CHAPTER LII

THE WAY TO MAKE THE CREAM RISE

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That night the reverend Counsellor, not being in such state of mind as

ought to go alone, kindly took our best old bedstead, carved in panels,

well enough, with the woman of Samaria. I set him up, both straight

and heavy, so that he need but close both eyes, and keep his mouth just

open; and in the morning he was thankful for all that he could remember.

I, for my part, scarcely knew whether he really had begun to feel

goodwill towards us, and to see that nothing else could be of any use

to him; or whether he was merely acting, so as to deceive us. And it

had struck me, several times, that he had made a great deal more of the

spirit he had taken than the quantity would warrant, with a man so wise

and solid. Neither did I quite understand a little story which Lorna

told me, how that in the night awaking, she had heard, or seemed to

hear, a sound of feeling in her room; as if there had been some

one groping carefully among the things within her drawers or

wardrobe-closet. But the noise had ceased at once, she said, when she

sat up in bed and listened; and knowing how many mice we had, she took

courage and fell asleep again.

After breakfast, the Counsellor (who looked no whit the worse for

schnapps, but even more grave and venerable) followed our Annie into the

dairy, to see how we managed the clotted cream, of which he had eaten

a basinful. And thereupon they talked a little; and Annie thought him a

fine old gentleman, and a very just one; for he had nobly condemned the

people who spoke against Tom Faggus.

“Your honour must plainly understand,” said Annie, being now alone

with him, and spreading out her light quick hands over the pans, like

butterflies, “that they are brought in here to cool, after being set in

the basin-holes, with the wood-ash under them, which I showed you in the

back-kitchen. And they must have very little heat, not enough to simmer

even; only just to make the bubbles rise, and the scum upon the top set

thick; and after that, it clots as firm--oh, as firm as my two hands

be.”

“Have you ever heard,” asked the Counsellor, who enjoyed this talk with

Annie, “that if you pass across the top, without breaking the surface, a

string of beads, or polished glass, or anything of that kind, the cream

will set three times as solid, and in thrice the quantity?”

“No, sir; I have never heard that,” said Annie, staring with all her

simple eyes; “what a thing it is to read books, and grow learned! But

it is very easy to try it: I will get my coral necklace; it will not be

witchcraft, will it, sir?”

“Certainly not,” the old man replied; “I will make the experiment

myself; and you may trust me not to be hurt, my dear. But coral will not

do, my child, neither will anything coloured. The beads must be of plain

common glass; but the brighter they are the better.”

“Then I know the very thing,” cried Annie; “as bright as bright can be,

and without any colour in it, except in the sun or candle light. Dearest

Lorna has the very thing, a necklace of some old glass-beads, or I think

they called them jewels: she will be too glad to lend it to us. I will

go for it, in a moment.”

“My dear, it cannot be half so bright as your own pretty eyes. But

remember one thing, Annie, you must not say what it is for; or even that

I am going to use it, or anything at all about it; else the charm will

be broken. Bring it here, without a word; if you know where she keeps

it.”

“To be sure I do,” she answered; “John used to keep it for her. But

she took it away from him last week, and she wore it when--I mean when

somebody was here; and he said it was very valuable, and spoke with

great learning about it, and called it by some particular name, which I

forget at this moment. But valuable or not, we cannot hurt it, can we,

sir, by passing it over the cream-pan?”

“Hurt it!” cried the Counsellor: “nay, we shall do it good, my dear.

It will help to raise the cream: and you may take my word for it, young

maiden, none can do good in this world, without in turn receiving it.”

Pronouncing this great sentiment, he looked so grand and benevolent,

that Annie (as she said afterwards) could scarce forbear from kissing

him, yet feared to take the liberty. Therefore, she only ran away to

fetch my Lorna's necklace.

Now as luck would have it--whether good luck or otherwise, you must not

judge too hastily,--my darling had taken it into her head, only a day or

two before, that I was far too valuable to be trusted with her necklace.

Now that she had some idea of its price and quality, she had begun to

fear that some one, perhaps even Squire Faggus (in whom her faith was

illiberal), might form designs against my health, to win the bauble from

me. So, with many pretty coaxings, she had led me to give it up; which,

except for her own sake, I was glad enough to do, misliking a charge of

such importance.

Therefore Annie found it sparkling in the little secret hole, near the

head of Lorna's bed, which she herself had recommended for its safer

custody; and without a word to any one she brought it down, and danced

it in the air before the Counsellor, for him to admire its lustre.

“Oh, that old thing!” said the gentleman, in a tone of some contempt; “I

remember that old thing well enough. However, for want of a better, no

doubt it will answer our purpose. Three times three, I pass it over.

Crinkleum, crankum, grass and clover! What are you feared of, you silly

child?”

“Good sir, it is perfect witchcraft! I am sure of that, because it

rhymes. Oh, what would mother say to me? Shall I ever go to heaven

again? Oh, I see the cream already!”

“To be sure you do; but you must not look, or the whole charm will be

broken, and the devil will fly away with the pan, and drown every cow

you have got in it.”

“Oh, sir, it is too horrible. How could you lead me to such a sin? Away

with thee, witch of Endor!”

