Horse or Blacksmith?

Front matter

? BY NAT GOULD Author of " The Double Event" etc. LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited Broadway, Ludgate Hill Manchester and New York Routledge's Railway Library Advertiser. [Issue. Fourteenth] ROWLAND'S ARTICLES For the Hair. Complexion, and Teeth, are the PUREST & BEST. >__. -__i A m m __. *_* A pure, non-gritty tooth I 111 I P°wder; jt whitens the I teeth, prevents decay and ** ■» W ■ ■ m -* sweetens the breath ; is more efficacious than pastes or washes. 2/9. MACASSAR OIL i?I ing off or turning grey, is tlie best Brillianfcine for ladies' and children's hair, being less greasy and drying than ordinary Brilliantine, and can be had in a golden colour for fair hair. Sizes, 3/6, 7/-, 10/6, equal to four small. ■ t ■ ■ If P% ft f% *sa most soothintr, healing, LAI VII I U and refreshing milk for Ii 11 1 | the face, bands, and arms. *»■**■■■***■» It prevents and removes Freckles, Tan, Sunburn, Redness and Roughness of the skin, soothes and heals all Irritation, Chaps, Chilblains, Cutaneous Eruptions, etc., and produces a beautiful and delicate complexion.

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Wh™ oSeri^Ba^ pW°,lt „u having BORWICK'S! """.fiw.ei Fourteenth] Routledge's Railway Library Advertiser. Ussue. THE HONEY OF WISDOM! WE GATHER THE HONEY OF WISDOM FROM THORNS, NOT FROM FLOWERS. NOBILITY OF LIFE. " Who best can suffer, best can do."— Miltos. What alone enables us to draw a just moral from the tale of life ? .' asked what best dignifies the pr. rotes the past ; what alone enables us to draw aj-'st moral from the Tale of Life ; what sheds the purest light upon our reason ; what gives the firmest .■non, whatis best jittedto softeu the heart of man and elevate his soul — / would ■issues, it io 'EXPERIENCE.'" Lord Ltttok. "Qtteen's Head Hotel, Newcastle-upon-Tywb. "Sin,— WiU you to-day allow me to present you with thiB Testimonial and Poem on ENO'S justly celebrated •FRUIT SALT?' My occupation being a very sedentary one.

Chapter I. Milleourne

ZACHARY PEACH was a very old man ; he claimed to be the oldest inhabitant of the little village of Mill bourne, and no one disputed his right to the title. Millbourne is a picturesque village in Derbyshire, not many miles from Ashbourne. A long white road runs through Millbourne, and it branches off from the main road to Buxton. Travellers passing along this road, in days gone by, were brought to a stop at the foot of Mill Hill by an old-fashioned toll-bar, and payment was demanded before they could drive through on their way. Probably many surmises and conjectures arose in the minds of these travellers as to why they should be forced to pay toll at this particular spot. Mill Hill was a pretty rustic lane, but to the ordinary mind there could be no adequate reason why it should be guarded by a toll-bar, which gave it almost as much importance as the main road.

HORSE OR BLACKSMLTHf The village of Millbourne was not visible from the highway. When the top of Mill Hill was reached, the road ran on level for some distance, so that the village, although standing on high land, was hidden from the view of travellers in the valley. The population of Millbourne consisted of about a hundred and fifty all told, including a plentiful supply of children, whose ruddy cheeks and sturdy frames bespoke strongly in favour of the healthiness of the spot. Mill Hill was a typical Derbyshire country lane. On one side a rugged stone wall stood on the top of a bank and fenced in the fields. On the opposite side was a thick hedge, through which the most obstinate sheep would have found it difficult to force its way, on account of the dense mass of briars and undergrowth which almost hid the original hedge from view.

The stone wall bore unmistakable marks of age. Moss covered the lower layers of stones, and ivy had crept in and out and clung like a limpet until it almost reached the top. The wall was irregularly built. It had been put together at different periods, and its various builders had possessed ideas of their own as to its conformation. It had the appearance of a zigzag which, traced on paper, would resemble the dark line of some winding river on a map. In summer the hedge-side of Mill Hill was a mass of bloom, and wild roses and sweetbriar scented the MILLBOURNE. 9 air with a delicious perfume. Mill Hill itself was a roughish road, and the numerous loose stones made walking up it anything but a pleasure. Old Zachary Peach, however, was used to Mill Hill. He loved every inch of it, and he saw in every stone and plant and flower an old friend.

