The Quarry Farm: a country tale

Front matter

_T_c cMorh. bu she earns JUtthor. Mr. Spivey's Clerk : A Novel. Crown 8vo. 6s. " It has the merit, rare in English novels, of being in thoroughly good proportion, with no superfluous characters and no redundant scenes. The hero is a delightful person. The villain of the story is well done also, and his introduction upon the scene is extremely clever and original." — Guardian. A Short Life of Cardinal Newman. Crown 8vo, "As a comprehensive and straightforward narrative of Dr. Newman's career the palm must be given to Mr. Fletcher's ' Short Life.' It is well written and arranged, and the salient features of the subject are discerningly selected . . . admirably full and lucid." — Literary World. LONDON : WARD AND DOWNEY. %, © ountrg STale BY J. S. FLETCHER j< AUTHOR OF "MR. SPiVEY'S CLERK," " ANDREWLINA," " THE WINDING WAY," "WHEN CHARLES THE FIRST WAS KING," ETC. Jonbon WARD AND DOWNEY 12 YORK STREET COVENT GARDEN W.C. 1393 \_All rights reserved] CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. CONTENTS

Chapter I. Miranda And Juliet

The land lying between the villages of Wo mersley and Knottingley, in the Wapentake of Osgoldcross, is extensively honeycombed with lime-pits, the smoke from which comes with a pleasant odour to the nostrils of who soever chances to pass along the lanes thereby. It is a somewhat flat country on all sides. On the west it extends to Pontefract, undulating gently round the villages of*" Darrington and Carleton ; on the east it stretches towards Selby and Snaith, and is as flat as the Lincoln shire landscapes. It is also flat on the south I! side, on the way towards Doncaster ; but on the north, having passed the river Aire, it rises somewhat and climbs to a higher level beyond the old coaching village of Ferrybridge, where there were once upon a time enough inns and hotels to accommodate a couple of regiments.

Flat as the land is it is not without a certain charm. The woods are extensive, and, in some parts, of ancient growth. There are many charming bits of rustic scenery. The lime-pits, too, are interesting, and where they have been worked to their full power of pro duction they are suffered to become grown over by grass and bramble, and are thus trans formed into artistic caverns in the earth. In this lime-burning district there are few habitations besides the tiny hamlet of Cridling Stubbs, which fles about half-way between Womersley and Knottingley, on the left-hand side of the railway line which connects the latter place with Doncaster. On the right- AssRANDA AND JULIET. 3 hand side of this line the land rises somewhat to Darrington Leys, a wide expanse of lovely country, where a house is dotted here and there in complete solitude.

A winding lane leads from Cridling Stubbs to Darrington Leys, and at the highest point to which it climbs there stands an ancient building, now converted into cottages, which was once a farmhouse of con siderable size. If you ever seek it out you will perceive that it is of an ancient style of architecture, probably seventeenth century, and that its high and sloping roof has alteredits shape considerably since it was first pointed. Around it lies a garden with fruit-trees stand ing therein, and a long-disused lime-pit falls away from the garden hedge. Two or three hundred -yards away, standing amidst more gardens and disused lime-pits or stone-quarries, are a few picturesque cottages, the inhabitants of which for all they ever see of the world might as well live in Africa. B FARAI. 4 This tiny corner of the world, in fine, is a solitude.

There is a road which passes through it, but hardly any one travels that way. It leads to nowhere, so no one seeks it unless it be some person who, having nothing better to do, must needs go poking around to look for something artistic or investing the old fashioned places with dreamy fancies of bygone days. A hundred years ago this place was called the Quarry Farm, probably because the people who lived in it were not only farmers but also quarry-owners. Theirs was the lime-pit verging on the garden-hedge, theirs the old stone-quarries further along the lane. Lime pit and stone-quarry in those days were not grass-grown and bramble-covered, but in full work. Men burnt the lime all day in the former ; men toiled in the latter from daybreak to sundown. Yet the place was solitary, for most of the toilers walked to their work from MIRANDA AND JULIET. 5 Womersley village or from Knottingley.

