as stage-coaches, tinder-boxes and 
 stocks on the village green. But veterans of the 
 plough still live to recount that jovial celebration, and 
 many a looker-on then in pinafores can remember how 
 " My Lord begged round and held his hat," and how, 
 when the hat was full of shillings from squire, farmer 
 and friends— in the words of the Suffolk bard just 
 quoted — 
 
 " Up they got and went to Halloo Largess." 
 
 Nor have they forgotten the lusty chorus— this of local 
 origin — sung after supper outside the village inn : 
 
 " " With a full flowing glass of old harvest beer, 
 
 Here's your master's good health, boys, join in the cheer." 
 
230 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST 
 
 That filling of the hat with shillings was often a matter 
 of time. It was moreover a recognised tax on the 
 sportsman. 
 
 No sooner was a popping of guns heard amid the 
 turnip fields than " the shooters, the shooters ! " 
 shouted my Lord to his men. As the party drew near, 
 he would hold round his hat, sure enough of shillings 
 and half-crowns rattling in ; this little business over, 
 the men formed a ring, the leader shouting, " Halloo, 
 halloo, halloo largess," three times. Then would 
 burst forth a ringing cheer, with a reiterated ** We 
 thank Mr. So-and-So for his largess." 
 
 Captain de Medue was no patron of the chase ; he 
 leased his shooting, and Elisha's Sage's " Halloo Lar- 
 gess " always resulted in a hatful for " Largess-spend- 
 ing." 
 
 Once more the jolly day had come round, and once 
 more, under favourable auspices, the shooters had 
 been no less numerous and liberal than usual. When 
 my Lord's hatful was emptied on good Mrs. Cage's 
 table, the plump, rosy-cheeked landlady of the " Barley 
 Mow " lifted up her hands. 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 231 
 
 " I'm not a'jokin', Master Sage," she said, " but if you 
 all stuff and guzzle away thus much in a single night, 
 you'll none of you take any harm if you go empty and 
 dry for a week." 
 
 Elisha always left everything, excepting his own 
 immediate concerns, to other folks. And a jollification 
 of this kind did not suit his Puritan nature and weak 
 digestion, to say nothing of his present mood. But he 
 must perforce walk in the steps of his fore-runners. 
 Largess-spending meant that, no m.atter the con- 
 sequences, every shilling collected for the purpose must 
 be eaten and drunk upon that especial night. He 
 comforted himself with the thought that his own small 
 capacities as a reveller were exceptional, and that, as 
 usual, from the highways and byeways, all, as many as 
 they found, both bad and good, would be bidden to 
 
 partake. 
 
 He shook his head gravely, whilst the hostess 
 
 counted the money. 
 
 " No, no, missus," he said, " sufficient unto the day is 
 the eatin' and drinkin' thereof. We shall all want our 
 
232 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 pork and dumplins to-morrow, I'll lay, though, maybe, 
 we'll be a bit picksome." 
 
 It was growing dusk when, one by one, Mr. Flindell's 
 harvestmen sauntered up to the " Barley Mow," a neat, 
 low-pitched house, with adjoining smithy, for Mr. Cage 
 combined the business of publican and blacksmith. 
 
 At right angles lay the village street, consisting of a 
 dozen cottages, some having thatched roofs and white- 
 washed walls, others of more modern appearance. 
 Here stood the general shop, where could be had 
 tobacco, snuff, tea, farthing dips and peppermint- 
 lozenges, the worthy mistress charging " a halfpenny 
 for paper," when the order was unprofitably small or 
 required an extra sheet of packing paper, at that time 
 no very cheap commodity. 
 
 Shyly enough, for shyness accompanied any act if 
 not of daily occurrence, the revellers stole up. All 
 were tidied as for a ploughing match, or any other 
 week-day occasion ; nobody wore Sunday clothes. 
 The first to arrive was little Smy, his small, fiery-red 
 face grimaced with delight, his whimsical person fan- 
 tastically equipped. 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 233 
 
 It was the fashion in those days for elderly men of 
 the better ranks to wear swallow-tailed coats for best 
 alike indoors and out ; some waggish benefactor had 
 bestowed such a garment upon Smy, and the quaint 
 little man, partly from vanity, and partly from need, 
 took to it, as to the manner born. He thought also 
 that his swallow-tailed coat would contribute to the 
 general entertainment. 
 
 " My, Master Smy ! " cried Mrs. Cage, who, with her 
 neighbours, mightily relished a joke, " you look the 
 very Q!^gy of a gentleman ; feel like one, I daresay ? " 
 
 " I daresay I shall when I've filled my belly," was the 
 ready reply. " True as I stand here, Mrs. Cage, I 
 haven't swallowed bite nor sup since mornin' ! " 
 
 " The more fool you, then, though I say it who 
 shouldn't, for, my poor dear httle poppet of a man, it 
 couldn't surely be because you had nothing to whet 
 your whistle with, harvest time too ? " 
 
 " Bless the good soul, haven't she the sense of a pit- 
 man pig ?* Why, in course, I didn't waste wittles and 
 
 * Pitman, the smallest pigling of a litter ; generally made over 
 to farmers' children as pocket money. 
 
234 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 drink at twelve o'clock, knowin' as how I should be 
 filled to the bunghole afore night. No, no, Mrs. Cage. 
 Largess-spendin is Largess-spendin', and it don't 
 come twice a year." 
 
 " It hadn't need to, I'm sure, what with your guzzling 
 and the shindy you kick up afterwards," quoth the 
 dame. " There's old Nat, always first to come and 
 last to go where drinkin' is a goin' on." 
 
 ** What be the pretties you're a'sayin' about old Nat, 
 my dear ? " interrupted the sheep-shearer. 
 
 But matrons hereabouts, however fond of a joke, did 
 not relish familiarity. 
 
 " Dear, indeed ! Have I ever cost you anything ? " 
 cried the landlady of the " Barley Mow." " I'll teach 
 you to call me names," and, jumping up as a bantam 
 daring a Cochin China to the fight, for she was short of 
 stature and Nat stood six feet two in his stockihgs, she 
 dealt him a ringing slap on the face. 
 
 " A soft answer turneth away wrath, and if any man 
 smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him thy left also ; 
 so another stinger, darlin', then let us kiss and be 
 friends." 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 235 
 
 Thus saying, the lank, grotesque figure dropped 
 upon one knee, inviting the blow. 
 
 " Kiss, indeed ; I'd as soon kiss a squiggling pig 
 caught in a gate. Have a care, or you'll catch a 
 bucket of soap suds on that ugly mug of yours, which, 
 for once, don't want it. But there's Master Sage and 
 the others. William, take up the taters." 
 
 The last sentence was addressed in a high key to her 
 husband ; Mr. Cage being what was called a domesti- 
 cated man upon these occasions, helped alike in back- 
 house and kitchen. Those Suffolk housewives of two 
 generations ago were notable women, and for the most 
 part reigned supreme. " Cleaned up," too, for the day, 
 that is to say, having changed her print gown for a stuff 
 one and donned a smart cap, Mrs. Cage could not be 
 expected to dish up taters and plum puddings. 
 William, a spare, meek-faced, but by no means in- 
 capable man, had only laid aside his leather apron and 
 given himself a good sousing at the pump. In his shirt 
 sleeves he now bustled about, Jem, the baccus (back- 
 house) boy, helping him by the big, old-fashioned fire- 
 
236 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 place. Hanging from a spirket was a huge boiler, in 
 which danced two gigantic plum puddings, the round 
 of beef with other meats being served cold. 
 
 " No apin' the quality here ; no bakin' and roastin' 
 after dark ; no smell o' dinner along the turnpike road 
 o' nights in this house," had its mistress decreed long 
 ago, and from such ordinances there was no appeal. 
 
 The Lord of the Harvest, as he slowly approached, 
 did not look as if good fare or a drinking bout were to 
 his mind just then ; his usually slow deliberate pace 
 was slower, more deliberate than usual, there was no 
 more elation in look or gait than when bringing home 
 a heaped-up turnip cart or waggon load of manure 
 from Ipswich. 
 
