CHAPTER XLV

A CHANGE LONG NEEDED

[Illustration: 389.jpg Marwood Whichehalse]

Jeremy Stickles was gone south, ere ever the frost set in, for the

purpose of mustering forces to attack the Doone Glen. But, of course,

this weather had put a stop to every kind of movement; for even if men

could have borne the cold, they could scarcely be brought to face the

perils of the snow-drifts. And to tell the truth I cared not how long

this weather lasted, so long as we had enough to eat, and could keep

ourselves from freezing. Not only that I did not want Master Stickles

back again, to make more disturbances; but also that the Doones could

not come prowling after Lorna while the snow lay piled between us, with

the surface soft and dry. Of course they would very soon discover where

their lawful queen was, although the track of sledd and snow-shoes had

been quite obliterated by another shower, before the revellers could

have grown half as drunk as they intended. But Marwood de Whichehalse,

who had been snowed up among them (as Gwenny said), after helping

to strip the beacon, that young Squire was almost certain to have

recognised me, and to have told the vile Carver. And it gave me no

little pleasure to think how mad that Carver must be with me, for

robbing him of the lovely bride whom he was starving into matrimony.

However, I was not pleased at all with the prospect of the consequences;

but set all hands on to thresh the corn, ere the Doones could come and

burn the ricks. For I knew that they could not come yet, inasmuch as

even a forest pony could not traverse the country, much less the heavy

horses needed to carry such men as they were. And hundreds of the forest

ponies died in this hard weather, some being buried in the snow, and

more of them starved for want of grass.

Going through this state of things, and laying down the law about

it (subject to correction), I very soon persuaded Lorna that for the

present she was safe, and (which made her still more happy) that she was

not only welcome, but as gladdening to our eyes as the flowers of May.

Of course, so far as regarded myself, this was not a hundredth part of

the real truth; and even as regarded others, I might have said it ten

times over. For Lorna had so won them all, by her kind and gentle ways,

and her mode of hearkening to everybody's trouble, and replying without

words, as well as by her beauty, and simple grace of all things, that

I could almost wish sometimes the rest would leave her more to me. But

mother could not do enough; and Annie almost worshipped her; and even

Lizzie could not keep her bitterness towards her; especially when she

found that Lorna knew as much of books as need be.

As for John Fry, and Betty, and Molly, they were a perfect plague when

Lorna came into the kitchen. For betwixt their curiosity to see a

live Doone in the flesh (when certain not to eat them), and their high

respect for birth (with or without honesty), and their intense desire to

know all about Master John's sweetheart (dropped, as they said, from the

snow-clouds), and most of all their admiration of a beauty such as never

even their angels could have seen--betwixt and between all this, I say,

there was no getting the dinner cooked, with Lorna in the kitchen.

And the worst of it was that Lorna took the strangest of all strange

fancies for this very kitchen; and it was hard to keep her out of it.

Not that she had any special bent for cooking, as our Annie had; rather

indeed the contrary, for she liked to have her food ready cooked; but

that she loved the look of the place, and the cheerful fire burning, and

the racks of bacon to be seen, and the richness, and the homeliness, and

the pleasant smell of everything. And who knows but what she may have

liked (as the very best of maidens do) to be admired, now and then,

between the times of business?

Therefore if you wanted Lorna (as I was always sure to do, God knows

how many times a day), the very surest place to find her was our own

old kitchen. Not gossiping, I mean, nor loitering, neither seeking into

things, but seeming to be quite at home, as if she had known it from a

child, and seeming (to my eyes at least) to light it up, and make life

and colour out of all the dullness; as I have seen the breaking sun do

among brown shocks of wheat.

But any one who wished to learn whether girls can change or not, as the

things around them change (while yet their hearts are steadfast, and for

ever anchored), he should just have seen my Lorna, after a fortnight

of our life, and freedom from anxiety. It is possible that my

company--although I am accounted stupid by folk who do not know my

way--may have had something to do with it; but upon this I will not say

much, lest I lose my character. And indeed, as regards company, I had

all the threshing to see to, and more than half to do myself (though any

one would have thought that even John Fry must work hard this weather),

else I could not hope at all to get our corn into such compass that a

good gun might protect it.

