Library of

NOV
Princeton University.
Presented by
Runkle F. Hegeman
Class of 1906


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KITTY ALONE
A STORY OF THREE FIRES
BY
S. BARING GOULD
AUTHOR OF “MEHALAH," “ JOHN HERRING," ETC.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1894


COPYRIGHT, 1894,
BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.
All rights reserved.


CONTENTS.
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I. THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
II. A Lusus NATURÆ . .
III, ALL INTO GOLD
IV. THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY .
V. ON A MUD-BANK . ..
VI. A CAPTURE . . . .
VII. A RELEASE
VIII. AN ATMOSPHERE OF LOVE .
IX. CONVALESCENCE . . .
X. THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER
XI. DISCORDS . . .
XII. DAFFODILS .
XIII. THE SPIRIT OF INQUIRY .
XIV. TO THE FAIR .
XV. A REASON FOR EVERYTHING
XVI. THE DANCING BEAR . .
XVII. INSURED . . . .
XVIII. BRAZIL Nuts. . .
XIX. SUGGESTIONS OF Evil
XX. A FACE IN THE WATER
XXI. AN OFFER . . . . ..
XXII. A RACE FOR LIFE
XXIII. BORROWING . . .
XXIV. SHAVINGS
XXV. BORROWING AGAIN
XXVI. SILVER PENINKS . . .
XXVII. TROUBLE . . . .
XXVIII. ALTERNATIVES . . .
XXIX. A FRIEND GAINED . . .
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CONTENTS.
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CHAPTER
Xxx. UNDER THE MULBERRY TREE . .
XXXI. ON MISCHIEF BENT . . .
XXXII. JASON IN THE WAY . . . .
XXXIII. ONE CRIME LEADS TO ANOTHER
XXXIV. AND YET ANOTHER . . . .
XXXV. UNSUCCESSFUL
XXXVI. ALL IN VAIN . .
XXXVII. THE ANSWER OF CAIN . .
XXXVIII. WANTED AT LAST . . .
XXXIX. ONE FOR THEE AND Two FOR ME
XL. A GREAT FEAR . . . .
XLI. TAKING SHAPE . . . .
XLII. AN UGLY Hint
· · · ·
XLIII. Much CRY AND A LITTLE WOOL
XLIV. PUDDICOMBE IN F . . . .
XLV. DAYLIGHT . . . . .
XLVI. A TRIUMPH . . .
.
XLVII. PARTED . . . . .
XLVIII. A SHADOW-SHAPE . . . .
XLIX. FLAGRANTE DELICTO ..
L. THE THIRD FIRE . . . .
LI. THE Pass'n's PRESCRIPTION
LII. IN Court
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LIII. JASON'S STORY . . . .
LIV. CON AFFETTUOSO CAPRIZIO . .
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KITTY ALONE
*
CHAPTER I
THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
I ITH a voice like that of a crow, and singing with
full lungs also like a crow, came Jason Quarm
riding in his donkey-cart to Coombe Cellars.
Jason Quarm was a short, stoutly-built man, with a rest-
less grey eye, with shaggy, long, sandy hair that burst out
from beneath a battered beaver hat. He was somewhat
lame, wherefore he maintained a donkey, and drove about
the country seated cross-legged in the bottom of his cart,
only removed from the bottom boards by a wisp of straw,
which became dissipated from under him with the joltings
of the conveyance. Then Jason would struggle to his
knees, take the reins in his teeth, scramble backwards in
his cart, rake the straw together again into a heap, reseat
himself, and drive on till the exigencies of the case necessi-
tated his going through the same operations once more.
Coombe Cellars, which Jason Quarm approached, was a
cluster of roofs perched on low walls, occupying a promon-
tory in the estuary of the Teign, in the south of Devon. A
road, or rather a series of ruts, led direct to Coombe Cellars,
cut deep in the warm red soil; but they led no farther.
Coombe Cellars was a farmhouse, a depôt of merchan-
dise, an eating-house, a ferry-house, a discharging wharf for
barges laden with coal, a lading-place for straw, and hay,
and corn that had to be carried away on barges to the
stables of Teignmouth and Dawlish. Facing the water


KITTY ALONE
was a little terrace or platform, gravelled, on which stood
green benches and a green table.
The sun of summer had blistered the green paint on the
table, and persons having leisure had amused themselves
with picking the skin off these blisters and exposing the
white paint underneath, and then, with pen or pencil,
exercising their ingenuity in converting these bald patches
into human faces, or in scribbling over them their own
names and those of the ladies of their heart. Below the
platform at low water the ooze was almost solidified with
the vast accumulation of cockle and winkle shells thrown
over the edge, together with bits of broken plates, fragments
of glass, tobacco-pipes, old handleless knives, and sundry
other refuse of a tavern.
Above the platform, against the wall, was painted in large
letters, to be read across the estuary-
PASCO PEPPERILL,
HOT COCKLES AND WINKLES,
TEA AND COFFEE ALWAYS READY.
Some wag with his penknife had erased the capital H
from “Hot,” and had converted the W in “Winkles” into
a V, with the object of accommodating the written language
to the vernacular. One of the most marvellous of passions
seated in the human heart is that hunger after immortality
which, indeed, distinguishes man from beast. This deep-
seated and awful aspiration had evidently consumed the
breasts of all the “'ot cockle and vinkle” eaters on the
platform, for there was literally not a spare space of plaster
anywhere within reach which was not scrawled over with
names by these aspirants after immortality.
Jason Quarm was merciful to his beast. Seeing a last
year's teasel by the wall ten yards from Coombe Cellars'
door, he drew rein, folded his legs and arms, smiled, and
said to his ass
“There, governor, enjoy yourself.”
The teasel was hard as wood, besides being absolutely
devoid of nutritious juices, which had been withdrawn six
months previously. Neddy would have nothing to say to
the teasel.


THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
3
“You dratted monkey!" shouted Quarm, irritated at the
daintiness of the ass. "If you won't eat, then go on."
He knelt up in his cart and whacked him with a stick in
one hand and the reins in the other. “I'll teach you to be
choice. I'll make you swaller a holly-bush. And if there
ain't relish enough in that to suit your palate, I'll buy a job
lot of old Perninsula bayonets and make you munch them.
That'll be chutney, I reckon, to the likes of you.”
Then, as he threw his lame leg over the side of the cart,
he said, “Steady, old man, and hold your breath whilst
I'm descending."
No sooner was he on his feet, than, swelling his breast
and stretching his shoulders, with a hand on each hip, he
crowed forth-
“There was a frog lived in a well,
Crock-a-mydaisy, Kitty alone!
There was a frog lived in a well,
And a merry mouse lived in a mill,
Kitty alone and I.”
The door opened, and a man stood on the step and
waved a salutation to Quarm. This man was powerfully
built. He had broad shoulders and a short neck. What
little neck he possessed was not made the most of, for he
habitually drew his head back and rested his chin behind
his stock. This same stock or muffler was thick and folded,
filling the space left open by the waistcoat, out of which it
protruded. It was of blue strewn with white spots, and it
gave the appearance as though pearls dropped from the
mouth of the wearer and were caught in his muffler before
they fell and were lost. The man had thick sandy eye-
brows, and very pale eyes. His structure was dispropor-
tioned. With such a powerful body, stout nether limbs
might have been anticipated for its support. His thighs
were, indeed, muscular and heavy, but the legs were slim,
and the feet and ankles small. He had the habit of stand-
ing with his feet together, and thus presented the shape of
a boy's kite.
“Hallo, Pasco-brother-in-law !” shouted Quarm, as he
threw the harness off the ass; “look here, and see what I
have been a-doing.”


KITTY ALONE
He turned the little cart about, and exhibited a plate
nailed to the backboard, on which, in gold and red on
black, figured, “The Star and Garter Life and Fire Insur-
ance."
“What !” exclaimed Pepperill; “insured Neddy and the
cart, have you? That I call chucking good money away,
unless you have reasons for thinking Ned will go off in
spontaneous combustion.”
“Not so, Pasco," laughed Jason; “it is the agency I
have got. The Star and Garter knows that I am the sort
of man they require, that wanders over the land and has
the voice of a nightingale. I shall have a policy taken out
for you shortly, Pasco.”
“Indeed you shall not."
“Confiscate the donkey if I don't. But I'll not trouble
you on this score now. How is the little toad?”
“What-Kate?”
“To be sure, Kitty Alone."
“Come and see. What have you been about this time,
Jason?”
“Bless you! I have hit on Golconda. Brimpts."
“Brimpts? What do you mean?”
“ Don't you know Brimpts ?”
“Never heard of it. In India ?”
“No; at Dart-meet, beyond Ashburton.
“And what of Brimpts ? Found a diamond mine
there?”
“ Not that, but oaks, Pasco, oaks! A forest two hundred
years old, on Dartmoor. A bit of the primæval forest; two
hundred—I bet you—five hundred years old. It is not in
the Forest, but on one of the ancient tenements, and the
tenant has fallen into difficulties with the bank, and the
bank is selling him up. Timber, bless you! not a shaky
stick among the lot; all heart, and hard as iron. A fortune
-a fortune, Pasco, is to be picked up at Brimpts. See if I
don't pocket a thousand pounds.”
“You always see your way to making money, but never
get far for’ard along the road that leads to good fortune.”
“Because I never have had the opportunity of doing
more than see my way. I'm crippled in a leg, and
though I can see the road before me, I cannot get along it


THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
without an ass. I'm crippled in purse, and though I can
discern the way to wealth, I can't take it-once more-
without an ass. Brother-in-law, be my Jack, and help me
along."
Jason slapped Pasco on the broad shoulders.
“And you make a thousand pounds by the job?”
“So I reckon-a thousand at the least. Come, lend me
the money to work the concern, and I'll pay you at ten per
cent."
“What do you mean by work the concern’?”.
. “Pasco, I must go before the bank at Exeter with money
in my hand, and say, I want those wretched scrubs of oak
and holm at Brimpts. Here's a hundred pounds. It's
worthless, but I happen to know of a fellow as will put a
five pound in my pocket if I get him some knotty oak for
a bit of fancy-work he's on. The bank will take it, Pasco.
At the bank they will make great eyes, that will say as
clear as words, Bless us! we didn't know there was oak
grew on Dartmoor. They'll take the money, and conclude
the bargain right on end. And then I must have some
ready cash to pay for felling.”
“Do you think that the bank will sell ? ”
“Sell? it would sell anything—the soil, the flesh off the
moors, the bones, the granite underneath, the water of
heaven that there gathers, the air that wafts over it-any-
thing. Of course, it will sell the Brimpts oaks. But,
brother-in-law, let me tell you, this is but the first stage in
a grand speculative march.”.
“What next?”
“Let me make my thousand by the Brimpts oaks, and I
see waves of gold before me in which I can roll. I'll be
generous. Help me to the oaks, and I'll help you to the
gold-waves.”
“How is all this to be brought about ? ”
“Out of mud, old boy, mud!”
“Mud will need a lot of turning to get gold out of it.”
“Ah! wait till I've tied up Neddy.”
Jason Quarm hobbled off with his ass, and turned it
loose in a paddock. Then he returned to his brother-in-
law, hooked his finger into the button-hole of Pepperill,
and said, with a wink-


CHAPTER II
A LUSUS NATURÆ
THE two men entered the house talking, Quarm lurch-
T ing against his companion in his uneven progress;
uneven, partly because of his lame leg, partly because of
his excitement; and when he wished to urge a point in his
argument, he enforced it, not only by raised tone of voice
and cogency of reasoning, but also by impact of his shoulder
against that of Pepperill.
In the room into which they penetrated sat a girl in the
bay window knitting. The window was wide and low, for
the ceiling was low. It had many panes in it of a greenish
hue. It commanded the broad firth of the river Teign.
The sun was now on the water, and the glittering water
cast a sheen of golden green into the low room and into
the face of the knitting girl. It illumined the ceiling, re-
vealed all its cracks, its cobwebs and flies. The brass
candlesticks and skillets and copper coffee-pots on the
chimney - piece shone in the light reflected from the
ceiling.
The girl was tall, with a singularly broad white brow,
dark hair, and long lashes that swept her cheek. The face
was pale, and when in repose it could not be readily decided
whether she were good-looking or plain, but all hesitation
vanished when she raised her great violet eyes, full of colour
and sparkling with the light of intelligence.
The moment that Quarm entered she dropped the knitting
on which she was engaged ; a flash of pleasure, a gleam of
colour, mounted to eyes and cheeks; she half rose with
timidity and hesitation, but as Quarm continued in eager
conversation with Pepperill, and did not notice her, she
sank back into her sitting posture, the colour faded from


KITTY ALONE
her cheek, her eyes fell, and a quiver of the lips and con-
traction of the mouth indicated distress and pain.
“How is it possible to turn mud into gold ?” asked
Pepperill.
“Wait till I have coined my oak and I will do it.”
“I can understand oaks. The timber is worth something,
and the bark something, and the tops sell for firewood; but
mud-mud is mud."
"Well, it is mud. Let me light my pipe. I can't talk
without my 'baccy."
Jason put a spill to the fire, seated himself on a stool by
the hearth, ignited his pipe, and then, turning his eye about,
caught sight of the girl.
“Hallo, little Toad !” said he ; “how are you?”
Then, without waiting for an answer, he returned to the
mud.
“Look here, Pasco, the mud is good for nothing where
it is.”
“No. It is a nuisance. It chokes the channel. I had
a deal of trouble with the last coal-barge; she sank so deep
I thought she'd be smothered and never got in.”
“That's just it. You would pay something to have it
cleared-dredged right away.”
“I don't know about that. The expense would be
great."
“ You need not pay a half-crown. It isn't India only
whose shining fountains roll down their golden sands. It
is Devonshire as well, which pours the river Teign clear as
crystal out of its Dartmoor reservoir, and which is here
ready to empty its treasures into my pockets and yours.
But we must dispose of Brimpts oak first."
“I'd like to know how you are going to do anything with
mud."
“What is mud but clay in a state of slobber? Now,
hearken to me, brother-in-law. I have been where the soil
is all clay, clay that would grow nothing but moss and
rushes, and was not worth more than five shillings an acre,
fit for nothing but for letting young stock run on. That is
out Holsworthy way. Well, a man with the philosopher's
stone in his head, Goldsworthy Gurney, he cut a canal
from Bude harbour right through this arrant clay land.


A LUSUS NATURÆ
With what result? The barges travel up from Bude laden
with sand. The farmers use the sand over their clay fields,
and the desert blossoms as the rose. Land that was worth
four shillings went up to two pound ten, and in places near
the canal to five pounds. The sand on the seashore is
worthless. The clay inland is worthless, but the sand and
clay married breed moneys, moneys, my boy — golden
moneys."
“That is reasonable enough,” said Pasco Pepperill, “but
it don't apply here. We are on the richest of red soil, that
wants no dressing, so full of substance is it in itself.
Besides, the mud is nothing but our red soil in a state of
paste."
“It is better. It is richer, more nutritious; but you do
not see what is to be done with it, because you have not
my head and my eyes. I do not propose to do here what
was done at Holsworthy, but to invert the operation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not to carry the sand to the clay, but the mud to the
sand. Do you not know Bovey Heathfield ? Do you not
know Stover sands? What is there inland but a desert
waste of sand-hill and arid flat that is barren as my hand,
bearing nothing but a little scrubby thorn and thistle and
bramble—sand, that's not worth half a crown an acre ?
There is no necessity for us to cut a canal. The canal
exists, cut in order that the Hey-tor granite may be con-
veyed along it to the sea. It has not occurred to the fools
that the barges that convey the stone down might come up
laden with Teign mud, instead of returning empty. This
mud, I tell you, is not merely rich of itself, but it has a
superadded richness from seaweed and broken shells. It
is fat with eels and worms. Let this be conveyed up the
canal to the sandy waste of Heathfield, and the marriage of
clay and sand will be as profitable there as that marriage
has been at Holsworthy. I would spread this rich mud
over the hungry sand, thick as cream, and the land will
laugh and sing. Do you take me now, brother-in-law ?
Do you believe in the philosopher's stone?”
· He touched his head. Pasco Pepperill had clasped his
right knee in his hands. He sat nursing it, musing, looking
into the fire. Presently he said,


10
KITTY ALONE
“Yes; very fine for the owners of the sandy land, but
how about you and me?"
“We must buy up."
“But where is the money to come from?"
“Brimpts oak.”
“What ! the profit made on this venture ?"
“Exactly. Every oak stick 'is a rung in my ladder.
There has been, for hundreds of years, a real forest of oaks,
magnificent trees, timber incomparable for hardness-iron
is not harder. Who knows about it save myself? The
Exeter Bank knows nothing of the property on which it
has advanced money. The agent runs over it and takes a
hasty glance. He thinks that the trees he sees all up the
slopes are thorn bushes or twisted stumps worth nothing,
and when he passes is too eager to get away from the moor
to stay and observe. I have felt my way. A small offer
and money down, and the whole forest is mine. Then I
must fell at once, and it is not, I say, calculable what we
shall make out of that oak. When we have raked our
money together, then we will buy up as much as we can of
sandy waste near the canal, and proceed at once to plaster
it over with Teign clay. Pasco, our fortune is made!”
Jason kept silence for a while, to allow what he had said
to sink into the mind of his brother-in-law.
Then from the adjoining kitchen came a strongly-built,
fair woman, very tidy, with light hair and pale blue eyes.
She had a decided manner in her movements and in the
way in which she spoke. She had been scouring a pan.
She held this pan now in one hand. She strode up to the
fireplace between the men and said in a peremptory tone
"What is this? Speculating again? I'll tell you what,
Jason, you are bent on ruining us. Here is Pasco as wax
in your hands. We've already lost half our land, and that
is your doing. I do not wish to be sold out of house and
home because of your rash ventures--you risk nothing, it
is Pasco and I who have to pay.”
“Go to your scouring and cooking,” said Jason. “Zerah,
that is in your line; leave us men to our proper business."
“I know what comes of your brooding,” retorted the
woman; “you hatch out naught but disaster. If Pasco
turned a deaf ear, I would not mind all your tales, but more


A LUSUS NATURÆ
II
is the pity, he listens, and listening in his case means yield-
ing, and yielding, in plain letters, is loss."
Instead of answering his sister, Jason looked once more
in the direction of the girl, seated in the bay-window. She
was absorbed in her thoughts, and seemed not to have been
attending to, or to be affected by, the prospects of wealth
that had been unfolded by her father. When he had
not attended to her answer, she had relapsed into silence.
She was roused by his strident voice, as he sang out-
“ There was a frog lived in a well
Crock-a-mydaisy, Kitty alone !
There was a frog lived in a well,
And a merry mouse lived in a mill,
Kitty alone and I.”
Now her pale face turned to him with something of
appeal.
“How is the little worm ?” asked Quarm; “no roses
blooming in the cheeks. Wait till I carry you to the
moors. There you shall sit and smell the honey breath of
the furze, and as the heather covers the hillsides with rasp-
berry-cream, the flush of life will come into your face. I'm
not so sure but that money might be made out of the spicy
air of Dartmoor. Why not condense the scent of the furze-
bushes, and advertise it as a specific in consumption? I
won't say that folks wouldn't buy. Why not extract the
mountain heather as a cosmetic? It is worth considering.
Why not the juice of whortleberry as a dye for the hair?
and pounded bog-peat for a dentifrice? Pasco, my boy, I
have ideas. I say, listen to me. This is the way notions
come flashing up in my brain.”
He had forgotten about his daughter, so enkindled was
his imagination by his new schemes.
Once again, discouraged and depressed, the girl dropped
her eyes on her work.
The sun shining on the flowing tide filled the bay of
the room with rippling light, walls and ceiling were in a
quiver, the glisten was in the glass, it was repeated on the
floor, it quivered over her dress and her pale face, it sparkled
and winked in her knitting-pins. She might have been a


12
· KITTY ALONE
mermaid sitting below the water, seen through the restless,
undulatory current.
Mrs. Pepperill growled, and struck with her fingers the
pan she had been cleaning.
“What is a woman among men but a helpless creature,
who cannot prevent the evil she sees coming on? Talk of
woman as the inferior vessel! It is she has the common
sense, and not man."
“It was not you who brought Coombe Cellars to me, but
I brought you to Coombe Cellars,” retorted her husband.
“What is here is mine—the house, the business, the land.
You rule in the kitchen, that is your proper place. I rule
where I am lord.”
Pasco spoke with pomposity, drawing his chin back into
his neck.
“When you married me,” said Zerah, “nothing was to
be yours only, all was to be yours and mine. I am your
wife, not your housekeeper, I shall watch and guard well
against waste, against folly. I cannot always save against
both, but I can protest—and I will.”
On hearing the loud tones of Mrs. Pepperill, Kate hastily
collected her knitting and ball of worsted and left the room.
She was accustomed to passages of arms between Pasco
and his wife, to loud and angry voices, but they frightened
her, and filled her with disgust. She fled the moment the
pitch of the voices was raised and their tones became harsh.
“Look there !” exclaimed Zerah, before the girl had left
the room. “There is a child for you. Her father returns,
after having been away for a fortnight. She never rises to
meet him, she goes on calmly knitting, does not speak a
word of welcome, take the smallest notice of him. It was
very different with my Wilmot; she would fly to her father
—not that he deserved her love; she would dance about
him and kiss him. But she had a heart, and was what a
girl should be; as for your Kate, brother Jason, I don't
know what to make of her.”
“What is the matter with Kitty ?”
“She is not like other girls. Did you not take notice ?
She was cold and regardless when you arrived, as if you
were a stranger—never even put aside her knitting, never
gave you a word.”


A LUSUS NATURÆ
Zerah was perhaps glad of an excuse for not continuing
an angry discussion with her husband before her brother.
She was hot; she could now give forth her heat upon the
head of the girl.
“I don't think I gave her much chance," said Jason ;
" you see, I was talking to Pasco about the oaks."
“Give her the chance?" retorted Zerah. “As if my
Wilmot would have waited till her father gave her the
chance. It is not for the father to dance after his child,
but the child should run to its father. I'll tell you what I
believe, Jason, and nothing will get me out of the belief.
You know how Jane Simmons' boy was born without eye-
lashes; and how last spring we had a lamb without any tail ;
and that Bessie Penny hasn't got any lobe of ear at all,
only a hole in the side of her head; and Ephraim Tooker
has no toe-nails."
“I know all that.”
“Very well. I believe—and you'll never shake it out of
me—that child of yours was born without a heart."