 The sheep-shearer welcomed him with a merry 
 " whew ! " Then a word rose to his lips, but he only 
 got out the first two syllables, " Geha " 
 
 There he stopped short suddenly, recollecting that 
 Elisha's reign was not over yet. An unseemly jest, an 
 unwarrantable liberty taken with the Lord of the 
 Harvest might cost him his supper. 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 237 
 
 These convivialists made little attempt to shine at 
 conversation. They had met to eat and drink, the 
 being merry was no condition tacked to Largess-spend- 
 ing. During that long, slow consummation of cold 
 boiled beef and hot potatoes, only the sheep-shearer's 
 irrepressible drollery and Mrs. Cage's brisk repartee 
 varied the monotonous clatter. Black-handled knives 
 and steel forks were plied as if from a sense of duty 
 rather than gastronomic enjoyment. Satisfaction were 
 indeed a most appropriate term in this case. Even 
 upon such occasions, folks ate first to appease 
 natural cravings, quite secondarily came the notion 
 of a tickled palate. Most likely others present had 
 followed Smy's example of preliminary fast, so swiftly 
 diminished the enormous joints at each end of the table. 
 
 " Come, Master Sage," cried the little landlady, as 
 she moved behind the table, now admonishing a gour- 
 mand and now encouraging a shy feeder, " to see you 
 pingle one might think you ate beef and plum pudding 
 like rich folks every day of your life. A good tight 
 slice, now, before it is clean gone ! " 
 
2T,2> THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, she transferred a 
 temptingly thin round on his plate. 
 
 Elisha quietly put it back. 
 
 " I thank you kindly, Mrs. Cage," he said, " but I 
 want no invitation to this here table." 
 
 The courteous reproof was taken very good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " No offence, Master Sage ; but you harvest folks 
 are that uppish, to be sure, one mustn't look at you! 
 Well, have just a tater to please me." 
 
 The Lord of the Harvest inspected the dish of 
 potatoes, and without a word prodded the most tempt- 
 ing. Then, glancing round from time to time, he went 
 on with his supper. It was his place to see that all 
 were behaving themselves. Nat must, of course, play 
 the tomfool. Now the born buffoon mimicked one 
 fellow-guest, and now another ; making a trumpet of 
 his hands, he next imitated drum and bugle for the 
 benefit of the two soldiers present, extra harvest hands, 
 returning next day to their barracks. Monkeyish 
 tricks, singing, whistling, speechifying, were as yet 
 kept within due bounds and for the best possible 
 
HALLOO LARGESS, 239 
 
 reason. The sparkling " old harvest " was reserved 
 for the Halloo Largess abroad later on. Only Mr. 
 Cage's mild ale circulated at the supper table. 
 
 Table talk was limited alike in range and volume. 
 
 " I s'pose we shall be a'cuttin' beans o' Monday," 
 observed Zeky to his neighbour, one of the gallant red- 
 coats before mentioned, who, getting gradually in- 
 toxicated upon plum pudding, replied that they might 
 be cutting beans, pumpkins, capers, or other's throats, 
 for all he cared a d — n. Smy, endeavouring to be 
 equally agreeable to the other wearer of the loyal 
 uniform, made the remark, " I'm blowed if ever I see'd 
 anyone tuck in like you soudgers." Whereupon his 
 companion, by way of deserving the compliment, stuck 
 his fork into poor Smy's last slice of plum pudding and 
 demolished it, amid much merriment. 
 
 " Where to will you be a'movin' now, Nat ? " he asked 
 of the sheep-shearer, who, like the wandering Jew and 
 the local rat-catcher, went from place to place in the 
 pursuit of his avocations. 
 
 " Lord, you sucking babe, as if I knew more than 
 the dead ! Perhaps into the shires, where I hear they're 
 
2 40 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 still a' harvestin', perhaps to Father Abraham's bosom. 
 Hold your jaw," was the reply. 
 
 Mrs. Cage's upright clock had gone nine when the 
 leader arose and pronounced the customary thanks- 
 giving : " For what we have received may the Lord 
 make us truly thankful." 
 
 That quiet benediction was followed by an outburst 
 of boyish excitement. Jumping on benches, playing 
 leap-frog as they went, singing, shouting, whistling, 
 the harvesters now poured into the village street, where 
 a little crowd awaited them. Foremost amid these 
 stood Jeremiah Hammond, Elisha's rival in the reap- 
 ing field, the ploughing match, and former candidate 
 for the headmanship at the Hall. Other neighbours 
 helped to form a semicircle, for the ceremony of 
 Halloo Largess implied a general invitation. All 
 friends and well-wishers were welcome to a glass. 
 The group was a representative one. Mr. Pipe, 
 the tollgate keeper, had put in an appearance, 
 with him had come Tom Potter, the parish clerk, 
 who read the responses o' Sundays, making good 
 scholars titter with his " Peelican in the wilderness," 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 241 
 
 his " Cherubium and Seraphiam " ; o' week-days, his 
 grand talk about Old Moore's " highgloripikes." Be- 
 hind these, come merely to look on, were the women- 
 folk, tittering, giggling, nudging each other, no one, as 
 Karra severely observed, " behaving as she should do." 
 How was it, folks, gossippers, that Tat Turtle was not 
 there, a'hangin' about Amma ? 
 
 Immediately in front of the " Barley Mow " stood 
 Mr. Flindell's men, Elisha's figure a little in advance of 
 the rest. From glass to glass the host of the " Barley 
 Mow " now passed, with his huge stone bottle of 
 strong, sweet sparkling " old harvest." Then in a 
 voice of real command, for the occasion savoured of 
 solemnity, the Lord of the Harvest led the toast : 
 
 '* Now the harvest is ended ; our labours are o'er, 
 And we've met to spend Largess together once more." 
 
 There was no sentimentality about this celebration. 
 
 The tremendous cheer that now resounded from one 
 
 end of the village to the other, audible at the Drift and 
 
 the mill, was a matter of ceremony and custom. Had 
 
 Mr. Flindell been a niggardly master, even a skinflint, 
 
 16 
 
242 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 churlish of temper, no employer of cripples, and " three- 
 quarter men " in winter, no impartial doler out of parish 
 beef and coals at Christmas, church-folks and meet- 
 eners ever faring alike during his churchwardenship, 
 Largess-spending must have ended in the same way, 
 although not in the same spirit But the tenant of 
 Walnut Tree Farm, without being a hero, without 
 aspiring to magnanimity, possessed that enviable attri- 
 bute — a good name. No one could say evil of him. 
 So louder and louder, heartier and heartier, went up 
 those old-fashioned couplets, improvised by some Lord 
 of the Harvest in times gone by. 
 
 "Now the harvest is ended, our labours are o'er, 
 And we've met to spend Largess together once more. 
 With a full flowing glass of old harvest beer, 
 Here's your master's good health, boys, join in the cheer." 
 
 And according to custom, the toast-master now varied 
 his burden : 
 
 ** For he's a good man, he provides us good cheer, 
 Long life to Ted Flindell, drink up your beer." 
 
 Just as comedians bring down the house with some 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 243 
 
 happy allusion to current topics, so the altered version, 
 composed of course by Karra, heightened general 
 enthusiasm. Again and again rose that volume of 
 sound, the hearty three times three many heroes of 
 showier trium.phs might well envy. 
 
 Whilst friends and neighbours were bidden to a 
 glass, the traditional wom^an's part was that of looker- 
 on. Folks who " frequented," " walked together," or 
 " kept company," might break the rule, slily toasting 
 each other out of the same goblet. To-night, but for 
 his mother's tongue. Tat Turtle would proudly have 
 armed Amma to the festive spot, none ever readier for 
 a kiss and a drinking bout. As it was, he could not for 
 the life of him help starting off at the last moment. As 
 he explained to the family lawgiver, if he stayed away 
 people were sure to talk, would say he had gone so 
 far that he dared not look Amma in the face. Un- 
 heroic was this paragon of thews and sinews, but after 
 his own fashion, he adored Karra's daughter, and his 
 notion was that she would wait and wait and wait, and 
 that somehow things would come right in time. Of 
 a favoured rival he had no inkling. 
 
 16* 
 
244 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 So having framed a plausible excuse for last Sun- 
 day's perfidy, he now sidled up to the girl ; he knew 
 Amma as well perhaps as anyone ; he was prepared for 
 an outburst when next they should find themselves 
 alone ; but publicity, gaping eyes and gossiping 
 tongues would befriend him. Amma might " take on " 
 in private, she would be only too pleased to welcome 
 him here, flaunt her superior lover before the world. 
 
 " Come, Amma," he said, drinking horn in hand, 
 " just sweeten this for me, will you ? That's what I've 
 come for," he whispered in her ear. Amma stood in 
 the front row of spectators ; before this crowd of 
 women and girls w^ere the rollickers forming a semi- 
 circle, both groups well-lighted by the inn lamps. 
 