Only two or three of the agricultural labourers lived in the cottages. The name of the people who then lived in the farmhouse was Bennett. They and their forefathers had lived in that house and made money out of the land and the quarries for over a hundred years. The land, of which they had about two hundred acres, was of good quality ; the lime-pits and stone-quarries were richly fruitful. There were no inducements to spend money in so solitary a spot. Therefore the Bennetts for three generations saved the money they made. When Thomas Bennett the elder died he left all to his only son Thomas the younger. This Thomas increased the store, and left all to his son William. Curiously enough the two Thomases had only one son each. William, however, had no son at all. But he had two daughters — Miranda and Juliet.

While he was wondering how FAR As. 6 these two young and inexperienced maidens would husband the fortune which he and his father and grandfather had made, he suddenly died, and the two girls found themselves heiresses to what was really a large sum of money. People who knew of the circumstances of the case, advised them to sell their interest in farm and quarry and retire to York, which, being the county town, seemed a suitable residence for rich young women. Juliet was pleased with this advice ; she liked pleasure. But Miranda, being twenty-two years of age and a clever business woman, decided to carry on both farm and quarry, and make the fortune still larger. Then people prophesied failure, and this made Miranda more resolute of success. When two years had gone by Miranda viewed her balance-sheet with calm satisfac tion, for she had done well.

People saw then that Miss Bennett was a capable young woman, and said no more. So another year went, and AsIRANDA AND JULIET. 7 things went well again, and there was no further change save that Juliet became en gaged to Stephen Blunt, a young farmer who lived two miles away. As for Miranda she. was too busy to think about marriage. On a certain spring afternoon, in the year 1795, Miranda and Juliet were sitting in the front kitchen of the Quarry Farm. Do not imagine that the front kitchen of an ancient farmhouse is not a pleasant place. It is, perhaps, the most enchanting place for rest and conversation that heart could desire. The front kitchen of the Quarry Farm was a large, square apartment with two small windows looking south, and one, similar in size, looking west and into the quarry.

It was flagged with immense slabs of stone, worn smooth by count less steps. A stone floor is, perhaps, cold to walk upon, but then it is so clean and cool in summer, and you can place a great hearthrug before the fire like that in the Bennetts' kitchen, fashioned out of bits of cloth, odds and ends got together and sewed upon a huge sack. Juliet and Miranda sat with their feet upon this hearthrug. They sat in quaint, old fashioned chairs of oak, the columns of which were carved and twisted in delightful fashion. Between them stood a round table of deal, the top scrubbed and polished to snowy whiteness. Miranda leaned over the table studying certain figures in an account book. More books and papers lay at her elbow. Juliet lay back in her chair reading a book. Her tiny feet, en cased in slippers of scarlet leather, tapped the head of a great sheep-dog who lay full length on the rug and dreamt of refractory flocks.

His feet, sometimes twitching as the dreams prompted him, touched a bright steel fender which enclosed a broad hearthstone, orna mented with elaborate decorations in hewn sandstone, the work and pride of Rebecca Boone, servant girl. The carefully tended fire-grate, oven, and hob were also Rebecca's pride. So bright were they that they reflected Juliet's pretty face, outlined by the high back of her chair. There was a cheery wood fire in the grate. It blazed gently with a subdued murmur that found a suitable accompaniment in the "tic-tac, tic-tac " of the old clock standing against the opposite wall. A great brass warming-pan hung against the clock, brass candlesticks and pewter plates stood over the mantelshelf, and a brass meat-jack hung above the latter from a projecting bar of iron. All these things were so highly polished as to answer the purpose of a dozen mirrors.

But there were other matters in the front kitchen worthy of notice. The deep window-seat was filled with plants in pots, geraniums red and white, fuchsias, and the like. An old china jug, standing on a little side-table, was filled with a great golden bunch of daffodils ; another on the table at which the sisters sat was filled with violets, the delicious scent of which per meated the whole place. Through the window could be. seen the long, level stretch of land 'twixt Womersley and Selby — a view of cool gray and green tints, very restful to the eyes. And, if you think of other than mere æsthetic effects, there hung in the coolest part of the kitchen a number of hams and flitches of bacon, secured to the raftered roof by hooks and chains, and amongst them, in paper bags, many collections of sweet-smelling herbs.