He would not have exchanged Mill Hill for Regent Street or Oxford Street, about which his son told him when he came down from London. There were four large stones on one side of Mill Hill, and as Zachary Peach reached each stone he sat down to rest. These stones had served him as natural seats for years, and they were smooth at the top with constant use. Zachary Peach had never been farther from Mill bourne in his life than Ashbourne and Wirksworth, and he was close upon ninety years of age. His son had endeavoured to persuade him to pay a visit to London, but Zachary Peach regarded such a journey as a far more arduous undertaking than the majority of people would contemplate a trip to New Zealand. London, to Zachary Peach, seemed almost as far away from Millbourne as the sun from the earth.

He did not reckon the distance merely by the number of miles, he said it sounded such a long way off, and whispered the name London in an awestruck tone. It was a beautiful summer's evening as Zachary Peach sat on one of his favourite stones, resting on his way up Mill Hill. t 10 A soft glow spread over the valley, through which the river Dove placidly wended its way, rippling with a low murmuring sound over its pebbly bed. No sound of the railway had ever been heard in this quiet spot. There was nothing to disturb the tran quillity of the scene. It was Saturday, and Zachary Peach had been down to the toll-bar to get his basket, which the carrier from Ashbourne market regularly left there. Zachary had been accustomed to get his weekly supplies in this manner for years. It was a break in the week, quite an event to Zachary, to go down to the toll-house to fetch his basket, and hear the news from the toll-house keeper.

Zachary Peach could neither read or write. He was, however, always eager to hear the county paper read, and Tom Eyre, at the toll-house, generally did this for him each Saturday evening. As Zachary Peach sat on Mill Hill, resting, he placed his basket on the ground at his side and put his clasped hands on his stick, leaned his chin on this support, and looked down the valley before him. At his feet sat an old grey sheep dog, whose eyes were not so keen as in years gone by, and whose teeth were not equal to gnawing hard bones. " Rover " had, in his younger days, been a dark haired dog; but now, like his master, he was grey and worn. For several years Rover carried Zachary's basket MILLBOURNE. 11 up the hill in his mouth. Zachary was determined, when Rover was given to him as a pup by young Richard Staines, that the dog should be brought up to be useful to him.

Rover was a desperate character when young. He was caught in the act of poaching on several occa sions, and threats to shoot him were made times out of number. But Zachary begged him off, and Rover lived, When Zachary first began to teach Rover to carry his basket some amusing scenes occurred. An empty basket was first tried. Rover carried it carefully up Mill Hill until he was out of his master's sight, and then calmly stretched himself out on all fours and tore it in pieces. When Zachary came up, panting and breathless from the unusual exertion, he found Rover contemplating the wreck he had made. Zachary remonstrated with Rover. He did not fly into a passion and hit the dog with his stick. He stooped down and collected the straws, and placed them on the top of the basket he had on his arm.

He used these straws to light his fire with. He was a practical man, and not given to waste. Rover, seeing the old man's proceedings, came to the conclusion that it was his bounden duty to destroy baskets in order to procure firewood. Being an expensive method of obtaining fuel, Zachary had to disabuse Rover's doggy mind of this mistaken idea. f 12 Zachary never lost his temper over Rover's short comings. He had his reward, and the dog repaid him by becoming a most faithful companion. Hundreds of times had Rover carried the basket up Mill Hill, but he was past that now, although he often made vigorous attempts to hold the handle in his almost toothless mouth. Zachary Peach looked down at Rover lying at his feet, and then slowly removing one hand from his stick, stroked the dog on the head.

Rover returned the salute by licking Zachary's hand. Although so old, and nearing the end of their journey on earth, both man and dog looked con tented and happy. Old age had dealt lightly with Zachary Peach. He stooped slightly as he walked, but his gait was steady, and although he moved slowly, he put his feet firmly on to the ground. His hands were stead}', and there was no tremulous quivering of his face. His eyes were still bright and keen, and his cheeks red with health and tanned with exposure. His hair was iron grey, and his beard and moustache were almost white. He had a pleasant smile, and judging from his even teeth he had not given the dentist much trouble. Zachary's hands were large and rough. The nails were short, and the ends of his fingers stumpy. The skin was cracked, and the palms of his hands were crossed by many lines.

They were hands that had done much hard work, MILLBOURNE. 13 but never a mean or dishonest action had Zachary employed them in. At the request of his son, Zachary Peach had discarded the smock he had always worn and taken to a jacket. His everyday clothing consisted of a soft slouch hat, a dark blue pilot jacket, a brown velveteen waist coat, corduroy trousers, and heavy country boots. Collars he declined to wear, and tied a handkerchief round his neck instead. He was dressed in this fashion on this particular Saturday evening. After resting for ten minutes, Zachary took up his basket and slowly proceeded up the lane, his dog walking beside him. At the top of the hill the blacksmith's forge stood, and Evan Cross, the smith, was standing outside, smoking a short pipe, as Zachary appeared in sight.