 " Then you'll get something else, I can tell you," 
 quoth Amma. Without a second's hesitation, and 
 with the deftest imaginable movement the ale was 
 dashed in his face, and the bearer sent sprawling back- 
 wards. Then belabouring him with her hands, calling 
 on the rest to aid, he was driven ignominiously away, 
 never luckless wight boxed and buffeted as the strong 
 man's son to-nifrht. But it was not the smart of blows 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 245 
 
 under which he writhed, for he knew it well enough Tat 
 Turtle might become a substantial farmer, a compeer 
 of the best, henceforth he was a fable, a butt of raillery, 
 a reproach in folks' mouths as long as he lived. Amma 
 was avenged ! 
 
246 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HALLOO LARGESS — (continued). 
 
 A MAN may be a second Goliath, the terror of his 
 compeers, he were a savage and sure to be treated as 
 such, if using his fists or his heels against a parcel of 
 girls. So, freeing himself from these village Maenads 
 as best he could, hurling threats and imprecations, 
 vowing to pay out alike aggressors and lookers-on, 
 the young miller made good his escape. The affair 
 had taken place too quickly to admit of interference 
 on EHsha's part, moreover, with the womankind and 
 mere spectators he had nothing to do. His juris- 
 diction and mastership of the ceremonies did not 
 extend beyond the harvest supper and its partici- 
 pants. But he had seen and heard all, and the 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 247 
 
 incident, with its revelations, only deepened 
 his unfestive mood. It added also to poignant 
 self-reproach, for in his present state, the least 
 little circumstance wore a retributive aspect. If 
 Tat Turtle had given up Amma, what else did it mean 
 but disapproval of her father? Folks had been 
 poisoning miller Turtle's mind against him and his, 
 the latest check was of a piece with the rest. 
 
 Since the business of the stolen barley and the 
 melancholy journey with Smiler, Elisha had not been 
 himself. Quiet, dogged resignation had changed to 
 brooding melancholy. The one pleasure of his life 
 seemed taken from him, so he said to himself. His 
 good horse's affection made up for many things, 
 so cheerfully did it lighten toil ; and Smiler did not 
 sleep the sleep of death. He could not help dwelling 
 on the faithful creature's wistfulness, his hopes perhaps 
 of again hearing the familiar voice, feeling the touch 
 of the well-known hand. 
 
 But again the strain broke forth : 
 
 *• For he's a good master, he provides us good cheer, 
 Long life to our master, drink up your beer." 
 
248 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 With this final toast, in which outsiders now joined, 
 Ehsha rehnquished his glass and his dignity. The 
 Lord of the Harvest, as the Lord Mayor of London, 
 once more became a commoner, a mere citizen, if for- 
 sooth the last epithet could be applied to the hind of 
 two generations ago. There was not a trace of con- 
 viviality in his look or manner as he now stepped 
 back, intending to slip away and make for home. The 
 last toast drunk, the " old harvest " drained, he became 
 once more Master Sage, a village nobody. 
 
 Not thus quietly was he allowed to steal home. 
 As is the case with wit in high places, rustic waggeries 
 will ofttimes take the form of ill-nature. When the 
 blood is heated and the brain muddled with over much 
 eating and an extra bout, delicacy is out of the 
 question. 
 
 For Nat, the sheepshearer, such an opportunity was 
 golden. Natural frolicsomeness is much rarer than 
 the occasion calling it forth ; to-night all were in the 
 humour for a joke, and a little bird had whispered 
 every tale into every ear. The whole village knew of 
 the hidden bushel, the night-capped, bed-gowned 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 249 
 
 interloper, the Biblical reprimand. But the matter was 
 much more than a joke to one or two. It was rumoured 
 abroad that in spite of Elisha's breach of trust, in 
 spite of Miss 'Ria's threat— for at Burridge everybody 
 knew everybody's business— the Lord of the Harvest 
 was to follow his master to the Hall, there to be 
 installed as headman. Now, in so far as the obtaining 
 of the lease was concerned, Elisha could not be 
 accused by anyone. Folks, however, were not logical, 
 and he vicariously seemed an interloper. Thus 
 it came about that Jerry and Lyddy, and indeed all 
 Mrs. Betsey Askew's workpeople were in a mis- 
 chievous mood to-night, determined not to let their 
 neighbours return home quietly. 
 
 Just as Elisha was moving off stealthily, motioning 
 Karra to do the same, he felt a grip from behind. 
 
 " Come, Master Sage, you're among well-wishers, 
 stand there friendly like, and tell us all about that 
 there little job, Miss 'Ria a'seizin' you like a ferret 
 a'springin' on a rat, yourself all of a tremble like an 
 ashen-leaf, and the old harridan dinnin' Gehazi, Gehazi, 
 in your ears." 
 
2 50 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " Now, together * just behave yourselves as you 
 should do," cried a shrill feminine voice from the 
 crowd, " the parish constable has his eye on you, I'll 
 warrant." 
 
 Mrs. Karra's interposition did not prevent Elisha 
 from giving Nat a violent push backward, sending the 
 tall spindle-shanked, spidery-figure straight into the 
 arms of his neighbour, Jerry Hammond. Open- 
 mouthed, staring blankly, showing his large white 
 teeth, the rival seized his opportunity. Jerry had 
 never yet out-done Elisha in the ploughing-match ; 
 witless of the witless he could nevertheless fling his 
 shaft. 
 
 " It's all very fine to put on farins, Master Sage, but 
 there's no other thief in this here company that I 
 knows on." 
 
 Elisha felt his patience going, but still remained 
 outwardly cool. Again he tried to edge his way out 
 of the semi-circle and make for home, and again he 
 was held back. 
 
 ^ (( 
 
 Together," in Suffolk used for "all of you. 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 251 
 
 " I'll teach you to mock me, and that in a jiffy, if 
 you don't leave hold," he said at last. 
 
 He was not given to vehemence either of speech 
 or action, blows and bad words were not in his line ; 
 but to-night he felt somehow afraid of himself, for the 
 first time realizing the pitfall of exasperation. 
 
 Wounded self-love, the soreness brought about by 
 irritating banter ; above all, the nasty little pricks, just 
 pricks and no more, of conscience, were doing their 
 work. He felt under the influence of moral poison. 
 
 " There, there, darlin', I wouldn't be that peevish if 
 I were you, we only want to have a little harmless 
 fun," pursued Nat. 
 
 " Which you won't at my cost. Have a care and 
 leave go." 
 
 " Did you ever ? I never did," Nat replied, winking 
 at his fellow topers, most of them, with himself, being 
 in local plirase, " a trifle groggy." " Here's our 
 'Lishy," the wag went on, " tetchy as a teethin' babe, 
 and all because I term him Gehazi instead I s'pose of 
 terming him after his namesake the prophet." 
 
 Groups of harvesters now broke up into two, each 
 
252 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 member straightway becoming a partizan. A mere 
 trial of strength to begin with, this rough play soon 
 developed into a fierce combat, each side being urged 
 on by the beholders. Immediately behind Elisha, 
 trying to free their chief, were Ebby and 'Zeky, man- 
 fully emulating the bravest was the little Smy, one 
 gallant wearer of the uniform hanging on to the flaps 
 of his tail-coat, the other aiding the assailants, headed 
 by Nat and Jerry. Away they tugged and tugged, 
 amid indescribable uproar, the women also separated 
 into two camps, cheering, expostulating, threatening, 
 one or two even joining in the fray. 
 
 Cries were raised for Mr. Mumpford, the representa- 
 tive of law and police, above threats, abuse and banter 
 rising Karra's voice. " 'Lishy," she now shouted, in a 
 voice of sternest wifely command, " have a care ! Let 
 me see your hand once raised against your brother and 
 no wife will follow you into the land of Nod. And you, 
 Lyddy Hammond, a'egging on your husband, doing 
 your best to make a Cain of him ; shame on you ! " 
 With fiercer and yet fiercer invective she harangued 
 
HALLOO LARGESS 253 
 
 the rest. " Get to bed, you children of Behal, you 
 tempted of the Evil One. Not if I know it, shall any 
 soul be dragged to the bottomless pit to-night, where 
 will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." 
 
 Now it happened that Mr. Flindell was supping at 
 the Rectory, and having mentioned the fact of Largess 
 spending, the children begged leave to hear the hip- 
 hip, hooraying. 
 
 They need not go farther than the garden-gate, 
 pleaded Esther Ann, Dick and Bob, and it would be 
 so nice for Miss Aimee ! 
 
 " Well, well," quoth the Rector in his rough but 
 good-humoured way, " off with the whole troublesome 
 crew of you ; as I'm in my slippers I'll ask Mr. Flindell 
 to halloo you home in an hour's time, and if you don't 
 come at once, you'll get my cane to-morrow, be sure 
 of that." 
 