CHAPTER III
ALL INTO GOLD
DASCO PEPPERILL was a man slow, heavy, and
T apparently phlegmatic, and he was married to a
woman full of energy, and excitable.
Pasco had inherited Coombe Cellars from his father; he
had been looked upon as the greatest catch among the
young men of the neighbourhood. It was expected that
he would marry well. He had married well, but not exactly
in the manner anticipated. Coombe Cellars was a centre
of many activities ; it was a sort of inn-at all events a place
to which water parties came to picnic; it was a farm and
a place of merchandise. Pasco had chosen as his wife
Zerah Quarm, a publican's daughter, with, indeed, a small
sum of money of her own, but with what was to him of far
more advantage, a clear, organising head. She was a
scrupulously tidy woman, a woman who did everything by
system, who had her own interest or that of the house ever
in view, and would never waste a farthing.
Had the threads of the business been placed in Zerah's
hands, she would have managed all, made money in every
department, and kept the affairs of each to itself in her own
orderly brain.
But Pepperill did not trust her with the management of
his wool, coal, grain, straw and hay business. “Feed the
pigs, keep poultry, attend to the guests, make tea, boil
cockles-that's what you are here for, Zerah,” said Pepperill;
“all the rest is my affair, and with that you do not meddle.”
The pigs became fat, the poultry laid eggs, visitors came
in quantities ; Zerah's rashers, tea, cockles were relished
and were paid for. Zerah had always a profit to show for
her small outlay and much labour.
14


ALL INTO GOLD
She resented that she was not allowed an insight into her
husband's business; he kept his books to himself, and she
mistrusted his ability to balance his accounts. When she
discovered that he had disposed of the greater portion of his
land, then her indignation was unbounded. It was but too
clear that he was going on the high road to ruin, by under-
taking businesses for which he was not naturally competent;
that by having too many irons in the fire he was spoiling all.
Zerah waited, in bitterness of heart, expecting her husband
to explain to her his motives for parting with his land; he
had not even deigned to inform her that he had sold it.
She flew at him, at length, with all the vehemence of her
character, and poured forth a torrent of angry recrimination.
Pasco put his hands into his pockets, looked wonderingly
at her out of his great water-blue eyes, spun round like a
teetotum, and left the house.
Zerah became conscious, as she cooled, that she had
gone too far, that she had used expressions that were
irritating and insulting, and which were unjustifiable. On
the other hand, Pasco was conscious that he had not
behaved rightly towards his wife, not only in not consulting
her about the sale, but in not even telling her of it when it
was accomplished.
Neither would confess wrong, but after this outbreak
Zerah became gentle, and Pasco allowed some sort of self-
justification to escape him. He had met with a severe loss,
and was obliged to find ready money. Moreover, the farm
and the business could not well be carried on simultaneously,
one detracted from the other. Henceforth his whole atten-
tion would be devoted to commercial transactions.
To some extent the sharpness of Zerah's indignation was
blunted by the consciousness that her own brother, Jason,
was Pasco's most trusted adviser ; that if he had met with
losses, it was due to the injudicious speculations into which
he had been thrust by Jason.
The governing feature of Pasco was inordinate self-esteem.
He believed himself to be intellectually superior to every-
one else in the parish, and affected to despise the farmers,
because they did not mix with the world, had not their
fingers on its arteries like the commercial man. He was
proud of his position, proud of his means, and proud of


KITTY ALONE
the respect with which he was treated, and which he de
manded of everyone. He valued his wife's good qualities,
and bragged of them. According to him, his business was
extensive, and conducted with the most brilliant success.
For many years one great object of pride with him had
been his only child-a daughter, Wilmot. As a baby, no
child had ever before been born with so much hair. No
infant was ever known to cut its teeth with greater ease.
No little girl was more amiable, more beautiful; the intelli-
gence the child exhibited was preternatural. When, in
course of time, Wilmot grew into a really pretty girl, with
very taking if somewhat forward manners, the exultation of
the father knew no bounds. Nor was her mother, Zerah,
less devoted to the child ; and for a long period Wilmot
was the bond between husband and wife, the one topic on
which they thought alike, the one object over which they
were equally hopeful, ambitious, and proud. Jason, left a
widower with one daughter, Katherine, had placed the child
with his sister. He had a cottage of his own, small, rarely
occupied, as he rambled over the country, looking out for
opportunities of picking up money. He had not married
again, he had engaged no housekeeper; his daughter was
an encumbrance, and had, therefore, been sent to Coombe
Cellars, where she was brought up as a companion and foil
to Wilmot. Suddenly the beloved child of the Pepperills
died, and the hearts of the parents were desolate. That
of Zerah became bitter and resentful. Pasco veiled his
grief under his phlegm, and made of the funeral a demon-
stration that might solace his pride. After that he spoke
of the numbers who had attended, of the great emotion
displayed, of the cost of the funeral, of the entertainment
given to the mourners, of the number of black gloves paid
for, as something for which he could be thankful and proud.
It really was worth having had a daughter whose funeral
had cost sixty pounds, and at which the church of Coombe-
in-Teignhead had been crammed.
The great link that for fifteen years had held Zerah and
Pasco together was broken. They had never really become
one, though over their child they had almost become
so. The loss of the one object on whom Zerah had set her
heart made her more sensitive to annoyance, more inclined


ALL INTO GOLD .
17
to find fault with her husband. Yet it cannot be said that
they did not strive to be one in heart; each avoided much
that was certain to annoy the other, refrained from doing
before the other what was distasteful to the consort; indeed,
each went somewhat out of the way to oblige the other,
but always with a clumsiness and lack of grace which robbed
the transaction of its worth.
Kate had been set back whilst her cousin lived. Nomin-
ally the companion, the playfellow of Wilmot, she had
actually been her slave, her plaything. Whatever Wilmot
had done was regarded as right by her father and mother,
and in any difference that took place between the cousins,
Kate was invariably pronounced to have been in the wrong,
and was forced to yield to Wilmot. The child soon found
that no remonstrances of hers were listened to, even when
addressed to her father. He had other matters to occupy
him than settling differences between children. It was not
his place to interfere between the niece and her aunt, for, if
the aunt refused to be troubled with her, what could he do
with Kate, where dispose her ?
Kate had not been long out of the room before her father
and uncle also left, that they might talk at their ease, with-
out the intervention of Zerah.
Kate had gone with her knitting to the little stage above
the water, and was seated on the wall looking down on the
flowing tide that now filled the estuary. Hither also came
the two men, and seated themselves at the table, without
taking any notice of her.
Kate had been studying the water as it flowed in, cover-
ing the mud flats, rising inch by inch over the refuse mass
below the platform, and was now washing the roots of the
herbage that fringed the bank.
So full was her mind, full, as though in it also the tide
had been rising, that, contrary to her wont, she broke
silence when the men appeared, and said, “Father! uncle !
what makes the tide come and go?"
“The tide comes to bring up the coal-barges, and to
carry 'em away with straw," answered Pasco.
“But, uncle, why does it come and go?”
Pepperill shrugged his shoulders, and vouchsafed no
further answer.


18
KITTY ALONE
“Look there,” said Jason, pointing to an orchard that
stretched along the margin of the flood, and which was
dense with daffodils. “Look there, Pasco, there is an
opportunity let slide."
" I couldn't help it. I sold that orchard. I wanted to
concentrate-concentrate efforts," said Pasco.
“I don't allude to that,” said Quarm. “But as I've been
through the lanes this March, looking at the orchards and
meadows a-blazing with Lent lilies, I've had a notion come
to me.”
“Them darned daffodils are good for naught.”
“There you are wrong, Pasco. Nothing is good for
naught. What we fellows with heads have to do is to find
how we may make money out of what to stupids is good
for naught."
“They are beastly things. The cattle won't touch 'em."
“But Christians will, and will pay for them. I know
that you can sell daffodils in London or Birmingham or
Bristol, at a penny a piece.”
“That's right enough, but London, Birmingham, and
Bristol are a long way off.”
“You are right there, and as long as this blundering
atmospheric line runs we can do nothing. But wait a bit,
Pasco, and we shall have steam-power on our South Devon
line, and we must be prepared to seize the occasion. I
have been reckoning we could pack two hundred and fifty
daffodils easily without crushing in a maund. Say the cost
of picking be a penny a hundred, and the wear and tear of
the hamper another penny, and the carriage come to
ninepence, and the profits to the sellers one and eleven-
pence ha'penny, that makes three shillings; sold at a penny
apiece it is twenty shillings-profit, seventeen and ten;
strike off ten for damaged daffies as won't sell. How many
thousand daffodils do you suppose you could get out of
that orchard and one or two more nests of these flowers ?
Twenty-five thousand ? A profit of seventeen shillings on
two hundred and fifty makes sixty-eight shillings a thousand.
Twenty times that is sixty-eight pounds—all got out of
daffodils-beastly daffies."
“Of course," said Pasco, “I was speaking of them as
they are, not as what they might be.”


ALL INTO GOLD
“Look there,” said Jason, pointing over the glittering
food, "look at the gulls, tens of hundreds of 'em, and no
one gives them a thought.”
“They ain't fit to eat,” observed Pasco. “Dirty
creeturs."
“No, they ain't, and so no one shoots them. Wait a bit.
Trust me. I'll go up to London and talk it over with a
great milliner or dressmaker, and have a fashion brought
in. Waistcoats for ladies in winter of gulls' breasts. They
will be more beautiful than satin and warmer than sealskin.
It is only for the fashion to be put on wheels and it will
run of itself. There is reason, there is convenience, there
is beauty in it. How many gulls can we kill? I reckon
we can sweep the mouth of the Teign clear of them, and
get ten thousand, and if we sell their breasts at five shillings
apiece, that is, twenty-five pounds a 'hundred, and ten
thousand makes just two thousand five hundred pounds
out of gulls-dirty creeturs !”
“Of course, I said that at present they are no good; not
fit to eat. What they may become is another matter.”
Quarm said nothing for a while. His restless eye
wandered over the landscape, already green, though the
month was March, for the rich red soil under the soft airs
from the sea, laden with moisture, grows grass throughout
the year. No frosts parch that herbage whose brilliance is
set forth by contrast with the Indian-red rocks and soil.
The sky was of translucent blue, and in the evening light
the inflowing sea, with the slant rays piercing it, was of
emerald hue.
“Dear! dear! dear!” sighed Quarm ; “will the time
ever come, think you, old fellow, that we shall be able to
make some use of the sea and sky-capitalise 'em, eh ?
Squeeze the blue out of the firmament, and extract the
green out of the ocean, and use 'em as patent dyes.
Wouldn't there be a run on the colours for ladies' dresses !
What's the good of all that amount of dye in both where
they are? Sheer waste ! sheer waste! Now, if we could
turn them into money, there'd be some good in them.”
Jason stood up, stretched his arms, and straightened, as
far as possible, his crippled leg. Then he hobbled over to
the low wall on which his daughter was seated, looking


20
KITTY ALONE
away at the emerald sea, the banks of green shot with
golden daffodil, and overarched with the intense blue of the
sky, clapped her on the back, and when with a start she
turned
“Hallo, Kate! What, tears! why crying?”.
“Oh, father! I hate money."
“Money! what else is worth living for?"
“Oh, father, will you mow down the daffodils, and shoot
down the gulls, and take everything beautiful out of sea
and sky? I hate money—you will spoil everything for
that."
“You little fool, Kitty Alone. Not love money ? Alone
in that among all men and women. A fool in that as in all
else, Kitty Alone.”
Then up came Zerah in excitement, and said in loud,
harsh tones, “Who is to go after Jan Pooke? Where is
Gale? The train is due in ten minutes."
“ I have sent Roger Gale after some hides," said Pasco.
“We have undertaken to ferry Jan Pooke across, and he
arrives by the train just due. Who is to go?”.
“Not I,” said Pepperill. “ I'm busy, Zerah, engaged on
commercial matters with Quarm. Besides, I'm too big a
man, of too much consequence to ferry a fare. I keep a
boat, but am not a boatman.”
“Then Kate must go for him. Kate, look smart; ferry
across at once, and wait at the hard till Jan Pooke arrives
by the 6.10. He has been to Exeter, and I promised that
the boat should meet him on his return at the Bishop's
Teignton landing."
The girl rose without a word.
“She is not quite up to that?” said her father, with
question in his tone.
“ Bless you, she's done it scores of times. We don't
keep her here to eat, and dress, and be idle.”
“But suppose—and the wind is bitter cold.”
“Some one must go,” said Zerah. “Look sharp, Kate.”
“ Alone?"
“Of course.' The man is away. She can row. Kitty
must go alone.”


CHAPTER IV
THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY
THE engineer Brunel was fond of daring and magnifi
cent schemes, carried out at other people's expense.
One of these schemes was the construction of the South
Devon Railway, running from Exeter to Plymouth, for
some portion of its way along the coast, breasting the sea,
exposed to the foam of the breaking tide, and worked by
atmospheric pressure. Brunel was an admirer of Prout's
delightful sketches-Prout, the man who taught the eye of
the nineteenth century to observe the picturesque. Brunel,
having other folks' money to play with, thought himself
justified in providing therewith subjects for sepia and
Chinese white studies in the future. Taking as his model
Italian churches, with their campaniles, he placed engine-
houses for the atmospheric pressure at every station,
designed on these models. That they were picturesque no
one could deny, that they were vastly costly the share-
holders were well aware.
For a while the atmospheric railway was worked frorn
these Italian churches, the campaniles of which contained
the exhausting pumps. Then the whole scheme collapsed,
when the pumps had completely exhausted the share-
holders' pockets.
The system was ingenious, but it should have been
tried on a small scale before operations were carried
on upon one that was large, and in a manner that was
lavish.
The system was this. A tube was laid between the rails,
and the carriages ran connected with a piston in the tube.
The air was pumped out before the piston, and the pressure
of the atmosphere behind was expected to propel piston
21


22
KITTY ALONE
and carriages attached to it. The principle was that upon
which we imbibe sherry-cobbler.
But there was a difficulty, and that was insurmountable.
Had the carriages been within the tube they would have
swung along readily enough. But they were without and
yet connected with the piston within ; and it was precisely
over this connection that the system broke down. Á
complex and ingenious scheme was adopted for making the
tubes air-tight in spite of the long slit through which slid
the coulter that connected the carriages with the piston.
The train carried with it a sort of hot flat-iron which it
passed over the leather flap bedded in tallow that closed
the slit.
But the device was too intricate and too open to
disturbance by accident to be successful. Trains ran
spasmodically. The coulter, raising the Aap, let the air
rush into the artificially formed vacuum before it, and so
act as a break on the propelling force of the air behind.
The flap became displaced. The tallow under a hot sun
melted away. The trains when they started were attended
on their course by a fizzing noise as of a rocket about to
explode, very trying to the nerves. They had a habit of
sulking and stopping in the midst of tunnels, or of refusing
to start from stations when expected to start. By no means
infrequently they arrived at their destination propelled by
panting passengers, and the only exhaustion of atmosphere
of which anything could be spoken, was that of the lungs
of those who had paid for their tickets to be carried along
the line, not to shove along the carriages with their
shoulders.
At the time when our story opens, this unfortunate
venture, so ruinous to many speculators, was in process of
demonstrating how unworthy it was of the Italian churches
and campaniles that had been erected for its use.
After a while steam locomotives were brought to the
stations and held in readiness to fly to the aid of broken-
down atmospheric trains. A little later, and the atmospheric
engines and tubes were broken up and sold for old iron,
and the ecclesiastical edifices that had contained the pumps
were let to whoever would rent them, as cider stores or
depôts of guano and dissolved bone.


THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY
23
John Pooke, only son of the wealthiest yeoman in the
parish of Coombe-in-Teignhead, had been put across the
estuary that morning so that he might go by train to Exeter,
to be fitted for a suit and suitably hatted for the approach-
ing marriage of his sister. In two or three parishes beside
the Teign the old yeoman has held his own from before
Tudor days. From century to century the land has passed
from father to son. These yeomen families have never
extended their estates, and have been careful not to
diminish them. The younger sons and the daughters have
gone into trade or into service, and have looked with as
much pride to the ancestral farms as can any noble family
to its baronial hall. These yeomen are without pretence,
do not affect to be what they are not, knowing what they
are, and content, and more than content, therewith. There
are occasions in which they do make some display, and
these are funerals and weddings.
It was considered at the family gathering of the Pooke
clan that, at the approaching solemnity of the marriage of
the daughter of the house, no village tailor, nay, not even
one of the town of Teignmouth, could do justice to the
occasion, and that it would be advisable for the son and
heir to seek the superior skill of an Exeter tradesman to
invest his body in well-fitting and fashionable garments, and
an Exeter hatter to provide him with a hat as worn by the
leaders of fashion.
John Pooke had been ferried over in the morning, and
had requested that the boat might be in waiting for him on
his return in the evening by the last train.
Kate had often been sent across on previous occasions.
She could handle an oar. The tide was still flowing, and
there was absolutely no danger to be anticipated. At no
time was there risk, though there might be inconvenience,
and the latter only when the tide was ebbing and the
mud-banks were becoming exposed. To be stranded on
one of these would entail a tedious waiting in mid-river
till return of tide, and with the flow the reñoating of the
ferry-boat.
Kate rowed leisurely across the mouth of the Teign.
The evening was closing in. The sun had set behind the
green hills to the west : a cold wind blew down the river,


24
KITTY ALONE
sometimes whistling, sometimes with a sob in its breath,
and as it swept the tide it crisped it into wavelets.
Now that the sunlight was no longer on or in the water,
the latter had lost its exquisite greenness, and had assumed a
sombre tint. The time of the year was March; no buds
had burst on the trees. The larch plantations were
hesitating, putting forth, indeed, their little blood-purple
“strawberry baskets ”- their marvellous flower, and ready
at the first warm shower to flush into emerald green. The
limes, the elms, were red at every spray with rising sap.
The meadows, however, were of an intense brilliancy of
verdure.
At the mouth of the Teign rose the Ness, a very Bardolph's
nose for rubicundity, and the inflowing tide was warm in
colour in places where it flowed over a loosely compacted
bank of sand or mud. Thus the river was as a piece of
shot silk of two tinctures.
Kate was uncertain whether the train had passed or not.
The atmospheric railway had none of the bluster of the
steam locomotive. No puffs of vapour like white cotton wool
rose in the air to forewarn of a coming train, or, after one
had passed, to lie along the course and tell for five minutes
that the train had gone by. It uttered no whistle, its
breaks produced no jar. Its lungs did not pant and roar.
It slid along almost without a sound.
Consequently, Kate, knowing that the ferry-boat had
been despatched late, almost expected to find John Pooke
stamping and growling on the hard. When, however, she
ran the boat aground at the landing-place, she saw that no
one was there in expectation.
The girl fastened the little vessel to a ring and went up
the river bank in quest of someone who could inform her
about the train.
She speedily encountered a labourer with boots red in
dust. He, however, could say nothing relative to the down
train. After leaving work—"tilling 'taters ”- he had been
into the public-house at Bishop's Teignton for his half-pint
of ale, to wash the red dust down the redder lane; the train
might have gone by while he was refreshing himself; but
there was also a probability that it had not. Continuing
her inquiries, Kate met a woman who assured her that the


THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY
25
train had passed. She had seen it, whilst hanging out
some clothes ; she had been near enough to distinguish the
passengers in the carriages.
Whilst this woman was communicating information,
another came up who was equally positive in her a: severa-
tions that the train had not gone by. She had been looking
out for it, so as to set her clock by it. A lively altercation
ensued between the women, which developed into person-
alities; their voices rose in pitch and in volume of tone.
A third came up and intervened. A train had indeed
passed, but it was an up and not a down train. Thus the
first woman was right-she had seen the train and observed
the passengers; and the second was right—the down train
by which she had set her clock had not gone by. Far from
being satisfied at this solution of the difficulty, both women
who had been in controversy turned in combined attack
upon the third woman who would have reconciled them.
What right had she to interfere? who had asked for her
opinion ? Everyone knew about her—and then ensued
personalities. The third woman, hard pressed, covered
with abuse, sought escape by turning upon Kate and
rating her for having asked impertinent questions. The
other two at once joined in, and Kate was driven to fly the
combined torrent of abuse and take refuge in her boat.
There she could sit and wait the arrival of the fare, and be
undisturbed save by her own uneasy thoughts. The wind
was rising. It puffed down the river, then held its breath,
filled its bellows and puffed more fiercely, more ominously.
The evening sky was clouding over, but the clouds were
chopped, and threatened a stormy night.
Kate had brought her shawl, and she now wrapped it
about her, as she sat waiting in the boat. When the glow
passed away, caused by her exertion in rowing and her
run from the exasperated women, it left her cold and
shivering,
The tide was beyond the full, and was beginning to ebb.
This was vexatious. Unless John Pooke arrived speedily,
there would be difficulty in traversing the Teign, for the
water would warp out rapidly with the wind driving it
seawards.
She must exercise patience and wait a little longer.


THE ATMOSPHERIC RAILWAY
27
rails. The train did not travel fast—at a rate not above
thirty miles an hour.
Kate heaved a sigh. “At last! Pooke will be here
directly. Oh dear! I hope not too late.”
The atmospheric train slipped away into darkness with
very little noise, and then the only sound Kate heard was
that of the lapping of the water against the sides of the
boat, like that produced by a dog drinking.


