In Varying Moods

Front matter

Google to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

Preface To American Edition

IT is some years ago since I saw in a little church in Sussex a fragment of an old stained-glass window representing God the Father supporting on the cross the arms of God the Son. I think it dated back to the twelfth century. I remember that when I saw it, the idea of the " Painter and His Picture '* flashed across my mind. Strangely enough, it was in the parlour of the Green Dragon, many years afterwards, that I wrote the ** Painter and His Picture.** It is very curious how those old memories will assert

V

VI PREFACE,

themselves when one is thinking of othei things in quite other surroundings.

This was the case with the " Umbrella- Mender." The lad always interested me, but one day when I was full of other thoughts, he came before my mind's eye so vividly that there was no resisting his presence, and I wrote what I felt to be his record.

And so it was with the old man and the young girl in the " National Gallery." I saw them together there and noted theii individualities. A long time afterwards, whilst I was strolling along the Somersetshire lanes, these two people took possession of my mind, and there was no escape from them until I had written what I chose to believe was their story.

I found the clockmaker and his wife in a

J

PREFACE, vii

Somersetshire village : one of the quaintest and prettiest villages in England. The little old lady was a remarkable personality, and I spent many pleasant hours with her. I was never able to forget her pathetic face, and the painful constraint of her manner. Something had " frozen the genial current of her soul." So one day, in Cannes, I think, I began to ease my heart of her, and set to work to construe a history about her, which has in it more truth than fiction. And, indeed, that may be said of most of the stories in this little book.

The " Green Dragon *' was written in Mentone, amongst the olive trees. As I now write, the landlady of the Green Dragon sends me a box of daffodils and asks if I have yet invented a tale about my favourite inn. I dare not tell her that I have already

VIU

PREFACE, done so, for I feel quite sure that she would never forgive me for speaking disrespectfully of the Shropshire crumpets and the rum in the tea.

Contents

At the Green Dragon : An Episode — I. — HiERONYMUS Comes .

II. — HiERONYMUS Stays .

III. — The Primary Glory .

Chapter I. Hieronymus Comes

IT was a pouring September evening when a stranger knocked at the door of the Crown Inn. Old Mrs. Howells saw that he carried a portmanteau in his hand.

" If it 's a bedroom you want," she said, " I can't be bothered with you. What with brewing the beer and cleaning the brass, I Ve more than I can manage. I 'm that tired ! "

" And so am I," said the stranger, pathetically.

" Go over the way to the Green Dragon,"

suggested Mrs. Howells. " Mrs. Benbow may be able to put you up. But what with the brewing and the cleaning, I can't do with you."

The stranger stepped across the road to the Green Dragon. He tapped at the door ; and a cheery little woman made her appearance. She was carrying what they call in Shropshire a devil of hot beer. It smelt good.

" Good evening, ma'am," said the stranger. " Can you house me for the night ? The hostess of the Crown Inn has turned me away. But you surely will not do the same ? You observe what a bad cold I have."

Mrs. Benbow glanced sharply at the stranger. She had not kept the Green Dragon for ten years without learning something about character ; and to-night she was particularly on her guard, for her husband had gone to stay for two days with some relative in Shrewsbury, so that Mrs. Benbow and old John of the wooden leg, called Dot and carry one^ were left as sole guardians of the little wayside public-house.

" It is not very convenient for me to take you in," she said.

** And it would not be very convenient for me to be shut out," he replied. " Besides which, I have had a whiff of that hot beer."

At that moment a voice from the kitchen cried impatiently : " Here, missus ! where be that beer of your'n ? I be feeling quite faint-like ! "

" As though he could call out like that if he was faint ? " laughed Mrs. Benbow, running off into the kitchen.

When she returned, she found the stranger seated at the foot of the staircase.

" And what do you propose to do for me ? " he asked, patiently.

There was no mistaking the genial manner. Mrs. Benbow was conquered.

" I propose to fry some eggs and bacon for your supper," she said, cheerily. " And then I propose to make your bedroom ready."

" Sensible woman ! " he said, as he followed her into the parlour, where a fire was burning brightly. He threw himself into the easy-chair, and immediately experienced that sensation of repose and thankfulness which comes over us

6 m VARYING MOODS,

when we have found a haven. There he rested, content with himself and his surroundings. The fire lit up his face, and showed him to be a man of about forty years.

There was nothing specially remarkable about him. The face in repose was sad and thoughtful ; and yet when he discovered a yellow cat sleeping under the table, he smiled as though some great pleasure had come into his life.