Beyond the steady ticking of the clock, and the occasional sleepy growl of Laddie, the sheep-dog, there was no sound in the great kitchen, save when Miranda's pen went scratching across a page of her account book. Juliet suddenly became aware that her story was not particularly interesting. She raised her eyes and glanced at Miranda, who was steadily comparing notes and figures. Juliet wondered how her sister could endure such dry work, or, indeed, any work at all, for she herself disliked work of any description. Perhaps this was only natural. Juliet was but eighteen, and had been Miranda's pet all her life. Miranda had thought for her, worked for her, striven for her in every way. So far, Juliet had sailed smoothly down life's stream. Round about the land people called Juliet the Pretty Miss Bennett.

Pretty, indeed, she was. Her piquant face was a true oval, her eyes were arch and smiling, there was the most bewitching dimple in her cheek, her round chin seemed to ask for kisses ; but when any one looked at the delicate mouth, they forgot the pretty chin. In short, you could not help feeling that Juliet's face deserved kissing all over, eyes, cheeks, mouth, chin, forehead, and dainty ears. As for her figure, it was tall and lissome. When she danced— and she was very fond of dancing — she whirled about like a nymph, until the very atmosphere seemed FAR As. 12 thrilling with the intoxication of graceful move ment. Much running about in the open air had given Juliet a grace of motion and pliability of fissure which no modern course of calisthenics can communicate. Juliet's great passion was to dress herself tastefully, and in somewhat bizarre fashion.

She would spend hours before her glass arranging her hair in a new mode. This, however, was not done in a vain spirit. She never thought about attracting admiration. All that she did was to please hersell. She liked to see herself prettily gowned. She was fond of posing as the central figure in a clever arrange ment. She was never untidy, and you would have found her as bright as a new pin first thing in the morning. She never dressed at people ; that she took such pains was due to a wish to satisfy herself. Now, this was an admirable trait in Juliet's character, because there are women who are very sine birds, indeed, out of doors, but terrible slatterns in the privacy of their own homes. Miranda being nearly seven years older than Juliet, typified a more advanced stage of womanhood. She was not pretty ; but she might easily have been called handsome.

She was not quite so tall as Juliet, but her figure was more substantial. Miranda was Juno to Juliet's Hebe. There were signs in her face of those qualities which make good English wives and mothers — firm will, capable manage ment, prudence, calm purpose, and affection. Miranda, however, had no lover as yet. She might have had if she had shown any pro clivities in that direction. But no young man in the district ever got on with her save Stephen Blunt, and he was plighted to Juliet. It was certain that Miranda would not easily be fascinated. It was equally certain that if she ever gave heart and hand it would be for ever. So far, she had lavished all her affec- FARAI 14 tions upon Juliet, and upon the poor people of the neighbourhood. She was called the Good Miss Bennett. Juliet, also, was kind hearted ; but in a different way.

If Juliet met a poor man or woman she would impulsively put her hand in her pocket and give the un fortunate one all her money. Then she would go on her way and presently sing as if there were no pain or sorrow in the world. Miranda, on the contrary, would give ; but she would also pause, and condole, and advise, and add one of those precious words of kindly cheer which are worth more than gold. The ticking of the clock, the scratching of Miranda's quill, and the growling of Laddie presently drove Juliet to the final verge of monotony. Rather than drop into the abyss of ennui beyond, she jumped up from her chair, gave the sheep-dog a sudden kick, which recalled him to prosaic reality, and began to dance slowly round the kitchen, humming a tune to herself. Miranda went on writing. Then a new idea came into Juliet's pretty, volatile head.

She opened the door of the staircase and ran singing up the stairs, while Laddie, rightly guessing the reason of her disappearance, stretched himself out at all points and shook himself into sanity. Juliet, in short, was going forth a-walking, and the sheep-dog felt himself bound to escort her.

Chapter II. Miranda Sells The Roan Cow

When Juliet came down she had exchanged the scarlet slippers for a pair of dainty shoes, upon the insteps of which shone a couple of bright steel buckles. A coquettish-looking hood enclosed her pretty face. The spring winds were sometimes cold, and she had a mind to protect her ears. Her lithe person was wrapped in a Mother Hubbard cloak, the folds of which fell about it in graceful curves. To complete her preparations she took down a walking-cane very elaborately headed with silver. Then she was all ready. Laddie ran to the door and barked. Miranda looked up. MIRANDA SELLS THE ROAN COW. 17 "And three makes six, and five and six are eleven, and thirteen and eleven are — thirteen and eleven are — twenty-four : one pound four shillings. Are you going far, Juliet, dear ? " asked Miranda. "No, Miranda," answered Juliet.