CHAPTER V
ON A MUD-BANK
“ I ALLOA! Ferry, ho !"
“Here you are, sir."
"Who is that singing out ?”
“ It is 1-Kate Quarm.”
“What-Kitty Alone? Is that what is to be? Over the
water together-Kitty Alone and I?”
On the strand, in the gloom, stood a sturdy figure encum-
bered with a hat-box and a large parcel, so that both hands
were engaged.
“Are you John Pooke ?”
“To be sure I am.”
In another moment the young fellow was beside the
boat.
“Here, Kitty Alone! Lend a hand. I'm crippled
with these precious parcels. This blessed box-hat has
given me trouble. The string came undone, and down it
went. I have to carry the concern tucked under my arm;
and the parcel's bursting. It's my new suit dying to show
itself, and so is getting out of this brown-paper envelope as
fast as it may."
“We are very late,” said Kate anxiously. “The tide is
running out hard, and it is a chance if we get over.”
“Right, Kitty. I'll settle the hat-box and the new
suit- brass buttons—what d'ye think of that? And straps
to my trousers. I shall be fine-a blazer, Kitty-a
blazer !”
“Do sit down, John; it is but a chance if we get across.
You are so late."
“The Atmospheric did it, for one—my hat for the other,
tumbling in the darkness out of the box, and in the tunnel
28


ON A MUD-BANK
29
too. Fancy if the train had gone over it! I'd have wept
tears of blood.”
“Do, John Pooke, do sit down and take an oar.'
“I'll sit down in a minute, when I've put my box-hat
where I nor you can kick it about, and the new suit where
the water can't stain it."
“ John, you must take an oar."
“Right I am. We'll make her fly-pist!—faster than
the blessed Atmospheric, and no sticking half-way."
“I'm not so sure of that.”
Kate thrust off. She had altered the pegs, and now she
gave John an oar.
“Pull for dear life !” she said ; “not a moment is to be
lost.”
“Yoicks away !” shouted Pooke. “So we swim-Kitty
Alone and I.”
Kate, more easy now that the boat was started, said,
“You asked me my name. I said Kate Quarm.”
“Well, but everyone knows you as Kitty Alone.”
“ And every one knows you as Jan Tottle, but I shouldn't
have the face to so call you; and I don't see why you
should give me any name than what properly belongs to
me.”
“Your father always so calls you."
6 You are not my father, and have no right to take
liberties. My father may call me what he pleases, because
he is my father. He is my father—you my penny fare.”
“And the penny fare has no rights?”
“He has right to be ferried over, not to be impudent.”
Pooke whistled through his teeth.
The girl laboured hard at the oar; Pooke worked more
easily. He had not realised at first how uncertain was the
passage. The tide went swirling down to the sea witn the
wind behind it, driving it as a besom.
“I say, Kate Quarm-no, Miss Catherine Quarm. Hang
it! how stiff and grand we be! Do you know why I have
been to Exeter ?”
“I do not, Jan."
“There, you called me Jan. You'll be 'titling me Tottle,
next. That gives me a right to call you Kitty.”
“Once, but no more; and Kitty only.”


KITTY ALONE
“I've been to Exeter to be rigged out for sister Sue's
weddin'. My word ! it has cost four guineas to make a
gentleman of me.”
“ Can they do that for four guineas ?”
“Now don't sneer. Listen. They'd took my measure
afore, and they put me in my new suit, brass buttons and
everything complete, and a new tie and collars standing to
my ears—and a box-hat curling at the sides like the waves
of the ocean—and then they told me to walk this way,
please sir! So I walked, and what should I see but a
gentleman stately as a dook coming towards me, and I
took off my hat and said, Your servant, sir! and would
have stepped aside. Will you believe me, Kate! it was
just myself in a great cheval glass, as they call it. You'll
be at the wedding, won't you?—if only to see me in my
new suit. I do believe you'll fall down and worship me,
and I shall smile down at you and say, Holloa ! is that my
good friend Kitty Alone ? And you'll say, Your very
humble servant, sir !"
“That I shall never do, Mr. Pennyfare,” laughed Kate,
and then, becoming grave, immediately said, “ Do pull in-
stead of talking nonsense. We are drifting; look over
your shoulder.”
“So we are. There is Coombe Cellars light, right away
up stream.”
“ The wind and stream are against us. Pull hard."
Jan Pooke now recognised that he must use his best
exertions.
“Hang it !” said he, watching the light; “I don't want to
be carried out to sea.”
“Nor do I. That would be a dear penn'orth.”
Pooke pulled vigorously; looked over his shoulder again
and said, “ Kate, give up your place to me. I'm worth
more than you and me together with one oar apiece.”
She moved the rowlock pins, and Jan took her place
with two oars; but the time occupied in effecting the
change entailed loss of way, and the boat swept fast down
the estuary.
“This is more than a joke," said Pooke ; “we are down
opposite Shaldon. I can see the Teignmouth lights. We
shall never get across like this.”


ON A MUD-BANK
31
“We must.”
“The tide tears between the end of the Den and the
farther shore like a mill-race."
“We must cross or run aground."
“ Kate, can you see the breakers over the bar ?"
“No, but I can hear them. They are nothing now, as
wind and tide are running off shore. When the tide turns
then there will be a roar.”
“I believe we are being carried out. Thunder! I'm not
going to be swept into Kingdom Come without having put
on box-hat and new suit, and cut a figure here."
The wind poured down the trough of the Teign valley
with such force, that in one blast it seemed to catch the
boat and drive it, as it might take up a leaf and send it
flying over the surface of a hard road.
The waves were dancing, foaming, uttering their voices
about the rocks of the Ness, mumbling and muttering on
the bar. If the boat in the darkness were to get into the
throat of the current, it would be sucked and carried into
the turbulent sea; it might, however, get on the bar and be
buffeted and broken by the waves.
" Take an oar,” said Pooke; "we must bring her head
round. If we can run behind the Den, we shall be in still
water.”
“Or mud,” said Kate, seating herself to pull. “Any-
thing but to be carried out to sea.”
The two young people struggled desperately. They were
straining against wind and tide, heading about to get into
shallow water, and out of the tearing current.
After a while Kate gasped, “I'm finished !”
Her hair was blown round her head in the gale; with
the rapidity of her pulsation, lights flashed before her eyes
and waves roared in hergears.
“Don't give up. Pull away !”
Mechanically she obeyed. In another minute the strain
was less, and then-the boat was aground.
“If this be the Den, all right," said Pooke. “We can
get ashore and walk to Teignmouth.” He felt with the
oar, standing up in the boat. It sank in mud. “Here's a
pretty pass,” said he. “I thought it bad enough to be
stuck in the tunnel when the Atmospheric broke down,


32
KITTY ALONE
but it is worse to be fast in the mud. From the tunnel we
could extricate ourselves at once, but here—in this mud,
we are fast till flow of tide. Kitty, -I mean Kate, -make
up your mind to accept my company for some hours. I
can't help you out, and I can't get out myself. What is
more, no one on shore, even if we could call to them,
would be able to assist us. Till the tide turns, we are held
as tight as rats in a gin." .
“I wonder," said the girl, recovering her breath, "what
makes the tides ebb and flow.”
“I dont know, and I don't care,” said John Pooke; “it
is enough for me that they have lodged us here on a mud
bank in a March night with an icy east wind blowing. By
George! I've a mind to have out a summons against the
Atmospheric Company.”
“ Why so ?”
“For putting us in this blessed fix. The train came to
a standstill in the tunnel by the Parson and Clerk rock,
between Dawlish and Teignmouth. We had to tumble
out of the carriages and shove her along into daylight.
That is how my band-box got loose ; as I got out of the
carriage the string gave way and down went the box in the
tunnel, and opened, and the hat came out. There was an
east wind blowing like the blast of a blacksmith's bellows
through the tunnel, and it caught my new hat and carried it
along, as if it were the atmospheric train it had to propel.
I had to run after it and catch it, all in the half-dark, and
all the while the guard and passengers were yelling at me
to help and shove along the train; but I wasn't going to do
that till I had recovered my hat. I must think of sister
Sue's wedding, and the figure I shall cut there, before I
consider how to get the train out of a tunnel.”
In spite of discomfort and cold, Kate was constrained to
laugh.
"If you or I am the worse for this night in the cold, and
if my box-hat has had the nap scratched off, and my new
suit gets stained with sea-water, I'll summons the com-
pany, I will. What have you got to keep you warm,
Kate?”
“A shawl.”
“Let me feel it.”


ON A MUD-BANK
33
Pooke groped in the dark and caught hold of what the
girl had cast over her head and shoulders.
“It's thin enough for a une evening,” said he. “It
may keep off dews, but it will not keep out frost. Please
goodness, we shall have neither hail nor rain; that would
be putting an edge on to our misery.".
Both lapsed into silence. The prospect was cheerless.
After about five minutes Kate said, “I wonder why there
are twelve hours and a half between tides, and not twelve
hours.”
“I am sure I cannot tell," answered Pooke listlessly; he
had his head in his hand.
“You see,” remarked Kate, “if the tides were twelve
hours exactly apart, there would always be flow at the same
hour.”
“I suppose so." Pooke spoke languidly, as if going to
sleep.
“But that extra half-hour, or something like it, throws
them out and makes them shift. Why is it?".
“How can I say? Accident."
“It cannot be accident, for people can calculate and put
in the almanacks when the tides are to be.”
“I suppose so."
“And then — why are some tides much bigger than
others? We are having high tides now.”
Pooke half rose, seated himself again, and said in a tone
of desperation, “Look here, Kitty! I ain't going to be
catechised. Rather than that, I'll jump into the mud and
smother. It is bad enough having to sit here in the wind
half the night, without having one's head split with thinking
to answer questions. If we are to talk, let it be about
something sensible. Shall you be at sister Sue's wedding?”
“I do not know. That depends on whether aunt will
let me go."
“I want you to see and worship me in my new suit."
“I may see-I shan't worship you."
"I almost bowed down to myself in the cheval glass, I
looked so tremendous fine; and if I did that—what will
you do?”
“Many a man worships himself whom others don't think
much of"


KITTY ALONE
“There you are at me again. Fancy — Kate —
ducks”-
“And green peas ?”
“No-bottle-green. Ducks is what I am going to wear,
with straps under my boots—lily-white, and a yellow nankeen
waistcoat, and a bottle-green coat with brass buttons,-all
here in this parcel,—and the hat. My honour! I never
was so fine before. Four guineas—with the hat.”
“Do you call this 'talking sensible'?” asked Kate.
Again they subsided into silence. It was hard, in the
piercing wind, in the darkness, to keep up an interest in
any topic.
The cold cut like a razor. The wind moaned over the
bulwarks of the ferry-boat. The mud exhaled a dead
and unpleasant odour. Gulls fluttered near and screamed.
The clouds overhead parted, and for a while exposed tracts
of sky, thick strewn with stars that glittered frostily.
Presently the young man said, “Hang it! you will catch
cold. Lie in the bottom of the boat, and I will throw my
coat over you."
“But you will yourself be chilled.”
“I-I am tough as nails. But stay. I know something
better. I have my new bottle-green coat, splendid as the
day. You shall have that over you.”
“But it may become crumpled.”
“Sister Sue shall iron it again.”
« Or stained.”
“You shan't die of cold just to save my bottle-green.
Lie down. I wish the hat could be made to serve some
purpose. There's no water in the boat ?”
“None."
“And I am glad. It would have gone to my heart like
a knife to have had to bale it out with my box-hat."
Kate was now very chilled. After the exertion, and the
consequent heat in which she had been, the reaction had
set in, and the blood curdled in her veins. The wind
pierced the thin shawl as though it were a cobweb. Pooke
folded up his garments to make a pillow for her head,
insisted on her lying down, so that the side of the boat
might in some measure screen her from the wind, and then
he spread his new coat over her.


ON A MUD-BANK
35
“There, Kitty. Hang it! we are comrades in ill-luck;
so there is a brotherhood of misery between us. Let me
call you Kitty, and let me be Jan to you—Tottle if you
will."
“Only when you begin to boast about your new
suit” —
“There, Kitty, don't be hard on me. I must think of
something to keep me warm, and what else so warming as
the thoughts of the ducks, and nankeen, and bottle-green,
and the box-hat. I don't believe anything else could make
me keep up my spirits. Go to sleep, and when I feel the
boat lift, I will sing out.”
Kate was touched by the kindness of the soft-headed
ing, and he thought she was dozing, he put down his hand
and touched the clothes about her. He wished to assure
himself that she was well covered.
Kate was not asleep; she was thinking. She had not
met with much consideration in the short span of her life.
Lying in the boat with her eyes fixed on the stars, her
restless mind was working.
Presently, moved by an uncontrollable impulse, she asked,
“ John, why do some of the stars twinkle and others do
not ?"
“How should I know? I suppose they were out on a
spree when they ought to ha' been in bed, and now can't
keep their eyes from winking.”
“Some, however, burn quite steadily.”
“ Them's the good stars, that keep regular hours, and go
to bed when they ought. Your eyes 'll be winking no end
to-morrow."
“John, what becomes of the stars by day?”
“Kitty—Kate, don't ask any more questions, or I shall
jump overboard. I can't bear it; I can't indeed. It
makes my head ache.”


CHAPTER VI
A CAPTURE
V ATE QUARM had never felt a mother's love. She
n could not recall her mother, who had died when
she was an infant. Her father, encumbered with a mother-
less babe, had handed the child over to his sister Zerah,
a hard woman, who resented the infliction upon her in
addition to the cares and solicitudes of her house. From
her aunt Kate received no love. Her uncle paid to her
no attention, save when he was provoked to rebuke by
some noise made in childish play, or some damage done in
childish levity.
Thus Kate had grown up to the verge of womanhood
with all her affections buried in her bosom. That dark
heart was like a cellar stored with flower bulbs and roots.
They are not dead, they send forth bleached and sickly
shoots without vigour and incapable of bloom. Hers was
a tender, craving nature, one that hungered for love ; and
as she received none, wherever she turned, to whomsoever
she looked, she had become self-contained, reserved, and
silent. Her aunt thought her sullen and obstinate.
As already related, Mrs. Pepperill had not been always
childless. She had possessed a daughter, Wilmot, who
had been the joy and pride of her heart. Wilmot had
been a bright, merry girl, with fair hair and forget-me-not
blue eyes, and cheeks in which the lily was commingled with
the rose. Wilmot was a born coax and coquette; she
cajoled her mother to give her what she desired, and she
flattered her father into humouring her caprices.
Naturally, the reserved, pale Kate was thrown into
shadow by the forward, glowing Wilmot; and the parents


A CAPTURE
37
daily contrasted their own child with that of the brother,
and always to the disadvantage of the latter.
Wilmot had a mischievous spirit, and delighted in teasing
and tyrannising over her cousin. Malevolent she was not,
but inconsiderate; she was spoiled, and, as a spoiled child,
capricious and domineering. She liked-in her fashion,
loved--Kate, as she liked and loved a plaything, that she
might trifle with and knock about; not as a playfellow, to
be considered and conciliated. Association with Wilmot.
hardly in any degree brightened the existence of Kate ; it
rather served to cloud it. Petty wrongs, continuous setting
back, repeated slights, wounded and crushed a naturally
expansive and susceptible nature. Kate hardly ventured to
appeal to her father or to her aunt against her cousin, even
when that cousin's treatment was most unjust and insup-
portable; the aunt naturally sided with her own child,
and the father heedlessly laughed at Kate's troubles as
undeserving of consideration.
Then, suddenly, Wilmot was attacked by fever, which
carried her off in three days. The mother was inconsolable.
The light went out of her life with the extinction of the
vital spark in the bosom of her child.
The death of Wilmot was of no advantage to Kate. She
was no longer, indeed, given over to the petty tyranny of
her cousin, but she was left exposed to a hardened and
embittered aunt, who resented on her the loss of her own
child. Into the void heart of Zerah, Kate had no chance
of finding access; that void was filled with discontent,
verjuice, and acrimony. An unreasonable anger against
the child who was not wanted and yet remained, in place
of the child who was the apple of her eye, and was taken
from her, made itself felt in a thousand ways.
Without being absolutely unkind to her, Zerah was
ungracious. She held Kate at arm's length, spoke to her
in harsh and peremptory tones, looked at her with con-
tracted pupils and with puckered brow. Filled with
resentment against Providence, she made the child feel her
disappointment and antagonism. The reserve, the lack of
light-heartedness in the child told against her, and Zerah
little considered that this temperament was produced by
her own ungenerous treatment.


KITTY ALONE
At the time of this story, Kate was of real service in the
house. The Pepperills kept no domestic servant; they
required none, having Kate, who was made to do whatever
was necessary. Her aunt was an energetic and industrious
woman, and Kate served under her direction. She assisted
in the household washing, in the work of the garden, in the
feeding of the poultry, in the kitchen, in all household
work; and when folk came to eat cockles and drink tea,
Kate was employed as waitress. For all this she got rio
wage, no thanks, no forbearance, no kind looks, certainly
no kind words.
The girl's heart was sealed up, unread, misunderstood
by those with whom she was brought into contact. She
had made no friends at school, had no comrades in the
village; and her father inconsiderately accepted and
applied to her a nickname given her at school by her
teacher, a certain Mr. Solomon Puddicombe,-a nickname
derived from the burden of a foolish folk-song, “Kitty
Alone.
Now the girl lay in the bottom of the boat, under Pooke's
Exeter tailor-made clothes, shivering. What would her
father think of her absence? Would he be anxious, and
waiting up for her ? Would Aunt Zerah be angry, and give
her hard words ?
Her eyes peered eagerly at the stars—into that great
mystery above.
“ They are turning,” she said.
“What are turning ?” asked Pooke. "Ain't you asleep,
as you ought to be ?"
“When I was waiting for you at the Hard, I saw them
beginning to twinkle.”
* What did you see?"
“Yonder, those stars. There are four making a sort of
a box, and then three more in a curve."
“ That is the Plough.”
“Well, it is something like a plough. It is turning
about in the sky. When I was waiting for the Atmo-
spheric, I saw it in one way, and now it is all turned about
different.”
“I daresay it is."
“But why does it turn about?”


A CAPTURE
39
“When I've ploughed to one end of a field, I turn the
plough so as to run back.”
“But this isn't a real plough."
"I know nothing about it,” said Pooke desperately;
“and, what is more, I won't stand questioning. This
is a ferry-boat, not a National School, and you are Kitty
Quarm, not Mr. Puddiconbe. I haven't anything more
of learning to go through the rest of my days, thankful to
say."
The night crept along, slow, chilly as a slug; the time
seemed interminable. Benumbed by cold, Kate finally
dozed without knowing that she was slipping out of con-
sciousness. Sleep she did not—she was in a condition of
uneasy terror, shivering with cold, cramped by her position,
bruised by the ribs of the boat, with the smell of mud and
new cloth in her nose, and with occasionally a brass button
touching her cheek, and with its cold stabbing as with a
needle. The wind, curling and whistling in the boat as it
came over the side, bored into the marrow of the bones,
the muscles became hard, the flesh turned to wax.
Kate discovered that she had been unconscious only by
the confusion of her intellect when Pooke roused her by
a touch, and told her that the boat was afloat. She
staggered to her knees, brushed the scattered hair out of
her dazed eyes, rose to her feet, and seated herself on the
bench. Her wits were as though curdled in her brains.
They would not move. Every limb was stiff, every nerve
ached. Her teeth chattered; she felt sick and faint.
Sleepily she looked around.
No lights were twinkling from the windows on the banks.
In every house candles had long ago been extinguished.
All the world slept.
The clouds overhead had been brushed away, and the
lights of heaven looked down and were reflected in the
water. The boat was as it were floating between two
heavens besprent with stars, the one above, the other
below, and across each was drawn the silvery nebulous
Milky Way. The constellation of the Great Bear—the
Plough, as Pooke called it-was greatly changed in position
since Kate had commented on it. Cassiopēa's silver chair
was planted in the great curve of the Milky Way. To the


40
KITTY ALONE
south the hazy tangle of Berenice's Hair was faintly
reflected in the inflowing tide.
Although the boat was lifted from the bank, yet it was
by no means certain that Coombe Cellars could be reached
for at least another half-hour. The tide, that had raced
out, seemed to return at a crawl. Nevertheless, it was
expedient to restore circulation by the exercise of the arms.
Kate assumed one oar, John the other, and began to row ;
she at first with difficulty, then with ease, as warmth returned
and her blood resumed its flow. The swelling tide carried
the boat up with it, and the oars were leisurely dipped,
breaking the diamonds in the water into a thousand
brilliants.
As they approached the reach where lay Coombe-in-
Teignhead, John Pooke said : “There is a light burning in
your house. They are all up, anxious, watching for you,
and in trouble. On my word, will not my father be in a
condition of fright and distress concerning me if he hears
that I am out? I went off without saying anything to
anybody. I intended to be back all right in the evening
by the Atmospheric. But there's no telling, father may
have been asking after me. Then, as I didn't turn up
at supper, he may have sent about making inquiries, and
have heard at the Cellars that I'd gone over the water,
and given command to be met by the last train. Then
they will be in a bad state of mind, father and sister Sue.
Hulloa ! what is that light? It comes from our place.”
John Pooke rested on his oar, and turned.
From behind an orchard a glow, as of fire, was shining.
It had broken forth suddenly. The light streamed between
the trees, sending fiery arrows shooting over the water, it
rose in a halo above the tops of the trees.
“ Kate! whatever can it be? That is our orchard.
There is our rick-yard behind. It never can be that our
ricks are afire, or our house! The house is just beyond.
The blaze is at our place-pull hard !”.
“It's a chance if there is water enough to carry us
ashore."
Then, from above the belt of orchard broke lambent
flame, and cast up tufts of ignited matter into the air, to be
caught and carried away by the strong wind. Now there


A CAPTURE
41
lay a fiery path between the ferry-boat and the shore.
Pooke seated himself. He was greatly agitated.
“Kate, it is our rick-yard. That chap, Roger, has done
it.”
The words had hardly escaped him before a boat shot
past, and his oar clashed with that of the rower in that
boat. As it passed, John saw the face of the man who was
rowing, kindled by the orange blaze from the shore. The
recognition was instantaneous.
“Redmore, it is you !” Then breathlessly, “Kate,
about! we must catch him. He has set our ricks
ablaze.”
The boat was headed round, and the young arms bent at
the oars, and the little vessel flew in pursuit. The man
they were pursuing rowed clumsily, and with all his efforts
made little way, so that speedily he was overtaken, and Jan
ran the ferry-boat against the other, struck the oar out of
the hands of the rower, and flung himself upon the man,
and gripped him.
“Kate—hold the boats together.”
Then ensued a furious struggle. Both men were strong.
The position in which both were was difficult-Jan Pooke
half in one boat, half in the other, but Roger Redmore
grasped at the seat in his boat, while holding an oar in his
right hand.
The flaring rick sent a yellow light over them. The
boats reeled and clashed together, and clashing drifted
together with the tide up the river, past Coombe Cellars.
Pooke, unable as he was to master his man, cast himself
wholly into his adversary's boat. Redmore had let go the
oar, and now staggered to his feet. The men, wrestling,
tossed in the rolling boat, fell, were up on their knees, and.
then down again in the bottom.
“Quick, Kate !” shouted Jan. “I have him! Quick !
-the string of my parcel.”
Kate handed him what he desired.
In another moment Pooke was upright. “He is safe,”
said he, panting. “I have bound his wrists behind his
back. Now-Kate !”
The boats had run ashore, a little way above the Cellars,
drifted to the strand by the flowing tide.


42
KITTY ALONE
“Kate," said Pooke, jumping out, "you hold that
cord-here. I have fastened it round the rowlock. He
can't release himself. Hold him, whilst I run for help.
We will have him tried-he shall swing for this! Do you
know that, Roger Redmore? What you have done is no
joke-it will bring you to the gallows !"