" Come along, little comrade ! " he said, as he captured her. She looked up into his face so frankly, that the stranger was much impressed. " Why, I do believe you are a dog undergoing a cat incarnation," he continued. " What qualities did you lack when you were a dog, I wonder ? Perhaps you did not steal sufficiently well: perhaps you had not cultivated restfulness. And your name ? Your name shall be Gamboge. I think that is a suitable appellation for you : certainly more suitable than most of the names thrust upon unoffending humanity. My own name for instance, Hieronymus ! Ah, you may well mew ! You are a thoroughly sensible creature."

So he amused himself until Mrs. Benbow came with his supper. Then he pointed to th^e cat, and said quietly :

** That is a very companionable dog of yours."

Mrs. Benbow darted a look of suspicion at the stranger. " We call that a cat in Shropshire/* she said, beginning to regret that she had agreed to house the stranger.

" Well, no doubt you are partially right," said the stranger, solemnly ; " but, at the same time, you are partially wrong. To use the language of the Theosophists "

Mrs. Benbow interrupted him.

" Eat your supper whilst it is hot," she said, " then perhaps you '11 feel better. Your cold is rather heavy in your head, is n't it ? "

He laughed good-temperedly, and smiled at her as though to reassure her that he was quite in his right senses ; and then, without further discussion, he began to make short work of the fried eggs and bacon. Gamboge, sitting quietly by the fireside, scorned to beg ; she preferred to steal That is a way some people have.

The stranger finished his supper, and lit his pipe. Once or twice he began to doze. The first time he was aroused by Gamboge, who had jumped on to the table, and was seeking what she might devour.

" Ah, Gamboge," he said, sleepily, " I am sorry I have not left anything appetising foi you. I was so hungry. Pray excuse."

Then he dozed off again. The second time he was aroused by the sound of singing. He caught the words of the chorus :

I '11 gaily sing from day to day, And do the best I can ;

If sorrows meet me on the way, I '11 bear them like a man."

"An excellent Tesolution," murmured the stranger, becoming drowsy once more. " Only I wish they 'd kept their determinations to themselves."

The third time he was disturbed by the sound of angry voices. There was some quarrelling going on in the kitchen of the Green Dragon.

The voices became louder. There was a clatter of stools and a crash of glasses.

" You *re a pack of lying gipsies ! " sang out some one. " You know well you did n*t pay the missus I

Go for him ! go for him ! " was the cry.

Then the parlour door was flung open, and Mrs. Benbow rushed in. " Oh," she cried, " these gipsy men are killing the carpenter! "

Hieronymus Howard rushed into the kitchen, and threw himself into the midst of the contest. Three powerful tramps were kicking a figure prostrate on the ground. One other man, Mr. Greaves, the blacksmith, was trying in vain to defend his comrade. He had no chance against these gipsy fellows, and though he fought like a lion, his strength was, of course, nothing against theirs. Old John of the one leg had been knocked over, and was picking himself up with difficulty. Everything depended on the promptness of the stranger. He was nothing of a warrior, this Hieronymus Howard : he was just a quiet student, who lo IN VARYING MOODS,

knew how to tussle with Greek roots rather than with English tramps. But he threw himself upon the gipsies, fought hand to hand with them, was blinded with blows, nearly trampled beneath their feet, all but crushed against the wall. Now he thrust them back. Now they pressed on him afresh. Now the blacksmith, with desperate effort, attacked them again. Now the carpenter, bruised and battered, but wild for revenge, dragged himself from the floor, and aimed a blow at the third gipsy's head. He fell.

Then after a short, sharp contest, the two other gipsies were driven to the door, which Mrs. Benbow had opened wide, and were thrust out. The door was bolted safely.

But they had bolted one gipsy in with them. When they returned to the kitchen, they found him waiting for them. He had recovered himself.

Mrs. Benbow raised a cry of terror. She had thought herself safe in her little castle. The carpenter and the blacksmith were past fighting.

AT THE GREEN DRAGON, ii

Hieronymus Howard gazed placidly at the great tramp.

" I am sorry we had forgotten you," he said, courteously. " Perhaps you will oblige us by following your comrades. I will open the door for you. I think we are all rather tired — are n't we ? So perhaps you will go at once."

The man gazed sheepishly at him, and then followed him. Hieronymus Howard opened the door.

" Good evening to you," he said.

And the gipsy passed out without a word.

"Well now," said Hieronymus, as he drew the bolt^ " that is the end of that."

Then he hastened into the parlour. Mrs. Benbow hurried after him, and was just in time to break his fall. He had swooned away.

CHAPTER 11.

HIERONYMUS STAYS.

