CHAPTER XLVI

SQUIRE FAGGUS MAKES SOME LUCKY HITS

[Illustration: 397.jpg Illustrated Capital]

Through that season of bitter frost the red deer of the forest, having

nothing to feed upon, and no shelter to rest in, had grown accustomed to

our ricks of corn, and hay, and clover. There we might see a hundred

of them almost any morning, come for warmth, and food, and comfort, and

scarce willing to move away. And many of them were so tame, that they

quietly presented themselves at our back door, and stood there with

their coats quite stiff, and their flanks drawn in and panting,

and icicles sometimes on their chins, and their great eyes fastened

wistfully upon any merciful person; craving for a bit of food, and a

drink of water; I suppose that they had not sense enough to chew the

snow and melt it; at any rate, all the springs being frozen, and rivers

hidden out of sight, these poor things suffered even more from thirst

than they did from hunger.

But now there was no fear of thirst, and more chance indeed of drowning;

for a heavy gale of wind arose, with violent rain from the south-west,

which lasted almost without a pause for three nights and two days. At

first the rain made no impression on the bulk of snow, but ran from

every sloping surface and froze on every flat one, through the coldness

of the earth; and so it became impossible for any man to keep his legs

without the help of a shodden staff. After a good while, however, the

air growing very much warmer, this state of things began to change, and

a worse one to succeed it; for now the snow came thundering down from

roof, and rock, and ivied tree, and floods began to roar and foam in

every trough and gulley. The drifts that had been so white and fair,

looked yellow, and smirched, and muddy, and lost their graceful curves,

and moulded lines, and airiness. But the strangest sight of all to me

was in the bed of streams, and brooks, and especially of the Lynn river.

It was worth going miles to behold such a thing, for a man might never

have the chance again.

Vast drifts of snow had filled the valley, and piled above the

river-course, fifty feet high in many places, and in some as much as a

hundred. These had frozen over the top, and glanced the rain away from

them, and being sustained by rock and tree, spanned the water mightily.

But meanwhile the waxing flood, swollen from every moorland hollow

and from every spouting crag, had dashed away all icy fetters, and

was rolling gloriously. Under white fantastic arches, and long tunnels

freaked and fretted, and between pellucid pillars jagged with nodding

architraves, the red impetuous torrent rushed, and the brown foam

whirled and flashed. I was half inclined to jump in and swim through

such glorious scenery; for nothing used to please me more than swimming

in a flooded river. But I thought of the rocks, and I thought of the

cramp, and more than all, of Lorna; and so, between one thing and

another, I let it roll on without me.

[Illustration: 399.jpg Jump in and swim]

It was now high time to work very hard; both to make up for the

farm-work lost during the months of frost and snow, and also to be ready

for a great and vicious attack from the Doones, who would burn us in our

beds at the earliest opportunity. Of farm-work there was little yet for

even the most zealous man to begin to lay his hand to; because when the

ground appeared through the crust of bubbled snow (as at last it did,

though not as my Lorna had expected, at the first few drops of rain)

it was all so soaked and sodden, and as we call it, “mucksy,” that to

meddle with it in any way was to do more harm than good. Nevertheless,

there was yard work, and house work, and tendence of stock, enough to

save any man from idleness.

As for Lorna, she would come out. There was no keeping her in the house.

She had taken up some peculiar notion that we were doing more for her

than she had any right to, and that she must earn her living by the

hard work of her hands. It was quite in vain to tell her that she was

expected to do nothing, and far worse than vain (for it made her cry

sadly) if any one assured her that she could do no good at all. She even

began upon mother's garden before the snow was clean gone from it, and

sowed a beautiful row of peas, every one of which the mice ate.