But to come back to Lorna again (which I always longed to do, and must

long for ever), all the change between night and day, all the shifts

of cloud and sun, all the difference between black death and brightsome

liveliness, scarcely may suggest or equal Lorna's transformation. Quick

she had always been and “peart” (as we say on Exmoor) and gifted with a

leap of thought too swift for me to follow; and hence you may find fault

with much, when I report her sayings. But through the whole had always

run, as a black string goes through pearls, something dark and touched

with shadow, coloured as with an early end.

But, now, behold! there was none of this! There was no getting her, for

a moment, even to be serious. All her bright young wit was flashing,

like a newly-awakened flame, and all her high young spirits leaped, as

if dancing to its fire. And yet she never spoke a word which gave more

pain than pleasure.

And even in her outward look there was much of difference. Whether it

was our warmth, and freedom, and our harmless love of God, and trust

in one another; or whether it were our air, and water, and the pea-fed

bacon; anyhow my Lorna grew richer and more lovely, more perfect and

more firm of figure, and more light and buoyant, with every passing day

that laid its tribute on her cheeks and lips. I was allowed one kiss

a day; only one for manners' sake, because she was our visitor; and I

might have it before breakfast, or else when I came to say “good-night!”

according as I decided. And I decided every night, not to take it in the

morning, but put it off till the evening time, and have the pleasure to

think about, through all the day of working. But when my darling came up

to me in the early daylight, fresher than the daystar, and with no one

looking; only her bright eyes smiling, and sweet lips quite ready, was

it likely I could wait, and think all day about it? For she wore a frock

of Annie's, nicely made to fit her, taken in at the waist and curved--I

never could explain it, not being a mantua-maker; but I know how her

figure looked in it, and how it came towards me.

But this is neither here nor there; and I must on with my story. Those

days are very sacred to me, and if I speak lightly of them, trust

me, 'tis with lip alone; while from heart reproach peeps sadly at the

flippant tricks of mind.

Although it was the longest winter ever known in our parts (never having

ceased to freeze for a single night, and scarcely for a single day, from

the middle of December till the second week in March), to me it was the

very shortest and the most delicious; and verily I do believe it was

the same to Lorna. But when the Ides of March were come (of which I

do remember something dim from school, and something clear from my

favourite writer) lo, there were increasing signals of a change of

weather.

One leading feature of that long cold, and a thing remarked by every one

(however unobservant) had been the hollow moaning sound ever present in

the air, morning, noon, and night-time, and especially at night, whether

any wind were stirring, or whether it were a perfect calm. Our people

said that it was a witch cursing all the country from the caverns by the

sea, and that frost and snow would last until we could catch and drown

her. But the land, being thoroughly blocked with snow, and the inshore

parts of the sea with ice (floating in great fields along), Mother

Melldrum (if she it were) had the caverns all to herself, for there

was no getting at her. And speaking of the sea reminds me of a thing

reported to us, and on good authority; though people might be found

hereafter who would not believe it, unless I told them that from what I

myself beheld of the channel I place perfect faith in it: and this is,

that a dozen sailors at the beginning of March crossed the ice, with the

aid of poles from Clevedon to Penarth, or where the Holm rocks barred

the flotage.

But now, about the tenth of March, that miserable moaning noise, which

had both foregone and accompanied the rigour, died away from out the

air; and we, being now so used to it, thought at first that we must be

deaf. And then the fog, which had hung about (even in full sunshine)

vanished, and the shrouded hills shone forth with brightness manifold.

And now the sky at length began to come to its true manner, which we

had not seen for months, a mixture (if I so may speak) of various

expressions. Whereas till now from Allhallows-tide, six weeks ere the

great frost set in, the heavens had worn one heavy mask of ashen gray

when clouded, or else one amethystine tinge with a hazy rim, when

cloudless. So it was pleasant to behold, after that monotony, the fickle

sky which suits our England, though abused by foreign folk.

