As we Sow. A West Country drama

Front matter

A WEST COUNTRY DRAMA BY CHRISTOPHER HARE Author os " DOWN THE VILLAGE STREET," &c. "It is the little rift within the lute. That by and by will make the music mute. And ever widening slowly silence all." LONDON OSGOOD, McILVAINE <_^ CO. 45 Albemarle Street CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. A FRIEND IN NEED I II. HOW THE MONEY WAS LENT ... 23 III. A FATAL SECRET 41 IV. ONLY A CRUMPLED LETTER ... 54 V. LITTLE JANIE 73 VI. UNWELCOME GUESTS .... 93 VII. AT THE CLUB FESTIVAL .... 106 VIII. THE BURNING OF THE RICK . . . 127 IX. AT THE " BLACK DOG " . . . . I43 X. HER WILFUL WAY 163 XI. A LONG NIGHT'S VIGIL .... 176 XII. JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING . . I95

Chapter I

A FRIEND IN NEED " Do 'ee look, Jem ! Who be that a' goin' down leane ? Caant 'ee see un droo the hedge ? " " Ay, sure 'nough ; I beant no fool. 'Tis Varmer Yeatman on's grey mare." " So tes. I minds when he bought un down to Mere Fair, but he've a got a deal older since ! " "An' that's no lie, Tom Kellow. A "Where do 'ee think he be goin' to?" "Why caant 'ee see, lad? He've a come down to Mill arter the measter, an' main glad I be on't, vor ef so be as e'er a one wants a good talkin' to, tes our measter ! " Having given expression to this remark with the deepest conviction, Jem Foyle put his haymaking fork upright in the ground, mopped the perspiration from his face with a blue cotton handkerchief, and then deliberately sat down in the shade, and filled his mug with cider from the big earthenware jar.

His companion watched him for a minute in thoughtful silence, and then, after one glance round the meadow, followed his example. It was a hot summer day with a thundery feeling in the air which, to the weatherwise, seemed to threaten an end to the spell of fine sunshine. Everywhere else in Combe Dallwood, folks had taken advantage of it to carry their hay, but down at the mill, labour was scarce and the work was always behindhand. Now these two rustics knew perfectly well how much depended on their in dustry, and how important it was to get the hay into mows before the storm came ; but they also knew that their master would be safely engaged for the next ten minutes, and the stolen rest was very sweet. They both drank deeply and seriously, feeling that it would be flying in the face of Providence not to take advantage of such a chance.

"I've nowt to say agen the measter," remarked Jem after a while, with philo sophic calmness; "he be a fair man, leastways so far as it do concern we. But he be young, Tom Kellow, he be young." "That's so true a word as e'er a one spoke," replied his companion with a sage nod. "Tell 'ee what, lad, that beant all the mischief. These here vields, an' the five acre, an' all the Mill-land have a' ben badly used, this many a long year. He did'n never put no goodness on the farm, so it be all vinnied and gone back. And as vor bad luck, why I never seed the like on't ! 'Tis all the same now, else why do they black clouds blow up avore our hay be carried ? " he asked, pointing to the sky with an air of triumphant conviction. " Do 'ee mind how long 'tis since we buried t'old measter ? " asked Tom, to show his willingness to take a proper share in the conversation. ' 'Tis nigh upon two months, or I be a vool, by token as the black thorn were out, and I mind 'twas the first day as us heard the cuckoo whistle t'year."

At this moment his quick ear caught the sound of distant voices, and he turned to look towards the old mill which stood below, where the five-acre sloped down to the river. The lichen-covered roof and grey, stone walls, half hidden amongst the trees and reflected in the clear rippling water below, gave a glimpse of peaceful home scenery, as fair as our land can offer. But Jem Foyle saw nothing of this ; he only noticed that there was no one in sight and, so far, it was a false alarm. Still, to be on the safe side, he slowly raised himself from the ground, and after lazily yawning and stretching, he reached out his hand for the hay-fork. Then, turning towards his comrade who had followed his example, he continued the interrupted conversation. " Volks do say as there'll be a miss'es down to mill avore long ; but there, I don't think much on't, and her beant much account, be Sally Caldwell, for all they black eyes an' rosy cheeks !