CHAPTER VII
A RELEASE
T ATE sat in her boat holding the string that was
i twisted round the rowlock and that held Roger
Redmore's hands bound behind his back. He was
crouched in the bottom of the boat, sunken into a heap,
hanging by his hands. Now and then he made a convulsive
effort with his shoulders to release his arms, but was
powerless. He could not scramble to his feet, held down
as he was behind. He turned his face, and from over
Coombe Cellars, where the sky was alight with fire, a glow
came on his countenance.
“You be Kitty Alone?” said he.
Kate hardly answered. Her heart was fluttering; her
head giddy with alarm and distress, coming after a night's
exposure in the open boat. As yet, no sign of dawn in the
east; only the flames from the burning farm-produce lighted
up the sky to the south-west, and were reflected in the
in-flowing water.
The agricultural riots which had filled the south of
England with terror at the close of 1830 were, indeed, a
thing of the past, but the reminiscence of them lay deep in
the hearts of the labourers; and for ten and fifteen years
after, at intervals, there were fresh outbreaks of incendiarism.
There was, indeed, no fresh organisation of bodies of men
going about the country, destroying machinery and firing
farms, but in many a district the threat of the firebrand was
still employed, and the revenge of a fire among the stacks
and barns was so easy, and so difficult to bring home to the
incendiary, that it was long before the farmer could feel
himself safe. Indeed, nothing but the insurance office
prevented this method of obtaining revenge from being had


44
KITTY ALONE
recourse to very frequently. When every dismissed labourer
or workman who had met with a sharp reprimand could
punish the farmer by thrusting a match among his ricks,
fires were common; but when it became well known that
an incendiary fire hurt not the farmer, but an insurance
company, the malevolent and resentful no longer had
recourse to this method of injury.
In the “Swing” riots many men had been hung or
transported for the crimes then committed, and the statute
against arson passed in the reign of George IV., making
such an offence felony, and to be punished capitally, was in
force, and not modified till much later. When, therefore,
Jan Pooke threatened Redmore with the gallows, he
threatened him with what the unhappy man knew would
be his fate if convicted.
Kate was acquainted with the story of Roger. He had
been a labourer on Mr. Pooke's farm. He was a morose
man, with a sickly wife and delicate children, occupying a
cottage on the farm. At Christmas the man had taken
a drop too much, and had been insolent to his master.
The intoxication might have been forgiven—not so the
impertinence. He was at once discharged, and given
notice to quit his cottage at Lady Day. For nearly three
months the man had been out of work. In winter there is
no demand for additional hands; no great undertakings
are prosecuted. All the farmers were supplied with work-
men, and had some difficulty in the frosty weather in
finding occupation for them. None were inclined to take
on Roger Redmore. Moreover, the farmers hung together
like bees. A man who had offended one, incurred the
displeasure of all.
Redmore wandered from one farm to another, seeking
for employment, only to meet with refusal everywhere. In
a day or two he would be cast forth from his cottage with
wife and family. Whither to go he knew not. He had
exhausted what little money he had saved, and had nowhere
found work. Kate felt pity for the man. He had trans-
gressed, and his transgression had fallen heavy upon him.
He was not an intemperate man; he did not frequent the
public-house. Others who drank, and drank hard, remained
with their masters, who overlooked their weakness. In


A RELEASE
45
the forefront of Roger's offence stood his insolence; and
Pooke, the richest yeoman in the place, was proud, and
would not forgive a wound to his pride.
As Kate held the string, she felt that the wretched man
was shivering. He shook in his boat, and chattered its
side against her boat.
“ Are you very cold ?” asked the girl.
“ I'm hungry,” he answered sullenly.
“You are trembling."
“I've had nor bite nor crumb for forty-eight hours.
That's enough to make a man shake.”
“Nothing to eat? Did you not ask for something?"
“I went to the Rectory. Passon Fielding gave me a loaf,
but I took it home—wife and little ones were more starving
than I, and I cut it up between 'em.”
“I think I almost think I have a piece of bread with
me,” said Kate. She had, in fact, taken some in her
pocket the night before, when she crossed, and had
forgotten to eat it, or had no appetite for it. Now she
produced the slice.
“I cannot take it,” said the bound man. “My hands be
tied fast behind me. You must please put it into my
mouth; and the Lord bless you for it."
Holding the cord with her right, Kate extended the
bread with the other hand to the man, whose face was
averted, and thrust it between his lips.
“You must hold your hand to my mouth while I eat,"
said he. “I wouldn't miss a crumb, and it will fall if you
take your hand from me.”
Consequently, with her hand full of bread much broken,
she fed the unfortunate man, and he ate it out of her
palm. He ate greedily till he had consumed the last
particle.
It moved Kate to the heart to feel the hungry wretch's
lips picking the crumbs out of her palm.
“Oh, Roger !” she said in a tone full of compassion
and sorrow, rather than reproach, "why—why did you do
it?”
“Do what, Kitty ?”
"Oh, burn the stack !"
“I'll tell you why. I couldn't help it. Did you know


46
KITTY ALONE
silankets on garcold, and tonight
my Joan ? Her was the purtiest little maid in all Coombe.
Her's dead now.”
“Dead, Roger!”
“Ay, I reckon; died to-night in her mother's lap; died
o’ want, and cold, and nakedness. Us had no bread
till Passon gave me that loaf — and no coals, and no
blankets, and naught but rags. The little maid has been
sick these three weeks. Us can't have no doctor. I've
been out o' work three months, and now the parish
must bury her. Joan, she wor my very darling, nigh my
heart."
He was silent. The boat he was in chattered more
vigorously against that of Kate.
“I knowed,” he pursued, “I knowed what ha' done it.
It wor Farmer Pooke throwed me out of employ—took
the bread out o' our mouths. Us had a bit o' candle-end,
and I wor down on my knees beside my wife, and little
Joan lyin' on her lap; and wife and I neither could speak;
us couldn't pray; us just watched the poor little maid
passin' away.”
He was silent, but Kate heard that he was sobbing.
Presently he said, “You've been kind. If you've got a
bit o' handkercher or what else, wipe my face with it,
willy. There's something, the dew or the salt water from
the oars, splashed over it.”
The girl passed her shawl over the man's face.
“Thank’y kindly,” he said. Then he drew a long
breath and continued his story. “Well, now, when wife
and I saw as little Joan were gone home, then her rose up
and never said a word, but laid her on our ragged bed;
and I—I had the candle-end in my hand, and I put it into
the lantern, and I went out. My heart were full o' gall
and bitterness, and my head were burning. I know'd well
who'd killed our Joan; it were Farmer Pooke as turned
me out o' employ all about a bit o' nonsense I said and
never meant, and when I wor sober never remembered to
ha' said ; so, mad wi' sorrow and anger, 1-I gone and
done it with that there bit o' candle-end.”
“Oh, Roger, Roger ! you have made matters much worse
for yourself, for all.”
"I might ha' made it worser still.”


A RELEASE
47
-
“You could not-now. Oh, what will become of you, and
what of your poor wife and little ones ? "
“For me, as Jan Tottle said, there's the gallows; and
I reckon for my Jane and the childer, there's the grave.”
“If you had not fired the rick, Roger!”
“I tell you I might ha' done worse than that, and now
been a free man.”
“I cannot see that.”
“Put your hand down by my right thigh. Do you feel
nothing there, hanging to the strap round my waist?"
Kate felt a string and a knife, a large knife, as she
groped.
"Do you mean this, Roger ?”.
“Yes, I does. As Jan Tottle wor a-wrastlin' wi' me
here in this boat, and trying to overmaster me, the thought
came into my head as I might easy take my knife and run
it in under his ribs and pierce his heart. Had I done
that, he'd ha' falled dead here, and I'd a' gotten scot-free
away.”
“Roger!”
Kate shrank away in horror.
“I didn't do it, but I might. I'd no quarrel with young
Jan. He's good enough. It's the old fayther be the hard
and cruel one. I knowed what was afore me, as young
Jan twisted and turned and threw me. I must be took
to Exeter gaol, and there be hanged by the neck till dead-
but I wouldn't stain my hands wi' an innocent lad's blood.
I wouldn't have it said of my little childer they was come
o'a murderin' villain.”
Kate shuddered. Still holding fast the cord that con-
strained the man, and kept him in his position of helpless-
ness, she drew back from him as far as she could without
surrendering her hold.
“I had but to put down my hand and slip open my
clasp-knife—and I would have been free, and Jan lying
here in his blood.”
She hardly breathed. A band as of iron seemed to be
about her breast and tightening.
“Kitty,” said the man, “you have fed me with bread
out of your hand, and with your hand you have wiped
the salt tears from my eyes. With that hand will you give


48
KITTY ALONE
me over to the gallows? If you do, my death will lie on
you, and those of my Jane and the little ones.”
“Roger, I am here in trust.”
“I spared Jan. Can you not spare me?”
Kate trembled. She hardly breathed.
“Let me go, and I swear to you-I swear by all those
ten thousand eyes o' heaven looking down on us—that I
will do for you what you have done for me."
“That is an idle promise,” said Kate; “you never can
do that."
“Who can say what is to be, or is not to be? Let me
go, for my wife and poor children's sake.”
She did not answer.
“Let me go because I spared Jan Pooke."
She did not move.
“Let me go for the little dead Joan's sake—that when
she lies i' the churchyard, they may not say of her,
*Thickey there green mound, wi' them daisies on it, covers
a poor maid whose father were hanged.'”
Then Kate let go the string, it ran round the rowlock,
and the man scrambled to his feet.
“ Cut it with my knife,” he said.
She took the swinging knife, opened the blade, and with
a stroke cut through the cord that held his wrists.
Then Roger Redmore shook the strings from his hands,
and held up his freed arms to heaven, and cried, “The
Lord, who sits enthroned above thickey shining stars, reward
you and help me to do for you as you ha' done for me.
Amen."
He leaped from the boat and was lost in the darkness.
A minute later, and John Pooke, with a party of men
among whom was Pasco Pepperill, came up.
“John,” said Kate," he is gone-escaped.”
She drew the young man aside. “I will not deceive
you-I let him go. He begged hard. He might have
killed you. His little Joan is dead."
John Pooke was at first staggered, and inclined to be
angry, but he speedily recovered himself. He was a good-
natured lad, and he said in a low tone, “Tell no one else.
After all, it is best I shouldn't ha' liked to have appeared
against him, and been the occasion of his death.”


A RELEASE
Kate returned with her uncle to Coombe Cellars.
“I hope my new boat is no worse," said he. “How is
it you've been out all night?”
Kate told her story.
“ The boat is all right, I suppose. She cost me six
pounds."
“Yes; no harm is done to it. I hope aunt has not been
anxious about me."
“What, Zerah ? Oh, she's in bed. I waited up, and
when there was a cry of fire ran out.”
“You waited for me, uncle?”
“I had my accounts."
“And father—was he anxious about me?"
“Your father? You come in, and you'll hear his snore
all over the house. He's a terrible noisy sleeper."


CHAPTER VIII
AN ATMOSPHERE OF LOVE
AFTER the fierce north-east wind came one from the
A south-east, whose wings were laden with moisture,
and which cast cold showers over the earth. It is said
that a breath from this quarter brings a downpour that
continues unintermittently for forty-eight hours. On this
occasion, however, the rain was not incessant. The sky
lowered when it did not send down its showers, and these
latter were cold and unfertilising. “February fill dyke,
March dry it up,” is the saying, but March this year was
one of rain, and February had been a month of warmth
and sunshine, which had forced on all vegetation, which
March was cutting with its cruel frosts and beating down
with its pitiless rains.
That had come about in Coombe Cellars which might
have been anticipated. Kate had been sent across the
water with the scantiest provision against cold, and with no
instruction as to how to act in the event of delay of the
atmospheric train. She was not a strong child, and the
bitter cold had cut her to the marrow. On the morning
following she was unable to rise, and by night she was in
a burning fever.
Kate had an attic room where there was no grate-a room
lighted by a tiny window that looked east across the river.
Against the panes the rain pattered, and the water
dripped from the eaves upon the window-ledge with the
monotonous sound of the death-watch. Hard by was the
well-head of a fall-pipe, in which birds had made their
nests, and had so choked it that the water, unable to
descend by the pipe, squirted and plashed heavily on the
slates below.
50


AN ATMOSPHERE OF LOVE
51
A candle, brought from the kitchen, stood on the
window-shelf guttering in the wind that found its way
through the ill-fitting lattice and cracked diamond panes.
It cast but an uncertain shimmer over the face of the sick
girl.
On the floor stood an iron rushlight-holder, the sides
pierced with round holes. In this a feeble rushlight
burned slowly.
Beside the bed sat Mrs. Pepperill, and the old rector of
Coombe-in-Teignhead stood with bowed head, so as not
to knock his crown against the ceiling, looking intently
at the girl. Zerah was uneasy. Her conscience reproached
her. She had acted inconsiderately, if not wrongly, in
sending her niece across the water. She was afraid lest
she should be blamed by the parson, and lest her conduct
should be commented on by the parish.
She reasoned with herself, without being able thoroughly
to still the qualms of her conscience. What cause had
she to suppose that the train would not arrive punctually ?
How could she have foreseen that it would come in so late
that it made it impossible for Kate to cross in the then
condition of the tide? Had Jan Pooke arrived but ten
minutes earlier than he did, then, unquestionably, the boat
would have come over, if not at Coombe Cellars, yet
somewhat lower down the river. She was not gifted with
the prophetic faculty. She had so many things to occupy
her mind that she could not provide for every contingency,
Should the child die, no blame-no reasonable blame-
could attach to her. The fault lay with Mr. Brunel, who
had laid down the atmospheric railway; with the engineer
at the Teignmouth exhausting-pump, who had not done
his duty properly; with the guard of the train, who had
not seen that the rollers for opening and closing the
valves did their work properly; with John Pooke, for
delaying over his hat that he had let fall; with Jason
Quarm, for not offering to ferry the boat in the place of
his daughter, instead of staying over the fire with her
husband, filling his head with mischievous nonsense about
making money out of mud and sinking capital which would
never come to the surface again. Finally, the fault lay
with Providence, that blind and inconsiderate power, which


52
KİTTY ALONE
had robbed her of Wilmot, and now had not retarded the
ebb by ten minutes, which might easily have been effected
by shifting the direction of the wind to the south-west.
The feeble light flickered in the window, and almost
in the same manner did the life of the girl flicker, burning
itself away as the candle guttered in the overmuch and
irregular heat, now quivering under the in-rush of draught,
hissing blue and faint, and ready to expire, then flaring up
in exaggerated incandescence. The cheeks flushed, the
eyes burned with unnatural light, and the pulse ebbed and
flowed.
“Where do the stars go by day?" asked Kate in
delirium ; "and why does the Plough turn in heaven? Is
God's hand on it?"
“My child,” said the parson, “God's plough in the
earth is the frost, that cuts deep and turns and crumbles
the clods ready for the seed; and God's plough on human
hearts is great sorrow and sharp disappointment—to make
the necessary furrow into which to drop the seeds of faith,
and love, and patience.”
“She is not speaking to you, sir,” said Mrs. Pepperill.
“She's talking rambling like. But she's terrible at ques-
tions—always."
The clergyman held his hands folded behind his back,
and looked intently at the fevered face. The eyes were
bright, but not with intelligence. Kate neither recognised
him, nor understood what he said.
"I wonder now where the doctor is?” said Zerah. “I
reckon he has gone to some patient who can pay a guinea
where we pay seven shillings and sixpence. Doctor Mant
will be with such twice a day—as we are poor, he will come
to us only now and then.”
“You judge harshly. You have but just sent for him."
“I did not think Kate was bad enough to need a
doctor."
"God is the Great Physician. Put your trust in
Him."
“That is what you said when Wilmot was ill. I lost her
all the same."
“It was the will of Heaven. God's plough, maybe, was
needed."


AN ATMOSPHERE OF LOVE
“In what way did I deserve to be so treated ? My
beautiful child ! my own, very very own child.” Zerah's
eyes filled, but her lips contracted, making crow-feet at
the corners. “I have had left to me instead this cold-
hearted creature, my niece, who can in no way make up
to me for what I have lost. I've had a sovereign taken
from me and a ha'penny left in my hand.”
“God has given you this child to love and care for.
For His own wise purposes He took away Wilmot, whom
you were spoiling with over-much affection and blind
admiration. Now He would have you love and cherish
the treasure He has left in your hands.”
“Treasure?”
“Ay, treasure. Love her.”
“Of course I love her! I do my duty by her.”
“ You have done your duty-of that I have no doubt.
But how have you done it? Do you know, Mrs. Pepperill,
there are two ways in which everything may be done--as a
duty to God, in the spirit of bondage or in the spirit of
love? So with regard to the image of God in this innocent
and suffering child. You may do your duty perfunctorily
or in charity.”
“I do it in charity. Her father has not paid a penny
for her keep.”
“That is not what I mean; charity is the spirit of love.
There are two minds in which man may stand before God,
to everything, to everyone—there is the servant mind and
the filial mind, the duty mind, and the mind of love. And
with what mind have you treated this child ?” The parson
put his hand to Kate's brow and drew back from it the
dark hair, sweeping the locks aside with his trembling
fingers.
"Look,” said he. “What a forehead she has got-what
a brow! full, full, full of thought. This is no common
head—there is no vulgar brain in this poor little skull."
“Wilmot had a head and brains," said Mrs. Pepperill,
“and her forehead was higher and whiter.”
Zerah's conscience was stinging her. What the rector
said was true, and the consciousness that it was true made
her angry.
Would she have sent Wilmot across the water insuffici-


54
KITTY ALONE
ently protected against the east wind? would she have done
this without weighing the chances of the atmospheric
railway breaking down ? If death were to snatch this
child from her, she would ever feel that some responsibility
had weighed on her. However much she might shift the
blame, some of it must adhere to her.
She had not been kind to the motherless girl. It was
true she had not been unkind to her ; but then Kate had
a right to a share of her heart. She had valued her niece
chiefly as a foil to her daughter; and when the latter died,
her feelings toward Kate had been dipped in wormwood.
Zerah was not a bad woman, but she was a disappointed
woman. She was disappointed in her husband, disap-
pointed in her child. Her heart was not congealed, nor
was her conscience dead, but both were in a torpid
condition.
Now, as by the glimmer of the swaling candle she looked
on the suffering girl, the ice about her heart cracked-a
warm gush of pity, an ache of remorse, came upon her;
she bowed and kissed the arched brow of her niece.
The rector knelt and prayed in silence. He loved the
intelligent child in his Sunday school—the nightingale in
his church choir. Zerah obeyed his example.
Then both heard the stair creak, and a heavy tread
sounded on the boards.
Mrs. Pepperill looked round, but the irregular tread
would have told her who had entered the attic chamber
without the testimony of her eyes. She stood up and
signed to Jason Quarm to be less noisy in his movements.
“Pshaw !” said he ; “it is nothing. Kitty will get over
it. You, Zerah, are tough. I am tough. Leather tough-
ness is the characteristic of us Quarms. When she is
better, send her to me—to the moor. That will set her
up.”
The rector rose.
Jason went to the head of the bed and laid his large
hand on the sick girl's brow. The coolness of his palm
seemed to do her good.
“You see-it comforts the little toad,” said her father.
“There is nothing to alarm you in the case. Children are
like corks. They go under water and are up again-mostly


AN ATMOSPHERE OF LOVE
55
up. Dipping under is temporary — temporary and soon
over. Parson, do you want to speculate ? I am buying
cent. at the least. What do you say?"
The rector shook his head.
“Well, I shouldn't go away from Coombe with Kitty ill
but that I expect to make my fortune and hers. She'll
have a dower some day out of the Brimpts oaks.”
Then the man stumped out of the room and down the
steep stairs.
Jason Quarm was always sanguine.
“Do you think Kate will live?” asked Zerah, who did
not share his views.
“I trust so," answered the rector. “If she does, then
regard her as a gift from heaven. Once before she was
put, a frail and feeble object, into your arms to rear and
cherish. You were then too much engrossed in your
daughter to give to this child your full attention. Your
own Wilmot has been taken away. Now your niece has
been almost withdrawn from you. But the hand that
holds the issues of life and death spares her ; she is com-
mitted to you once more-again helpless, frail, and com-
mitted to you that you may envelop her in an atmosphere
of Love.”
“I have loved her,” said Mrs. Pepperill. “This is the
second time, sir, that you have charged me with lack of
love towards Kate.”
“Wilmot," said the rector, “was one who stormed the
heart. She went up against it, with flags flying and martial
music, and broke in at the point of the bayonet. Kate's
nature is different. She will storm no heart. She sits on
the doorstep as a beggar, and does not even knock and
solicit admission. Throw open your door, extend your
hand, and the timid child will falter in, frightened, yet
elate with hope.”
“I don't know," said Zerah meditatively. “You'll
excuse my saying it, but when a child is heartless"-
“Heartless - who is heartless ?"
“ Kate, to be sure.”
“Heartless ?” repeated the rector. “You are in grievous
error. No child is heartless. None of God's creatures are


KITTY ALONE
void of love. God is love Himself, and we are all made
in the image of the Creator. In all of us is the divine
attribute of love. We were made to love and to be loved.
It is a necessity of our nature. This poor little spirit-
with how much love has it been suckled ? With how
much has its nakedness been clothed ? The cream of
your heart's affection was given to your own daughter, and
only the whey—thin and somewhat acidulated-offered to
the niece. Turn over a new leaf, Mrs. Pepperill. Treat
this child in a manner different from that in which she
has been treated. I allow frankly that you have not been
unkind, unjust, ungracious. But such a soul as this cannot
flower in an atmosphere of negatives. You know some-
thing about the principle on which the atmospheric railway
acts, do you not, Mrs. Pepperill? There is a pump which
exhausts the air. Now put a plant, an animal, into a
vessel from which the vital air has been withdrawn, and
plant or animal will die at once. It has been given nothing
deleterious, nothing poisonous has been administered. It
dies simply because it has been deprived of that atmosphere
in which God ordained that it should live and flourish.
My good friend,” said the rector, and his voice shook with
mingled tenderness of feeling and humour, “if I were to
take you up and set you under the exhausting apparatus,
and work at the pump, you would gasp-gasp and die.”
The woman turned cold and blank at the suggestion.
“If I did that,” continued the parson, “the coroner who
sat on you would pronounce that you had been murdered
by me. I should be sent to the assizes, and should in-
fallibly be hung. Very well: there are other kinds of
murder than killing the body. There is the killing of the
noble, divine nature in man, and that not by acts of
violence only, but by denial of what is essential to its
existence. Remember this, Mrs. Pepperill: what the
atmosphere is to the lungs, that love is to the heart. God
created the lungs to be inflated with air, and the heart to
be filled with Love."