"At least I think not ; perhaps across the fields and home again. You won't go, I suppose ? " " I can't, dearest, if I would. Mr. Hiles is coming this afternoon to buy the roan cow. I expect him every minute." She rose from the table and put her books and papers in a drawer, carefully turning the key upon them. Then she came to her sister's side. Juliet had opened the door, and now stood in the porch gazing across the fields. " What a strange girl you are, Miranda," said Juliet. "You have been at those horrid accounts for over an hour, and now you will have to go with that nasty old man to the cow-house, and he will drive a hard bargain c FARAI. with you, and then he will expect a pipe of tobacco and a mug of ale by the fire. Oh, Miranda, I couldn't really do all that ! " Miranda laughed pleasantly, and pushed back a stray sunbeam of hair that had escaped from Juliet's hood.

"No," said Miranda, "I don't think you could, my dear. Indeed, I don't want you to do it. I am content to be useful while you are ornamental. That is what we were meant for." " Is it ?" said Juliet. " But, then, how can I be ornamental ? There is no one here to admire the ornament." " There is Stephen." " Oh," said Juliet. "Yes, there is Stephen, of course. I had forgotten him. But — why, Miranda, do you think Stephen knows what beauty is when he sees it ? " "Juliet! Why, don't you think he admires you — his sweetheart ? " AssRANDA SELLS THE ROAN COW. 19 k " I— don't— know." Juliet uttered these three words very slowly. " I think," she continued, " that if he does he ought to tell me so. Now, on the contrary, Stephen never talks of anything but his sheep, or his horses, or perhaps the turnips.

And, oh, Miranda, what enormous hands Stephen has!" "My dearest," said Miranda, " that . is a strange way to talk about your future hus band." " But they are enormous hands," persisted Juliet. "And they are so red." She was putting on her gloves as she talked, and Miranda looked at the little hands with a feeling of amusement. " Oh, Juliet," she said, " when will you give over being a child ? For a child you are yet. You wouldn't like Stephen to have little white hands like yours, would you ? — a man who is out in all weathers ! " c FAR As. 20 "Well," said Juliet, "I don't care; but I wish they were not so big or red, and that he wouldn't sit twiddling his thumbs. It makes me fidgety." Miranda laughed again, and, stepping out of the porch, went along the garden-path and looked over the low hedge into the lime-pit.

Juliet, struggling with the last button, followed her. Miranda, leaning her arms on a con venient rail, put in to strengthen the holly hedge, bent over the close-cropped head of the latter and gazed into the precipice that fell sheer away from their feet. " There is poor little Johnny Scholes," said Miranda. " He has come to sit in the smoke again. Juliet, with a final effort, squeezed the refractory button into its place. She leaned against Miranda and peered over into the quarry. Right opposite the sisters, but a hundred and fifty feet beneath them, a great All RAND A SELLS THE ROAN CO W. 21 limekiln was burning steadily before the gentle wind. In the line of the latter, perched high up on the ruins of a burnt-out kiln, sat a childish figure, which appeared and disappeared as the thick white smoke circled and floated round it.

"What is the matter with him?" asked Juliet. Then before Miranda could answer she said : " He looks like a goblin perched there." " It is asthma," said Miranda. " He has come now for three days to sit in the smoke. And all the way from Darrington, too." She leaned further over the hedge and lifted her voice. "Johnny! Johnny Scholes ! " cried Mi randa. " Come up here and I will give you something to eat." The figure in the smoke, catching the words, looked up and instantly comprehended. "Yes, marm," piped forth Johnny Scholes. " I'll come, marm, directly at once," FARAs. 22 He climbed down the ruinous kiln, dodged under the thicker volume of smoke at the foot of the quarry, and began to climb to the garden by a perilous path. Presently he came panting and wheezing to Miranda's presence. " Well, Johnny," said Miranda, " are you any better ?