 " You forget, Zachariah, that it is Saturday night," 
 lispingly interposed Mrs. Pascoe, " which means," she 
 added, smiling at her bachelor guest, " tub night — the 
 copper fire was lighted half-an-hour ago." 
 
 " Oh ! never mind," her husband broke in, " ring 
 
254 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 for Mary Ann to put it out, the children can be 
 scrubbed down on Monday instead. Halloo Largess, 
 like Gunpowder Plot Day, only comes once a year. 
 Now, Flindell, let us go into my study, and talk over 
 that business of church repairs." 
 
 The churchwarden followed his Rector with quite a 
 beaming face. For the first time since that wretched 
 drive to market he had interchanged a few words with 
 Aimee, the Beloved. On being shown into the 
 drawing-room just before, he had found her there at 
 the piano hearing Bob's scales. The boy, of course, 
 delighted to be set free, bolted like a young colt 
 escaping the halter, Aimee could but come forward, 
 proffering her little hand — and a smile ! 
 
 What may not an apologetic smile do? In this 
 sv/eet half-French, half-English face, he now read self- 
 reproach, apology, all that a proud woman would wish 
 to say under such circumstances. She had indeed 
 cruelly misjudged him, and she knew it. Every day, 
 every hour of her hard life but brought out in clearer 
 light the homely steadfast devotion she had so scorn- 
 
HALLOO LARGESS 255 
 
 fully spurned. Every day, every hour made her feel 
 the goldenness of such love as Edward Flindell's. 
 
 "You are not going back to France just yet? " he 
 asked eagerly. 
 
 " No, Mr. Flindell," was the quiet friendly answer, 
 " I remain here anyhow till the spring." 
 
 He had just time to murmur a low, " Very glad," 
 when the Rector entered, jocular as he ever was when 
 in unruffled temper. 
 
 " Come, come, Flindell," he cried, " flirting with my 
 little governess ! Well, as you know, I'm always ready 
 to tie the matrimonial knot, what else are we parsons 
 good for ? " 
 
 Mr. Flindell looked shy as the veriest huddereh 
 caught a'nannicking with some mawther under the 
 mistletoe. Without a change of countenance, Aimee 
 put away Bob's music-book, closed the piano, re- 
 adjusted music-stools, and left the room. 
 
 " On my word," said Mr. Pascoe, when the pair found 
 themselves alone, " if you were a marrying man you 
 might do worse ! She's the briskest, cleverest, nattiest 
 little creature I ever came across, and would manage 
 
25 J THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 a farm-house as if to the manner born ; you know we 
 EngHsh are all loutish compared to the French. They 
 can turn their hands — or brains — to anything." 
 
 The business of the evening then came up, a bit of 
 church wall was crumbling ; how much could the 
 churchwarden squeeze out of his fellow-parishioners 
 towards reparation? Again, Burridge was scanda- 
 lously behind its neighbours in the matter of church 
 accommodation. Every parish for miles round had 
 long ago replaced the old-fashioned pews by the 
 more commodious system of benching. Could not 
 folks' feelings here be worked up on this subject? 
 The indecency of sleeping open-mouthed just under 
 the pulpit too ! Surely, benches would do away with 
 such acts of irreverence? Pew-corners, on the con- 
 trary, invited somnolence, w^ere veritable arm-chairs 
 enticing even the well-disposed to sleep and snore 
 instead of following the sermon. 
 
 Mr. Pascoe's harangue was interrupted by the burst- 
 ing in of Dick and Bob. 
 
 " Papa, Mr. Flindell ; Mr. Flindell, papa ! " shouted 
 both ; " the men are not hip, hip, hooraying, but 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 257 
 
 fighting, trying to kill each other ; do go, papa, Mr. 
 Flindell." 
 
 The Rector rose, much disconcerted. 
 
 " You farmers will have to put a stop to these 
 Largess spendings," he said, looking round for his 
 boots. *' Come Flindell, let us see what we can do ; 
 but, of course, Mumpford ought to be there." 
 
 " Mr. Mumpford is in bed with the toothache folks 
 say ; there's nobody there to stop the fighting." 
 
 " It's a regular battle, papa," put in Bob ; " do make 
 haste ; Miss Aimee made us run." 
 
 " Run, indeed ! well she might ; fetch my stick ; there, 
 the big one with the knob ; aye, I'll use it too if words 
 won't quiet the blockheads," said Mr. Pascoe. 
 " Flindell, where's yours ? You haven't a stick, then 
 fetch my second big one. Bob. That's it. Sophy, 
 my love," he shouted at the drawing-room door, " Mr. 
 Flindell and I are only going to break a few heads at 
 the ' Barley Mow ; ' don't be alarmed if you see me 
 come home with my own bandaged up." 
 
 Now there can be no doubt whatever that there is 
 nothing half so delightful to the general run of man- 
 
 17 
 
258 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 kind as the prospect of a rattling scrimmage. 
 The good old Mohawk days are over; more 
 harmless folks in the main than these honest 
 Burridgers did not wear corduroy and high-lows, 
 yet the notion of bludgeoning a few into tract- 
 able behaviour to-night, stimulated Mr. Pascoe, 
 as the beating of drum ecclesiastic in other fields. 
 
 No sooner had the little party quitted the Rectory 
 gates than the sounds of tumult burst upon them. 
 The " Barley Mow " lay but a furlong off, and as they 
 approached, suggestive shouts reached their ears, one 
 or two voices, notably shrill feminine ones, rising above 
 the rest. 
 
 " Worse, all of you, than Sodom and Gomorrah ! " 
 clarioneted Karra ; " brimstone and fire are a sight 
 deal too good for the lot of you." 
 
 " There, don't be buffeted about like a molly-coddle, 
 give 'em a lesson, father ! " trumpeted Miss Amma. 
 
 " Who stole his master's corn } " viciously piped Mrs. 
 Lyddy. 
 
 With these shrill notes and the penetrating squeak 
 of little Smy, were mingled bass notes, threats and 
 
HALLOO LARGESS, 259 
 
 objurations of the able-bodied partizans respectively 
 of Elisha and Jerry. 
 
 " Who thinks he's a'going to be headman at the 
 Hall ? " Jerry was heard to shout. 
 
 " Who thinks he can mock folks as he please ? " was 
 Ebby's manful retort, presumably accompanied by a 
 blow. 
 
 " And that there's no jail in Ipswich, though the 
 parish constable be a'bed with the muligrubs," 
 screamed Karra. 
 
 Then above the scuffle and confusion, melee of 
 village Montagus and Capulets, Guelph and Ghiberlin, 
 were heard alarming shouts of " Murder ! Help ! 
 Police ! " with " Seize him ! Give it 'em ! Punch his 
 head ! " and the like, half smothering the remonstrances 
 of outsiders and the frightened cries of the children. 
 
 Not one whit daunted, hastening past Aimee and 
 her charges, the burly Rector, with lifted bludgeon, 
 forced his way into the thick of the fight 
 
 " Churchwarden ! " he thundered out — ^his voice was 
 by far the most powerful in the parish — " I call on you 
 
 in the Queen's name to do your duty. Blockheads! 
 
 17* 
 
26o THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 blackguards! besotted idiots, that ever I should own 
 such a lot of parishioners ! Hands off ! Desist ! Quiet ! 
 Do you suppose that because the parish constable, by 
 the grace of God, is confined to his bed, the law of the 
 land is to be set at naught ? I'd have you to know 
 then, one and all, churchgoers and ranters — a pretty 
 set all of you — I'd have you to know that the authority 
 of your minister is not confined to the pulpit. Lay 
 about with your cudgel, churchwarden, I take upon 
 myself all responsibility. Home, meek as lambs, every 
 mother's son of you, or it's not the ringleaders alone, 
 I'll warrant you, who'll find their way to the treadmill." 
 
 The unexpected onslaught had immediate effect. 
 Mr. Pascoe's sudden appearance and stentorian shouts 
 sobered brawlers, separated combatants, cowed the 
 bullies and silenced the women. Just as a crowd melts 
 away when overtaken by a hailstorm, so the Largess- 
 spenders now dispersed ; some scuttled in one direc- 
 tion, others slunk away in another, all with the utmost 
 possible dispatch getting beyond reach of the Rector's 
 knobstick and vituperations. 
 