CHAPTER IX
CONVALESCENCE
THE voice of Pasco was heard shouting up the stairs
to his wife. Mrs. Pepperill, glad to escape the
lecture, went to the door and called down, “Don't make
such a noise, when the girl is ill.”
“Come, will you, Zerah; there's some one wants to
have a say with you.”
With a curt excuse to the parson, Mrs. Pepperill de-
scended. She found her husband at the foot of the stairs,
with his hand on the banister.
“Pasco," said she, “what do'y think now? The parson
has been accusing me of murdering Kate. If she dies, he
says he'll have me up to Exeter Assizes and hung for it.
I'll never set foot in church again, never-I'll join the
Primitive Methodists."
“As you please," said her husband. “But go to the
door at once. There is John Pooke waiting, and won't be
satisfied till he has had a talk with you about Kate. He
wants to know all about Kitty-how she's doing, whether
she's in danger, if she wants anything that the Pookes can
supply. He's hanging about the door like what they call
a morbid fly. He's in a terrible taking, and won't be put
off with what I can tell.”
“Well, now,” exclaimed Zerah, “here's an idea! Some-
thing may come of that night on a mud-bank after all, and
more than she deserves. Oh my! if my Wilmot was alive,
and Jan Pooke were to inquire after her! Go up, Pasco,
and send that parson away. I won't speak to him again-
abusing of me and calling me names shameful, and he an
ordained minister. What in the world are we coming
to ?”
57


KITTY ALONE
When the doctor arrived, he pronounced that he would
pull Kate through.
Presently the delirium passed away, and on the following
morning the light of intelligence returned to her eyes.
“They are still there,” she said eagerly, raising her head
and listening.
“What are still there?" asked her aunt.
“ The gulls.”
In fact, these animated foam-flakes of the ocean were
about in vast numbers, uttering their peculiar cries as they
hovered over the mud.
“Of course they are there—why not?”
“Father said he was going to make ladies' waistcoats of
them, and I've been fretting and crying--and then, the
daffodils " -
“Oh, bother the daffodils and the gulls ! They may
wait a long while before waistcoats are made of them.”
“It is not of daffodils father was going to make waist-
coats. He said he would have all the gulls shot.”
“Never worrit your head about that. The birds can
take care of themselves and fly away to sea.”
“But the daffodils cannot get away. He was going to
have a scythe and mow them all down and sell them.”
“Wait till folk are fools enough to buy."
There was much to be done in the house. Mrs.
Pepperill was unable to be always in the room with her
niece. It was too early in the year for pleasure parties
to come up the river in boats for tea or coffee, winkles
and cockles, in the open air, but the house itself exacted
attention — the cooking, the washing, had to be done.
Now that Zerah was deprived of the assistance of her
niece, perhaps for the first time did she realise how useful
the girl had been to her. By night Kate was left alone;
there was no space in the attic chamber for a second bed,
nor did her condition require imperatively that some one
should be with her all night.
When her consciousness returned, Kate woke in the
long darkness, and watched the circular spots of light that
danced on the walls and careered over the floor, as the
rushlight flickered in the draught between window and
door. Above, on the low ceiling, was the circle of light,


CONVALESCENCE
59
-
broad and yellow as the moon, cast by the candle, its rays
unimpeded in that direction, but all round was the per-
forated rim, and through that the rays shot and painted
stars--stars at times moving, wheeling, glinting; and Kate,
in a half-torpid condition, thought she could make out
among them the Plough with its curved tail, and wondered
whether it were turning. Then she passed into dreamland,
and woke and saw in the spots of light the white pearls of
her uncle's neckcloth, and was puzzled why they did not
remain stationary. Whilst vexing her mind with this
question she slid away into unconsciousness again, and
when next her eyes opened, it was to see an orchard
surrounding her, in which were daffodils that flickered,
and she marvelled what that great one was above on the
ceiling, so much larger than all the rest. Always, when-
ever with the ebb the gulls came up the river in thousands,
and their laugh rang into the little room, it was to Kate
as though a waft of sea-air blew over her hot face; and
she laughed also, and said to herself, “They are not yet
made into waistcoats.”
Occasionally she heard under her window a whistle
piping, “ There was a frog lived in a well,” and she once
asked her aunt if that were father, and why he did not
come upstairs to see her.
“Your father is on Dartmoor,” answered Zerah. Then,
with a twinkle in her eye, she added, “I reckon it is Jan
Pooke. He has taken on terribly about you. He comes
every day to inquire.”
Whenever Mrs. Pepperill had a little spare time, she
clambered up the steep staircase to see that her niece
lacked nothing, to give her food, to make her take medicine,
to shake up her bed. And every time that she thus mounted,
she muttered, “So, I am killing her with cruelty! The
only suitable quarters for me is Exeter gaol; the proper
end for me is the gallows! I have put her into one of
the atmospheric engine-towers and have pumped the life out
of her! And yet, I'm blessed if I'm not run off my legs
going up and down these stairs! If I ain't a ministering
angel to her; if she doesn't cost me pounds in doctor's
bills; I don't begrudge it-but I'm a murderess all the
same!”


60
KITTY ALONE
Certain persons are mentally incapable of understanding
a simile; a good many are morally unwilling to apply one
to themselves. Whether, when it was spoken, Mrs.
Pepperill comprehended or not the bearing of the rector's
simile relative to the exhausting engine, in the sequel she
came to entirely misconceive it, and to distort it into
something quite different from what the speaker intended.
That was easily effected. She was quite aware that much
that the parson had said was true; her conscience tingled
under his gentle reproof; but no sooner was that un-
fortunate simile uttered, than her opportunity came for
evading the cogency of his reproach, and for working her-
self up into resentment against him for having charged her
falsely. That is one of the dangers that lurk in the
employment of hyperbole, and one of the advantages
hyperbole gives to those addressed in reprimand with it.
Zerah had sufficient readiness of wit to seize on the
opportunity, and use her occasion against the speaker, and
in self-vindication.
The rector had not said that Zerah was depriving her
niece of vital air ; that mattered not-he had said that she
was depriving her of what was as essential to life as vital air.
“ It is my own blessed self that I am killing," said Mrs.
Pepperill ; “running up these stairs ten hundred times in
the day, my heart jumping furiously, and pumping all the
vital air out of my lungs. I'm sure I can't breathe when I
get up into Kate's room. And he don't call that love! He
ought to be unfrocked by the bishop."
She came into the girl's chamber red in the face and
puffing, and went direct to her.'
“There, now; I'm bothered if something does not come
of it to your advantage and mine, Kate, for I'm tired of
having to care about you. Jan Pooke has been here again.
That's the second time to-day ; of course asking after you.
There is no one in the family but Jan and his sister, and
she is about to be married. The Pookes have a fine farm
and money in the bank. If you manage matters well, you'll
cut out that conceited minx, Rose, who has marked him
down. Come, you are a precious !”
She stooped to kiss Kate, but the girl suddenly turned her
face with a flaming cheek to the wall.


CONVALESCENCE
Zerah tossed her head and said to herself, “Love? she
won't love! I was about to kiss her, and she would not
have it."
Then she got her needlework and seated herself at the
window. Kate turned round at once to look at her. She
had shrunk from her aunt involuntarily; not from her kiss,
but from her words, which wounded her.
A strange child Kate was. If not asking questions with
her lips, she was seeking solutions to problems with her eyes.
She had fixed her great solemn orbs on her aunt, and they
remained on her, not withdrawn for a moment, till Zerah
Pepperill became uneasy, fidgeted in her seat, and said
sharply, “ Am I a murderess or an atmospheric pump that
you stare at me? Can't you find something else to look
at?”
Kate made no reply, but averted her face. Ten minutes
later, nevertheless, Zerah felt again that the eyes were on
her, studying her features, her expression, noting everything
about her, seeming to probe her mind and search out every
thought that passed in her head.
“Really, if this is going on, I cannot stay,” she said, rose
and folded up the sheet she was hemming. “There's such
a thing as manners. I hate to be looked at-it is as if slugs
were crawling over me."
As Zerah descended, she muttered, “ The girl is certainly
born without a heart. I would have kissed her but that she
turned from me. I wish the parson had seen that !”
The weather changed, the edge was taken off the east
wind, the sun had gained power. The rooks were in ex-
citement repairing their nests and wasting sticks about the
ground under the trees, making a mess and disorder of
untidiness. The labourers begged a day from their masters,
that they might set their potatoes; after work hours on the
farms they were busy in their gardens.
In spring the sap of health rises in young arteries as in
plants, and Kate recovered, not perhaps rapidly, but never-
theless steadily. She continued to be pale, with eyes preter-
naturally large.
She was able to leave her chamber, and after a day or
two assist in light housework.


CHAPTER X
THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER
NE day, when her uncle was at home busy about his
accounts, which engaged him frequently without
greatly enlightening him, but serving rather to involve his
mind in confusion, Kate was assisting her aunt in preparing,
for the early dinner, when a tap at the door announced a caller.
Pasco shouted to the person outside to come in, and a
young man entered—tall, with fair hair, and clear, steady
grey eyes.
“I am the new schoolmaster,” said he frankly. “I have
thought it my duty to come and see you, as you are church-
warden and one of the managers of the National School.”
“Quite right; sit down. I have been busy. I am a
man of the commercial world. This is our meal-time. I
am disengaged from my accounts; you can sit and eat, and
we will converse whilst eating.”
Mrs. Pepperill entered, and her hard eye rested on the
young man.
“ The new schoolmaster,” she said. “Do you come from
these parts ? "
“No; I am a stranger to this portion of England.”
“That's a misfortune. If you could be born again, and
in the west country, it would be a mercy for you. From
where do you come ?”.
“ From Hampshire."
“That's right up in the north.”
The schoolmaster raised his eyebrows. “Of course-in
the south of England.”
“It doesn't follow," said Zerah ; " by your speech I took
you to be foreign.”
“And what may your name be,” said Pasco, “if I may be
62


THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER
63
so bold as to ask? I have heard it, but it sounded French,
and I couldn't recollect it.”
“My name is very English-Walter Bramber.”
“Never heard anyone so called before. Brambles, and
Bramptons, and Branscombes. It don't sound English to
our ears. I may as well tell you sit down, and take a fork
—that we liked our last schoolmaster uncommon much.
He was just the right sort of man for us ; but the rector took
against him.”
“I thought he was rather given to the”—
"Well, what of that? We have, all of us, our failings.
A trout is an uncommon good fish, but it has bones like
needles. You have your failings, my wife has hers. I will
say this for Mr. Solomon Puddicombe-he never got tight
in our parish. When he was out for a spree, he went else-
where—to Newton, or Teignmouth, and sometimes to Ash-
burton. He couldn't help it. Some folks have fits, others
have bilious attacks. When he wasn't bad, he was very
good; the children liked him, the parents liked him. I
liked him, and I'm the church warden. He had means of
his own, beside the school pence and his salary. A man
has a right to spend his money as he chooses. If he had
got tight on the school pence, I can understand that there
might have been some kind of objection ; but when it was
on his private means, then I don't see that we have anything
to do with it. Have you means of your own ?”
“I am sorry to say--none."
“We always respect those who have means. If you have
none, of course you can't go on the spree anywhere, and
oughtn't to do so. It would be wrong and immoral. Take
my advice, and call on the old schoolmaster. The parish
will be pleased, as it has been terribly put about at the rector
giving him his dismissal.”
“But--I thought there had been an unhappy scandal ;
that, in fact, he had been committed to "-
“Well, well, he was locked up,” said Pasco. “There
was a cock-fight somewhere up country. Not in this country,
but at a place called Waterloo.”
“There is no such place in England,” said Bramber.
“Waterloo is in Belgium ; it lies about five miles from
Brussels,”


64
KITTY ALONE
“You are a schoolmaster, and ought to know. But of
this I am quite sure—it was in England where he got into
trouble, and the name of the place was Waterloo."
“He may have been at some inn called the Waterloo, but
positively there is no place in England so designated,” said
Bramber.
“I know very well the place was Waterloo, and that Mr.
Solomon Puddicombe got into trouble there. We are all
liable to troubles. I have lost my daughter. Troubles are
sent us; the parson himself has said so. Puddicombe got
locked up. You see, cock-fighting is a pursuit to which he
was always very partial. You go and call on him, and he'll
sing you his song. It begins-
• Come all you cock-fighters from far and near,
I'll sing you a cock match when and where,
On Aspren Moor, as I've heard say,
A charcoal black and a bonny bonny grey.'
That is how the song begins. But it is about another
cock-fight; not that at Waterloo. Cock-fighting is Mr. Pud-
dicombe's pursuit. We have all got our pursuits, and why
not? There's a man just outside Newton is wonderful hot
upon flowers. His garden is a picture; he makes it blaze
with various kinds of the finest coloured — foreign and
English plants : that's his pursuit. Then there is a doctor
at Teignmouth who goes out with a net catching butterflies,
and he puts ale and treacle on the trees in the evening for
catching moths : that's his pursuit. And our parson likes
dabbling with a brush and some paints : that's his pursuit.
And business is mine: that's my pursuit and my pleasure-
and it's profit too."
“Sometimes; not often,” threw in Zerah.
“Well, I don't know what your pursuits be, Mr. School-
master,” said Pepperill. “Let us hope they're innocent as
those of Mr. Puddicombe.”
The young man glanced round him, staggered at his
reception, and caught the eye of Kate. She was looking
at him intently, and in her look were both interest and
pity.
“We won't argue any more,” said Pasco. "I suppose
you can eat starigazy pie?”


THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER
65
1
“I am ashamed to say I never heard of it.”
“Never heard of it? And you set to teach our
children! Zerah, tell Mr. Schoolmaster what starigazy
pie is.”
“There is nothing to tell,” said Zerah ungraciously. It
was her way to be ungracious in all she said and all she did.
“ It is fish pie-herrings or pilchards—with their heads out
of the crust looking upwards. That is what they call star-
gazing in the fishes, and, in short, starigazy pie. But if you
don't like it, there is our old stag coming on presently."
“Do you know, I shall have made two experiences to-
day that are new to me. In the first place, I shall make
acquaintance with starigazy pie, that promises to be excel-
lent; and in the next place, I may add that it never has been
my luck hitherto to taste venison.”
“What's that ?" asked Mrs. Pepperill sharply; she thought
Bramber was poking fun at her.
“I never have had the chance before of tasting venison-
the meat of the rich man's table.”
“No means, you know," said Pasco. “Without private
means you can't expect to eat chicken."
“Our old stag is hardly chicken,” said Zerah. “You see,
now we've got a young stag, we didn't want the old one any
more.”
“Solomon Puddicombe married my second cousin,"
observed Pepperill. “Her name was Eastlake. Are you
single?”
“Yes, that is my forlorn condition.”
“Well, look sharp and marry into the parish. It's your
only chance. You see, the farmers are all against you.
They were partial to Puddicombe, and I hear he is intend-
ing to set up a private school. The farmers and better-class
folk will send their children to him. They don't approve
of their sons and daughters associating with the labourers'
children, though they did send some to the National School
so long as Solomon Puddicombe was there ; but that was
because he was so greatly respected.”
“Do you mean to say that Mr. Puddicombe is still in
Coombe-in-Teignhead?”
“Certainly. When he returned from Waterloo, as the
place was called where was that cock-fight, and he got into


66
KITTY ALONE
some sort of difficulty, he came back to his own house. He
got it through his wife, who was an Eastlake-my cousin.
It is his own now, and he has private means, so he intends
setting up a school. It will be very select; only well-to-do
parents' children will be admitted. When they let Mr.
Puddicombe out of gaol at Waterloo, which is somewhere
in the Midlands,-leastways in England,—then the people
here were for ringing a peal to welcome him home. The
parson put the keys in his pocket and went off. They
came to me. I am churchwarden, and I knocked open the
belfry door. We gave Puddicombe a peal, and the rector
wasn't over-pleased. I am church warden, and that is some-
thing. You see, Mr. Puddicombe has means, and a house
he got through my cousin Eastlake. I don't know how the
school will be kept up now that the rector has had Puddi-
combe turned out of it. None of the farmers will subscribe.
We have no resident squire. He will have to make up
your salary out of his own pocket. He is not married, so
he can well afford it. If he don't consult our feelings, I
don't see why we should consider his pocket. None of us
wished to lose Solomon Puddicombe; everyone trusted
him, and he was greatly respected.”
Again the schoolmaster looked round him. A sense of
helplessness had come over him. Again his eye encountered
that of Kate, and he instinctively understood that this girl
felt for him in his difficulties and humiliation, and under-
stood how trying his position was.
“Now for a bit of our old stag,” said Pasco.
“Stag?” exclaimed Bramber; “that is fowl ! ”
“What you call fowl, is stag to us. He crowed till his
voice cracked. He may be tough because old, but he's
been long boiling.”
“Oh, a cock !" Bramber learned that day that a cock in
Devonshire is entitled stag.
The meal ended, Pasco Pepperill stood up and said,
“Mr. What's-your-name, I daresay you would like to look
over my stores. You'll be wanting coalo, and I sell coals
by the bushel. You drink cider, I daresay; I can provide
you with a hogshead-or half, if that will do. If you want
to do shopping—I speak against my interests—but White-
away deals in groceries ; you'll find his shop up the street.


THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER
67
If there be anything he hasn't got, and you need to go into
Teignmouth, why, this is the ferry, and we charge a penny
to put you across, and it is a penny back. If you desire to
be polite to friends, and would like to entertain them, there
are cockles and winkles, tea or coffee, to be had here, six-
pence a head; but if the number were over twenty, we
might come to an arrangement at fourpence-ha'penny. And
if you desire a conveyance at any time, I have a cob and
trap I let out at a shilling a mile, and something for the
driver. And if you smoke and drink, I have I mean, I dare-
say I could provide for you tobacco and spirits that—you
know—haven't seen the Customs, and are accordingly
cheap. And if you should happen to know of a timber
merchant who wants a lot of oak, I've dropped over a
hundred pounds on some prime stuff I shall sell only to
such as know good oak from bad. And if you've any
friends in the weaving trade, I do some business in wool,
and am getting first-class fleeces from Dartmoor. If you
can oblige me in any way like this—well, I daresay I shan't
be so prejudiced for Mr. Puddicombe.”
Pasco Pepperill conducted the schoolmaster about his
premises in an ostentatious manner, showed him his stores,
his stable, the platform on which tea and coffee, winkles
and cockles were served. He named the prices he had
paid, and gave the new-comer to understand that he was a
man who had plenty of money at his disposal.
Then an idea occurred to Pasco. Perhaps this school-
master might help him with his accounts. He himself
could not disentangle them and balance his books. He
was shy of letting anyone else see them ; but this Bramber
was a complete stranger, a man whom he could reduce to
dependence on himself; he had no private means, no
friends in the place; he had given the man a dinner, and
might make of him a very serviceable slave.
“Look here,” said Pepperill in a haughty tone, “Mr.
Schoolmaster, I suppose you know something of accounts
and book-keeping ?”.
“Certainly I do.”
“I shouldn't mind now and then paying you a trifle,
giving you a meal, and favouring you with my support-I
am church warden, and consequently on the committee of


68
KITTY ALONE
the National School. Me and the bishop, and the arch-
deacon and rector, and Whiteaway as well. I mean, I'll
stand at your back, if you will oblige me now and then, and
hold your tongue.”
“I will do anything I can to oblige you,” said Bramber.
“And as to holding my tongue, what is it you desire of
me?”
“Merely to help me with my accounts. My time is so
occupied, and I do business in so many ways, that my books
get somewhat puzzling—I mean to a man who is taken up
with business.”
“I am entirely at your service.”
“But--you understand—I don't want my affairs talked
about. People say I have plenty of money, that I'm a man
who picks it up everywhere; but I don't desire that they
should know how much I have, and what my speculations
are, and what they bring in.”
“I can hold my tongue.”
“Would you look at my books now ? "
“Certainly."
Accordingly, Walter Bramber re-entered the house, and
was given the books in a private sitting-room, and worked
away at them for a couple of hours. The confusion was
great : Pepperill might have had a genius for business, but
this was not manifest in his books. Presently Pasco
came in.
“Well,” said he, “make 'em out, eh?”
“You must excuse my saying it,” said Bramber; “but
-if these are all-your affairs are in a very unsatisfactory
condition.”
“Unsatisfactory? oh, pshaw ! Of course, I have other
resources; there's the Brimpts forest of oaks. There's—oh,
lots; winkles and cockles, tea and coffee not entered.”
“Sixpence a head; over twenty, fourpence ha’penny,” said
Walter Bramber drily.
“Oh, lots-lots of other things. I haven't entered all.”
“I sincerely hope it is so.”
“It is so, on my word.”
“Because--you seem to me to be losing seriously on every
count.”
“Losing? You don't know creditor from debtor account.


THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER
69
That comes of education; it is never of use. Nothing like
business for teaching a man. I don't believe in your book-
learning."
“I'll come again to-morrow and go more carefully into
the accounts."
“Oh, thank you, not necessary. It is clear to me you do
not understand my system and mistake sides.” Pasco
became red and angry. “Look here, Mr. Schoolmaster, let
me give you a word. You don't belong to the labourers-
you won't be able to make friends of them. You don't
belong to the gentry ; there are none here—so you need not
think of their society. You don't belong to the middle
class—you are not a farmer, or a tradesman, or a merchant;
so they will have nothing to do with you. You make my
accounts all right, and the balance on the right side; give
up your foolish book-keeping as learned at college, and set
my accounts right by common sense, and I'll see what I can
do to get you taken up by some respectable people. And,
one thing more. Don't go contradicting men of property,
and saying that there was no cock-fighting at Waterloo,
because there was ; and people don't like contradictions.
When I broke open the belfry door that the ringers might
give Mr. Puddicombe a peal, I let the world see I wasn't
going to be priest-ridden; and we are not going to be
schoolmaster-ridden neither, and told our accounts are
wrong, and that Waterloo, where the cock-fight was, is not
in England."


