CHAPTER XI

TOM DESERVES HIS SUPPER

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“Well done, lad,” Mr. Faggus said good naturedly; for all were now

gathered round me, as I rose from the ground, somewhat tottering, and

miry, and crest-fallen, but otherwise none the worse (having fallen

upon my head, which is of uncommon substance); nevertheless John Fry was

laughing, so that I longed to clout his ears for him; “Not at all bad

work, my boy; we may teach you to ride by-and-by, I see; I thought not

to see you stick on so long--”

“I should have stuck on much longer, sir, if her sides had not been wet.

She was so slippery--”

“Boy, thou art right. She hath given many the slip. Ha, ha! Vex not,

Jack, that I laugh at thee. She is like a sweetheart to me, and better,

than any of them be. It would have gone to my heart if thou hadst

conquered. None but I can ride my Winnie mare.”

“Foul shame to thee then, Tom Faggus,” cried mother, coming up suddenly,

and speaking so that all were amazed, having never seen her wrathful;

“to put my boy, my boy, across her, as if his life were no more than

thine! The only son of his father, an honest man, and a quiet man, not

a roystering drunken robber! A man would have taken thy mad horse and

thee, and flung them both into horse-pond--ay, and what's more, I'll

have it done now, if a hair of his head is injured. Oh, my boy, my boy!

What could I do without thee? Put up the other arm, Johnny.” All the

time mother was scolding so, she was feeling me, and wiping me; while

Faggus tried to look greatly ashamed, having sense of the ways of women.

“Only look at his jacket, mother!” cried Annie; “and a shillingsworth

gone from his small-clothes!”

“What care I for his clothes, thou goose? Take that, and heed thine own

a bit.” And mother gave Annie a slap which sent her swinging up against

Mr. Faggus, and he caught her, and kissed and protected her, and she

looked at him very nicely, with great tears in her soft blue eyes. “Oh,

fie upon thee, fie upon thee!” cried mother (being yet more vexed with

him, because she had beaten Annie); “after all we have done for thee,

and saved thy worthless neck--and to try to kill my son for me! Never

more shall horse of thine enter stable here, since these be thy returns

to me. Small thanks to you, John Fry, I say, and you Bill Dadds, and you

Jem Slocomb, and all the rest of your coward lot; much you care for your

master's son! Afraid of that ugly beast yourselves, and you put a boy

just breeched upon him!”

“Wull, missus, what could us do?” began John; “Jan wudd goo, now wudd't

her, Jem? And how was us--”

“Jan indeed! Master John, if you please, to a lad of his years and

stature. And now, Tom Faggus, be off, if you please, and think yourself

lucky to go so; and if ever that horse comes into our yard, I'll

hamstring him myself if none of my cowards dare do it.”

Everybody looked at mother, to hear her talk like that, knowing how

quiet she was day by day and how pleasant to be cheated. And the men

began to shoulder their shovels, both so as to be away from her, and

to go and tell their wives of it. Winnie too was looking at her, being

pointed at so much, and wondering if she had done amiss. And then she

came to me, and trembled, and stooped her head, and asked my pardon, if

she had been too proud with me.

“Winnie shall stop here to-night,” said I, for Tom Faggus still said

never a word all the while; but began to buckle his things on, for he

knew that women are to be met with wool, as the cannon-balls were at the

siege of Tiverton Castle; “mother, I tell you, Winnie shall stop; else

I will go away with her, I never knew what it was, till now, to ride a

horse worth riding.”

“Young man,” said Tom Faggus, still preparing sternly to depart, “you

know more about a horse than any man on Exmoor. Your mother may well be

proud of you, but she need have had no fear. As if I, Tom Faggus, your

father's cousin--and the only thing I am proud of--would ever have let

you mount my mare, which dukes and princes have vainly sought, except

for the courage in your eyes, and the look of your father about you. I

knew you could ride when I saw you, and rarely you have conquered. But

women don't understand us. Good-bye, John; I am proud of you, and I

hoped to have done you pleasure. And indeed I came full of some courtly

tales, that would have made your hair stand up. But though not a crust

have I tasted since this time yesterday, having given my meat to a

widow, I will go and starve on the moor far sooner than eat the best

supper that ever was cooked, in a place that has forgotten me.” With

that he fetched a heavy sigh, as if it had been for my father; and

feebly got upon Winnie's back, and she came to say farewell to me. He

lifted his hat to my mother, with a glance of sorrow, but never a word;

and to me he said, “Open the gate, Cousin John, if you please. You have

beaten her so, that she cannot leap it, poor thing.”