LJIERONYMUS HOWARD had only intended to pass one night at the Green Dragon. But his sharp encounter with the gipsies altered his plans. He was battered and bruised and thoroughly shaken, and quite unable to do anything else except rest in the armchair and converse with Gamboge, who had attached herself to him, and evidently appreciated her companionship. His right hand was badly sprained. Mrs. Ben bow looked after him most tenderly, bemoaning all the time that he should be in such a plight because of her. There was nothing that she was not willing to do for him ; it was a long time since Hieronymus Howard had been so petted and spoilt. Mrs. Benbow treated every one like a young child that needed to be taken care of. The very men who came to drink her famous ale were under her strict motherly authority.

** There now, Mr. Andrew, that 's enough for ye," she would say ; ** not another glass to-night. No, no, John Curtis ; get you gone home. You '11 not coax another half-pint out of me."

She was generally obeyed : even Hieronymus Howard, who refused rather peevishly to take a third cup of beef-tea, found himself obliged to comply. When she told him to lie on the sofa, he did so without a murmur. When she told him to get up and take his dinner whilst it was still hot, he obeyed like a well-trained child. She cut his food and then took the knife away.

" You must n't try to use your right hand," she said, sternly. " Put it back in the sling at once."

Hieronymus obeyed. Her kind tyranny pleased and amused him, and he was not at all sorry to go on staying at the Green Dragon. He was really on his way to visit some friends just on the border between Shropshire and Wales, to form one of a large house-party, consisting of people both interesting and intellectual ; qualities, by the way, not necessarily inseparable. But he was just at the time needing quiet of mind, and he promised himself some really peaceful hours in this little Shropshire village, with its hills, some of them bare, and others girt with a belt of trees, and the brook gurgling past the wayside inn. He was tired, and here he would find rest. The only vexatious part was that he had hurt his hand. But for this mishap, he would have been quite content.

He told this to Mr. Benbow, who returned that afternoon, and who expressed his regret at the whole occurrence.

" Oh, I am well satisfied here," said Hieronymus, cheerily. " Your little wife is a capital hostess : somewhat of the tyrant, you know. Still one likes that ; until one gets to the fourth cup of beef-tea ! And she is an excellent cook, and the Green Dragon is most comfortable. I 've nothing to complain of, except my hand. That is a nuisance, for I wanted to do some writing. I suppose there is no one here who could write for me."

" Well," said Mr. Benbow, " perhaps the missus can. She can do most things. She *s real clever."

Mrs. Benbow being consulted on this matter, confessed that she could not do much in that line.

" I used to spell pretty well once," she said, brightly ; " but the brewing and the scouring and the looking after other things have knocked all that out of me."

" You wrote to me finely when I was away," her husband said. He was a quiet fellow, and proud of his little wife, and he liked people to know how capable she was.

"Ah, but you are n't over-particular, Ben, bless you," she answered, laughing, and running away to her many duties. Then she returned to tell Hieronymus that there was a splendid fire in the kitchen, and that he was to go and sit there.

" I 'm busy doing the washing in the backyard," she said. " Ben has gone to look after the sheep. Perhaps you '11 give an eye to the door, and serve out the ale. It would help me mighty. I 'm rather pressed for time to-day. We shall brew to-morrow, and I must get the washing done this afternoon."

She took it for granted that he would obey, and of course he did. He transferred himself, his pipe, and his book to the front kitchen, and prepared for customers. Hieronymus Howard had once been an ambitious man, but never before had he been seized by such an overwhelming aspiration as now possessed him — to serve out the Green Dragon ale !

** If only some one would come ! " he said to himself scores of times.

No one came. Hieronymus, becoming impatient, sprang up from his chair and gazed anxiously out of the window, just in time to see three men stroll into the opposite inn.

" Confound them ! " he cried ; " why don't they come here ? "

The next moment, four riders stopped at the rival public-house, and old Mrs. Howells hurried out to them, as though to prevent any possibility of them slipping across to the other side of the road.

This was almost more than Hieronymus could bear quietly. He could scarcely refrain from opening the Green Dragon door and advertising in a loud voice the manifold virtues of Mrs. Benbow's ale and spirits. But he recollected in time that even wayside inns have their fixed code of etiquette, and that nothing remained for him but to possess his soul in patience. He was rewarded : in a few minutes a procession of wagons filed slowly past the Green Dragon ; he counted ten horses and five men. Would they stop ? Hieronymus waited in breathless excitement. Yes, they did stop, and four of the drivers came into the kitchen.

" Where is the fifth ?•" asked Hieronymus, sharply, having a keen eye to business.