But though it was very pretty to watch her working for her very life,

as if the maintenance of the household hung upon her labours, yet I was

grieved for many reasons, and so was mother also. In the first place,

she was too fair and dainty for this rough, rude work; and though it

made her cheeks so bright, it surely must be bad for her to get her

little feet so wet. Moreover, we could not bear the idea that she should

labour for her keep; and again (which was the worst of all things)

mother's garden lay exposed to a dark deceitful coppice, where a man

might lurk and watch all the fair gardener's doings. It was true that

none could get at her thence, while the brook which ran between poured

so great a torrent. Still the distance was but little for a gun to

carry, if any one could be brutal enough to point a gun at Lorna. I

thought that none could be found to do it; but mother, having more

experience, was not so certain of mankind.

Now in spite of the floods, and the sloughs being out, and the state of

the roads most perilous, Squire Faggus came at last, riding his famous

strawberry mare. There was a great ado between him and Annie, as you

may well suppose, after some four months of parting. And so we left them

alone awhile, to coddle over their raptures. But when they were tired of

that, or at least had time enough to do so, mother and I went in to know

what news Tom had brought with him. Though he did not seem to want us

yet, he made himself agreeable; and so we sent Annie to cook the dinner

while her sweetheart should tell us everything.

Tom Faggus had very good news to tell, and he told it with such force of

expression as made us laugh very heartily. He had taken up his purchase

from old Sir Roger Bassett of a nice bit of land, to the south of the

moors, and in the parish of Molland. When the lawyers knew thoroughly

who he was, and how he had made his money, they behaved uncommonly well

to him, and showed great sympathy with his pursuits. He put them up to a

thing or two; and they poked him in the ribs, and laughed, and said that

he was quite a boy; but of the right sort, none the less. And so they

made old Squire Bassett pay the bill for both sides; and all he got for

three hundred acres was a hundred and twenty pounds; though Tom had paid

five hundred. But lawyers know that this must be so, in spite of all

their endeavours; and the old gentleman, who now expected to find a bill

for him to pay, almost thought himself a rogue, for getting anything out

of them.

It is true that the land was poor and wild, and the soil exceeding

shallow; lying on the slope of rock, and burned up in hot summers. But

with us, hot summers are things known by tradition only (as this great

winter may be); we generally have more moisture, especially in July,

than we well know what to do with. I have known a fog for a fortnight

at the summer solstice, and farmers talking in church about it when they

ought to be praying. But it always contrives to come right in the end,

as other visitations do, if we take them as true visits, and receive

them kindly.

Now this farm of Squire Faggus (as he truly now had a right to be

called) was of the very finest pasture, when it got good store of rain.

And Tom, who had ridden the Devonshire roads with many a reeking jacket,

knew right well that he might trust the climate for that matter. The

herbage was of the very sweetest, and the shortest, and the closest,

having perhaps from ten to eighteen inches of wholesome soil between it

and the solid rock. Tom saw at once what it was fit for--the breeding of

fine cattle.

Being such a hand as he was at making the most of everything, both his

own and other people's (although so free in scattering, when the

humour lay upon him) he had actually turned to his own advantage that

extraordinary weather which had so impoverished every one around him.

For he taught his Winnie (who knew his meaning as well as any child

could, and obeyed not only his word of mouth, but every glance he

gave her) to go forth in the snowy evenings when horses are seeking

everywhere (be they wild or tame) for fodder and for shelter; and to

whinny to the forest ponies, miles away from home perhaps, and lead

them all with rare appetites and promise of abundance, to her master's

homestead. He shod good Winnie in such a manner that she could not sink

in the snow; and he clad her over the loins with a sheep-skin dyed to

her own colour, which the wild horses were never tired of coming up and

sniffing at; taking it for an especial gift, and proof of inspiration.

And Winnie never came home at night without at least a score of ponies

trotting shyly after her, tossing their heads and their tails in turn,

and making believe to be very wild, although hard pinched by famine. Of

course Tom would get them all into his pound in about five minutes,

for he himself could neigh in a manner which went to the heart of the

wildest horse. And then he fed them well, and turned them into his great

cattle pen, to abide their time for breaking, when the snow and frost

should be over.