" " They don't last, do 'em, Jem ? " remarked Tom Kellow with a knowing wink. But at this interesting point their gossip came to an abrupt end, for the miller and his visitor were in sight. A fine big, sturdy-looking fellow was John Dorymeade, the young miller, with a broad back, and straight legs encased in stout leather leggings, and a good tempered face set off with curly brown hair. His companion was a somewhat older man of shorter and broader make, with a grave face, when in repose, but which was wont to light up suddenly with a peculiarly bright and winning smile. Farmer Yeatman had carried all his own hay, and had just ridden over in a friendly way to see how his neighbour was getting on, and at the same time settle up a small matter of business. He was evidently surprised to see every thing so much behindhand, and such a poor show of haymakers in the field, for besides the two men whose acquaintance we have already made, there were only a few women and children in the lower end of the meadow.

"They be all up in ten-acre along o' the waggons, a carryin'," said Dory meade, in a tone of apology, in answer to his friend's inquiring look. David Yeatman was silent ; he could not trust himself to say what he thought about such management. It was plain enough to his experienced eye that things were in a bad way down at the Mill. But at the present moment, the one absorbing thought in every mind was the rapid change in the weather. The wind had risen and was blowing the heavy black clouds upwards from the horizon, till now they nearly obscured the whole sky. The long swathes of hay still lay spread out over a great part of the field, and with only that handful of workers, it was plain indeed that it would be a losing race with the coming tempest. The young master picked up a rake which was lying again the fence, and set to work himself, with an irresistible impulse to be doing something, but even at that moment a few big drops fell, and soon the rain came pelting down so heavily, that it was worse than useless for the haymakers to go on, and they were all driven for shelter to the barn.

" Don't 'ee go yet a bit, David," said his host. "Come and have a pipe along o' me and bide till the storm have a' blown over a bit." " I don't mind if I do," was the reply ; and the two friends made their way into the big Mill-kitchen and were soon com fortably settled in the chimney corner, one on each side of the fire. They were silent at first, but presently, when between the steam from their damp clothes and the smoke from their pipes they could scarcely see each other, Dory meade began : " I tell 'ee what, I've a deal o' worry, and I be more'n half minded to make a clean breast of it and tell 'ee the whole story." " So do, John ; folks do say that two heads be better'n one and they beant far wrong." And so it came about that, with a little encouragement now and then from his friend, he told his tale, slowly and deliberately, between the whiffs of his long churchwarden pipe.

The gossip in the hayfield about his courtship was not without foundation, but it seemed that in this case, as in so many others, the course of true love was not disposed to run straight. Miss Sally Caldwell, the lady of his choice, was one of the daughters of the landlord of the "Three Herons" at Mere, a well-to-do man and not one to let his girl marry without a portion. But the worst of it was, that he wanted John Dorymeade to settle an equal amount upon her, and this the poor fellow declared it was impossible for him to do. " However do 'ee make that out, John?" asked his friend in surprise. " Why in all the countyside, there were never a squire to match thy father for open hand and open house. As the sayin' is, always a good table down at Combe Mill and a cellar o' wine fit for a mayor !

" "An' that's true, David, an' that's how 'twas ; there beant no need to seek any further," replied the young man bitterly. " Them be the ways to chuck away good money in the gutter. I tell 'ee what, ever since poor father died, there's been nowt but bills a-comin' in, for all the world like a flight o' black crows. And not a penny piece in the house or the bank to pay 'em with ! " " But surely there must a been a mort o' money owin' to him, for there beant no other mill for miles round, and it be always grinding ? " " That's just what I says to myself, David. But then when I comes to look into it, what do I find ? Why only these here marks on the chimney sides, and bless 'ee I can't make head nor tail on 'em." As he spoke, the poor fellow pointed to a confused mass of chalk-marks on the black paint.

" But sure he left some handy notes of it all ? " cried Farmer Yeatman in dismay. " Shall I go over the account books with 'ee, John? I've always been reckoned a good hand at figures ? " The young miller shook his head despondingly. " 'Twouldn't be no manner of good. Poor father were one o' they old-fashioned sort as did things their own way. 'Twas like this, look 'ee. He'd put these marks to show what were due to un, then when e'er a one paid a bill, he'd score un across. I mid stare myself blind with they chalk-marks, and never make no sense on 'em." " An have 'ee heard about the will too ? " he asked presently, starting up from his seat and walking impatiently about the room. " Why, what's wrong there ? It seemed all right, so far's I mind, for he were a fair man, were thy father. Didn't he leave 'ee the Mill and the stock, and all the land " "Yes, yes!" exclaimed Dorymeade angrily, "and all they debts an' losses and I was to pay my sister Peggy .£300 down, and money here, and money yonder !