" " Please, 'm, I dunno, 'm, yet. Mother, she says I do wheeze very bad. And the smoke, it gets into my eyes very smartful-like," said Johnny, blinking from under a thatch of red hair. " It will do you good if you persevere," said Miranda. " And now run round to the kitchen and tell Rebecca to give you some new milk and a cheese-cake. A big cheese-cake and as much milk as you can drink — new, tell Rebecca." At that moment Rebecca appeared in person, leading Mr. Hiles, the butcher, through AssRANDA SELLS THE ROAN COW. 23 the porch. Mr. Hiles was big, and burly, and red-faced ; his eyes had contracted a habit of looking at everything narrowly. This habit had arisen from the butcher's daily practice in measuring beasts at sight. This is a remark able accomplishment, and one that must be understood to be appreciated.

Your skilled hand will single out a fat ox and tell you what he weighs with one glance of the eye. "Servant, ladies," said Mr. Hiles, "servant. " Good afternoon, Mr. Hiles," said Miranda. "You have had a nice day for your drive." " 'Tis a mortal growing day," said Mr. Hiles, removing a fur cap from his red fore head, and mopping the latter with a redder handkerchief. " And warmish, too. I fair sweat i' the sun." "Good-bye, Miranda," said Juliet, gliding quickly away down the garden-path and out of earshot. " Good-bye, dear," said Miranda. " Don't go too far. Go along, Laddie ! " The sheep-dog, having smelt around Mr. Hiles's heels, was manifesting a desire to linger in his company. At Miranda's command he slunk away, and presently darted after Juliet's retreating figure. "Ay," said the butcher, "he smells the blood.

They all smell blood on a butcher." " Shall we look at the roan cow, Mr. Hiles?" " As you please, Miss Mirandy. I ha' bought five already to-day, and one more makes no difference to me." Miranda led the way to the fold. Passing the kitchen window she peeped in. Johnny Scholes sat at the table with a mug of milk at his elbow and a great golden cheesecake in his hand. He had already taken a semi-circular bite out of this, and was meditating another. Miranda nodded at him and passed on. MIRANDA SELLS THE ROAN COW. 25 In the fold there were several beasts standing knee-deep in straw. A man, in whose hair and beard much hay and straw was interwoven, was piling up here and there great lumps of straw, at which the cattle picked leisurely. He paused in his labours when Miranda and the butcher appeared.

" James," said Miranda, standing on the cobble pavement against the stables, " drive the roan cow this way. Mr. Hiles is going to buy her." " An' time enow," growled James, as be seemed an old and trusted servant. " Shoo hesn't given a drop o' milk this three week." The roan cow, unconscious of her fate, approached vendor and purchaser with rumi nating slowness. A long wisp of straw hung from her mouth. She looked meditatively at the butcher and Miranda. "Ay, ay, ay," said Mr. Hiles, drawing near and administering certain knowing prods and thumps on the animal. " Ay. She'll be toughish eating, will this. For a slow boil, now, she might do, but no good to roast. Boiled, with a matter o' taters and turnips and carrots. 'Tis all you can do with old meat. Well, say five pounds, Miss Mirandy." "Oh, Mr. Hiles!

Five pounds! Why, the cow you bought a month ago was just as old and tough, and you gave eleven." "Ah," said Mr. Hiles pathetically, "and a mortal bad bargain it was, Miss Mirandy." " This here," said James, the cow-herd, " is wuth as much as yon. Shoo's nobbut nine year owd. Shoo wor cawved t'year t'maister hed t'cow-house new roofed." " I care nought about when she wor calved," said Mr. Hiles. " Five pounds, Miss Mirandy." " Eleven, Mr. Hiles." The butcher began examining the un conscious chattel again. The cow-herd lean- MLRANDA SELLS THE ROAN COW. 27 ing on his fork watched him with critical eyes. "Well," said Mr. Hiles, "say six pound ten, Miss Mirandy. 'Od's sake, miss, beef's gone down a penny this week." " Has it really ? Then I'll say ten guineas, Mr. Hiles, on account of that. But nothing less."