" He be minding the horses," they answered, looking at him curiously. But they seemed to

a take it for granted that he was there to serve them, and they leaned back luxuriously in the great oak settle, whilst Hieronymus poured out the beer, and received in exchange some grimy coppers.

After they had gone the fifth man came to have his share of the refreshment ; and then followed a long pause, which seemed to Hieronymus like whole centuries.

" It was during a lengthened period like this," he remarked to himself, as he paced up and down the kitchen, " yes, it was during infinite time like this that the rugged rocks became wave- worn pebbles ! "

Suddenly he heard the sound of horses* feet.

" It is a rider," he said. " I shall have to go )ut to him."

He hastened to the door, and saw a young A^oman on a great white horse. She carried a market basket on her arm. She wore no ridingiiabit, but was just dressed in the ordinary way There was nothing picturesque about her appearmce, but Hieronymus thought her face looked interesting. She glanced at him, as though she wondered what he could possibly be doing at the Green Dragon.

" Well, and what may I do for you ? " he asked. He did not quite like to say, " What may I bring for you ? " He left her to decide that matter.

" I wanted to see Mrs. Benbow," she said.

" She is busy doing the washing," he answered. " But I will go and tell her, if you will kindly detain any customer who may chance to pass by."

He hurried away, and came back with the answer that Mrs. Benbow would be out in a minute.

" Thank you," the young woman said, quietly. Then she added : " You have hurt your arm, I see."

" Yes," he answered ; " it is a^reat nuisance. I cannot write. I have been wondering whether I could get any one to write for me. Do you know of any one ? "

" No," she said, bitterly ; " we don't write here. We make butter and cheese, and we fatten up our poultry, and then we go to market and sell our butter, cheese, and poultry."

*' Well," said Hieronymus, " and why should n't you ? "

He looked up at her, and saw what a discontented expression had come over her young face.

She took no notice of his interruption, but just switched the horse's ears with the end of her whip.

" That is what we do year after year," she continued, " until I suppose we have become so dull that we don't care to do anything else. That is what we have come into the world for : to make butter and cheese, and fatten up our poultry, and go to market."

" Yes," he answered, " and we all have to do it in some fornf or other. We all go to market to sell our goods, whether they be brains, or practical common-sense (which often, you know, has nothing to do with brains), or butter, or poultry. Now I don't know, of course, what you have in your basket ; but supposing you have eggs, which you are taking to market. Well, you are precisely in the same condition as the poet who is on his way to a publisher's, carrying a new poem in his breast-pocket. And yet there is a difference."

" Of course there is," she jerked out scornfully.

" Yes, there is a difference," he continued, placidly ; " it is this : you will return without those eggs, but the poet will come back still carrying his poem in his breast pocket ! "

Then he laughed at his own remark.

'* That is how things go in the great world, you know," he said. " Out in the great world there is an odd way of settling matters. Still they must be settled somehow or other ! "

" Out in the world ! " she exclaimed. " That is where I long to go."

" Then why on earth don't you ? " he replied.

At that moment Mrs. Benbow came running out.

" I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Hammond," she said to the young girl ; " but what with the washing and the making ready for the brewing to-morrow, I don't know where to turn."

Then followed a series of messages to which Hieronymus paid no attention. And then Miss Hammond cracked her whip, waved her greetings with it, and the old white horse trotted away.

" And who is the rider of the horse ? " asked Hieronymus.

"Oh, she is Farmer Hammond's daughter," . said Mrs. Benbow. " Her name is Joan. She is an odd girl, different from the other girls here. They say she is quite a scholar too. Why, she would be the one to write for you. The very one, of course ! I '11 call to her."

But by that time the old white horse was out of sight

Chapter III. The Primary Glory

npHE next day at the Green Dragon was a busy one. Mrs. and Mr. Benbow were up betimes, banging casks about in the cellar. When Hieronymus Howard came down to breakfast, he found that they had brought three great barrels into the kitchen, and that one was already half full of some horrible brown liquid, undergoing the process of fermentation. He felt himself much aggrieved that he was unable to contribute his share of work to the proceedings. It was but little comfort to him that he was again allowed to attend to the customers. The pouring out of the beer had lost its charm for him.

" It is a secondary glory to pour out the beer," he grumbled. " I aspire to the primary glory of

helping to make the beer."

Mrs. Benbow was heaping on the coal in the furnace. She turned round and looked at the disconsolate figure.

" There is one thing you might dp," she said. " I Ve not half enough barm. There are two or three places where you might call for some ; and between them all, perhaps you '11 get enough."