 It was the latter that most impressed. In these early 
 
HALLOO LARGESS. 261 
 
 days villagers might be meeteners, indifferentists, 
 infidels, so-called, but a certain kind of divinity did 
 hedge a parson. The least devotional, the most 
 uncompromising Noncon., the openly irreverent, 
 in the person of a clergyman respected much that he 
 would have found it difficult to define. And as yet 
 the pulpit still represented an immense amount of 
 temporal power, up to a certain point, excommuni- 
 cation itself ? Could not the parson cut off Christmas 
 beef and coals, charge what he chose for a bricked 
 grave, refuse consecrated burial ground to the un- 
 baptised, even the Table to the disreputable } His 
 theology might be called into question, quite other- 
 wise was it with his weight as a servant of the Crown, 
 a magnate second to none. 
 
 A few minutes later and the " Barley Mow " was 
 barred, shuttered, silent. Never wore Burridge a more 
 peaceful aspect than when Mr. Flindell returned home, 
 once more dreaming happy dreams ! 
 
262 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE CUTTING OF THE GORDIAN KNOT. 
 
 But a nightmare had yet to be shaken off, dispelled 
 for once and for all, Heaven only knew how ! When 
 next dawn Mr. Flindell was aroused by the " Come 
 back, come back," of the guinea-fowls under his lattice, 
 the disturbing, the terrible reality flashed on his mind. 
 Michaelmas Day was at hand, Miss Studd would now 
 learn that her challenge had been accepted, in other 
 words, that when he took possession of the Hall Farm, 
 Elisha followed him. What if she chose to put self- 
 love in her pocket and stay, stay, and stay and stay ? 
 
 It hardly discredits the stronger sex, ofttimes the 
 reverse, to say that they lack moral courage, as a rule, 
 detest the necessity of doing or saying an unpleasant 
 thing. Women, on the contrary, even the best prin- 
 
CUTTING OF THE GORDIAN KNOT. 263 
 
 cipled and the least aggressive, seldom have scruples 
 of this sort. Perhaps it is the maternal instinct, in- 
 herited and diluted, that accounts for the possession. 
 Apart from the touching, gracious aspect of mother- 
 hood, all must acknowledge a certain hardness per- 
 taining to such condition. Any woman rightly enough 
 will face fire for her nurslings, hence by a process of 
 evolution the sex has acquired a disregard of con- 
 sequences, an apparent insensibility to the feelings of 
 others from which men are mainly exempt. 
 
 Edward Flindell was an instance in point. Who so 
 able as himself to decide upon the culpability of his 
 horseman } Who could claim any right whatever to 
 dictate to him upon the subject of retaining Elisha 
 Sage .? 
 
 In a pet Miss Studd chose to throw up her situation. 
 Was he not free to take her at her word t 
 
 For all that the farmer accused himself of ingratitude. 
 In his secret heart he deplored the step she had forced 
 upon him, and the good fortune of which she was 
 author. So long as he lived he should hear of that 
 nocturnal alarm and be twitted about that stolen march 
 
264 THE LORD OB THE HARVEST. 
 
 upon his neighbours ; yet he must admit that, materially 
 speaking, he was greatly her debtor. Come good 
 seasons or bad, peace prices or war prices, corn rents 
 or fixed rents, a long lease of such an occupation meant 
 prosperity, a pre-eminently enviable lot. And utterly 
 as he had failed to read one woman's heart, blind as he 
 had been to the real reason of Aimee's indignant out- 
 burst, here he could not be mistaken. Maria Studd 
 thus zealously cared for his interests because she 
 wished, nay, intended, to become his wife. Such then 
 was the problem that confronted Edward Flindell on 
 Michaelmas Eve. Several weeks had now passed since 
 Maria's threat, his own decision about Elisha must by 
 this time have reached her ears, yet she gave no sign. 
 And it seemed clear as daylight that her capitulation, if 
 accepted by him, entailed the final farewell to love and 
 romance, to Aimee the Beloved. The future lay in his 
 own hands, all the same he felt helpless. 
 
 Daily tasks brought counsel ; whilst scattering corn 
 to his feathered tribe and doling out milk and barley- 
 meal to his pigs, he bethought of a way out of the 
 dilemma. 
 
CUTTING OF THE GORDIAN KNOT. 265 
 
 " Just bring round my gig at eleven o'clock," he said 
 to Smy, who always helped him at feeding time. 
 
 The odd little parody of a man eyed his employer 
 with a cunning, animal-like expression. Had parson 
 and master put their heads together about last night's 
 rumpus } Were the whole lot of Largess spenders to 
 be sent up to the " 'Sizes " t Smy pondered and pon- 
 dered, getting out just as they had emptied their pails. 
 
 " I only halloo'd and tugged at the ' Mow,' master, 
 none can say as how I laid hands on anyone or sauced 
 my betters." 
 
 Mr. Flindell's thoughts seemed elsewhere. 
 
 " What might you be a'saying ? " he asked absently. 
 
 " I was only alludin' to the bobbery at the * Mow,' " 
 replied Smy, in a low pleading little whine, " and 
 mentionin', which I know as none can deny, that I 
 meddled and maked with no one, I only halloo'd and 
 draw'd when asked to." 
 
 The farmer smiled. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Smy, everyone knows that you're 
 harmless as a tom-tit," was the uncomplimentary yet 
 soothing answer. 
 
266 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Mr. Flindell had just before, and most luckily for 
 himself, remembered a Michaelmas sale announced 
 for to-day at Needham Market. He wanted to see 
 Samuel, who was sure to be there, he wanted a drill, 
 above all he wanted an excuse for absenting himself. 
 The errand would keep him from home for several 
 hours, most likely till tea-time. And, meanwhile, what 
 easier than to settle matters in writing, leave a letter 
 on the keeping-room sideboard? He had only to 
 enclose a quarter's salary, thank her for past services, 
 and express good wishes for her future. And if a 
 storm should break over his head on his return he 
 determined to take refuge in silence. Not a syllable 
 either of apology or self-defence would he utter. 
 
 Bold decisions and Michaelmas sales are in them- 
 selves cheerful enough, but Mr. Flindell could not 
 shake off misgiving. Over the twelve o'clock dinner 
 at the " Greyhound " he met this acquaintance and 
 that, and nobody said anything disagreeable to him. 
 Even Samuel refrained from allusions to " a notable 
 wife," and the usual, " look out and you haven't far to 
 look, Ederd, for such hke." The sale was well 
 
CUTTING OF THE GORDIAN KNOT. 267 
 
 attended, and he succeeded in making one or two 
 excellent bargains. With improved spirits he set out 
 for home, but had hardly driven two miles when an 
 appalling vision met his eyes. 
 
 From the opposite direction rattled Mr. Cage's 
 light spring cart, and seated in it, there could not 
 possibly be any mistake, was Maria Studd ! 
 
 The road here slightly curved upwards, so that Mr. 
 Flindell, with slackened rein, crawled up hill, for up- 
 hill would seem this just perceptible slope to all 
 Suffolkers. The innkeeper's pony-trap, driven by Smy, 
 came downwards at full speed. Before the farmer 
 had time to collect his thoughts, goer and comer were 
 face to face. 
 
 But instead of a fury, a termagant, or at least a 
 slirew, he now saw the placablest, most exuberating, 
 most hilarious visage imaginable. Under her big 
 straw bonnet, the little woman's cheeks glowed 
 ruddier than ever, her eyes twinkled as he had never 
 seen them twinkle before, her countenance beamed, 
 shone, sparkled with joy and benignity. 
 
 " I can't stop a moment, Mr. Flindell," she said, 
 
268 THE LORD OJF THE HARVEST. 
 
 " only half a one to tell you that the keys are 
 left with Mrs. Cage, who will see to things till — " here 
 she leaned forward, and turning her back upon Smy, 
 added in a low significant voice, " till my uncle Josh 
 is dead — or well — the last not being at all likely. He's 
 taken bad and sent for me, and I'm much mistaken if 
 that doesn't mean a sight of money. The old gentle- 
 man is said to be worth ten thousand pound, if a 
 penny." 
 
 Mr. Joshua was a bachelor uncle of the numerous 
 Miss Studds, a jobber, as cattle-dealers were called in 
 those parts, and universally held rich. But another 
 reputation, that of being a so-called " gay man," had 
 hitherto damped the hopes of his nieces, and, to their 
 credit be it said, had kept them aloof from a disre- 
 putable relative. In the eleventh hour, the septua- 
 genarian seemed to remember that blood was stronger 
 than water, and that if a man was at liberty to do as 
 he liked with his own, it looked respectable and eased 
 the conscience to befriend his brother's children at 
 the last. - 
 
CUTTING OF THE GORDIAN KNOT. 269 
 
 Mr. Flindell stammered out something, it little 
 mattered what, Miss Studd had no ears. 
 