When Evan Cross caught sight of him he walked forward to meet him. "Good night, Zachary," he said. " Any fresh news down at the toll-house ? " " Not much, Evan, not much," said Zachary. " Tom Eyre read bits out o' the paper. There's been a big fire in London, and there's a chance o' war, I reckon." " Yes, yes," said Evan, hastily ; " wars won't do much harm to us at Millbourne. Did Tom tell any thing about my lass ? " " Lor' bless us, no ! " said Zachary. " What's come t 14 o' Nelly? I thought she'd gone on a visit to her aunt at Ashbourne." " I'm in sore trouble, Zachary," said Evan Cross. "Come inside awhile. Maybe you'll give me a bit o' comfort." Zachary Peach shook his head, and followed Evan Cross into his cottage adjoining the smithy. " Evan, I'm sorry troubles come on you," said Zachary.

" What's come o' Nelly ? " " Gone," said Evan in a hollow voice. Zachary looked hard at him and asked, "Alone?" Evan Cross clenched his big fist, and the muscles stood out on his brawny arms like iron bands. Evan was the most powerful man in Millbourne. He had once stunned an infuriated bullock with a blow of his fist, and no one in Millbourne had forgotten the feat " The Lord knows ! " said Evan. " She left me to go for a week to her aunt at Ashbourne. She never went there. She's gone, Zachary, and I don't know where to. She said in a bit of a letter she'd let me know where she was going. They'll all hear in the village in a day or two. What can I say ? " " Tell 'em she's gone to a situation," said Zachary. " Evan, we're old friends, tell me what you fear." "Listen, Zachary," said Evan. "You saw Mr. Dudley Pascoe, the visitor who stayed at the Hall for some weeks ?

" Zachary nodded. MILLBOURNE. 15 " He met my lass two or three times and spoke to her. I never saw anything wrong between 'em, but he may have met her unbeknown to me. I believe he's at the bottom of it. If he is, God help him ! " said Evan. Seeing the expression in his face, Zachary said — " Be careful, Evan. You may be mistaken. Has Dudley Pascoe left the Hall ? " "Yes," said Evan. "Jim the coachman tells me he's to come back next week." " What shall you do ? " asked Zachary anxiously. " Watch him," said Evan, savagely. " Make all sure and certain before you tax him with it," said Zachary. " I'll bide my time," said Evan. " And tell 'em in the village she's gone to service in London," said Zachary. " I'm sorry for you, Evan lad. Bear up, man. She'll maybe come back again." Evan Cross sighed ; and when Zachary Peach left him alone his feelings got the better of him.

He took up a thick blackthorn stick and went down the lane at a rapid rate. Zachary Peach was not surprised at the news he had heard. Nelly Cross was a very pretty girl, wayward and conceited, and with ideas considerably above her station in life. She was her father's only child, and he had spoiled her and allowed her to have too much of her own way. When Dudley Pascoe came to the Hall, Zachary Peach noticed that he quickly became on speaking terms with Nelly Cross. Richard Staines, son of David Staines, who farmed most of the land in Millbourne parish, was an admirer of Nelly Cross, and she had walked out with him on many occasions. But when Laura Peach, the daughter of Zachary's son Reuben, came to Millbourne, Richard Staines felt his fate was sealed, and he did not pay much attention to Nelly Cross after he met Laura Peach.

Zachary Peach could not easily bring himself to think ill of any one, and he was loath to believe Nelly Cross had taken a false step. He was very sorry for Evan Cross, for he knew the blacksmith's daughter was very dear to him. " I pity the man who has harmed Evan's lass," said Zachary to himself. " If he finds out she has been led astray, there'll be murder done. Poor Evan, it's a sad blow to him ! Nelly was always a forward lass, but her father could never see her faults. God help her that she comes to no harm, and bring her back to her father's home 1 " I?

Chapter II. Sunday Morning

MILLBOURNE was a quiet village at any time, but on Sunday morning there was a peculiar stillness about it. The ordinary farm work had to be done as usual, but this was finished long before the bells in the church tower commenced to chime. The farm labourers went home early, put on their best clothes, and then sat in the sunshine in front of their cottages. Most of the cottages in Millbourne were built of rough stone, and some had thatched roofs. They had small gardens in front, and some a white path, on each side of which was a box hedge, leading up to the porch. In the summer these gardens were gay with flowers, and the cottages were covered with climbing roses, jasmine, and honeysuckle. Zachary Peach's cottage stood by itself at the far end of the village, nearly opposite the entrance to Haven Farm, where the Staines family had resided for several generations.