But before he was truly gone out of our yard, my mother came softly

after him, with her afternoon apron across her eyes, and one hand ready

to offer him. Nevertheless, he made as if he had not seen her, though he

let his horse go slowly.

“Stop, Cousin Tom,” my mother said, “a word with you, before you go.”

“Why, bless my heart!” Tom Faggus cried, with the form of his

countenance so changed, that I verily thought another man must have

leaped into his clothes--“do I see my Cousin Sarah? I thought every one

was ashamed of me, and afraid to offer me shelter, since I lost my best

cousin, John Ridd. 'Come here,' he used to say, 'Tom, come here, when

you are worried, and my wife shall take good care of you.' 'Yes, dear

John,' I used to answer, 'I know she promised my mother so; but people

have taken to think against me, and so might Cousin Sarah.' Ah, he was a

man, a man! If you only heard how he answered me. But let that go, I am

nothing now, since the day I lost Cousin Ridd.” And with that he began

to push on again; but mother would not have it so.

“Oh, Tom, that was a loss indeed. And I am nothing either. And you

should try to allow for me; though I never found any one that did.” And

mother began to cry, though father had been dead so long; and I looked

on with a stupid surprise, having stopped from crying long ago.

“I can tell you one that will,” cried Tom, jumping off Winnie, in a

trice, and looking kindly at mother; “I can allow for you, Cousin Sarah,

in everything but one. I am in some ways a bad man myself; but I know

the value of a good one; and if you gave me orders, by God--” And he

shook his fists towards Bagworthy Wood, just heaving up black in the

sundown.

“Hush, Tom, hush, for God's sake!” And mother meant me, without pointing

at me; at least I thought she did. For she ever had weaned me from

thoughts of revenge, and even from longings for judgment. “God knows

best, boy,” she used to say, “let us wait His time, without wishing

it.” And so, to tell the truth, I did; partly through her teaching, and

partly through my own mild temper, and my knowledge that father, after

all, was killed because he had thrashed them.

“Good-night, Cousin Sarah, good-night, Cousin Jack,” cried Tom, taking

to the mare again; “many a mile I have to ride, and not a bit inside of

me. No food or shelter this side of Exeford, and the night will be black

as pitch, I trow. But it serves me right for indulging the lad, being

taken with his looks so.”

“Cousin Tom,” said mother, and trying to get so that Annie and I could

not hear her; “it would be a sad and unkinlike thing for you to despise

our dwelling-house. We cannot entertain you, as the lordly inns on the

road do; and we have small change of victuals. But the men will go home,

being Saturday; and so you will have the fireside all to yourself and

the children. There are some few collops of red deer's flesh, and a ham

just down from the chimney, and some dried salmon from Lynmouth weir,

and cold roast-pig, and some oysters. And if none of those be to your

liking, we could roast two woodcocks in half an hour, and Annie would

make the toast for them. And the good folk made some mistake last week,

going up the country, and left a keg of old Holland cordial in the

coving of the wood-rick, having borrowed our Smiler, without asking

leave. I fear there is something unrighteous about it. But what can a

poor widow do? John Fry would have taken it, but for our Jack. Our Jack

was a little too sharp for him.”

Ay, that I was; John Fry had got it, like a billet under his apron,

going away in the gray of the morning, as if to kindle his fireplace.

“Why, John,” I said, “what a heavy log! Let me have one end of it.”

“Thank'e, Jan, no need of thiccy,” he answered, turning his back to

me; “waife wanteth a log as will last all day, to kape the crock a

zimmerin.” And he banged his gate upon my heels to make me stop and rub

them. “Why, John,” said I, “you'm got a log with round holes in the end

of it. Who has been cutting gun-wads? Just lift your apron, or I will.”

But, to return to Tom Faggus--he stopped to sup that night with us, and

took a little of everything; a few oysters first, and then dried salmon,

and then ham and eggs, done in small curled rashers, and then a few

collops of venison toasted, and next to that a little cold roast-pig,

and a woodcock on toast to finish with, before the Scheidam and hot

water. And having changed his wet things first, he seemed to be in fair

appetite, and praised Annie's cooking mightily, with a kind of noise

like a smack of his lips, and a rubbing of his hands together, whenever

he could spare them.

He had gotten John Fry's best small-clothes on, for he said he was not

good enough to go into my father's (which mother kept to look at), nor

man enough to fill them. And in truth my mother was very glad that he

refused, when I offered them. But John was over-proud to have it in his

power to say that such a famous man had ever dwelt in any clothes of

his; and afterwards he made show of them. For Mr. Faggus's glory, then,

though not so great as now it is, was spreading very fast indeed all

about our neighbourhood, and even as far as Bridgewater.