CHAPTER XI
DISCORDS
( ALTER BRAMBER left Coombe Cellars greatly
discouraged. He had unintentionally ruffled the
plumes of the churchwarden by disputing his knowledge of
the situation of Waterloo, and mainly by discovering that
his affairs were in something worse than confusion, that
they wore a complexion which indicated the approach of
bankruptcy. And Pasco Pepperill was one of the magnates
of the village, and full of consciousness that he was a great
man.
Bramber walked to the little village shop belonging to
Whiteaway, the second church warden, who was also on the
committee of management, and trustee for the school
under the National Society.
Here also his reception was not cordial. It was intimated
to him that his presence in the village and tenure of the
mastership of the school would be tolerated only on con-
dition that he supplied himself with groceries, draperies,
boots, and lollipops from Whiteaway's shop. He walked
to his lodgings.
Such were the men with whom he was thrown. From
two instances he generalised. They were to be gained
through their interests. Unless he got one set of things at
one store and another set at another, the two mighty men
who ruled Coombe-in-Teignhead would turn their faces
against him, and make his residence in the place intoler-
able.
As he walked slowly along the little street, he encountered
a cluster of children, talking and romping together, com-
posed of boys and girls of all ages. Directly they saw him,
they became silent, and stood with eyes and mouths open
70


DISCORDS
contemplating him. Bramber heard one boy whisper to
the next-
“That's the new teacher--ain't he a duffer?"
He nodded, and addressed a few kindly words to the
children; expressed his hope that they would soon be well
acquainted and become fast friends. To which no response
was accorded. But no sooner was he past than the whole
crew burst into a loud guffaw, which set the blood rushing
into the young man's face.
A moment later a stone was hurled, and hit him on the
back. He turned in anger, and saw the whole pack dis-
appear behind a cottage and down a side lane. He con-
sidered a moment whether to pursue and capture the
offender, but believing that he would have great difficulty
in discovering him, even if he caught the whole gang, he
deemed it expedient to swallow the affront.
On reaching his lodgings, Bramber unpacked his few
goods; and as he did this, his heart ached for his Hampshire
home. Old associations were connected with the trifles he
took out of his box, linked with the irrevocable past, some
sad, others sunny. Then he seated himself at his window
and sank into a brown study.
Young, generous, he had come to this nook of the West
full of enthusiasm for his task, eager to advance education,
to lift the children out of the slough of ignorance and pre-
judice in which their fathers and forefathers had been
content to live. That his efforts would meet with ready
·and enthusiastic support, would be gratefully hailed by
parents and children alike, by rich and by poor, he had not
doubted.
“ There is no darkness but ignorance," said the fool in
“Twelfth Night”; and who would not rejoice to be himself
lifted out of shadows into light, and to see his children
advanced to a higher and better walk than had been pos-
sible for himself?
But his hopes were suddenly and at once damped. He
was a fish out of water. A youth with a certain amount of
culture, and with a mind thirsting after knowledge, he was
pitchforked into a village where culture was not valued,
where the only books seen were, “ The Norwood Gipsy's
Dream-Book” and “The Forty Thieves,” exposed in the


KITTY ALONE
grocer's window. He had been accustomed to associate
with friends who had an interest in history, travels, politics,
scenery, poetry, and art; and here in this backwater no
one, so far as he could see, had interest in anything save
what would fill his pocket or his paunch. Sad and tempor-
arily discouraged, he took his violin and began to play.
This instrument was to be to him in exile companion, friend,
and confidant. Presently he heard a male voice downstairs
talking loudly to his landlady. He stayed his bow, and in
another moment a stout and florid man stumbled up the
staircase.
“How do'y, schoolmaister?” said this visitor, extending
a big and moist hand. “I'm Jonas Southcott, landlord of
the Lamb and Flag. As I was passing, I heard your fiddle
squeak. You're just the chap us wants. Peter Adams as
played first fiddle at church is dead; he was the man for
you-he could turn you off a country dance, a hornpipe, or
a reel.”
“What, in church?”
“No, not exact-ly that. At our little hops at the Lamb
and Flag; and on Sunday he was wonderful at an anthem
or a psalm. We want someone who can take his place.
You please to come and be sociable when the young folks
want a dance. What can you play—Moll in the Wad,'
• The Devil among the Tailors,' 'Oil of Barley,''Johnny,
come tie my cravat’? These were some of Peter Adams's
tunes. And on Sunday you should have heard him in
Jackson's 'Tee-dum,' or at Christmas in “While shepherds
watched. It was something worth going to church for."
“I hardly know what to say,” gasped Walter Bramber.
“I am but newly arrived, and have not as yet shaken into
my place.”
“This is practising night. The instruments will all be
in my parlour this evening at half-past six. If you like to
come and be sociable, and have a glass of spirits and
water, and try your hand at Jackson's 'Tee-dum,' I reckon
the orchestra will be uncommon gratified.”
“You are very good, but”—
“And when the practice is over, we'll whip in some
young folks and have a dance, and if you'll fiddle some
of them tunes — Moll in the Wad,' or 'The Parson


DISCORDS
73
among the Peas,' or 'The Devil among the Tailors,' you'll
get intimate with young and old alike. Then, also, you
can keep your eyes open, and pick out a clean, comely
maiden, and keep company with her, and walk her out on ·
Sundays-and so look to settling among us. You have a
head-wind and a strong tide against you. The old master
was such a favourite, and so greatly respected, that I doubt,
unless you make an effort, you won't go down here.”
“This evening you must excuse me ; I'm very tired.”
“Well, this was kindly intended. I thought to put you
on good terms with the parish at once. Perhaps you're shy
of playing Jackson’s ‘Tee-dum’ till you've tried it over
privately. I'll see if I can borrow you the notes. Jackson's
'Tee-dum'”—
“I presume you mean the “Te Deum.'”
“We always call it “Tee-dum' here, and if you give it
any other name, no one will understand you. We are
English, not French or Chinese, in Coombe-in-Teignhead.”
The landlord of the Lamb and Flag descended the
stairs, and Bramber, fearing lest he should have given
offence, accompanied him to the street door. His landlady
was a widow. When Jonas Southcott was out of the house,
she beckoned to Walter Bramber, and said--
“I be main glad you ain't going to the practice to-night,
for I have axed Jane Cann in to tea.”
“Who is Jane Cann?”
“Her teaches sewing and the infants in the National
School. I thought you'd best become acquainted in a
friendly way at the outset. She used to keep a dame's
school herself, and a very good school it was. But when
the parson set up the new National School, he did not want
exactly to offend folk, and to take she bread out of Jane
Cann's mouth,—you know she's akin to me, and to several
in the place,—so he appointed her to the infants. Her's a
nice respectable young woman, but her had a bit o' a
raisfortune as a child ; falled and hurt her back, and so is
rather crooked and short. Her may be a trifle older than
you, but folk do say that is always best so; for when the
wife is young”-
“Goodness preserve us ! you don't suppose I am going
to marry her because she is the sewing-mistress ? "


KITTY ALONE
“You might do worse. Folk are sure to talk anyhow,
and it's best to give 'em some grounds for their talk. You
see, she and you must walk together going to school and
coming away, and she lives close by here. As I was saying,
people say that when the wife is much younger than her
husband there comes a long family, and the man is old and
past work when some of the youngest are still no better
than babies.”
Bramber felt a chill down his spinal marrow, as though
iced water were trickling there.
“I speak against my own interest,” continued the widow,
“but it does seem a pity that you should not put your
salaries together and occupy one house. She gets twenty
pounds a year. If you was to marry her, you'd be twenty
pounds the richer. 'Twas unfortunate, though, about that
cricket ball.”
“What about a cricket ball ?”
“Why, Jane Cann was looking on at a cricket match
among the boys, and a ball came by accident and hit her
on the side of her head, so that she's hard o' hearing in her
right ear. You'll please to sit by her on the left, and then
she can hear well enough. Jane Cann is my cousin, and
I'd like to do her a good turn, and as she's maybe about
seven years older than you, you need not fear a long family."
“Preserve me!” gasped the schoolmaster.
“I'll set you a stool on her left side, and give her a high
chair, then you'll be about on a level with her hearing ear.”
“I-I am going out to tea," said Bramber, snatching up
his hat to fly the cottage ; but was arrested at the door by
a burly farmer who entered.
“This is Mr. Prowse of Wonnacot,” said the widow to
Bramber. Then to the farmer, “This, sir, is the new
teacher, who is going to lodge with me.”
“I've heard of him from Southcott," said Prowse. “I've
been told you play the fiddle. Perhaps you know also how
to finger the pianer. My girls, Susanna and Eliza, are
tremendously eager to learn the pianer, and I thought that
after school hours you might drop in at my little place
Wonnacot—and give the young ladies lessons. I'd take it
as a favour, and as I am a not inconsiderable subscriber to
the National School, and”—


DISCORDS
The widow, in a tone of admiration, threw in an aside to
Bramber-_“He subscribes half a sovereign."
The farmer inflated his chest, smiled, raised himself in
his boots, and, thrusting his right hand into his pocket,
rattled some money. He had heard the aside, as it was
intended that he should.
"I may say,” continued Mr. Prowse, “that I am a
bulwark and a buttress of the National School, and as such
I lay claim to the services of the teacher; and if, after
hours, he can hop over to my little place and give my girls
an hour three times a week, then”-he raised his chin and
smiled down on the schoolmaster—"then I shall not be-
grudge my subscription."
“It is true,” said Bramber, “that I can play a little on
the piano, but-I am not sure that I am competent to give
lessons. Moreover, I doubt if I shall have the time at my
disposal. I am still young, and must prosecute my studies.”
"If you expect to remain here in comfort,” said the
farmer testily, "you'll have to do what you are asked. You
don't expect me to subscribe to the National School and
get no advantage out of it?”
Thus it was—some made demands on the time, some on
the purse, and others desired to dispose of the person of
the new-comer.
To escape meeting the crooked sewing-mistress, deaf of
the right ear, Walter ran into the street, and walked through
the village.
A labourer came up to him.
“I want a word with you, Mr. Schoolmaister," said he.
“My boy goes to the National School, and I gives you fair
warning, if you touches him with your hand or a stick, I'll
have the law of you."
“But suppose he be disobedient, rude, disorderly?”.
“My boy is not to be punished. He is well enough if
let alone."
“But-do you send him to school to be let alone ?”
“I send him to school to be out of the way when my
missus is washing or doing needlework.”
A little farther on his way, a woman arrested Walter
Bramber, and said, “You be the new teacher, be you not ?
Please, I've five childer in your school and three at home.


76
KITTY ALONE
Some of the scholars bain't clean as they should be. I
can't have my childer come home bringing with them what
they oughtn't, and never carried to school from my house.
So will’y, now, just see to 'em every day, as they be all
right, afore you let 'em leave school, and I'll thank’y for it
kindly."
Presently a mason returning from his work. saluted
Bramber.
"Look here, schoolmaister! I want you to take special
pains wi' my children and get 'em on like blazes. If they
don't seem to get forward in a week or two, I shall take 'em
away and send them to Mr. Puddicombe, who is going to
open a private school.”
Then another man came up, halted, and, catching hold of
the lappet of Bramber's coat, said, “My name is Tooker.
I'm not a churchman, but I have several children at your
school. I won't have them taught the Church Catechism.
I'm a Particular Baptist, and I won't have no childer of
mine taught to say what their godfather and godmother
promised and vowed for them-for they ain't had no god-
fathers nor godmothers, and ain't a-going to have none.
You can't mistake my childer. One has got a red head,
another is yaller, and the third is a sort of whitey-brown-
and has sunspots, and a mole between the shoulder-blades,
and the boy never had no toe-nails. So mind—no cate-
chism for them.”
“And there is something,” said again another, “upon
which I want to lay down what I think. I wish you to
teach readin' and writin' in a rational manner.”
“I hope to do that."
Ah! but you've been too much at college, and crammed
wi' book-larnin'. Why should you teach childer, and fret
their little heads about the H, when it's a thing of no-con-
cern whatever. Mr. Puddicombe, he was the reasonable
man. Sez he, 'Raisin puddin' is good, and duffy puddin'
wi’out raisins is good—so is it with the English language-
it's good all round, and the H’s are just the raisins ; you
can put 'em in or leave 'em out as you pleases, and stick
'em in by the scores or just a sprinklin', and it's no odds--
it's good anyways.' Them's the principles of spellin' I
expect my little ones to larn at your school,”


DISCORDS
"And I hop-s, Mr. Teacher,” said another sententiously,
“as you'll never forget that it is not enough to teach the
children readin', writing, and 'rithmetic. There is some-
thing more'-
“There is a great deal more-geography, history, the
Elements”-
“There is something above all that, and you should
make it the first thing, and readin' and the rest after."
“What's that?”
“ Temperance-teetotal principles.”
Bramber walked on. His discouragement was becoming
greater at every moment.
As he passed the Lamb and Flag, he was greeted by
a hideous bray of instruments both stringed and brazen.
This outburst was followed by a marvellous coruscation of
instrumental music, races, leaps, a helter-skelter of fiddles,
flutes, cornets, bass-viol, now together, more often running
ahead or falling behind each other, then one a-pickaback
on the rest.
At the door of the public-house stood Mr. Jonas South-
cott with his face radiant.
“Well, Mr. Schoolmaister !” shouted he; "what do you
think of this ? You've never heard such moosic before, I
warrant. That is what I call moosic of the spears! It's
Jackson's “Tee-dum.'”


CHAPTER XII
DAFFODILS
I NWILLING to return to his lodgings, where in vain
the net was spread in his sight, Bramber walked
towards Coombe Cellars. There for sixpence he could have
his tea-cockles, winkles, and presumably bread and butter.
There also would he see that pale-faced girl with the
large violet-blue eyes, which had been fixed on him with
so much sympathy. Disappointed in proportion to the
sanguineness of his expectations, Walter felt that he needed
some relief from his discouragement, a word from some one
who could understand him. On that day he had looked
straight into many eyes, into beaming eyes, into irises that
were dull with no speech in them, into stupid eyes, into
boastful, into defiant, into insolent eyes.
Those of his landlady were clear as crystal, and he could
see to their bottom; but what he saw there was but the
agglomeration of common details of everyday life-s0
many loaves per week, a pint of milk, a beefsteak or
mutton chop for supper, coals at so much a bushel, so
much cleaning, so much washing. As in a revolving slide
in a magic lantern, the same figures, the same trees, the
same houses, reappear in endless iteration; so would it be
with the eyes of the landlady, week by week, year by year,
till those eyes closed in death ; nought else would be
revealed in their shadows but loaves and milk, and coals
and washing, over and over and over again. There are
eyes that are stony and have no depth in them; such
were those of Zerah. Others have profundity, but are
treacherous; such were those of Pasco. In the two
glimpses into the eyes of the pale girl, whose name he did
not know, Bramber had seen depths that seemed unfathom-


DAFFODILS
79
able; wells which had their sources in the heart, deeps full
of mystery and promise.
The evening might have been one in summer. A light
east wind was playing; the sky was clear. The sun had
been hot all day. Marsh marigolds blazed at the water
brim, reflecting their golden faces in the tide. The
orchards were sheeted with daffodils. The evening sky
was blue shot with primrose, and every hue was mirrored
in the water.
Bramber asked to have his tea out of doors on the little
platform above the water, and Mrs. Pepperill bade Kate
attend on the schoolmaster, and remain on the terrace so
as to be ready to bring him anything he required ; and, in
the event of his desiring company, to be present to converse
with him. She herself was engaged, and could not give
him her attention.
The evening was so warm, so balmy, that it could do the
convalescent no harm to sit outside the house. Kate took
her needlework and planted herself on the low wall above
the water, one foot in a white stocking and neat shoe
touching the gravel. She was at some distance from the
schoolmaster, who opened a book and read whilst taking
his tea. He did not, apparently, require her society, and
she had no thought of forcing herself on him.
Yet, occasionally, unobserved by her, Bramber looked
her way. . Behind her was an orchard-sweep golden with
daffodils, and the slant setting sun, shooting down a gap in
the hills, kindled the whole multitude of flower-heads into
a blaze of wavering sunfire. Kate sat, a dark figure against
this luminous background, but her plum-coloured kerchief, -
bound round her throat and tied across her breast, was
wondrous in contrast with the brilliant flowers.
Occasionally, moreover, Kate, who long looked at the
flower carpet which by its radiance threw a golden light
into her face, turned her head to see if the schoolmaster
needed more milk or butter; and then her eyes rested on
the book he held with much the same greed with which a
child fastens its eyes on sweets and a miser on gold.
The setting sun had fired glass windows on the opposite
side of the estuary, and it flashed in every ripple running
in from the sea.


8.
KITTY ALONE
Kate wore a little bunch of celandines in her bosom,
pinned into the purple kerchief. The flowers were open
through the warmth of their position, and when she stooped
and a streak of sunlight fell on them and filled their cups,
they sent a golden sheen over her chin. The girl was
looking dreamily with turned head at the sheet of blazing
daffodils, drinking in the beauty of the scene, and sighing,
she knew not why, when she was startled to hear a voice at
her ear, and, looking round, saw the schoolmaster.
“ Are you admiring the daffodils ?” he asked.
“Yes," answered Kate, too shy, too surprised to
say more.
" And I,” said he, “I also have been looking at them;
and then I turned to familiar lines in Wordsworth, the
poet I am reading. Do you know them ? "
“ About lent-lilies? I know nothing."
“ Listen.”
Then Bramber read-
"I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils ;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze,
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle in the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay :
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee :-
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company :
I gazed—and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought :
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."


DAFFODILS
Kate's dark blue eyes were fixed with intensity on the
reader's face. Then they became full to overflowing.
“Why,” exclaimed Bramber, "you are crying !”
“It is so true, it is so beautiful,” she said, and her voice
shook; and as she spoke the tears ran down her white
cheeks. “How did he who wrote that know about my
illness, and that I was thinking about, and troubled about,
the daffodils when I was in my fever? It is all true"; she
put her hands to her bosom ; “I feel it-I cannot bear it."
Walter Bramber paused in surprise. He was himself a
passionate lover of nature, of flowers, and he was fond of
the words of the poet of nature—words that touched deep
chords in his spirit. But here was a pale, reserved girl, to
whom the words of the poet appealed with even greater
force than to himself.
“ Are you fond of poetry?” he asked.
She hesitated, and slightly coloured before answering.
“I do not know. Father sings a song or two. There
are words, they rhyme, and they are set to a tune, and
sometimes a good tune helps along bad words; but I
never before heard words that had the music in themselves
and wanted nothing to carry them along as on the wings of
a bird. When you read that to me, it was just as though
I heard what I had felt in my heart over and over again,
and had never found how I could put it.”
“Do you know why these flowers are called daffodils ?”
She turned her solemn eyes on him again.
“Because they are daffodils; why else?”.
" I suppose,” said Bramber, " when the Normans came
to England, they brought these yellow flowers with them,
and with the flowers the name by which they had known
them in Normandy-Fleurs d'Avril, which means April
flowers.”
“They do come in April, but also in March, and this year
the weather has been warm, and everything is advanced.”
“So," continued Bramber, “when the English tried to
pronounce the French name, Fleurs d'Avril, they made
daverils, and then slid away into further difference, and
settled down on daffodils. Do you know about the Con-
quest by the Normans ?”.
Kate shook her head sadly.


82
KITTY ALONE
“I know nothing—nothing at all.” Then, after a pause,
she asked timidly, “Will you be very good and kind, and
repeat those verses, and let me learn them by heart?
Oh," she gasped, and expanded, and clasped her hands,
“it would be such a joy to me! and I could repeat them
for ever and ever, and be happy."
“ I shall be delighted.”
Kate planted herself on one of the benches by the table,
leaned her chin in her hands, and listened to each line of
the poem with concentrated attention. One or two words
she did not understand, and Bramber explained their
meaning to her. When the piece had been read over
slowly, she said
“May I try? Do you mind? I think I know it."
Then she recited the poem with perfect accuracy.
“You are quick at learning,” said Bramber. "I hope I
may find my pupils in the National School as eager to
acquire and as ready to apprehend.”
“I never heard words like these before," said Kate.
“May I tell you what they are like to me?”
" Certainly."
“ They are like lightning on a still night, without rain,
without thunder. The heavens are open and there is light
--that is all. Is there more in that book ?”
" A great deal,” answered the young man; and, pointing
to the celandines in Kate's bosom, said, “ The poet has
something to say about these flowers.”
“What, buttercups?”.
“They are not buttercups. Take them out from where
they are pinned. I will teach you a lesson-how to dis-
tinguish sorts."
As the girl removed the bunch and placed it on the
table, he said, “Do you see the petals ? The golden
leaves of the flower are called petals. They are pointed.
Now, remember, a buttercup has rounded petals."
“You are right, and they come out later. They are
more like little drunkards."
“ Drunkards ? What do you mean?”
“ The large golden cups that grow by the water's edge-
these we call drunkards, but they drink only water.”
“You mean the marsh marigold.”


DAFFODILS
83
“Perhaps so, but it is very different from the marigold
of the garden. The leaves ”—
Bramber laughed. “Now you are going to teach me to
distinguish. You are quite right—that water-drinker is not
a marigold at all. But country people give it that name
because it is the great golden flower that blooms at or
about Lady Day, and the lady is the Virgin Mary. Now
consider. The celandine has sharply-pointed petals. Do
you see the difference between them and those of the
golden water-drinker?”
“I see this clearly now.”
“He who wrote those verses about the daffodils has
written three poems on the celandine.”
“What! on these little flowers ?”
Kate coloured with delight and surprise.
“Yes, and very beautiful they are. I will reserve them
for another day. You have enough to think about in the
lines on the daffodils."
“How did the man who wrote them know of my
illness, and how I dreamed and troubled about the
daffodils ?”
“ He knew nothing of you.”.
“He must have done so. He says he was lonely as a
cloud, and I am Kitty Alone.”
“Is that your name?”
“ They call me so because I have no companions and no
friends, and because ”- She checked herself and hung
her head.
“But you have relatives.”
“ Yes—my father and Aunt Zerah. But for all that I
am alone. They are grown big and old, and so of course
cannot understand me—a child. And at school I didn't
have friends. Then the man must have been here, for he
says-
* Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle in the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay.'
There they are in never-ending line.'”