But I tell 'ee there wasn't a penny o' ready money, and now if Stokes, that's Peggy's husband, don't vow that he'll have the law of me, if so be I don't pay up to onst." •n " Come, cheer up, old man," said his friend soothingly. "When matters come to the worst, then they begin to mend." " Not when they be so bad as this ! No, no, there be nowt left for me now but to sell the old place, the Mill and everything " The thought was too much for him, he buried his face in his hands, and broke into sobs. "Dear! dear! This be tar'ble," ex claimed David in utter dismay. The mere thought of such a thing seemed to shake the very foundations of society, as he knew it. Why, there had always been a Dorymeade at Combe Mill as far as parish records went back. " Sit 'ee down, John, and don't talk like a fool.

Why, man, you can't sell the Mill and let un change measters like as 'twere an old coat. In all the county there beant a family more looked up to than your'n, and they've always held up their heads with the best o' folks. No, no, lad ; let's think what can be done." A deep sigh was the young miller's only answer. He began to mutter some thing about " best go drown himself in the mill-pond," but his friend sternly checked him. " Hush, lad, thee beant a poor coward o' that sort. Have 'ee only yourself to think of? What about Sally Caldwell, be she to have never a word in the matter ? " I've never had the face to go and see her for weeks past," was the doleful reply. " 'Tain't no secret what a bad way I be in, and Sally haven't got a farden of her own ; 'tis all at her father's good pleasure.

And she beant one to take sort o' kindly to poverty." Farmer Yeatman was silent for a minute. He had never welcomed with any satisfaction the news of his friend's engagement to the daughter of the hotel keeper at Mere. Rumour did not speak well of the family ; they were looked upon with suspicion by quiet country folks, as being much too gay and worldly, going in eagerly for all the gaiety and dissipation which Mere afforded. He had never heard any positive harm of Sally herself, but he knew that sensible people, his own nice little wife included, disapproved of the young lady's style of dress and manners, and shook their heads at the thought of a steady young man like John Dorymeade, choos ing her to be mistress at the Mill. But David knew that serious extremi ties need desperate remedies ; and he felt that his first duty was to rouse, if possible, the young man's courage and energy.

" Tell 'ee what, John ; go and talk it out wi' Sally. Two heads are better nor one, and a smart active woman here at the Mill 'ud make a world of difference." " An' that's true," cried Dorymeade in a more hopeful tone. " We be all at sixes and sevens down here for want of a miss'es. You see, father's old house keeper, Jane Cole, have 'a gone ; I could'n stand she and her grumblin', and since then, why the maids does just what they likes ! Why, whatever 'ud you do B without your miss'es ? That dairy of her'n be a real picture." Farmer Yeatman smiled, but he was wise enough not to to say what he thought — that his Emily, and his friend's sweet heart, were not to be mentioned in the same day. Meantime the storm had somewhat abated, and the miller suddenly remembered the critical condition of his crop of hay in the " ten-acre ; " so the friends parted, but not before he had promised to come to supper at the farm, as soon as ever he had seen Sally and talked it over with her.

David walked round to the stable to fetch his grey mare, and now that his attention was once roused to it, everything spoke of carelessness and neglect. The gates were half off their hinges, not a door would open or shut properly, the fences were out of repair, and the fowls and pigs seemed to be all over the place, picking up anything they could find, and looking poor and half-starved into the bargain. It was with a very sad heart that he rode homewards, for he had always had a warm liking for the poor fellow, who seemed to be on the high road to ruin. They had been boys together, and he was reminded at every step of those days when John, who was several years younger, had followed him about with unfailing devotion in eager pursuit of sport or mischief. There was the tall fir-tree they had climbed for a jackdaw's nest, and he had to come down with the eggs, one by one, in his mouth ; there was the wood where they set traps for a badger in defiance of all the squire's keeper could say ; and most precious memory of all, there was the rapid stream where he had spent the happiest hours of his life, in a too often fruitless pursuit of trout-fishing.

Those memories of the past made his heart very tender towards his old com panion, and he felt that he would do much to save him from the ruin and disaster which threatened him. A sudden thought struck him. Times had been fairly good up at the farm of late ; might it not be possible for him to advance a little money to tide his friend over the worst ? Why, at that very moment there was lying on deposit at the bank in Mere, the whole of his wife's fortune, a matter of ,£400. It was entirely at his own disposal, for Emily's old uncle and guardian had scouted the notion of any settlement. " Do 'ee think, lad, that if so be I trust 'ee wi' the maid hersell, that I be such a fool as to tie up her money so as it shan't do nar 'a one of you a bit o' good ? No, no, my good fellow, put'n in the farm, and it'ull be a sight better for thee and Milly too !