And soon the dappled softening sky gave some earnest of its mood; for a

brisk south wind arose, and the blessed rain came driving, cold indeed,

yet most refreshing to the skin, all parched with snow, and the eyeballs

so long dazzled. Neither was the heart more sluggish in its thankfulness

to God. People had begun to think, and somebody had prophesied, that we

should have no spring this year, no seed-time, and no harvest; for that

the Lord had sent a judgment on this country of England, and the

nation dwelling in it, because of the wickedness of the Court, and the

encouragement shown to Papists. And this was proved, they said, by what

had happened in the town of London; where, for more than a fortnight,

such a chill of darkness lay that no man might behold his neighbour,

even across the narrowest street; and where the ice upon the Thames was

more than four feet thick, and crushing London Bridge in twain. Now

to these prophets I paid no heed, believing not that Providence would

freeze us for other people's sins; neither seeing how England could for

many generations have enjoyed good sunshine, if Popery meant frost and

fogs. Besides, why could not Providence settle the business once for

all by freezing the Pope himself; even though (according to our view) he

were destined to extremes of heat, together with all who followed him?

Not to meddle with that subject, being beyond my judgment, let me tell

the things I saw, and then you must believe me. The wind, of course, I

could not see, not having the powers of a pig; but I could see the laden

branches of the great oaks moving, hoping to shake off the load packed

and saddled on them. And hereby I may note a thing which some one may

explain perhaps in the after ages, when people come to look at things.

This is that in desperate cold all the trees were pulled awry, even

though the wind had scattered the snow burden from them. Of some sorts

the branches bended downwards, like an archway; of other sorts the

boughs curved upwards, like a red deer's frontlet. This I know no

reason* for; but am ready to swear that I saw it.

* The reason is very simple, as all nature's reasons are;

though the subject has not yet been investigated thoroughly.

In some trees the vascular tissue is more open on the upper

side, in others on the under side, of the spreading

branches; according to the form of growth, and habit of the

sap. Hence in very severe cold, when the vessels

(comparatively empty) are constricted, some have more power

of contraction on the upper side, and some upon the under.

Ed. L.D.

Now when the first of the rain began, and the old familiar softness

spread upon the window glass, and ran a little way in channels (though

from the coldness of the glass it froze before reaching the bottom),

knowing at once the difference from the short sharp thud of snow, we all

ran out, and filled our eyes and filled our hearts with gazing. True,

the snow was piled up now all in mountains round us; true, the air was

still so cold that our breath froze on the doorway, and the rain was

turned to ice wherever it struck anything; nevertheless that it was rain

there was no denying, as we watched it across black doorways, and could

see no sign of white. Mother, who had made up her mind that the farm

was not worth having after all those prophesies, and that all of us must

starve, and holes be scratched in the snow for us, and no use to put up

a tombstone (for our church had been shut up long ago) mother fell

upon my breast, and sobbed that I was the cleverest fellow ever born

of woman. And this because I had condemned the prophets for a pack of

fools; not seeing how business could go on, if people stopped to hearken

to them.

Then Lorna came and glorified me, for I had predicted a change of

weather, more to keep their spirits up, than with real hope of it; and

then came Annie blushing shyly, as I looked at her, and said that Winnie

would soon have four legs now. This referred to some stupid joke made

by John Fry or somebody, that in this weather a man had no legs, and a

horse had only two.

But as the rain came down upon us from the southwest wind, and we could

not have enough of it, even putting our tongues to catch it, as little

children might do, and beginning to talk of primroses; the very noblest

thing of all was to hear and see the gratitude of the poor beasts yet

remaining and the few surviving birds. From the cowhouse lowing came,

more than of fifty milking times; moo and moo, and a turn-up noise at

the end of every bellow, as if from the very heart of kine. Then the

horses in the stables, packed as closely as they could stick, at the

risk of kicking, to keep the warmth in one another, and their spirits

up by discoursing; these began with one accord to lift up their voices,

snorting, snaffling, whinnying, and neighing, and trotting to the door

to know when they should have work again. To whom, as if in answer, came

the feeble bleating of the sheep, what few, by dint of greatest care,

had kept their fleeces on their backs, and their four legs under them.