For the door began to creak, and a broom appeared suddenly in the

opening, with our Betty, no doubt, behind it. But Annie, in the greatest

terror, slammed the door, and bolted it, and then turned again to the

Counsellor; yet looking at his face, had not the courage to reproach

him. For his eyes rolled like two blazing barrels, and his white shagged

brows were knit across them, and his forehead scowled in black furrows,

so that Annie said that if she ever saw the devil, she saw him then, and

no mistake. Whether the old man wished to scare her, or whether he was

trying not to laugh, is more than I can tell you.

“Now,” he said, in a deep stern whisper; “not a word of this to a living

soul; neither must you, nor any other enter this place for three hours

at least. By that time the charm will have done its work: the pan will

be cream to the bottom; and you will bless me for a secret which will

make your fortune. Put the bauble under this pannikin; which none must

lift for a day and a night. Have no fear, my simple wench; not a breath

of harm shall come to you, if you obey my orders.”

“Oh, that I will, sir, that I will: if you will only tell me what to

do.”

“Go to your room, without so much as a single word to any one. Bolt

yourself in, and for three hours now, read the Lord's Prayer backwards.”

Poor Annie was only too glad to escape, upon these conditions; and the

Counsellor kissed her upon the forehead and told her not to make her

eyes red, because they were much too sweet and pretty. She dropped them

at this, with a sob and a curtsey, and ran away to her bedroom; but as

for reading the Lord's Prayer backwards, that was much beyond her;

and she had not done three words quite right, before the three hours

expired.

Meanwhile the Counsellor was gone. He bade our mother adieu, with so

much dignity of bearing, and such warmth of gratitude, and the high-bred

courtesy of the old school (now fast disappearing), that when he was

gone, dear mother fell back on the chair which he had used last night,

as if it would teach her the graces. And for more than an hour she made

believe not to know what there was for dinner.

“Oh, the wickedness of the world! Oh, the lies that are told of

people--or rather I mean the falsehoods--because a man is better born,

and has better manners! Why, Lorna, how is it that you never speak about

your charming uncle? Did you notice, Lizzie, how his silver hair was

waving upon his velvet collar, and how white his hands were, and every

nail like an acorn; only pink like shell-fish, or at least like shells?

And the way he bowed, and dropped his eyes, from his pure respect for

me! And then, that he would not even speak, on account of his emotion;

but pressed my hand in silence! Oh, Lizzie, you have read me beautiful

things about Sir Gallyhead, and the rest; but nothing to equal Sir

Counsellor.”

“You had better marry him, madam,” said I, coming in very sternly;

though I knew I ought not to say it: “he can repay your adoration. He

has stolen a hundred thousand pounds.”

“John,” cried my mother, “you are mad!” And yet she turned as pale as

death; for women are so quick at turning; and she inkled what it was.

“Of course I am, mother; mad about the marvels of Sir Galahad. He has

gone off with my Lorna's necklace. Fifty farms like ours can never make

it good to Lorna.”

Hereupon ensued grim silence. Mother looked at Lizzie's face, for she

could not look at me; and Lizzie looked at me, to know: and as for me, I

could have stamped almost on the heart of any one. It was not the value

of the necklace--I am not so low a hound as that--nor was it even the

damned folly shown by every one of us--it was the thought of Lorna's

sorrow for her ancient plaything; and even more, my fury at the breach

of hospitality.

But Lorna came up to me softly, as a woman should always come; and she

laid one hand upon my shoulder; and she only looked at me. She even

seemed to fear to look, and dropped her eyes, and sighed at me. Without

a word, I knew by that, how I must have looked like Satan; and the evil

spirit left my heart; when she had made me think of it.

“Darling John, did you want me to think that you cared for my money,

more than for me?”

I led her away from the rest of them, being desirous of explaining

things, when I saw the depth of her nature opened, like an everlasting

well, to me. But she would not let me say a word, or do anything by

ourselves, as it were: she said, “Your duty is to your mother: this blow

is on her, and not on me.”

I saw that she was right; though how she knew it is beyond me; and I

asked her just to go in front, and bring my mother round a little. For I

must let my passion pass: it may drop its weapons quickly; but it cannot

come and go, before a man has time to think.

Then Lorna went up to my mother, who was still in the chair of elegance;

and she took her by both hands, and said,--

“Dearest mother, I shall fret so, if I see you fretting. And to fret

will kill me, mother. They have always told me so.”

Poor mother bent on Lorna's shoulder, without thought of attitude, and

laid her cheek on Lorna's breast, and sobbed till Lizzie was jealous,

and came with two pocket-handkerchiefs. As for me, my heart was lighter

(if they would only dry their eyes, and come round by dinnertime) than

it had been since the day on which Tom Faggus discovered the value of

that blessed and cursed necklace. None could say that I wanted Lorna for

her money now. And perhaps the Doones would let me have her; now that

her property was gone.