" He seemed to hear the genial old man's very tone as it all came back to him, and those were his last words on the subject. But as it happened, David had not wanted to spend the money just then on the land, and besides he felt unwilling to put "all his eggs in one basket," and so he had simply waited on till he could hear of some good investment, something safe and close at hand. In those days, it was just after the passing of the Reform Bill in 1832, good, honest country-folks were by no means disposed to invest their hardly-earned savings in mines or com panies ; they more often liked to hoard the gold itself, and keep it in their own possession ; so that the young farmer was really somewhat advanced in his views to leave it on deposit at the bank. Now, on seeing his friend's pressing need for the money, this was the thought which suddenly occurred to him : " Why should not that .£400, Emily's fortune, be safely invested, and at the same time be the saving of his friend, and carry peace and prosperity to the dear old familiar mill ?

" This argument appealed the more strongly to him in that, after all, he inherited a good deal of the prejudice of his ancestors against all banks and such like new-fangled ways of putting money out of one's sight. By the time he reached home he had quite made up his mind upon the subject, and decided that he would talk it over with his wife, and call at the bank next time he took his usual drive into Mere on market-day.

Chapter II How The Money Was Lent

David Yeatman had gone home from the Mill that afternoon fully resolved to have a talk with his wife on the subject of lending her money. But it happened, strangely enough, that he never seemed to find quite a convenient time for doing so. Either he was busy, or she was called away just at the moment when he was about to begin, or some one else came in ; however it might be, the fact remains that market - day came, and nothing had yet been said to her on the matter. It was a perfect June day : bright with sunshine, fragrant with the hawthorn blossom on every hedge, and full of eager excitement to every man, woman, and child in the neighbourhood, for it was " big market-day " at Mere. Now this was quite as good as fair-day anywhere else, so all the world was going there. The big yellow waggon had been brought round, close against the back door of the farmhouse, in the early morning, for all the merchandise to be carefully packed.

First the cheeses had to be carefully carried out of the dairy, where they had been kept for coolness till the last moment, and the mistress herself saw to this. Very bright and comely she looked in her pink sun-bonnet and big apron, did young Mrs. Yeatman, as she tripped lightly backwards and forwards, seeing to everything and keeping every one to their work by her mere presence. A proud woman too, was she, when her husband remarked : " Why, Emily, there won't be a row o* cheeses fit to come anigh they, no not in all Mere market ; take my word for't, lass." Then there were the firm rolls of beautiful yellow butter to be wrapped up in cabbage leaves, which old George went to fetch in the kitchen garden, leaving his grandson, young Bob, meantime, to hold the horses. Not that there was, in fact, the slightest danger of their running away.

Dobbin and Kitty were much too wise. They knew exactly what was expected of them, and had no idea of adding anything to the long drive to Mere and back, a good twenty mile journey. Lastly the live stock had to be hauled up into the waggon, half a dozen calves with great pathetic eyes and long awkward legs, and a wicker basket full of protesting, fluttering poultry. Sundry other small things had to be seen to, but not until all was ready at last for the start, and Carter Joe himself, in his clean white smock, had climbed up in front and got hold of the reins, did Mrs. Yeatman bring out the precious basket of new laid eggs and solemnly give it into his charge. At last the waggon was started, and all eyes watched it with absorbing interest, as it rumbled out through the farmyard gates, and was lost to sight at the first turn of the road.

Then, with a sigh of mingled relief and satisfaction, the farmer's wife went indoors to give her husband his breakfast, in the big old-fashioned kitchen which was a perfect picture of comfort and homely luxury. The table was laid at one end of the long, low room, near the broad, stone-mullioned window, through which a flood of sunshine poured in and made the whole place radiant. Across the low ceiling there were huge oak beams, almost black with age, and all the simple furniture of the kitchen was also of oak, and polished until you could see your face in it. You would not need to do so, however, for a little, round mirror in a gilt frame hung opposite the window, and reflected, in miniature, the garden outside. In one corner stood a great cupboard with a glass front, in which was stored all the best china, while the blue willow pattern plates and dishes for everyday use were ranged in rows on the massive black oaken dresser, above the dazzling array of brass pots and pans.

There was a tall clock on the other side, an heirloom in the family, which was supposed to tell the signs of the zodiac, the changes of the moon, and much other useful information, but at that moment was simply engaged in striking six o'clock. Some huge logs of wood were burning on the broad, open hearth, set back in a deep recess under the chimney, and on the rug in front, a black spaniel had comfort ably curled himself round. Presently Farmer Yeatman looked up from his plate, with a smile towards his wife. "'Tis just about a nice day, Milly; now do 'ee give theeself a holiday for once and come along with I to Mere. For sure thee must want summat, a gown or a bonnet or suchlike, or a new pinney for the youngster yonder," he added pointing to a little boy with yellow curls, and rosy cheeks, who was sitting up, in a high chair by the table, entirely absorbed in his basin of bread and milk.