84
KITTY ALONE
" There are daffodils elsewhere, as there are solitary
spirits elsewhere than in this little being”-and Walter
lightly touched the girl's brow.
Both were silent for a minute. Presently Kate said,
“When I was looking at the daffodils, as the sun was on
them, they blazed in at my eyes and I was full of light, and
now those beautiful words are like the sun on the flowers
that I shall carry away with me, and as I lie in bed in the
dark I shall think of them, and the golden light will fill my
room and fill my heart-
• Flashing upon that inward eye,
Which is the bliss of solitude.'
That is true of the inward eye. You can see more with
that than with the real eye. The man was a prophet. He
knew and wrote of things that are not known or are not
talked about in the world.”
“So they call you Kitty Alone. You did not give me
the second reason. What is that reason?”
The girl looked embarrassed.
“ You will laugh at me.”
“Indeed I will not,” answered Bramber earnestly.
She still hesitated.
“You fear me? Surely you can trust me.”
“ You are so good-indeed I can. You speak to me as
does no one else, and that is just why I do not wish to
appear ridiculous in your eyes.”
* That you never will."
Then she said, blushing and hanging her head, “It is all
along of a song my father sings.”
“What song is that?”
“It is some silly nonsense about a frog that lived in a
well—and the burden is—Kitty Alone'---and then ‘Kitty
Alone and I.'”
“ Sing me the words.”
She did as requested.
“The air is pleasant and very quaint. It deserves better
words. Will you remain here whilst I run for my violin ?"
“Yes, unless my aunt calls me within."
Walter Bramber hastened to his lodgings, and brought
away his cherished instrument. He made the girl sing


DAFFODILS
over a few verses of the song, and then struck in with the
violin.
He speedily caught the melody, and played it, then
went off into variations, returning anon to the pleasant
theme, and Kate listened in surprise and admiration.
Never before had she thought that there was much of air,
or of grace and delicacy in the tune as sung by her father,
and cast jeeringly at her in scraps by the youths of
Coombe-in-Teignhead. Zerah looked out at the door and
summoned her niece.
Kate started as from a dream.
“My bunch of flowers,” she said.
Bramber had secured the celandines.


CHAPTER XIII
THE SPIRIT OF INQUIRY
V ATE entered the house, at the summons of her aunt,
and found that John Pooke was within, standing
with his hat in his hand, in front of him, twirling it about
and playing with the string that served to contract the
lining band.
“I am so glad to see that you are well, Kitty."
Kate thanked him. She was not a little vexed at being
called away from conversation with the schoolmaster,
whose talk was so unlike that of any other man she had
met. The rector she knew and loved, but she was before
him as a scholar to be instructed in spiritual concerns, and
their conversation never turned on such matters as had
been mooted between her and the schoolmaster. For a
little while she had been translated into a new sphere, and
had heard words of another order to those that had hitherto
met her ears. Now she was brought back into the world
of commonplace, and could not at once recover herself and
accommodate herself to it. This made her shy and silent.
Pooke also was shy, but he was awkward to boot.
“ Have you nothing to say to me, Kate ?” he asked in
suppliant tone.
“ Indeed, I thank you many times, Jan, for inquiring
about me when I was ill. Now, as you see, I am myself
again.”
“I was the cause of your illness.”
“No indeed, no blame attaches to you. We will not
talk of blame--there is none.”
• Are you going to Ashburton Fair on Tuesday?”.
“I do not know.”
“Yes, you do,” threw in Aunt Zerah ; then to John
86


THE SPIRIT OF INQUIRY
87
change. It is her father's wish, so that she may be soon
strong again. He will meet her at Ashburton at the fair, if
we can get her so far.”
“I am going to the fair," said Pooke eagerly. “That
is to say, sister Sue and I be going together there. The
young man to whom she is about to be married lives at
Ashburton, and will have it that she goes. There is room
for a third in our trap. I should so much like to take you
-I mean, sister Sue would wish it, if you would favour me
-I mean sister Sue."
“ Thank you again, Jan, for another kindness," said
the girl, “but I shall be driven to Ashburton by my
uncle. I really had not considered that the fair was on
Tuesday,"
“Your uncle can spare you,” thrust in Zerah; “and if
Jan Pooke is so civil as to invite you to go in his convey-
ance, it is only proper you should accept."
“But, aunt,” said Kate, slightly colouring, “my father
has settled that I am to go with Uncle Pasco, and I do not
like”—
“Oh, so long as you are got to Ashburton, it doesn't
matter who takes you,” interrupted Zerah.
“If it does not matter," said Kate, “then let me hold
to my father's arrangement.”
“ That is not kind to me-I mean to sister Sue,” said
Pooke dolefully.
“I intend no unkindness," answered the girl, “but when
my father has made a plan, I do not like to break it even
in little matters.”
The young man twirled his hat about, and pulled out the
string from the band. He paused, looked ashamed, and
said, “You don't choose to go with me, that is the long
and the short of it. Your aunt will excuse you from going
with Pasco Pepperill.”
“Do not tease me, Jan,” pleaded Kate, confused and
unhappy. She was well aware that there had been village
talk about her having been in the boat with Jan, that her
aunt was desirous of thrusting her upon him. With
maidenly reserve she shrank from his proposal, lest by
riding in the trap with him some colour might be given to


88
KITTY ALONE
the suspicions entertained in the village, and some food
should be supplied to the gossips.
The lad went to the window, and looked out on the
little platform with moody eyes.
“ Why,” said he, “there is that new schoolmaster there."
He stood watching him. “He's a noodle. What do'y
think he is about? He has got three or four faded butter-
cups, and he is putting them between the leaves of his
note-book, just as though there was something wonderful
in them ; just as if they were the rarest flowers in the world.
I always thought he was a fool—now I know it."
Kate winced.
“I say,” pursued Jan, “ have you heard about him and
Jackson's 'Tee-dum'? The landlord went to him civil-like,
and invited him to join the choir. He bragged about his
violin as if he could play finer than anyone hereabouts.
But when the landlord told him our chaps could play
Tackson's "Tee-dum,' he ran away. I reckon Jackson's
• Tee-dum' is a piece to find out the corners of a man.
He daren't face it. Kitty, if you won't come with me to
the fair, I swear I'll offer the odd seat to Rose Ash.”
- Then he left the house.
Kate attempted to fly, for she knew what was coming, but
was arrested by her aunt, who grasped her by the shoulders.
“You little fool!” she said. “Don't you see what may
come of this if you manage well, or let me manage for
you? Jan Tottle came here every day to inquire when
you were ill, and now you let him slip between your
fingers and into the hands of that designing Rose. He
is a ball that has come to you, and you toss it to her.
Don't think she is fool enough to toss him back to you.
When she has him she will close her fingers on him.
What is going to become of you, I'd like to know, that you
should act like this? Do not reckon on anything your
father will bring you; or on your uncle either. One is
helping the other down the road to ruin, and we may all
be nearer the poorhouse than you imagine.”
She let go her hand, for Bramber came in, and asked
what he had to pay.
“Sixpence," answered Zerah, “and what you like to the
little maid. I reckon she'll take a ha'penny."


THE SPIRIT OF INQUIRY
89
Kate's head fell, covered with. shame, and she thrust
her hands behind her back.
Walter paid Mrs. Pepperill, and said, without looking at
Kate, “The little maid and I understand each other, and
the account between us is settled.”
“Now look here,” said Zerah, allowing her niece to
escape, and laying hold of the young man, “I want a word
with you, Mr. Schoolmaster. My husband has let you go
through his accounts. I reckon he'd got that muddled
himself, he didn't know his way out, and thought you'd
have led him, as well as Jack-o'-lantern leads out of a bog.
The light is good enough, but when the mire is there, what
can the light do but show it? It can't dry it up. If it
weren't for the cockles and coffee as I get a few sixpences
by, I reckon we'd have been stogged (mired) long ago.
But Pasco, he has the idea that he's a man of business and
can manage a thousand affairs, and as ill-luck will have it,
that brother o' mine feeds his fancies wi’ fresh meat. Now
I want you to tell me exactly what you found in his books.”
“I am not justified in speaking of Mr. Pepperill's private
affairs."
“What! not to his wife ?"
“Not to anyone, I was taken into confidence.”
“Bless you! he couldn't help himself. Set a man as
don't know nothing about machinery to manage an engine,
and he'll get it all to pieces in no time. Pasco knows
nothing about business, and there he is trying to run coal
stores, wool, timber-all kinds o' things. I know what it
will come to, though you keep mum.”
To escape further questioning, Bramber left Coombe
Cellars, and walked towards the village.
The school was closed for a week. Some painting and
plastering had to be done in it before he could begin his
duties. It was as well, he thought; it allowed him time to
find his bearings, to get to understand something of the
people amongst whom he was to be settled, and whose
children he was to instruct.
As Bramber walked in the dusk, he encountered the
rector, Mr. Fielding, who stopped him.
“Are you going indoors ?” asked the parson; “or have
you leisure and inclination for a stroll ?."


90
KITTY ALONE
“You do me an honour, sir; I shall be proud.”
“Let us walk by the water-side. This is a beautiful
hour-neither night nor day-something of one, something
of the other, like life. And who can say of the twilight in
which he walks whether it will broaden into perfect day or
deepen into utter night.”
The rector took the young man's arm.
Mr. Fielding belonged to a type that has completely
disappeared ; peculiar to its time and necessarily transitory.
He belonged to that school of Churchmen which had been
founded by Newman and Keble; of men cultured,
scholarly, refined in thought, steeped in idealism, uncon-
sciously affected, aiming at what was impossible,--at least,
fully to achieve,—and not knowing practicable methods,
not able to distinguish proportion in what they sought
after, ready to contend to death equally for trifles as for
principles.
Mr. Fielding wore tall white collars and a white tie, a
black dress coat and open black waistcoat. His hat
was usually at the back of his head, and he walked
with his head bent forwards and his shoulder against
the wall-a trick caught and copied from Newman, caught
when first under his influence, and now unconsciously
followed.
Mr. Fielding was unmarried, a quiet, studious man,
courteous to all, understood by none.
They walked together a little way, and talked on de-
sultory matters. Then Walter Bramber asked the rector,
“Would you mind telling me, sir, where my predecessor
got into trouble ? Mr. Pepperill says it was at Waterloo."
“Waterloo ? dear me, no; it was at Wellington.”
“I knew it could not be at Waterloo, but he insisted on
it, and that it was in England.”
“There was, you see, a connection of ideas. There is
always that, in the worst blunders. Did you correct him ?”
“ Yes ; I said Waterloo was not in England.”
“You should have let it pass, till you knew how to
enlighten him as to where the place really was. Never
show a man he is wrong till you can show him how he
can be right. Also, never let a man see you are pulling
him out of a ditch, always let him think he is scrambling


THE SPIRIT OF INQUIRY
91 -
out of it himself. A man's self-respect is his best governing
motive, and should not be wounded.”
They paced along together a little way.
“You are a young man," said the rector, “and a young
man is sanguine.” He paused, and walked on without
saying anything for a minute, then he added, “I was
sanguine once. That arises from confidence in one's self,
and confidence in one's cause, and confidence in mankind.
You have a noble cause, the priest and the schoolmaster
have the greatest of missions : to educate what is highest
in man, spirit and intellect. You have no reason to be
shaken by any doubt, to feel any hesitation in adhesion to
the cause of education. Let there be light !' was the
first word God spake. There is the keynote of creation,
the moral law laid down for the whole intelligent world.
We walk in the twilight that we know is brightening into
day.”
He paused again; then after a dozen paces he proceeded,
“ You have confidence in yourself. You have enthusiasm,
you have ability, you know what you have to teach, and
you long to impart to others what you value yourself.
Is it not so ?”
“It is so indeed."
“Discouragement will come, and it is my duty to prepare
you for it. You have confidence in human nature. You
think all will be as eager to drink in instruction as you are
eager to dispense it. You may be mistaken, and will be
disappointed. It has taken me some years, Mr. Bramber,
to learn a fact which I will communicate to you, as a
caution against losing heart. You will remember that
when the sower went forth to sow, though all his seed was
good, yet only one-fourth part came to anything. We
must work for the work's sake, and not for results. In
your patience possess ye your souls. That is one of the
hardest of lessons to acquire.”
“I will try not to expect too much.”
“Expect nothing. Look to the work, and the work
only. One sows, another reaps, a third grinds, a fourth
bakes, but it is the fifth who eats the loaf and tastes how
good it is. Did you ever hear what Mme. de Maintenon
said of the carps, that had been transferred to the marble


92
KITTY ALONE
basins of Marly, in which they died ? 'Ah!' said she,
'they are like me, they regret their native mud.' You
will find that your pupils do not want to be translated to
purer fountains, that in them there is a hankering after
their native ignorance. That there will be little receptive-
ness, no enthusiasm after the light, no hunger after the
bread of the Spirit—that is what you must be prepared to
find. I have found it so, and am now content with the
smallest achievements—to make them take a few crumbs
from my palm, to accept the tiniest ray let into their
clouded minds. Be content to do your work, and do
not be asking for results. Do your duty, leave results to
another day and to the reapers. You and I are the humble
sowers, enough for us to know that, but for us, there would
be no golden harvest which we shall not see.”
The rector withdrew his hand from the arm of Bramber.
“There is a saying, 'Except ye be as little children'-
You know the rest. What does that mean? Not the
simplicity of children-simplicity springs out of inexperi-
ence; not the innocence—which arises from ignorance-
but the inquisitiveness of the child, which is its character-
istic. The child asks questions, it wants to know every-
thing, often asking what it is inconvenient to answer. Mr.
Bramber, unless we have this spirit of inquiry, we cannot
enter into any kingdom above that of animal life. There
is the intellectual kingdom, and when there is eagerness to
know, then there is advance into that realm, and you will
be the great prophet and mystagogue who will lead the
young of this village into that kingdom. Then, secondly,
there is the spiritual kingdom, but of that I will not now
speak. I hope you will find some pupils apt to learn, but
the many will, I fear, be listless."
“A single swallow does not make a summer," said the
schoolmaster; “but I have already met with one here who
verily hungers and thirsts after knowledge.”
“Ah!” Mr. Fielding looked round, and his face lightened.
“You have met—talked to Kitty.”
“Yes, sir ; she is full of eagerness."
“Oh that we had many other minds as active! Alas !
alaş! I fear in that she is, as they call her, Kitty Alone,”


CHAPTER XIV
TO THE FAIR
"I EIGH! schoolmaister!” Pasco Pepperill shouted
A from his tax-cart to Walter Bramber, who was
walking along the road collecting wild-flowers—the earliest
of the year—that showed in a sheltered hedge.
In the trap with Pasco was Kate.
“I say, schoolmaister,” said Pepperill, reining in his
grey cob, “be you inclined for a drive? I'm off to Ash-
burton Fair, where I may have business. You have not
yet seen much of our country. Jump up! She” - he
indicated Kate with a jerk of his chin—"she can squat
behind.”
The day was lovely, the prospect of a drive engaging ;
but Bramber hesitated about dislodging Kate, who had,
however, immediately begun to transfer herself from the
seat beside her uncle to the place behind.
“ That is not fair nor right," said the young man. “Let
her keep her place, and let me accommodate myself in the
rear.”
“Not a bit! not a bit !” exclaimed Pepperill. “ I've
asked you for company's sake.”
“But you have the best company in your niece.”
“She !”-Pasco uttered a contemptuous sniff,—“she is
no company. She either sits as a log or pesters one with
questions. What do you think she has just asked of me?”
Imitating Kate's voice, he said, “Uncle, why have horses
so many hairs in their ears? What the dowse does it
matter whether horses have hairs in their ears or not?
Now, schoolmaister, get up in front.”
, Bramber still objected.
“Oh, nonsense!” said Pasco ; “ I'm taking you up so
93


94
KITTY ALONE
as to be freed from these questions. It is catechising, or
nothing at all.”.
Braniber looked uneasily at Kate's face, but her coun-
tenance was unmoved; she was accustomed to contemptu-
ous treatment. She raised her timid eyes to Walter, and
he said hastily, with some earnestness-
“You and I, Mr. Pepperill, form very different opinions
of what entertainment is. When I was having tea at your
house, she and I had plenty to say to each other. I found
her full of interest” —
“In what?” sneered the uncle.
“ Daffodils."
“Oh, daffodils !” he laughed. “Any ass likes daffodils.”
“ Pardon me," answered Bramber warmly; "the ass and
animals of like nature reject or pass them by unnoticed.”
“Well, I care not. Get up if you are coming with me.
I'll show you a better sight than daffodils, and something
worthier of conversation.”
Pasco took up the schoolmaster, not solely for his own
entertainment, but because he was somewhat uneasy at
having let him into the secrets of his affairs. In his per-
plexity and inability to balance his accounts, he had
grasped at the chance offered by the advent of Bramber;
but now he feared he had been too confiding, and that
the young man might blab what he had seen. It was
requisite, or advisable, that he should disabuse his mind
of any unfavourable impression that might have been
received from the perusal of his accounts; and, like a
stupid, conceited man, he thought that he could best effect
this by ostentation and boastfulness.
In his pride, Pepperill would not admit that his circum-
stances were involved, though an uneasy feeling lay as a
sediment at the bottom of his heart, assuring him that
there was trouble in store.
“Why do horses have hair in their ears?” said Bramber
on taking his seat, turning to the girl in the back of the
carriage. “I will tell you why. If a cockchafer or an
earwig were to get into your little pink shell, in a minute
up would go the finger in protection of the organ, and to
relieve you of the intruder. A horse cannot put up his
houf to clear his ear, therefore he is provided with a


TO THE FAIR
95
natural strainer, which will guard him from being irritated,
and perhaps injured, by anything penetrating where it
should not.”
“Thank you,” said Kate. “There is a reason for every-
thing."
“You don't happen to know anything about business ?”
asked Pepperill, impatient to engross the conversation.
“I mean--commercial business.”
“My mother kept a shop-in quite a small way.”
“Ah! in quite a small way. I don't mean anything in
a small way,” said Pasco, swelling. “I refer to buying in
gross and retailing coal, wool, hides, bark, timber. That's
my line. I do nothing myself in a small way—still, I
can understand there are people who do."
Pasco nodded to right and left as he drove along,
in return to salutations he received from men driving
cattle, from farmers ambling on their cobs.
“You observe,” said Pepperill, “ I'm pretty well known
and respected.”
Presently he drew up at a wayside inn.
“I like to step into these publics,” said he apologetically;
“not that I'm a man as takes nips-but one meets one's
fellows; it is all in the way of business; one hears of
bargains. There is more dealing done over a tavern table
than in a market-place. I'll be with you shortly-unless
you will join me in a glass inside. Kitty will mind the cob.”
“ Thank you; I will await you here, and keep Kitty
company."
“Ah, you will never be popular as was Puddicombe,
unless you take your glass !'
Then Pepperill entered the house.
Bramber turned in his seat, and met Kate's earnest blue
· eyes. There was question in them.
“Now," said he, “I know your head is full of notes of
interrogation.”
"I do not understand you.”
“Your uncle and others do not like to be questioned.
I am a schoolmaster. I delight in answering questions
and communicating information. Put to me any queries
you like, and as many as you like, and I will do my best
to satisfy you."


KITTY ALONE
“Why do some stars twinkle and others do not ?" asked
Kate at once. This difficulty had been troubling her
mind ever since the night in the boat.
“ Planets do not twinkle."
“What are planets ?”
“Worlds on high. Stars that flash are suns that illumine
worlds. They glitter with their own light; planets shine
with borrowed, reflected light.”
“The planets are worlds ? "
" Yes.”
“Very tiny ones?”
“Not at all. Some are far larger than our globe. They
circle round our sun."
Kate looked the young man steadily in the face. The
thought was too great, too awful, to be received at once.
She supposed he was joking. But his countenance was an
assurance to her that he spoke the truth.
“Oh," said she, with a long breath, “what it is to
know ! "
“There is no higher pleasure.”
“Nothing gives me greater joy than to learn.”
“But did you not get taught such simple truths as this
in school ?” asked Bramber.
“Mr. Puddicombe did not tell us much," answered
Kate. “We learned our letters and to cypher-nothing
more.”
“I am glad you can read,” said Bramber.
“I can read, but I have no books. It is like having
thirst and no water. I have learned how to walk, but may
not use my feet. I am always like one who is hungry;
I want to know about this, and about that, and I get no
answer. Why are there tides? Why are some higher
than others? What becomes of the stars by day ?”
“The matter of the tides is beyond you. The stars are
in the sky still, but, owing to the blaze of the sun by day,
you cannot discern their lesser glories. If, however, you
were at the bottom of a well, you would be able, on looking
up, to see the stars, pale, indeed, but distinctly visible, in
the heavens.”
“I should love to go down a well, and see that with my
own eyes.”


TO THE FAIR
“I wish-oh, I wish you were coming to school !”
Kate heaved a sigh.
“But as you cannot come to me,” said Walter, “I shall
have to come to you.”
Kate shook her head. “That means sixpence a time in
cockles and tea. It would ruin you."
“Well, I will lend you books.”
“Mr. Fielding once did that, but Aunt Zerah was angry,
and sent them back to the Rectory. She said that she did
not want me to be a scholar, and have all kinds of book
nonsense put into my head. I was to be a maid-of-all-work."
Bramber did not speak. He was very sorry for the girl,
craving for knowledge, gasping for the very air in which her
spirit could live--and denied it. Then he said, pointing to
the board above the inn-door-
“Do you notice the tavern sign, Kitty ?”
“Yes—The Rising Sun.”
“Recently repainted and gilt. Now, I will repeat to
you the lines I withheld the other day concerning the
celandine; that is to say, such as I remember:
I have not a doubt but he
Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who, the first, with painted rays,
(Workman worthy to be sainted,)
Set the signboard in a blaze,
When the risen sun he painted,
Took the fancy from a glance
At thy glittering countenance.'”
Then a rattle of wheels and a tramp of horse's hoofs. A
dogcart was approaching rapidly. As it came near, the
driver reined in and drew up alongside.
Kate recognised John Pooke, with Rose Ash at his side ;
behind, clinging uncomfortably to the back rail, was Susan
Pooke. The young man flourished his whip and saluted
Kate joyously.
“We shall meet at the fair. I shall await you, Kitty.”
Then he lashed the horse, and whirled away. Kate saw
Rose's face turned towards her, wearing a dissatisfied
frown.
“Who are those ?” asked Walter, with a little twinge of
displeasure in his heart.


KITTY ALONE
“The young man is Jan Pooke, he whose rick was
burned ; and with him is Rose Ash, the prettiest girl in all
Coombe. Jan's father has the orchard in which are the
daffodils. It belonged to uncle. Uncle had a bit of farm,
but he gave it up-sold it—to devote himself more to
business. Behind, in the dogcart, is Susan Pooke. She
is going to be married at Easter to someone in Ashburton.”
Then, wiping his lips and buttoning his pockets, Pasco
came from the tavern. He mounted to his place and
resumed the reins and whip.
“Well,” said he, “got some talk out of the girl ?—foolery
-rank foolery, I'll swear. Never heard her say anything
sensible ; but you and I will have a good conversation as
we drive along. We will talk about bullocks."