 " Drive on, Smy," she cried, nodding and smiling 
 adieux. 
 
 Then, as Smy put the pony to a brisk trot, she 
 turned round, shouting at the top of her voice : 
 
 " You'll hear from me come Sunday." 
 
 Gig and pony-cart were soon out of each 
 other's sight, the farmer rousing himself as from a 
 dream ; Christian freed from his burden did not 
 realise a more complete deliverance. 
 
 It was clear that Miss 'Ria's eye had not lighted 
 upon his letter. As clearly stood out the fact that 
 she herself had cut the Gordian knot. He was now a 
 free man, at liberty to send cheque and boxes after 
 her, to announce his engagement of a successor — or 
 his marriage ! 
 
270 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Autumn had come, the beauty and softness of 
 October compensating beforehand for dark bitter 
 days in store. Broad and splendid now the golden 
 shafts of afternoon sun, mellow the foliage of drift 
 and pightle. A soft brooding peace succeeded the 
 husbandman's jubilee ; in to-day's landscape there was 
 no exhilaration, no overflow of life, no superabundant 
 fruition, instead, the quietude of harvested labours, 
 the benison of repose. As a soft purple cloud myriads 
 of tiny blossoms coloured the fallow, wild thyme, 
 peppermint and minute heartsease ; these last so many 
 little cheering eyes invoking hope and dreams of 
 merry springtide. Wheat sowing had not yet begun, 
 nor turnip pulling, but the interregnum was well 
 
CONCLUSION. 271 
 
 filled. There was the clamping of potatoes for winter 
 use, the carting of manure from Ipswich stables, the 
 stacking of haulm, with minor tasks enow alike in 
 farmyard and field, stock feeding, turnip and chaff 
 cutting, and the like, whilst from morning till night 
 the flail echoed on the barn-floor. 
 
 Then there was the " acorning " of the pigs, and 
 weed-burning, both features of this season in the 
 good old farming times. When the beans had been 
 garnered, last crop of the year, came the Largess- 
 spending of the pigs. Wherever, either in meadow or 
 cleared fields, stood oak trees, pigs were turned out for 
 their " acorning," so the phrase went. 
 
 Were, indeed, an euthanasia devised for these 
 creatures, some painless and peaceful falling asleep 
 after playing their homely part in economic history, 
 how happy were they! The sight of acorning pigs 
 would then be one to afford unmitigated satisfaction, 
 grunter's lot would become a parable. How the harm- 
 less, comely things here snorted with delight! How 
 they jostled each other, as much from good fellowship 
 
272 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 as from gastronomic impatience ! How they scrunched 
 the sweet young acorns! 
 
 At this season, weed-burning also took place, and a 
 pictorial sight was that of ruddy flame rising above 
 the neutral-tinted landscape, copperish column against 
 the pale blue heavens. Weeds would thus be con- 
 sumed before breaking up the fallow ; brambles and 
 brushwood being pitchforked on to the heap in order 
 to expedite matters. On this especial afternoon 
 some of Mr. Flindell's men were so employed, himself, 
 in straw hat and shirt sleeves, aiding the business. 
 
 A joyous volley of young voices roused him from 
 his reverie. 
 
 " Mr. Flindell, Mr. Flindell, do let us come in and 
 pitchfork too ! " cried half-a-dozen little Pascoes at 
 once. 
 
 Glancing up he saw the two boys boarding the 
 nearest gate, behind it, with her elder pupils, Aimee 
 the Beloved. It was a half-holiday, and all had been 
 blackberrying by the hedge rows. Without waiting for 
 permission the noisy crew poured in, their governess 
 following slowly. 
 
CONCLUSION. 273 
 
 The farmer's eyes brightened ; for a moment he 
 forgot everything but the vision before him ; then the 
 radiant look changed to one of intense humiUty. 
 Aimee, ever mistress of herself, came forward and held 
 out her hand, the children meantime frisking and 
 shrieking round the bonfire like so many imps of 
 mischief. Zeky giving Jack a rake, Esther Ann a 
 pitchfork, Smy piling bramble upon bramble for their 
 delectation. With every fresh flame rose a joyous 
 shout from the children. 
 
 " I wanted to see you very much," Aimee now said, 
 
 in frank friendly tones. Younger by far in years, 
 
 much older by virtue of experience and intuition, this 
 
 girl read her simple-minded lover through and 
 
 through ; she realised how wide the difference between 
 
 an Aimee de Richemont and an Edward Flindell, the 
 
 one living in a world he knew not, the world of books, 
 
 pianofortes, and cosmopolitan intercourse, the other's 
 
 interests strictly confined to his farm and immediate 
 
 surroundings. His sterling qualities she recognized 
 
 now, above all the compensating all in all, wholly inde- 
 
 18 
 
274 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 pendent of circumstances that bind two human beings 
 together. 
 
 " I wished to say how sorry I am for having spoken 
 to you as I did," she said, calmly meeting his wistful 
 look ; " I own that I was somewhat hasty, but I felt 
 aggrieved with myself and with you as well." 
 
 " You were a bit hasty," he began in a tone of 
 fondest reproach ; " you are a good scholar and 
 genteelly brought up, and I am a plain man. I could 
 not say what I wanted to say, or make you under- 
 stand." 
 
 Aimee felt her tears rising. 
 
 " No one here ever showed me real kindness but 
 yourself," she said. 
 
 " You are too clever, too much above a plain farmer. 
 I mustn't look so high," he murmured. Then his voice 
 died away in a sob. 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried eagerly. " Never say that 
 again, it is you w-ho are too good for me, forgive, for- 
 give. I did not understand you, I did not under- 
 stand myself that day when we drove to market." 
 
 Then in a transport of pity, self-reproach and love. 
 
CONCLUSION. 275 
 
 she caught his rough hand in hers and raised it to her 
 hps. 
 
 That unexpected, bewildering kiss made things even 
 between them, reheved Aimee's conscience, and gave 
 her lover a voice. It told, as she could never have 
 told in words, what store she set by such devotion as 
 his, and made him realize that the only equivalent to 
 give in return was her own. The poor little gifts and 
 graces, the value of which he so much overrated, her 
 boarding-school accomplishments, her superior know- 
 ledge of men and manners, how poor were these by 
 comparison with a heart of gold? Mr. Flindell, for 
 his part, was metamorphosed by that magic kiss, and 
 from trembling, self-abasing suitor, changed to joyous 
 confident bridegroom. He now beamed upon her as 
 if already they belonged to each other, in full assurance 
 that no future misunderstandings were possible. The 
 children were frisking about the burning weeds, he 
 could safely say the little, yet all in all that he had to 
 say. 
 
 " Aimee — the Beloved," he said, his eyes fixed on her 
 upraised face, adorable, half French, half English, 
 
276 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 face ! " You will always be that, as I told you when 
 we drove to market in harvest time. But I should like 
 you to write home, my dear, afore I speak to the 
 Rector about banns. And be sure and tell your ma 
 and your stepfather, that though he is a Frenchman, 
 they'll be welcome to the Hall when you are missus 
 there." 
 
 Aimee could only thank him with twin smile and 
 tear. Then they rejoined the weed-burners, talking 
 freely. Already they seemed to have known each 
 other all their lives. 
 
 This field had been the scene of their romantic 
 holiday-making in mid-harvest. As the fiery columns 
 now shot upwards, with prickly thorn and noxious 
 weed, many a fair blossom being consumed, did they 
 herein read a parable ? Thus, in their own hearts, had 
 passion been consumed, mistrust, recrimination, bitter- 
 ness giving way to a reign of hope, springtide of love 
 and joy following angry conflict. And the sights and 
 sounds around, the gold and purple eyes of the tiny 
 heartsease on the fallow, the twitter of hedgerow 
 robin, the mellow glow of autumn, hardly to be called 
 
CONCLUSION. 277 
 
 sunshine, but even more beautiful — what were all these 
 but so many hints of quiet happiness, suggestions of 
 the peace, joy, and loveliness that still soften and 
 embellish the human lot? 
 
 The first person the farmer met on returning home 
 was Elisha. 
 
 " You've finished stacking the haulm, Master Sage ? " 
 he asked in a voice of suggestive pleasantness. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Flindell, and I s'pose I'll be sent a'carting 
 muck to-morrow." 
 
 " That's it," was the reply. " We shall have wheat- 
 sowing upon us in no time." 
 
 Then he added significantly : 
 
 " I've talked to your wife, as of course she told 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Flindell, and I thank you kindly." 
 