Neither was it a trifling thing, let whoso will say the contrary, to

behold the ducks and geese marching forth in handsome order from their

beds of fern and straw. What a goodly noise they kept, what a flapping

of their wings, and a jerking of their tails, as they stood right up and

tried with a whistling in their throats to imitate a cockscrow! And then

how daintily they took the wet upon their dusty plumes, and ducked their

shoulders to it, and began to dress themselves, and laid their grooved

bills on the snow, and dabbled for more ooziness!

Lorna had never seen, I dare say, anything like this before, and it was

all that we could do to keep her from rushing forth with only little

lambswool shoes on, and kissing every one of them. “Oh, the dear things,

oh, the dear things!” she kept saying continually, “how wonderfully

clever they are! Only look at that one with his foot up, giving orders

to the others, John!”

“And I must give orders to you, my darling,” I answered, gazing on her

face, so brilliant with excitement; “and that is, that you come in at

once, with that worrisome cough of yours; and sit by the fire, and warm

yourself.”

“Oh, no, John! Not for a minute, if you please, good John. I want to see

the snow go away, and the green meadows coming forth. And here comes our

favourite robin, who has lived in the oven so long, and sang us a song

every morning. I must see what he thinks of it!”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” I answered very shortly, being only

too glad of a cause for having her in my arms again. So I caught her up,

and carried her in; and she looked and smiled so sweetly at me instead

of pouting (as I had feared) that I found myself unable to go very fast

along the passage. And I set her there in her favourite place, by the

sweet-scented wood-fire; and she paid me porterage without my even

asking her; and for all the beauty of the rain, I was fain to stay with

her; until our Annie came to say that my advice was wanted.

Now my advice was never much, as everybody knew quite well; but that was

the way they always put it, when they wanted me to work for them. And in

truth it was time for me to work; not for others, but myself, and (as I

always thought) for Lorna. For the rain was now coming down in earnest;

and the top of the snow being frozen at last, and glazed as hard as a

china cup, by means of the sun and frost afterwards, all the rain ran

right away from the steep inclines, and all the outlets being blocked

with ice set up like tables, it threatened to flood everything. Already

it was ponding up, like a tide advancing at the threshold of the door

from which we had watched the duck-birds; both because great piles of

snow trended in that direction, in spite of all our scraping, and also

that the gulley hole, where the water of the shoot went out (I mean when

it was water) now was choked with lumps of ice, as big as a man's body.

For the “shoot,” as we called our little runnel of everlasting water,

never known to freeze before, and always ready for any man either to

wash his hands, or drink, where it spouted from a trough of bark, set

among white flint-stones; this at last had given in, and its music

ceased to lull us, as we lay in bed.

It was not long before I managed to drain off this threatening flood,

by opening the old sluice-hole; but I had much harder work to keep the

stables, and the cow-house, and the other sheds, from flooding. For we

have a sapient practice (and I never saw the contrary round about our

parts, I mean), of keeping all rooms underground, so that you step down

to them. We say that thus we keep them warmer, both for cattle and for

men, in the time of winter, and cooler in the summer-time. This I will

not contradict, though having my own opinion; but it seems to me to be

a relic of the time when people in the western countries lived in caves

beneath the ground, and blocked the mouths with neat-skins.

Let that question still abide, for men who study ancient times to inform

me, if they will; all I know is, that now we had no blessings for the

system. If after all their cold and starving, our weak cattle now should

have to stand up to their knees in water, it would be certain death to

them; and we had lost enough already to make us poor for a long time;

not to speak of our kind love for them. And I do assure you, I loved

some horses, and even some cows for that matter, as if they had been my

blood-relations; knowing as I did their virtues. And some of these were

lost to us; and I could not bear to think of them. Therefore I worked

hard all night to try and save the rest of them.