" Ah ! " groaned the butcher. " What a hard bargainer you are, Miss Mirandy. I don't know how 'tis, but a woman is mortal harder to deal wi' than a man. Seven pound ? " Miranda shook her head. " Guineas ?" Mr. Hiles assumed a confiding expression as he uttered the word " guineas." " Not a penny less than ten guineas, Mr. Hiles. Come, will you take her or not ?" Mr. Hiles looked at her and recognised the futility of further bartering. " Oh, why, if that's the lowest, Miss FARM. 28 Mirandy, I suppose we must say yes. Dear, dear, 'tis a big price." He pulled a leather bag from his breeches pocket as he spoke, and counted forth ten sovereigns and ten shillings into Miranda's palm. "Rebate, Miss Mirandy," said Mr. Hiles. Miranda laughed, and handed him five shillings back as rebate. The other five shillings she gave to James, whose eyes had transferred themselves from the cow to Mr. Hiles's bag.

Then she put the sovereigns in her purse and turned towards the house. "Will you take a glass of ale, Mr. Hiles ?" asked Miranda, as they went out of the fold. " I don't mind if I do, Miss Mirandy," answered the butcher. He followed Miranda through the garden into the front kitchen, where he installed his burly figure in the chair recently occupied by Juliet. Miranda took down a handful of clay MIRANDA SELLS THE ROAN COW. 29 pipes from the mantelpiece, and brought out a tobacco-jar from the cupboard. Mr. Hiles, feeling at peace with all the world, filled his pipe leisurely. Miranda disappeared, but came back immediately with a jug. of foaming ale. This, with a glass, she set at the butcher's side. No one ever came to buy stock at the Quarry Farm without enjoying the Misses Bennett's hospitality.

Miranda in that respect was wise in her generation. She was a sufficiently keen student of human nature to know that even a butcher's soul is flattered by delicate attentions. "Ah!" said Mr. Hiles, pouring out the amber ale and eyeing it with approving glances. " Ah, this be very comforting like. Miss Mirandy, good health, marm ! "

Chapter III. Juliet Visits The Wise Man

While the fate of the roan cow hung in the balance, Juliet was walking across the fields. It was a pleasure to see Juliet walk. Her motion was one of gentle undulations ; every footfall fell to the ground as lightly as a feather; her carriage and action were alike delightful to see. While Juliet walked, Laddie ran in circles. He had forgotten the carnal scent of the butcher's boots. Now he dashed through a hedge and careered violently round the next field, coming back to Juliet through a gap further on ; now he ran round and round her, always keeping by a scientific cleverness out of JULIET VISITS THE WISE MAN. 31 reach of her silver-topped stick. His conduct for a respectable sheep-dog was somewhat frivolous. According to James, the cow-herd, he was of no use in pastoral work ; Juliet, how ever, was of a contrary opinion.

Juliet followed the run of the fields towards Stapleton Park, which lies between the villages of Womersley and Darrington. Presently she plunged into the woods. The woods in that neighbourhood are refreshingly old, thick, and mysterious. I believe that at one time they formed part of the famous Forest of Sherwood. I used to delight in thinking so, at any rate. If the surmise be true, then their glades and shades must have sometimes re-echoed the voices of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. And, indeed, but some five or six miles away from the Quarry Farm stands Robin Hood's Well, close by the Great North Road, which leads from London to York. Juliet's hands ere long were full of flowers. FARM. 32 The woods were carpeted with flowers. Juliet loved flowers passionately. She threw aside the silver-topped stick ; she began to gather the flowers with both hands.

Daffodils, primroses, cowslips, wood anemones, violets, and hyacinths, blue and purple, bloomed at her feet in rich profusion. Juliet, with both hands filled, finally rose. She was happy enough now ; she began to sing to herself, or to the listening woods. A delightful colour had come into her cheeks ; she looked like a rose that has just woke into consciousness and blushes to find itself watched by the sun. So she went along the woodland path singing, flowers in both hands, and the silver-headed stick tucked under one arm. Laddie, whose nose had detected the recent presence of a rabbit, went following the scent through the undergrowth. Now he rushed headlong through bush and bramble, now ran in circles following the scent. Having run the rabbit to earth, he came back JULIET VISITS THE WISE AIAN. 33 with an expression of ill - usedness on his countenance.