C f 18 In his young days Zachary worked at Haven Farm as a handy lad. As he grew older he became second waggoner, and when the man above him died he took his place as first waggoner to David Staines' father. When the father died, and David Staines took his place, Zachary Peach remained on in his old position. He had worked at Haven Farm almost continuously for nigh upon sixty years. He had only one child, Reuben Peach, of whom more anon, and he had been able to give him a good education. When Reuben was a lad, Zachary Peach received a windfall in the shape of a legacy of five hundred pounds which his brother in America left him at his death. Every penny of this money Zachary spent upon his son, and he sent him to the Ashbourne Grammar School. Old David Staines remonstrated with him on his folly, and said it would have been far better for him to have invested the money and let it accumulate, so that he would have enough to keep him in his old age.

Zachary Peach thought othenvise, and his son Reuben had amply repaid him for ail his kindness. Reuben Peach allowed his father a hundred pounds a year, and paid the rent and taxes of his cottage. Zachary declined to accept more than this sum, and it was ample for his simple wants. The old man insisted upon living alone, and it was only after much persuasion he consented to allow a neighbour's wife te come into his cottage and help him twice a week. Zachary took a great pride in his garden. Weeds had very little chance with him. He strangled them before they had time to grow, and consequently they never had any prospect of making headway. Not a stray bit of green could be seen forcing its way through the white path leading up to Zachary's cottage. The box hedge was well trimmed and level, and of considerable thickness.

The flowers were allowed to grow in profusion, and their colours were strangely mingled. There was no hard and fast rule for bedding-plants in Zachary's garden, and the effect was the more charming for its want of uniformity. On this Sunday morning Zachary, as was his invariable custom in the summer, sat in an old fashioned wooden armchair in front of his cottage. He always smoked a pipe before he went to church. He said it soothed his mind and made him contented with everybody and everything. Richard Staines, a fine manly young man of four and twenty, always had a chat with Zachary on Sunday morning. Zachary raised his head as he heard the door bang, opening out of Haven Farm garden into the road. He saw Richard Staines coming across, and smiled him a welcome. He liked young Staines, and took an interest in him.

He had known the young man's father when a child, and had seen him grow into a strong hearty man. " Zachary, you are a great smoker," said Richard Staines, with a bright smile. " I went to Ashbourne market on Saturday and I brought you this." He handed Zachary a packet of tobacco, and as the old man took it he said — " You're very kind, Master Richard. It is good of you not to forget the old man." " I shall never forget you, Zachary," he replied. " Millbourne would not be the same place to me without you." "Don't say that, Master Richard," said Zachary. " I shall have to leave it soon. I've had a long life and a happy one. I'm ready to go, but I shall be sorry to leave the old spot when the time comes. I love it all so much. There's no place to equal Mill bourne, and never you forget it." "You must not talk of going yet," said Richard Staines.

"You look better than ever this morning. There's many a happy year before you. Have you heard from your son lately ? " Zachary looked up into the young man's face with a merry light in his eyes. He knew his granddaughter and Richard Staines were great friends. Richard Staines looked down as he met the old man's glance. Zachary Peach drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Richard. " I got it yesterday," he said ; " but I don't like any one to read 'em to me but you, Master Richard, if I can help it. Wardle told me it was from my son." Amos Wardle was the Millbourne postman, and tramped daily with letters between the village and Wirksworth, the post town. " Amos Wardle knows where most of the letters come from," said Richard. " He's a sad gossip, I fear." " Maybe he's fond of a bit o' chat," said Zachary ; " but there's no much harm in Amos.

He's a good hearted lad." Amos Wardle was nearer sixty than fifty, but to Zachary Peach he seemed a young man. Richard Staines took the letter and opened it It was from Reuben Peach, and he turned to the end of it first. Zachary noticed the action, and said — • " Don't be in such a hurry, Master Richard. Keep it till the end. Reuben generally winds up with a message from the little girl to you." "Bless her ! " said Richard. " And so say I. God bless her ! May her never come to harm," said Zachary. Richard Staines sat down on a small seat and read the letter. When he had finished, Zachary said— " If it's none too much trouble, would you read it again, I'll remember it better then ? " Richard read it again. It was the letter of a good son to a father he loved dearly. t 22 Reuben Peach knew how to write to his father.