But who shall tell of Annie's grief? The poor little thing would have

staked her life upon finding the trinket, in all its beauty, lying under

the pannikin. She proudly challenged me to lift it--which I had done,

long ere that, of course--if only I would take the risk of the spell for

my incredulity. I told her not to talk of spells, until she could spell

a word backwards; and then to look into the pan where the charmed cream

should be. She would not acknowledge that the cream was the same as all

the rest was: and indeed it was not quite the same, for the points of

poor Lorna's diamonds had made a few star-rays across the rich firm

crust of yellow.

But when we raised the pannikin, and there was nothing under it, poor

Annie fell against the wall, which had been whitened lately; and her

face put all the white to scorn. My love, who was as fond of her, as if

she had known her for fifty years, hereupon ran up and caught her, and

abused all diamonds. I will dwell no more upon Annie's grief, because we

felt it all so much. But I could not help telling her, if she wanted a

witch, to seek good Mother Melldrum, a legitimate performer.

That same night Master Jeremy Stickles (of whose absence the Counsellor

must have known) came back, with all equipment ready for the grand

attack. Now the Doones knew, quite as well as we did, that this attack

was threatening; and that but for the wonderful weather it would have

been made long ago. Therefore we, or at least our people (for I was

doubtful about going), were sure to meet with a good resistance, and due

preparation.

It was very strange to hear and see, and quite impossible to account

for, that now some hundreds of country people (who feared to whisper

so much as a word against the Doones a year ago, and would sooner have

thought of attacking a church, in service time, than Glen Doone) now

sharpened their old cutlasses, and laid pitch-forks on the grindstone,

and bragged at every village cross, as if each would kill ten Doones

himself, neither care to wipe his hands afterwards. And this fierce

bravery, and tall contempt, had been growing ever since the news of the

attack upon our premises had taken good people by surprise; at least as

concerned the issue.

Jeremy Stickles laughed heartily about Annie's new manner of charming

the cream; but he looked very grave at the loss of the jewels, so soon

as he knew their value.

“My son,” he exclaimed, “this is very heavy. It will go ill with all of

you to make good this loss, as I fear that you will have to do.”

“What!” cried I, with my blood running cold. “We make good the loss,

Master Stickles! Every farthing we have in the world, and the labour of

our lives to boot, will never make good the tenth of it.”

“It would cut me to the heart,” he answered, laying his hand on mine,

“to hear of such a deadly blow to you and your good mother. And this

farm; how long, John, has it been in your family?”

“For at least six hundred years,” I said, with a foolish pride that was

only too like to end in groans; “and some people say, by a Royal grant,

in the time of the great King Alfred. At any rate, a Ridd was with him

throughout all his hiding-time. We have always held by the King and

crown: surely none will turn us out, unless we are guilty of treason?”

“My son,” replied Jeremy very gently, so that I could love him for

it, “not a word to your good mother of this unlucky matter. Keep it to

yourself, my boy, and try to think but little of it. After all, I may be

wrong: at any rate, least said best mended.”

“But Jeremy, dear Jeremy, how can I bear to leave it so? Do you suppose

that I can sleep, and eat my food, and go about, and look at other

people, as if nothing at all had happened? And all the time have it on

my mind, that not an acre of all the land, nor even our old sheep-dog,

belongs to us, of right at all! It is more than I can do, Jeremy. Let me

talk, and know the worst of it.”

“Very well,” replied Master Stickles, seeing that both the doors were

closed; “I thought that nothing could move you, John; or I never would

have told you. Likely enough I am quite wrong; and God send that I be

so. But what I guessed at some time back seems more than a guess, now

that you have told me about these wondrous jewels. Now will you keep, as

close as death, every word I tell you?”

“By the honour of a man, I will. Until you yourself release me.”

“That is quite enough, John. From you I want no oath; which, according

to my experience, tempts a man to lie the more, by making it more

important. I know you now too well to swear you, though I have the

power. Now, my lad, what I have to say will scare your mind in one way,

and ease it in another. I think that you have been hard pressed--I can

read you like a book, John--by something which that old villain said,

before he stole the necklace. You have tried not to dwell upon it; you

have even tried to make light of it for the sake of the women: but on

the whole it has grieved you more than even this dastard robbery.”

“It would have done so, Jeremy Stickles, if I could once have believed

it. And even without much belief, it is so against our manners, that it

makes me miserable. Only think of loving Lorna, only think of kissing

her; and then remembering that her father had destroyed the life of

mine!”

“Only think,” said Master Stickles, imitating my very voice, “of Lorna

loving you, John, of Lorna kissing you, John; and all the while saying

to herself, 'this man's father murdered mine.' Now look at it in Lorna's

way as well as in your own way. How one-sided all men are!”

“I may look at it in fifty ways, and yet no good will come of it.

Jeremy, I confess to you, that I tried to make the best of it; partly to

baffle the Counsellor, and partly because my darling needed my help, and

bore it so, and behaved to me so nobly. But to you in secret, I am not

ashamed to say that a woman may look over this easier than a man may.”

“Because her nature is larger, my son, when she truly loves; although

her mind be smaller. Now, if I can ease you from this secret burden,

will you bear, with strength and courage, the other which I plant on

you?”

“I will do my best,” said I.

“No man can do more,” said he and so began his story.