[Illustration: 401.jpg He clad her over the loins]

He had gotten more than three hundred now, in this sagacious manner; and

he said it was the finest sight to see their mode of carrying on, how

they would snort, and stamp, and fume, and prick their ears, and rush

backwards, and lash themselves with their long rough tails, and shake

their jagged manes, and scream, and fall upon one another, if a strange

man came anigh them. But as for feeding time, Tom said it was better

than fifty plays to watch them, and the tricks they were up to, to cheat

their feeders, and one another. I asked him how on earth he had managed

to get fodder, in such impassable weather, for such a herd of horses;

but he said that they lived upon straw and sawdust; and he knew that I

did not believe him, any more than about his star-shavings. And this was

just the thing he loved--to mystify honest people, and be a great deal

too knowing. However, I may judge him harshly, because I myself tell

everything.

I asked him what he meant to do with all that enormous lot of horses,

and why he had not exerted his wits to catch the red deer as well. He

said that the latter would have been against the laws of venery, and

might have brought him into trouble, but as for disposing of his stud,

it would give him little difficulty. He would break them, when the

spring weather came on, and deal with them as they required, and keep

the handsomest for breeding. The rest he would despatch to London, where

he knew plenty of horse-dealers; and he doubted not that they would

fetch him as much as ten pounds apiece all round, being now in great

demand. I told him I wished that he might get it; but as it proved

afterwards, he did.

Then he pressed us both on another point, the time for his marriage to

Annie; and mother looked at me to say when, and I looked back at mother.

However, knowing something of the world, and unable to make any further

objection, by reason of his prosperity, I said that we must even do as

the fashionable people did, and allow the maid herself to settle, when

she would leave home and all. And this I spoke with a very bad grace,

being perhaps of an ancient cast, and over fond of honesty--I mean, of

course, among lower people.

But Tom paid little heed to this, knowing the world a great deal better

than ever I could pretend to do; and being ready to take a thing, upon

which he had set his mind, whether it came with a good grace, or whether

it came with a bad one. And seeing that it would be awkward to provoke

my anger, he left the room, before more words, to submit himself to

Annie.

Upon this I went in search of Lorna, to tell her of our cousin's

arrival, and to ask whether she would think fit to see him, or to dine

by herself that day; for she should do exactly as it pleased her in

everything, while remaining still our guest. But I rather wished that

she might choose not to sit in Tom's company, though she might be

introduced to him. Not but what he could behave quite as well as could,

and much better, as regarded elegance and assurance, only that his

honesty had not been as one might desire. But Lorna had some curiosity

to know what this famous man was like, and declared that she would by

all means have the pleasure of dining with him, if he did not object to

her company on the ground of the Doones' dishonesty; moreover, she said

that it would seem a most foolish air on her part, and one which would

cause the greatest pain to Annie, who had been so good to her, if she

should refuse to sit at table with a man who held the King's pardon, and

was now a pattern of honesty.

Against this I had not a word to say; and could not help acknowledging

in my heart that she was right, as well as wise, in her decision. And

afterwards I discovered that mother would have been much displeased, if

she had decided otherwise.

Accordingly she turned away, with one of her very sweetest smiles (whose

beauty none can describe) saying that she must not meet a man of such

fashion and renown, in her common gardening frock; but must try to look

as nice as she could, if only in honour of dear Annie. And truth to

tell, when she came to dinner, everything about her was the neatest

and prettiest that can possibly be imagined. She contrived to match

the colours so, to suit one another and her own, and yet with a certain

delicate harmony of contrast, and the shape of everything was so nice,

so that when she came into the room, with a crown of winning modesty

upon the consciousness of beauty, I was quite as proud as if the Queen

of England entered.

My mother could not help remarking, though she knew that it was not

mannerly, how like a princess Lorna looked, now she had her best things

on; but two things caught Squire Faggus's eyes, after he had made a

most gallant bow, and received a most graceful courtesy; and he kept his

bright bold gaze upon them, first on one, and then on the other, until

my darling was hot with blushes, and I was ready to knock him down if he

had not been our visitor. But here again I should have been wrong, as I

was apt to be in those days; for Tom intended no harm whatever, and his

gaze was of pure curiosity; though Annie herself was vexed with it. The

two objects of his close regard, were first, and most worthily, Lorna's

face, and secondly, the ancient necklace restored to her by Sir Ensor

Doone.