Tom Faggus was a jovial soul, if ever there has been one, not making

bones of little things, nor caring to seek evil. There was about him

such a love of genuine human nature, that if a traveller said a good

thing, he would give him back his purse again. It is true that he took

people's money more by force than fraud; and the law (being used to the

inverse method) was bitterly moved against him, although he could quote

precedent. These things I do not understand; having seen so much of

robbery (some legal, some illegal), that I scarcely know, as here we

say, one crow's foot from the other. It is beyond me and above me, to

discuss these subjects; and in truth I love the law right well, when it

doth support me, and when I can lay it down to my liking, with prejudice

to nobody. Loyal, too, to the King am I, as behoves churchwarden; and

ready to make the best of him, as he generally requires. But after

all, I could not see (until I grew much older, and came to have some

property) why Tom Faggus, working hard, was called a robber and felon of

great; while the King, doing nothing at all (as became his dignity), was

liege-lord, and paramount owner; with everybody to thank him kindly for

accepting tribute.

For the present, however, I learned nothing more as to what our cousin's

profession was; only that mother seemed frightened, and whispered to

him now and then not to talk of something, because of the children being

there; whereupon he always nodded with a sage expression, and applied

himself to hollands.

“Now let us go and see Winnie, Jack,” he said to me after supper; “for

the most part I feed her before myself; but she was so hot from the

way you drove her. Now she must be grieving for me, and I never let her

grieve long.”

I was too glad to go with him, and Annie came slyly after us. The filly

was walking to and fro on the naked floor of the stable (for he would

not let her have any straw, until he should make a bed for her), and

without so much as a headstall on, for he would not have her fastened.

“Do you take my mare for a dog?” he had said when John Fry brought him a

halter. And now she ran to him like a child, and her great eyes shone at

the lanthorn.

“Hit me, Jack, and see what she will do. I will not let her hurt thee.”

He was rubbing her ears all the time he spoke, and she was leaning

against him. Then I made believe to strike him, and in a moment she

caught me by the waistband, and lifted me clean from the ground, and was

casting me down to trample upon me, when he stopped her suddenly.

“What think you of that, boy? Have you horse or dog that would do that

for you? Ay, and more than that she will do. If I were to whistle,

by-and-by, in the tone that tells my danger, she would break this

stable-door down, and rush into the room to me. Nothing will keep her

from me then, stone-wall or church-tower. Ah, Winnie, Winnie, you little

witch, we shall die together.”

Then he turned away with a joke, and began to feed her nicely, for she

was very dainty. Not a husk of oat would she touch that had been under

the breath of another horse, however hungry she might be. And with her

oats he mixed some powder, fetching it from his saddle-bags. What this

was I could not guess, neither would he tell me, but laughed and called

it “star-shavings.” He watched her eat every morsel of it, with two or

three drinks of pure water, ministered between whiles; and then he made

her bed in a form I had never seen before, and so we said “Good-night”

to her.

Afterwards by the fireside he kept us very merry, sitting in the great

chimney-corner, and making us play games with him. And all the while he

was smoking tobacco in a manner I never had seen before, not using any

pipe for it, but having it rolled in little sticks about as long as my

finger, blunt at one end and sharp at the other. The sharp end he would

put in his mouth, and lay a brand of wood to the other, and then draw

a white cloud of curling smoke, and we never tired of watching him. I

wanted him to let me do it, but he said, “No, my son; it is not meant

for boys.” Then Annie put up her lips and asked, with both hands on his

knees (for she had taken to him wonderfully), “Is it meant for girls

then cousin Tom?” But she had better not have asked, for he gave it her

to try, and she shut both eyes, and sucked at it. One breath, however,

was quite enough, for it made her cough so violently that Lizzie and

I must thump her back until she was almost crying. To atone for that,

cousin Tom set to, and told us whole pages of stories, not about his own

doings at all, but strangely enough they seemed to concern almost every

one else we had ever heard of. Without halting once for a word or a

deed, his tales flowed onward as freely and brightly as the flames of

the wood up the chimney, and with no smaller variety. For he spoke with

the voices of twenty people, giving each person the proper manner, and

the proper place to speak from; so that Annie and Lizzie ran all about,

and searched the clock and the linen-press. And he changed his face

every moment so, and with such power of mimicry that without so much as

a smile of his own, he made even mother laugh so that she broke her new

tenpenny waistband; and as for us children, we rolled on the floor, and

Betty Muxworthy roared in the wash-up.

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