She then mentioned three houses, Farmer Hammond's being amongst the number.

" Very likely the Hammonds would oblige us," she said. "They are neighbourly folk. They live at the Malt- House Farm, two miles off. You can't carry the jar, but you can take the perambulator and wheel it back. I Ve often done that when I had much to carry."

Hieronymus Howard looked doubtfully at the perambulator.

" Very well," he said, submissively. " I Suppose I shall only look like an ordinary tramp. It seems to be the fashion to tramp on this road ! "

It never entered his head to rebel. The great jar was lifted into the perambulator, and Hieronymus wheeled it away, still keeping up his dignity, though under somewhat trying circumstances.

" I rather wish I had not mentioned anything about primary glory," he remarked to himself. " However, I will not famt by the wayside ; Mrs. Benbow is a person not lightly to be disobeyed. In this respect she reminds me distinctly of Queen Elizabeth, or Margaret of Anjou, with just a dash of Napoleon Bonaparte ! "

So he walked on along the highroad. Two or three tramps passed him, wheeling similar perambulators, some heaped up with rags and old tins and umbrellas, and occasionally a baby ; representing the sum-total of their respective possessions in the world. They looked at him with curiosity, but no pleasantry passed their lips. There was nothing to laugh at in Hieronymus's appearance ; there was a quiet dignity about him which was never lost on any one. His bearing tallied with his character, the character of a mellowed human being. There was a restfulness about him which had soothed more than one tired person ; not the restfulness of stupidity, but the repose only gained by those who have struggled through a great fever to a great calm. His was a clean-shaven face ; his hair was iron-grey. There was a kind but firm expression about his mouth, and a suspicion of humour lingering in the corners. His eyes looked at you frankly. There seemed to be no self-consciousness in his manner ; long ago, perhaps, he had managed to get away from himself.

He enjoyed the country, and stopped more than once to pick some richly tinted leaf, or some tiny flower nestling in the hedge. He confided all his treasures to the care of the perambulator. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun lit up the hills, which were girt with a belt of many gems : a belt of trees, each rivalling the other in coloured luxuriance. Hieronymus sang. Then he turned down a lane to the left and found some nuts. He ate the^c.

and went on his way again, and at last found himself outside a farm of large and important aspect. A man was stacking a hay-rick. Hieronymus watched him keenly.

" Good gracious ! " he exclaimed ; " I wish I could do that. How on earth do you manage it ? And did it take you long to learn ? "

The man smiled in the usual yokel fashion, and went on with his work. Hieronymus plainly did not interest him.

** Is this the Malt-House Farm ? " cried Hieronymus, lustily.

" What else should it be ? " answered the man.

"These rural characters are inclined to be one-sided," thought Hieronymus, as he opened the gate and wheeled the perambulator into the pretty garden. " It seems to me that they are almost as narrow-minded as the people who live in cities and pride themselves on their breadth of view. Almost — but on reflection, not quite ! "

He knocked at the door of the porch, and a great bustling woman opened it. He explained his mission to her, and pointed to the jar for the barm.

"You would oblige Mrs. Benbow greatly, ma'am," he said. " In fact, we cannot get on with our beer unless you come to our assistance."

" Step into the parlour, sir," she said, smiling, " and I *11 see how much we Ve got. I think you are the gentleman who fought the gipsies- You 've hurt your arm, I see."

" Yes, a great nuisance," he answered, cheerily ; " and that reminds me of my other quest. I want some one to write for me an hour or two every day. Mrs. Benbow mentioned your daughter, the young lady who came to us on the white horse yesterday."

He was going to add : " The young lady who wishes to go out into the world " ; but he checked himself, guessing by instinct that the young lady and her mother had probably very little in common.

" Perhaps, though," he said, " I take a liberty in making the suggestion. If so, you have only to reprove me, and that is the end of it."

" Oh, I daresay she 'd like to write for you," said Mrs. Hammond, " if she can be spared from the butter and the fowls. She likes books and pen and paper. They 're things as I don't favour."

" No," said Hieronymus, suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of his own littleness ; "you are occupied with other more useful matters."

" Yes, indeed," rejoined Mrs. Hammond, fervently. " Well, if you ,'11 be seated, I '11 send Joan to you, and I '11 see about the barm."

Hieronymus settled down in an old oak chair, and took a glance at the comfortable panelled room. There was every appearance of ease about the Malt-House Farm, and yet Farmer Hammond and his wife toiled incessantly from morning to evening, exacting continual labour from their daughter too. There was a good deal of brasswork in the parlour . ^t was kept spotlessly bright.