He did not weary him with details of his city life. He hardly mentioned London and its attractions. But he told of his home at Richmond, and the life led there by Laura and himself. " There's a boy for you ! " said Zachary, as he took back the letter, carefully placed it in the envelope, and put it in his pocket. " He's a fine gentleman in the big world, but he's not ashamed of his old father, who can neither read nor write. I know he's a great man, although he never boasts of it, for Tom Eyre reads me bits out of the paper about him." " He is proud of his father, and well he may be," said Richard. " You made him the man he is, Zachary, and he knows it." The church bells commenced to ring, and Zachary said — "Time for church, Master Richard. I've never been late yet, and I don't mean to commence bad habits now."

Richard Staines laughed as he said — " If you were not in your old coiner in church, Zachary, I believe we should think we had made a mistake in the day." "Nay, lad, you couldn't do that," said Zachary. " Nature herself always tells when it's a day of rest. I should always know when it was Sunday, if I lived in a desert." Richard Staines bade him good day, and vent inside his cottage. SUNDA Y MORNING. 23 As the bells rang, the villagers came trooping out into the road, and slowly wended their way towards the church. Millbourne church was in keeping with the rest of the village. It stood on high ground, and from the churchyard a splendid view of the valley was obtained' the spire of Parwich church being visible in the distance. The tower was overgrown with ivy and shaded by large trees, and the edifice was built of stone, roughly hewn.

Several years before our story commences the chancel wall had given way, and when the exca vations necessary for its repair were made, old, time decayed coffins and sundry relics of the dead were brought to light. The vicarage, a comfortable country house, was close to the church, and an entrance to Millbourne Hall could be obtained from the churchyard. A long level path from the porch went down to a large white gate which opened into the road leading to the village. Many old inhabitants of Millbourne and the sur rounding farmhouses slept their last sleep in this churchyard. Some curious inscriptions could be read on the gravestones, the majority of which were slate slabs standing upright, and exposure to weather for years had obliterated some of the names. Raised mounds and white headstones marked the graves of more recent date, and upon these flowers were blooming luxuriantly.

A side pathway led through the churchyard to the meadows beyond, and joined the footpath across the fields to the hamlet of Ballidon. The Vicar of Millbourne also had charge of Ballidon, and a service was held there each Sunday. At Ballidon the church stood just outside the village, in a field, and was not fenced in. On a hot morning sheep generally rested beneath the shade of its walls, and remained there during the service. They were used to the sound of the harmonium, and the singing of the boys of the village who formed the choir. Zachary Peach was always one of the first arrivals at Millbourne Church on Sunday morning. There were seats on either side of the porch, and he sat here and watched the people enter the church. A stranger attending service at Millbourne Church was an object of interest.

Much speculation was rife as to his or her identity. Zachary sat in the porch until the organ commenced to play, and then stepped inside to his seat near the door. He noticed Evan Cross had not entered the church, and he wondered at his absence. Zachary determined to call at the blacksmith's house, before he went home, after the service, to ascertain the reason of his absence. Many of the lads and lasses employed in the farmhouses were present, and Zachary knew them all by name. He noticed constant glances cast at Evan Cross's pew. Most of the Millbourne girls were jealous of Nelly Cross, because she attracted the eligible swains, and had several strings to her bow. These village maidens were not unlike more fashionable ladies in their desire to shine before men. The Vicar of Millbourne was a man about thirty years of age, and popular in the village.

He was a rich man, and he did much for the people among whom his lot was cast. He had established a reading-room and smoking-room for the men, a library for general use, and was an enthusiastic supporter of the local football and cricket clubs. There was a large amount of muscular Christianity about the Rev. Henry Belfont. He had the satisfaction of knowing he was not merely liked on account of his wealth and all it could provide, but for himself. If he had been a poor man his popularity would have been as great. He was not an eloquent preacher, but he dealt out some hard hits at times. His sermons were brief and to the point, and he never used a long word when a short one did equally well. His congregation understood his sermons, which is more than can be said for some fashionable preachers' discourses.

As he had a service at Ballidon on this particular Sunday afternoon, the Rev. Henry Belfont preached for ten minutes, and the congregation filed out of church soon after twelve. t 26 Groups of three and four persons collected in various parts of the churchyard to gossip and chat over the affairs of the village. Their conversation was interesting to themselves, but would have been considered wearisome and commonplace to a stranger. Zachary Peach, as he looked at one or two laugh ing groups of boys and girls, knew what they were talking about. He knew that Evan Cross's absence from church had been noticed, and that it had drawn attention to Nelly Cross and her doings. Zachary went straight to the blacksmith's dwelling. The door was shut, and he knocked with his stick. He hardly expected to see it opened.