Now wishing to save my darling's comfort, and to keep things quiet, I

shouted out that dinner was ready, so that half the parish could hear

me; upon which my mother laughed, and chid me, and despatched her guests

before her. And a very good dinner we made, I remember, and a very

happy one; attending to the women first, as now is the manner of eating;

except among the workmen. With them, of course, it is needful that

the man (who has his hours fixed) should be served first, and make the

utmost of his time for feeding, while the women may go on, as much as

ever they please, afterwards. But with us, who are not bound to time,

there is no such reason to be quoted; and the women being the weaker

vessels, should be the first to begin to fill. And so we always arranged

it.

Now, though our Annie was a graceful maid, and Lizzie a very learned

one, you should have seen how differently Lorna managed her dining; she

never took more than about a quarter of a mouthful at a time, and she

never appeared to be chewing that, although she must have done so.

Indeed, she appeared to dine as if it were a matter of no consequence,

and as if she could think of other things more than of her business. All

this, and her own manner of eating, I described to Eliza once, when I

wanted to vex her for something very spiteful that she had said; and

I never succeeded so well before, for the girl was quite outrageous,

having her own perception of it, which made my observation ten times as

bitter to her. And I am not sure but what she ceased to like poor Lorna

from that day; and if so, I was quite paid out, as I well deserved, for

my bit of satire.

For it strikes me that of all human dealings, satire is the very lowest,

and most mean and common. It is the equivalent in words of what bullying

is in deeds; and no more bespeaks a clever man, than the other does a

brave one. These two wretched tricks exalt a fool in his own low esteem,

but never in his neighbour's; for the deep common sense of our nature

tells that no man of a genial heart, or of any spread of mind, can take

pride in either. And though a good man may commit the one fault or the

other, now and then, by way of outlet, he is sure to have compunctions

soon, and to scorn himself more than the sufferer.

Now when the young maidens were gone--for we had quite a high dinner of

fashion that day, with Betty Muxworthy waiting, and Gwenny Carfax at the

gravy--and only mother, and Tom, and I remained at the white deal table,

with brandy, and schnapps, and hot water jugs; Squire Faggus said quite

suddenly, and perhaps on purpose to take us aback, in case of our hiding

anything,--“What do you know of the history of that beautiful maiden,

good mother?”

“Not half so much as my son does,” mother answered, with a soft smile at

me; “and when John does not choose to tell a thing, wild horses will not

pull it out of him.”

“That is not at all like me, mother,” I replied rather sadly; “you know

almost every word about Lorna, quite as well as I do.”

“Almost every word, I believe, John; for you never tell a falsehood. But

the few unknown may be of all the most important to me.”

To this I made no answer, for fear of going beyond the truth, or else

of making mischief. Not that I had, or wished to have, any mystery with

mother; neither was there in purest truth, any mystery in the matter;

to the utmost of my knowledge. And the only things that I had kept back,

solely for mother's comfort, were the death of poor Lord Alan Brandir

(if indeed he were dead) and the connection of Marwood de Whichehalse

with the dealings of the Doones, and the threats of Carver Doone against

my own prosperity; and, may be, one or two little things harrowing more

than edifying.

“Come, come,” said Master Faggus, smiling very pleasantly, “you two

understand each other, if any two on earth do. Ah, if I had only had a

mother, how different I might have been!” And with that he sighed,

in the tone which always overcame mother upon that subject, and had

something to do with his getting Annie; and then he produced his pretty

box, full of rolled tobacco, and offered me one, as I now had joined the

goodly company of smokers. So I took it, and watched what he did with

his own, lest I might go wrong about mine.

But when our cylinders were both lighted, and I enjoying mine

wonderfully, and astonishing mother by my skill, Tom Faggus told us that

he was sure he had seen my Lorna's face before, many and many years ago,

when she was quite a little child, but he could not remember where it

was, or anything more about it at present; though he would try to do so

afterwards. He could not be mistaken, he said, for he had noticed her

eyes especially; and had never seen such eyes before, neither

again, until this day. I asked him if he had ever ventured into the

Doone-valley; but he shook his head, and replied that he valued his life

a deal too much for that. Then we put it to him, whether anything might

assist his memory; but he said that he knew not of aught to do so,

unless it were another glass of schnapps.