But Emily shook her head ; she was not going to give way to the temptation, though she was not sorry to have her self denial appreciated. " Why, David, man, thee knows I can't be spared ! Whatever would become o' the dairy and all ? Who's to set the new milk for cream and scald out the pans, and see to all the rest? Do 'ee think I could have a moment's peace over to Mere, knowing all the time that 'twere a sin and a shame to leave home with nar 'a one to look to things? Why so soon as my back were turned, that silly maid of our'n 'ud be off down street, and never give a thought to the sittin' hens, or feedin' the young chicken, or looking after little Tom, and goodness knows what mischief he'll get in ! " She paused quite out of breath and overwhelmed with the thought of all the misfortunes she had conjured up.

It was no use trying to lure her from her duty, and David good-temperedly changed the subject. He knew well, and had cause to congratulate himself, that she came of a race of good managers, for the Dawsons of Chillerton were a staunch old Methodist family, with nothing frivolous or pleasure - seeking about them. Possibly a vague feeling may have passed through his mind that, if she was so strict for herself, she might expect a high ideal os conduct in those belonging to her. But surely he might well be proud of having such a treasure of a wife, and no shadow or foreboding of evil dimmed the radiance of that summer morning. He had meant to ride in to market on his grey mare, but just as he was starting, John Dorymeade from the Mill walked up to see if he could get a lift, as his own horse had fallen lame.

Yeatman was only too pleased to have his company, and after a very short delay the mare was put in the light cart, and the two friends started off together. And very pleasant it was thus early in the day, before the full heat of the sun ; up hill and down dale, through wooded groves, and straggling villages, with here and there a glimpse of the winding river or a view of the distant downs. But the two young farmers were soon so much engrossed in their eager conversation, that they took very little notice of the scenery through which they drove. It was David who first alluded to the subject of their interrupted conversation of the other day at the Mill. "Tell 'ee what, John," he began in a tone of judicious consideration, "why ever don't 'ee try to borrow some money, just to set 'ee above water and give 'ee a fresh start ?

" " Why, David," exclaimed he in surprise, "to think that ever such counsel as that should come from thee ? Sure you don't mean no such thing? Just look at Ephraim Constant, down to Long Burton; 'tisn't more nor three year since his father died, and he began to borrow a few pound, and then bless 'ee, he went from bad to worse, and now bit by bit the old farm be all sold up, and avore long there'll be nowt left to he but the workus." "Ah, but that beant the kind o' borrowin' as I have in my mind," con tinued the other. " Suppose thee could get a friend to lend 'ee the money ? " " A friend ! " repeated John, somewhat bitterly. "And do 'ee think friends o' that kidney grow like blackberries on every hedge ? Who'd lend to a ruined man? " Look 'ee here, my good fellow ; there be that money of Emily's a-lying idle at the bank in Mere ; a matter of .£400.

Now if so be as thee'd like to borrow that, thee be heartily welcome to it." John Dorymeade started and almost held his breath at such an unheard-of and astonishing proposal. He must be dream ing ; it was too good to be true, and he c could not believe his ears until his friend calmly repeated his offer. "'Twill be doing we a good turn too," he added. " For you shall pay me interest, and you may depend, we won't be in no hurry to ask for the money back till so be as good times come again." The young miller could only grasp David's hand in silent gratitude, his heart was too full for words. Now that this dark shadow was lifted off, the whole world seemed flooded with sunshine, and once more his future life spread out bright and clear before him. The rest of the drive was all too short for him to talk over all his plans with his friend.

He would go and see Sally at once, and get her to name the wedding day, for now her father could put no more difficulties in the way. Each time he went up to Ballard's Farm he felt more and more keenly what a difference a wife made in the well-being of everything, and how important it was for him to install a mistress at the Mill as soon as possible. Poor fellow ! It never occurred to him that there are wives and wives, even while he listened with eager interest to David's tale of his Emily's devotion to her work, and almost heroic self-denial in the way of refusing to take a holiday even on "big market-day." There was a pleasing sense of security in the farmer's mind all that day, as he thought of the trim little figure at home in her sun-bonnet and big apron, going cheerfully about her work, looking after the scalding and cleaning of pans in the dairy, flitting in and out of the sunny courtyard to mind her precious poultry, giving a glance now and then at the bees, lest they should swarm unawares, directing AS IVE SOW old George in the garden, and all the time with little three-year-old Tom, trotting about everywhere after her.