 There was no exhilaration about Elisha's look or 
 manner as he said this, nor any display of feeling on 
 the other's part. Even on solemn occasions, at 
 christening, marriage, or burial, farmer and plough- 
 man never shook hands or indulged in sympathetic 
 little outbursts. To-day, both men were drawn to- 
 
278 THE LORD OF THE HARVEST, 
 
 wards each other. Was not Elisha the agent of 
 deliverance, thought the master? Would not some 
 men have sent him to jail for a lesser offence ? mused 
 his servant. Yet the two behaved with the stolidity 
 and aloofness of every day. 
 
 " You'll have thirteen shillings a week at the Hall, 
 but you must set a good example to the rest," was all 
 Mr. Flindell added, and made for the house. 
 
 Elisha looked after him with filling eyes and 
 quivering lips. 
 
 Oh ! for the pathos of the unspoken word, the word 
 so easy to say, the saying of which would set all 
 things right, yet for ever remains unsaid. 
 
 Elisha knew it well enough. He had only to un- 
 burden himself to Mr. Flindell in a sentence, and the 
 old, contented, happy life were his again. 
 
 " Master, never mind about that extra shilling a 
 week, let me have Smiler back, and I'd lay down my 
 life for you." 
 
 But it is just the destiny lying in our own hands 
 that remains unfulfilled, and something more than 
 timidity, a sense of the fitness of things held Elisha 
 
CONCLUSION. 279 
 
 back. This blank in his existence, this cruel wrench, 
 wore the aspect of retribution, of a stern Scriptural 
 lesson. Had not the son of Sirach said, " Be ashamed 
 of theft in regard of the place where thou sojournest," 
 and after all, a theft was a theft, no matter the circum- 
 stances under which it might be committed. 
 
 And what also troubled his mind was the fact of 
 tarnished dignity. Not only as a steward of other 
 men's goods had he sinned, but in his capacity as 
 leader of men, as Lord of the Harvest ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 chance.' — Express, Buffalo. 
 
 ' It is safe to say that no one who reads the first dozen pages of " God's 
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 something more and better. It should do as much good as the best sermon ever written 
 or delivered extempore. The story is told with a grand simplicity, an unconscious poetry 
 of eloquence which stirs the very depths of the heart One of the main excelleucies of 
 this novel is the delicacy of touch with which the author shows her most delightful char- 
 acters to be after all human beings, and not angels before their time."'— Standard 
 
 WE TWO. 
 
 "There is artistic realism both in the conception and the delineation of the pe-sonages; 
 the action and mterest are unflaggingly sustained from first to last, and the book is per- 
 vaded by an atmosphere of elevated, earnest thought" — Scotsmark 
 
 IN THE GOLDEN DAYS. 
 
 "Miss Lyall has given us a vigorous study of such life and character as are really worth 
 readmg about The central figure of her story is Algernon Sydney; and this figure she 
 mvests with a singular dignity and power. He always appears with effect, but no liber- 
 ties are taken with the facta of his life. —Spectator. 
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
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 is a wide humanity in the book that cannot fail to accomplish its author's purpose."—* 
 Literary Warld. 
 
 WON BY WAITING. 
 
 "The Dean's daughters are perfectly real characters— the learned Cornelia especially; 
 — the little impulsive French heroine, who endures their cold hospitality and at last wins 
 their affection, is thoroughly charming; while throughout the book there runs a golden 
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 and marring of marriage is not, after all, the sum total of real lifa" — Academy. 
 
 A HARDY NORSEMAN. 
 
 " All the quiet humour we praised in ' Donovan ' is to be found in the new story. And 
 the humour, though never demonstrative, has a charm of its own. It is not Edna Lyall's 
 plan to give her readers much elaborate deseription, but when she does desci'ibe scenery 
 her picture is always alive with vividness and grace." — Athenasum. 
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " We are glad to welcome Miss Lyall back after her long abstraction from the fiel ig of 
 prosperous, popular authorship which she had tilled so successfully. She again affronts 
 her public with a very serious work of fiction indeed, and succeeds very well in that 
 thorny path of the historical novel in which so many have failed before her. That ' glory 
 of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song,' John Hampden, lives again, to a "certain extent 
 in that dim hall light of posthumous research and loving and enthusiastic imagination 
 which is all the noveist can do for these great figures of the past, resurrected to make the 
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BEATRICE WHITBY'S NOVELS 
 
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 THE AWAKENING OF MARY FENWICK 
 
 'We have no hesitation in declaring that "The Awakening of Mary Fen wick" is the 
 best novel of its kind that we have seen for some years. The story is extremely simple. 
 Mary Manser marries her husband for external, and perhaps rather inadequate, reasons, 
 and then discovers that he married her because she was an heiress. She feels the indignity 
 acuteJy, and does not scruple to tell him her opinion — her very candid opinion ^-of his 
 behavionr. 'M.-a.ry Fenwick and her husband live and move and make us believe in them 
 in a way which few but the great m isters of fiction have been able to compass.' — Athenaeum. 
 
 ONE REASON WHY 
 
 ' The governess makes a re-entry into fiction under the auspices of Beatrice "Whitby in 
 '■One Reason Why." Readers generally, however, will take a great deal more interest, 
 for once, in the children than in their instructress. '• Bay " and " EUie " are charmingly 
 natural additions to the children of novel-land; so much so, that there is a period when 
 one dreads a death-bed scene for one of them— a fear which is happily unfulfilled.' — 
 Qraphic. 
 
 PART OF THE PROPERTY 
 
 'The book is a thorou?tily good one. The theme is fairly familiar — the rebellion of a 
 spirited girl against a mitch which has been arrauged for her without her knowledge or 
 consent; her resentment of being treated, not as a womaa with a heart and will, but as 
 '•pai-t of the property ;" and her final discovery, which is led up to with real dramatic 
 skill, that the thing against which her whole nature had risen in revolt has become the 
 one desire of her \iQQ.vi"— Spectator. 
 
 IN THE SUNTIME OF HER YOUTH 
 
 The careless optimism of the head of the family would be incredible, if we did not know 
 how men exist full of responsibilities yet free from solisitudes, and who tread with a 
 jaunty step the very verge of ruin; his iaconsolable widow would be equally improbable, 
 
 if we did not meet every day with womeu who devote themselves to such idols of clay. 
 There is interest in it; from first to last, and its pathos is relieved by touches of true 
 
 lumour.' — Illustrated London News. 
 
 MARY FENWICK'S DAUGHTER 
 
 This is one of the most delightful novels we have read for a long time. " Bab " Fen- 
 wick is an '• out of door" kind of girl, full of spirit, wit, go, and sin, both origmal and 
 acquired. Her lover. Jack, is all that a hero should be, and great and magnanimous as he 
 is, finds some difficulty in forgiving the insouciante mistress all her little sins of omission 
 and commission. The whole is admirable ' — Black and While. 
 
 A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 'The title story, showing how a stately girl is captured after a good deal of trouble. 
 by a short and commouplace young man. is very amuf ing ; and there are other sketches 
 in which it is interesting to follow the wiles of Mother Eve ere she has come to years of 
 discretion.' — Academy. 
 
 SUNSET 
 
 ' We welcome such a story as " Sunset." It is slightly sentimental as one would guess 
 from its title, but never mawkish, and it is illumined by flashes of humour, as well as by 
 some occasional reflections that exhibit a close acqaamance with iiuman nature. —2Vi« 
 Times. 
 
 LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED. 
 
EDITIONS OF 
 
 'JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN' 
 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
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MRS. CRAIK'S NOVELS 
 
 Each in One Volume, Crown Octavo, 3s. ^d. 
 JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. 
 
 •■ The new and cheaper edition of this interesting work will doubtless meet with great 
 sticceBs. John Halifax, the hero of this most beautiful story is no ordinary hero, and this 
 his history is no ordinary book. It is a full-length portrait of a true gentleman, one of 
 nature's own nobility. It is also the history of a home, and a thoroughly English one. 
 The work abounds in incident, and is full of graphic power and true pathos. It is a book 
 that few will read without becoming wiser and better." — Scotsman. 
 
 A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 ''We are always glad to welcome this author. She writes from her own convictions, 
 and she has the power not only to conceive clearly what it is that she wishes to say but 
 to express it in language effective and vigorous. In ' .\ Life for a Life ' she is fortunate 
 in a good subject, and she has produced a work of strong effect. The reader, having read 
 the book through for the story, will be apt (if he be of our per3ua'»ion) to return and read 
 again many pages and passages with greater pleasure than on a first perusal The whole 
 book is replete with a graceful, tender delicacy ; and in addition to its other merits, it is 
 written in good careful English." — Athtnseum. 
 
 CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. 
 