This being provided, he grew very wise, and told us clearly and candidly

that we were both very foolish. For he said that we were keeping Lorna,

at the risk not only of our stock, and the house above our heads, but

also of our precious lives; and after all was she worth it, although so

very beautiful? Upon which I told him, with indignation, that her beauty

was the least part of her goodness, and that I would thank him for his

opinion when I had requested it.

“Bravo, our John Ridd!” he answered; “fools will be fools till the end

of the chapter; and I might be as big a one, if I were in thy shoes,

John. Nevertheless, in the name of God, don't let that helpless child go

about with a thing worth half the county on her.”

“She is worth all the county herself,” said I, “and all England put

together; but she has nothing worth half a rick of hay upon her; for the

ring I gave her cost only,”--and here I stopped, for mother was looking,

and I never would tell her how much it had cost me; though she had tried

fifty times to find out.

“Tush, the ring!” Tom Faggus cried, with a contempt that moved me: “I

would never have stopped a man for that. But the necklace, you great

oaf, the necklace is worth all your farm put together, and your Uncle

Ben's fortune to the back of it; ay, and all the town of Dulverton.”

“What,” said I, “that common glass thing, which she has had from her

childhood!”

“Glass indeed! They are the finest brilliants ever I set eyes on; and I

have handled a good many.”

“Surely,” cried mother, now flushing as red as Tom's own cheeks with

excitement, “you must be wrong, or the young mistress would herself have

known it.”

I was greatly pleased with my mother, for calling Lorna “the young

mistress”; it was not done for the sake of her diamonds, whether they

were glass or not; but because she felt as I had done, that Tom Faggus,

a man of no birth whatever, was speaking beyond his mark, in calling a

lady like Lorna a helpless child; as well as in his general tone, which

displayed no deference. He might have been used to the quality, in the

way of stopping their coaches, or roystering at hotels with them; but he

never had met a high lady before, in equality, and upon virtue; and we

both felt that he ought to have known it, and to have thanked us for the

opportunity, in a word, to have behaved a great deal more humbly than he

had even tried to do.

“Trust me,” answered Tom, in his loftiest manner, which Annie said

was “so noble,” but which seemed to me rather flashy, “trust me, good

mother, and simple John, for knowing brilliants, when I see them. I

would have stopped an eight-horse coach, with four carabined out-riders,

for such a booty as that. But alas, those days are over; those were days

worth living in. Ah, I never shall know the like again. How fine it was

by moonlight!”

“Master Faggus,” began my mother, with a manner of some dignity, such

as she could sometimes use, by right of her integrity, and thorough

kindness to every one, “this is not the tone in which you have hitherto

spoken to me about your former pursuits and life, I fear that the

spirits”--but here she stopped, because the spirits were her own, and

Tom was our visitor,--“what I mean, Master Faggus, is this: you have

won my daughter's heart somehow; and you won my consent to the matter

through your honest sorrow, and manly undertaking to lead a different

life, and touch no property but your own. Annie is my eldest daughter,

and the child of a most upright man. I love her best of all on earth,

next to my boy John here”--here mother gave me a mighty squeeze, to be

sure that she would have me at least--“and I will not risk my Annie's

life with a man who yearns for the highway.”

[Illustration: 407.jpg “Master Faggus,” began my mother]

Having made this very long speech (for her), mother came home upon my

shoulder, and wept so that (but for heeding her) I would have taken Tom

by the nose, and thrown him, and Winnie after him, over our farm-yard

gate. For I am violent when roused; and freely hereby acknowledge it;

though even my enemies will own that it takes a great deal to rouse me.

But I do consider the grief and tears (when justly caused) of my dearest

friends, to be a great deal to rouse me.

[Illustration: 409.jpg Tailpiece]