 "A more charming story, to our taste, has rarely been written. Within the compass 
 of a single volume the svriter has hit off a circle of varied characters, all true to nature- 
 some true to the highest nature — and she has entangled them in a story which keeps us 
 in suspense till the knot is happily and gracefully resolved; while, at the same time, a 
 pathetic interest is sustained by an art of which it would be difQcult to analyse the secret 
 It is a choice gift to be able thus to render human nature so truly, to penetrate its depths 
 with such a searching sagacity, and to illuminate them with a radiance so eminently the 
 writer's own." — The Times. 
 
 A NOBLE LIFE. 
 
 "This is one of those pleasant tales in whi;h the author of 'John Halifax' speaks out 
 of a generous heart the purest truths of life."' — Examiner. 
 
 "Few men, and no women, wiil read 'A Nooie Life' without finding themselves the 
 better." — Spectator. 
 
 " A story of powerful and pathetic interest " — Dailu News, 
 
 THE WOMAN'S KINGDOM. 
 
 "'The Woman's Kingdom' sustains the author's reputation as a writer of the purest 
 and noblest kind of domestic stories The novelists lesson is given with admirable force 
 and sweetness " — Athenaeum. 
 
 "'The Woman's Kingdom' is remarkable for its romantic interest The characters 
 are masterpieces. Edna is worthy of the hand that drew John Halifax," — Post. 
 
 A BRAVE LADY. 
 
 "A very good novel, showing a tender sympathy with human nature, and permeated 
 by a pure and noble spirit" — Examiner. 
 
 "A most charming story" — Standard. 
 
 " We earnestly recommend this novel It is a special and worthy specimen of the 
 author's remarkable powers. The reader's attention never for a moment flags." — Post. 
 
 MISTRESS AND MAID. 
 
 "A good, wholesome book, as pleasant to read as it is instructive." — Athtncewn. 
 "This book is writtei with the same true-hearted earnestness as 'John Halifax.' The 
 spirit of the whole work is excellent " — Examiner. 
 "A charming tale charminsjly told." — Stanaard. 
 
 LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED. 
 
MRS. CRAIK'S NOVELS 
 
 Each in One Volume Crown Octavo, 85. 6^. 
 YOUNG MRS. JARDINE. 
 
 '"Young Mrs. Jardine ' is a pretty story, written iu pure English."' — The Times. 
 
 'There is much good feeling in this book. It is pleasant and wholesome." AtTienwm. 
 
 "A book that all shoud read. Whilst it is quite the equal of any of its predecessors 
 In elevation of thought and style, it is perhaps their superior in interest of plot and 
 dramatic intensity. The characters are admirably delineated, and the dialogue is natural 
 and clear." — Morning Post. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 " A powerful novel of social and domestic life. One of the most successful efforts of a 
 successful novelist" — Daily News. 
 
 "A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistically told The hook is sure of a wide 
 circle of readers. The character of Hannah is one of rare beauty." — Standard. 
 
 NOTHING NEW. 
 
 " ' Nothing New' displays all those superior merits which have made ' John Halifax' 
 one of the most popular works of the day." — Post. 
 
 " The reader will find these narratives calculated to remind him of that truth and 
 energy of human portraiture, that spell over human affections and emotions, which have 
 stamped this author as one of the first novelists of our day."— 7o/m Bull. 
 
 THE UNKIND WORD. 
 
 "The author of 'John Halifax ' has written many fascinating stories, but we can call to 
 mind nothing from her pen that has a more enduring charm than th-^* graceful eketclies in 
 this work. 8uch a character as Jessie stands out from a crowd of heroines as the type of 
 all that is truly noble, pure, and womanly." — United Service Magazine. 
 
 STUDIES FROM LIFE. 
 
 "These studies are truthful and vivid pictures of life, often earnest, always full of right 
 feeling and occasionally hghtened by touches of quiet genial humour. The volume is re- 
 markable for thought, sound sense, shrewd observation, and kind and sympathetic feeling 
 for all things good and beautiful" — Post. 
 
 A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. 
 
 "A book of sound counsel It is one of the most sensible works of its kind, well written 
 true-hearted, and altogether practical Whoever wishes to give advice to a young lady 
 may than . the author for means of doing po." — Examiner. 
 
 ' These thoughts are worthy of the earnest and enlightened mind, the all-embracing 
 charity, and the well-earned reputation of the author of ' John Halifax.' " Standard 
 
 "This excellent book is characterised by good sense, good taste, and feeling, and is 
 written in an earnest, philanthropic, as well as practical spirit." Pott. 
 
 HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 
 
 " 'His Little Mother' is the story of a sister's self-sacriflce from her childhood until her 
 early death, worn out in her brother's and his children's service. It is a pathetic story 
 as the author tells it The beauty of the girl's devotion is described with many tender 
 touches, and the question of short-sighted though loving foolishness is kept in the back- 
 ground. The volume is written in a pleasant informal manner, and contains many tender 
 generous thoughts, and not a few practical ones. It is a book that will be read with in- 
 terest and that cannot be lightly forgotten." — St. James's Gizelte 
 
 LONDON • HUKST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED. 
 
WORKS BY 
 
 GEORGE MAC DOXALD, LL.D. 
 
 Each in One Volume, Frontispiece, and Uniformly Bound, Price 6s» 
 
 ALEC FORBES OF HOWGLEN. 
 
 "No account of this story would give any idea of the profouud interest that pervades 
 the work from the first page to the last." — Athenieum. 
 
 "A novel of uncommon merit. Sir Walter Scott said he would advise no man to try 
 to read ' Clarissa Harlowe ' out loud in company if he wished to keep his character for 
 manly superiority to tears. We fancy a good many hardened old novel-re;' ders will feel 
 a, rising in the throat as they follow the fortunes of Alec and Annie." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " The whole story is one of surpassing excellence and beauty.'" — Daily Neus. 
 
 "This book is full of good thought and good writing. Dr. Mac Donald looks in his stories 
 more to the souls of men and women than to their social outside. He reads life and 
 Wature like a true ■goBV—Examiiw. 
 
 EOBERT FALCONER. 
 
 "• Robert Falconer' is a work brimful of life and humour and of the deepest human 
 Interest. It is a work to be returned to again and again for the deep and searching 
 knowledge it evinces of human thoughts and feelings." — Athenxum. 
 
 "This story abounds in exquisite specimens of the word-painting in which Dr. Mac 
 Donald excels, charming transcripts of Nature, full of light, air, and colour." — Saturday 
 Revuw. 
 
 "This noble story displays to the best advantage all the powers of Dr. Mac Dorild's 
 genius." — Uluitraied London N'ews. 
 
 " ' Kobert Falconer ' is the noblest work of fiction that Dr. Mac Donald has yet pro- 
 duceii." — British Quarterly Review 
 
 "The dialogues in 'flobert Falconer' are so finely blended with humour and pathos as 
 to m^ike them in themselves an intellectual trej.t to which the reader returns again and 
 again." — Spectator. 
 
 DAVID ELGINBROD. 
 
 " A. novel which is the work of a man of genius. It will attract the highest class of 
 readers." — Times. 
 
 "There are many beautiful passages and descriptions in this book. The characters are 
 extremely well drawn." — Athenmum. 
 
 "A clever novel. The incidents are exciting and the interest is maintained to the 
 close It may be doubted if Sir Walter Scott himself ever painted a Scotch fireside with 
 more truth than Dr. Mac Donald." — Morning Post. 
 
 " David Elginbrod is the finest character we have met in fiction for many a day. The 
 descriptions of natural scenery are vivid, truthful, and artistic ; the general reflections are 
 those of a refined, thoughtful, and poetical philosopher, and the whole moral atmosphere 
 of the book is lofty, pure, and invigorating." — Globe. 
 
 SIR GIBBIE. 
 
 '"Sir Gihbie ' is a book of genius." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ••This book has power, pathos, and humour. There is not a character which is not 
 lifelike. There are many powerful scenes, and the portraits will stay long in our 
 memory." — Athenxum. 
 
 " ' Sir Gibbie ' is unquestionably a book of genius. It abounds in humour, pathos, 
 insight into character, and happy touches of description." — Graphic. 
 
 "'Sir Gibbie' contains some of the most charming writing the author has yet pro 
 duced " — Scotsman. 
 
 "' Sir Gibbie ' is one of the most touching and bpantiful stories that has been written 
 for many years. It is not a novel to be idly read and laid aside ; it is a grand work, to be 
 kept near at hand, and studied and thought over." — Morning Post. 
 
 LONDON : HURST AND BLAOKETT, LIMITED, 
 
w^