CHAPTER XV
A REASON FOR EVERYTHING
UT ALTER BRAMBER sprang from his seat beside
V Pasco, on the latter drawing up outside the inn
at Ashburton, and ran to the back of the tax-cart that he
might assist Kate to descend. There was no step at the
back. He held up his arms to receive her; she was
standing preparing to spring.
As he looked up, he exclaimed, “They are planets !”
“What are planets ?”
“Those blue orbs—their light is so still and true.”
Then he caught her as she sprang, glad to cover her
confusion. A compliment was something to which Kate
was wholly unaccustomed, and one startled and shamed
her.
“Now, whither?” he asked.
“To my father.”
“But where is he?"
“I do not know."
“Come, come !” said Pepperill, who had consigned the
reins to the ostler. “I want you, schoolmaster; I cannot
let you go fairing yet. I have business on my hands and
desire your presence. Afterwards, if you will, and when we
have got rid of Kate, I'll find you some one more agreeable
with whom you can go and see the shows.”
“But, in the meanwhile, who is to take care of her ?”
asked Bramber.
"I will do that,” said John Pooke, who came up, elbow-
ing his way through the crowd. “Here are several of us
Coombe-in-Teignhead folk: there is sister Sue, but she is off
with her sweetheart; and here is Rose Ash, and here is
Noah Flood."


100
KITTY ALONE
There was no help for it; much to his disappointment,
Bramber had to relinquish Kate, and accompany her uncle
into the market.
Kate hesitated about going with John Pooke, but knew
not what else to do. Her uncle shook her off, concerned
himself no more about her, and carried the schoolmaster
with him. Alone she was afraid to remain. A shy girl,
unwont to be in a crowd ; the noise of the fair, the shouts
of chapmen, the objurgations of drovers sending their cattle
through the thronged street, the braying of horns and beat-
ing of drums outside the shows, the hum of many voices,
the incessant shifting of groups, combined to bewilder and
alarm her. But she did not like to attach herself to Tan
Pooke's party. Tongues had already been set a-wagging
relative to herself and the young man. The adventure in
the boat, followed up by his solicitude during her illness,
had attracted attention in the village, and had become a
topic of conversation and speculation.
Rose Ash, as was well known, had set her mind on
winning John; she was a handsome girl, of suitable age
and position, the miller's daughter. Everyone had said
that they would make a pair. Jan, in his amiable, easy-
going way, had offered no resistance; he had, perhaps,
been a little proud of being considered the lover of the
prettiest girl in the district; he had made no advances him-
self, but had submitted to hers with mild complacency,
taking care not to compromise himself irrevocably.
Since. John had been associated with Kate in that adven-
ture on the mud-bank, he had been less cordial to Rose,
had kept out of her way, and avoided being left alone with
her. Rose was ready-witted enough to see that a spoke
had been put into her wheel, and to discover how that
spoke had been inserted. She felt jealous of, and resentful
towards Kate, and lost no occasion of hinting ill-natured
things, and throwing out wounding remarks both to Kate's
face and behind her back. Kate had every reason to
shrink from joining this party, sure that it would lead to
vexation. But she had no choice.
“Come along, Kate,” said John; “sister Sue and I and
the rest are ready. What do you wish ?”
“I think I might be consulted,” said Rose sullenly.


A REASON FOR EVERYTHING
101
“I know your wishes already—you want to go into the
fair," replied Jan, turning to the pouting girl.
“And if she wishes to be out of it,-in the mud, for
instance, are we all to be dragged in with her?” asked
Rose.
“Tell me, Kitty, what do you desire ?"
“I would like to find my father.”
“Where is he? do you know? We will go through the
fair and look for him."
Kate held back. John came after her and said, “If
we cannot find your father at once, where would you like
to go ?”
Half laughing and half crying, the girl answered, “I
should like to be at the bottom of a well; Mr. Bramber
says that there one could see the stars, even in broad day-
light."
“By all means, put her there and leave her there; we
are well content,” said Rose, who had followed and over-
heard what was said.
“There is no well in Ashburton,” said Jan, taking Kate's
arm. “There are better things to be seen than stars by
daylight. Come, we will seek your father. I will be sworn
we shall light on him."
Kate withdrew from the young man's hold, but neverthe-
less allowed herself to accompany the little party that now
moved in the direction of the fair. The girl was unaccus-
tomed to be in a crowd. Neither her father nor her uncle
had concerned himself to give her diversion, to take her
out of the monotony and solitude of her life in Coombe
Cellars. A country fair presented to her all the attractions
of novelty, at the same time that the noise and movement
alarmed her. Susan Pooke's intended husband had hooked
her on to his arm, and the two, sufficient to each other,
separated from the rest and took their own way among the
booths. Kate was therefore left with Rose, John Pooke,
and Noah Flood.
Noah was an acquaintance rather than a friend of John,
and a cousin of Rose. Jan did not discourage him. Noah
was one of Rose's many admirers; a hopeless one hitherto,
as he felt his inability to compete with Pooke. Now, Jan
was glad of his presence as likely to relieve him of Rose; and


102
KITTY ALONE
that girl was also content to have him by, hoping that by
showing him some favour she might rouse the jealousy of
the torpid Jan. The little company, in which prevailed
such discordant elements, moved along the street to the
market-place. Every neighbouring parish had sent in a
contingent of farmers to buy and sell, of young folks to
gape and amuse themselves, of servants who sought masters
and mistresses, of employers in quest of servants. All
elbowed, pushed their way along, met friends, laughed,
shouted, made merry. Presently Jan arrested his party at
a stall on which numerous articles attractive to the female
heart were exposed for sale.
“Now, Kate," said he, “I have long owed you some-
thing, and a fairing you expect as your due.”
“It is I who have a right to it,” said Rose hastily.
“ You brought me to the fair. That is fine manners for a lad
to bring a girl, desert her, and give his fairing to another.”
“I am going to make presents to both of you,” replied
Jan, colouring. “I invited Kitty before I asked you."
“Oh, indeed?” Rose flared up. “I am to come second-
best after that frog, unfortunately, against her wishes,
not now in a well. I refuse your presents. I will take
what Noah will give me.”
“Do not be angry, Rose," said Jan. “Kitty, you see,
has no one with her. Her uncle and that schoolmaster
fellow have deserted her. As for a fairing-I owe it her.
It was all along of me that”-
“I know,” scoffed Rose. “She ran you on a mud-bank.
It was done on purpose. A designing hussy."
“ For shame!” said Jan. -
“No respectable girl would have done it I know what
folks say” –
Jan boiled up. “You are a spiteful cat, Rose. I will
- not give you anything. Kate, what would you like to have?
Choose anything on this stall; it is yours.”
“I do not wish for anything," answered the girl timidly.
Yet her eyes had ranged longingly among the treasures
exposed.
in You shall have some present from me," persisted
Pooke. “Here, a dark blue silk handkerchief-the colour
of your eyes."


A REASON FOR EVERYTHING
103
“I am going to have that,” exclaimed Rose. “Noah
was about to take it up when you spoke. It is mine.'
“There are two, I'll be bound,” said Jan.
"No, there are not. Get her a yellow one-the blue is
mine.” Rose snatched at it.
There actually was no second of the same colour.
“Yellow becomes you best,” said Jan angrily; "you are
so jealous and spiteful."
"Jealous? of whom?"
"Of Kate.”
“I!—I!” jeered the handsome, spoiled girl, with an out-
burst of laughter. “I jealous of that creature. Cockles
and winkles picked off a mud-bank !”
“Give up that handkerchief,” exclaimed Jan passionately.
“I really will not have it. I assure you I will not.
Take it,” pleaded Kate, “I have no right to accept any
present.”
“Nonsense,” said Pooke. “I invited you to the fair,
and here you are with me. I must and I will give you
something by which to remember me."
He stepped back and pushed his way through the crowd
to another stall. Kate remained where she was with flutter-
ing heart, averting her burning face from the eyes of Rose,
and looking eagerly among the throng for her uncle or
father.
Presently Jan returned.
“There," said he, “now I have something more worthy
of you: a really good and handsome workbox.”
He held out a polished box with mother-of-pearl shield on
the lid, and scutcheon for the keyhole.
“Look at it !” he said, and, raising the lid, displayed blue
silk lined and padded compartments, stocked with thimble,
scissors, reels, pins, needles, bodkin, and a tray. “Look !”
exclaimed Jan, his cheeks glowing with mingled anger and
pleasure ; “underneath a place where you can put letters--
anything; and you can lock the whole up. There, it is
yours."
Kate was shy about accepting so handsome a gift, yet
could not refuse it. The workbox had been bought and
paid for. It was the custom for a young man to give a
damsel a present at the fair, but then, to do so was tanta-


104
KITTY ALONE
mount to declaring that he had chosen her as his sweet-
heart. With thanks, more in her eyes than on her lips,
Kate accepted the offering, and took it under her arm.
Rose had turned away her head with a toss of the chin,
and had pretended not to have seen the transaction.
“Let us move on," urged Pooke; “there is a shooting-
place beyond, and, by George ! I'll have a try for nuts and
fill your pockets, Kate.”
Noah and Rose had already drifted from the booth at
knotted the blue silk kerchief about her throat in defiance;
her cheeks were flaming, her eyes glistening, and her mouth
quivering. She pretended to be devoted to Noah, who
was vastly elated, but her eyes ever and anon stealthily
returned to Jan and Kate.
A large tray full of hazel nuts stood before a battered
target, and on the nuts lay a couple of guns.
“Now then! a penny a shot ! only one penny!” yelled
the proprietor; and his wife dipped a tin half-pint measure
into the nuts, shook it, poured them out and echoed,
“Only one penny. Half a pint in the red, a pint in the
gold! Only one penny. A dozen nuts for the white.
Only one penny.”
“I'll have a shy,” said Noah, laid down his coin and
fired. He struck the white, and received a dozen nuts.
“I'll do better than that !” shouted Jan, and took the
gun from Flood's hand, threw down threepence, and said,
“I'll have three shots and stuff my pockets." He fired-
and missed.
"By George !” Jan looked astonished. “I always con-
sidered myself a crack shot.”
He fired again and hit the black. The woman offered
him half a dozen nuts.
“I won't have 'em-I'll clear the stall presently."
He aimed carefully and missed again.
Then Kate touched him on the arm and said, “Do you
not see all your shots have gone one way—to the right, low
down. Aim at the right-hand corner to the left, just out-
side the black.”
“You try,” said Jan, and threw down a penny with one
hand and passed the gun to Kate with the other.


A REASON FOR EVERYTHING
105
The girl aimed, and put her arrow into the bull's-eye.
She handed back the gun, saying to Pooke, “The barrel
is crooked, that is why your shot went wrong.”
“ Try again, Kitty."
She shook her head.
“ Well,” said Jan, “I'll follow your directions."
He fired, and his shot flew into space beyond the target.
“There !” he exclaimed reproachfully, turning to the
girl.
“The woman changed the gun,” said Kate. “Now aim
at the centre, and I will soon tell you what is wrong."
He did as she directed, and his shot went into the outer
green.
“I see," said Kate; “this barrel is given a twist in
another way. Now look where your arrow strikes. Draw
a line from that across the gold, and aim at the point in
the outer ring exactly opposite.” The young man did as
instructed, and hit the red.
“Kitty Alone, I have it now !” laughed he; threw down
another copper, and this time his shot quivered in the
bull's-eye.
“Why, Kate ! however did you discover the secret ?” he
asked in amazement.
"I watched. I knew you aimed straight, so I was sure
the fault lay in the barrel. There is, you know, a reason
for everything."
“Lor, Kitty! I should never have found out that.”
“I saw it because you went wrong. I considered why
you went wrong, and so considering, I saw that the fault
must be in the barrel. There is a reason for everything,
even for our blunders, and if we seek out the reason where
we have blundered, we go right afterwards and blunder no
more.”


CHAPTER XVI
THE DANCING BEAR
LJ AVE some nuts, Rose?” said Jan Pooke. He had
U got a large paper-bag full of those he had earned.
"I don't want any of your nuts," answered the girl. “I
hate hazel cobs, specially when old and dry. I'm going to
have some of that sort, and Noah is bringing me some.”
She pointed to some Brazil nuts.
“They're like slugs turned to stone,” said Jan. “There
can't be good eating in such as them.”
“We shall see. Crack them, Noah.”.
This was easier ordered than done.
Flood compressed two nuts in his palm, but could not
crush then. He tried his teeth, and they failed. He put
a nut under his heel, but in the throng was thrust aside and
lost his nut.
“I'll do it presently, Rose, as soon as I can find some-
thing hard on which to crack 'em.”
“Do, Noah. I'm longing to eat them. I wouldn't give
a straw for them dried, shrivelled hazel cobs.”
“I promise you I'll break 'em — the first occasion.”
Then, suddenly, “Rose! Kate! Jan! Come along this
way; there is a man here with a dancing bear.”
“A bear? Oh, I do want to see a bear!” exclaimed
Kate eagerly.
“I don't care for a bear,” said Rose.
“But he's dancing-beautiful,” urged Noah.
“Oh, if he's dancing, that's another matter," said
Rose.
Kate was most desirous to see a bear. She had read of
the beast in Æsop's Fables—seen pictures of Bruin as he
smelt about the traveller who feigned himself dead whilst
106


THE DANCING BEAR
107
his fellow escaped up a tree; also as he tore himself with
his claws after having overset the hives and was attacked
by the bees. She had formed in her own mind an idea of
the beast as very big, and as very stupid.
A considerable throng surrounded the area in which the
bear was being exhibited, but Jan and Noah were broad-
shouldered, and not scrupulous about forcing a way where
they desired to pass, and of thrusting into the background
others less broad and muscular. Following close after the
two young men, dragged along by them, were Rose and
Kate, and they were speedily in the inner ring, in full view
of Bruin and his master, an Italian, who held him by a
chain. The bear was muzzled, and had a collar to which
the chain was attached. A woman, in dirty Neapolitan
costume, played a hurdy-gurdy and solicited contributions.
The bear was made to stand on his hind legs, raise one
foot, then the other, in clumsy imitation of a dance, and
then to take a stick and go through certain evolutions which
a lively imagination might figure as gun practice.
“De bear-he beg pretty--von penny, shentlemensh!”
Bruin, instructed by a jerk of the chain and a rap, put
his front paws together. Then, tired of his upright attitude,
he went down on all-fours.
The brute was not equal to Kate's anticipations, certainly
not as massive and shaggy as pictured by Bewick in his
Æsop's Fables. About the neck it was rubbed by the collar,
and the hair was gone. Its fur over the body was patchy
and dirty. The beast seemed to be without energy and to
be out of health. Its movements were ungainly, its humour
surly.
Kate soon tired of observing the creature, and would
have withdrawn from the ring had she been able ; but the
crowd was compact behind, and she was wedged into her
place.
The passive disposition of Bruin was all at once changed
by the appearance of a dog that had passed between the
legs of the spectators, and which entered the ring and flew
at the bear with barks and snaps.
“De dogue! Take de dogue away !” shouted the Italian.
“De bear no like dogue."
Bụt no owner of the dog answered and attempted to call


108
KITTY ALONE
it off, and the lookers-on were delighted to have the oppor-
tunity of seeing sport.
The dog, apparently a butcher's brute, sprang about the
bear, endeavouring to bite, and darting out of his way
whenever Bruin struck at it with his fore-paws.
The woman gave up turning the handle of the hurdy-
gurdy, and screamed at the dog to desist from irritating the
bear, but it paid no attention to her words. Some fellows
in the crowd shouted to the assailant to persevere and take
a bite.
The conductor of the bear shortened the chain so as to
obtain a portion wherewith to lash the dog, but he was as
unsuccessful as his wife. These united attempts to drive it
off served only the more to incense the dog and stimulate
it against the bear. The man became angry as the young
fellows encouraged the dog, and as the bear became unruly,
and endeavoured to wrench the end of the chain from his
hand, so as to have more scope for defending himseli
against his adversary.
Rose nudged Noah, and said in a whisper, “Knock her
workbox from under her arm.”
Flood answered, “'Twould be a shame."
“I won't speak to you again if you don't.”
“Heigh!” yelled Noah; “go it, Towser!”
“Is dat your dogue?” shouted the bearward.
“No, not mine," answered Noah. “He looks a towser,
that's why I called him so. Go it, Towser!”
When the bear made a dash at his tormentor, the dog
sprang back, and the circle that surrounded the area became
an ellipse.
On one of these occasions Kate made an effort to with-
draw, but Jan caught her by the arm and insisted on
retaining her.
“Here comes another !” he said, as a terrier dashed in.
“We shall soon have a proper bear-bait."
The Italian woman had stooped and picked up the baton
with which the bear had gone through his drill, and with it
she endeavoured to drive away the dogs. The man swore
and kicked with his iron-shod boots at them when they
came near; but if the dogs showed signs of retreat, they
were kicked forward again by the young men in the ring,


11ο
KITTY ALONE.
away out of danger. She looked up, and saw that she was
held by Walter Bramber.
“Oh, my workbox ! ”
“Never mind your workbox. You were exposed to great
risk.”
He drew her through the throng.
“Oh, Mr. Bramber, look! look! There is Jan fighting
with Noah. It is all because of the workbox. Do go and
separate them."
“ Not till I have brought you to your father. You cannot
be safely trusted in such a crowd, at least, not with such
reckless and quarrelsome fellows as Pooke and the other.”
“Yes,” said Kate, the tears running down her cheeks,
“ take me to my father. I wish I had not come here; but
indeed-indeed—this is no fault of mine.”
“No; of that I am very sure. You are inexperienced,
that is all. There come the constables; they will separate
the combatants. Be no further concerned for them. I will
not now leave you till you are safe out of the fair.”


CHAPTER XVII
INSURED
DASCO PEPPERILL had taken the schoolmaster with
T him through the market-place. He was greeted on
all sides by acquaintances and would-be dealers. Pasco's
tions, and he looked out of the corners of his eyes at his
companion, to see what impression was made on him by
the deference with which he was received.
"I bought wool-two hundred pounds' worth-of that
man. Coaker is his name," said Pasco, indicating a Moor
farmer jogging in on his cob. “I bought last Friday.
Do you see Ezra Bornagin? There, sneaking behind his
missus. He's had coals of me all the winter, on tick.
Hasn't paid a penny, and I'm in doubts whether I shall
see the colour of my money. But I'm not one to be
crushed by a few bad debts.” Presently, “There's the
landlady of the 'Crown,' at Newton. She knows where to
get good spirits at a moderate figure—that hasn't paid duty
- tobacco also. Coombe Cellars is a fine place for a trade
in such goods.”
“How d'y'do, Pepperill?” said a bluff farmer, coming up
and extending an immense red hand. “Come here to buy
or to sell to-day ?”
“Both," answered Pasco. “It doesn't do to let money
lie idle.”
“Ah! if a chap has got money—but when he hasn't, that's
another matter. I want to sell.”
“What?"
“Hides; will you buy? Had bad luck with my beasts.”
“Don't know ; I'll see.”
“It's terrible bad times," said the big man.
111


II 2
KITTY ALONE
“I suppose it is---for some folks,” answered Pepperill.
“I say, I hear you've got the ‘Swing' on again down
your way.”
“Not quite that, I hope. There has been an incendiary
fire, but it was the work of one man, not of a gang. I
reckon the 'Swing' conspiracy was done with in '30.”
“Don't be too sure. One fire has a fatal knack o'.
kindling others, 'specially if the fellow gets off who did
the job.”
“He has escaped,” said Pasco; “but we know pretty well
who did the mischief. It was one Roger Redmore. He'd
been turned off for imperence to his master, and drink, and
that's how he revenged himself. I wish he'd been caught.
A fellow who sets fire a-purpose to rick or barn or house,
if I had my way, would be hung without mercy. No
transportation; that's too mild. Swing, I say, at a rope's
end, and so put an end to all incendiarism.”
“I reckon you're about right,” said the farmer. “If
there comes another fire, I shall get insured. The fellow
is at large.”
“Ay, but he won't do any further mischief of this sort.
It was a bit o' personal revenge, nothing more; not like
them old combinations."
“Well, but who is safe? If I say a word to one of my
men that he doesn't like, he may serve me as Redmore has
served Pooke."
“That's true,” said Pepperill. “More's the reason that
Roger should be made an example of. If I see'd him I'd
shoot him down as I would a wild beast, or hang him, as
I might a lamb-worrying dog, with my own hands—that I
would !”
“I know, of those rascals who were sentenced to be hung
in '30, more than half got off with transportation; and of
them as was transported, most got let off with six or seven
years—more's the pity.”
“We're too merciful-that's our fault," said Pasco. “Show
no pity to the offender,-chief of all, to the incendiary,—and
such crimes will soon be put a stop to. We encourage
criminals by our over-gentleness.”
“Well, I hope this firing o'stacks won't spread; but it's
like scarlet fever. What business are you on to-day?"


INSURED
113
" I've bought the oaks at Brimpts," said Pepperill.
"So I've heard.”
“And I've a mind to dispose of the bark.”
“Then here's your man-Hamley the tanner.”
The man alluded to came up-a tall, handsome fellow,
with a cheery face.
“Mr. Hamley,” said Pasco, "you're the chap I want. I
shall have tons o' bark to sell shortly."
“Well, Mr. Pepperill, I'm always ready for bark, if the
figure suits. Tan is my trade, you know.”
“I shall have stuff the like of which you have not had
the chance of buying, I'll be bound. I've bought the oaks
of Brimpts."
"What, at Dart-meet?”
“Yes; bought the lot. The timber is three hundred
years old ; hard as iron. And conceive what the bark must
be when the timber is so good.”
“I doubt if we shall come to terms over that."
“Why not? You won't have another chance. What will
you give me a ton?”
“Is the bark running now? It is full early. The sap
don't begin to rise so soon as this, - leastways, not in timber
trees,—and the Moor is always three weeks or a month
behind the Hams."
“The bark will be all right, if you will buy. What is the
market price?"
“Best bark has been up to seven guineas, but it's not
that now. Five guineas is an outside price for thirty-year-
old coppice."
“But Brimpts is not coppice—far from it.”
“I know, and the value will be according. Sapling, of
some forty years, comes second, at four guineas; then last
quality is timber-bark, if not too old, say three pound ten."
“Three pound ten?" echoed Pepperill. “A pretty price,
indeed. You do not understand. Brimpts oaks must be
three hundred years old, and so worth seven guineas a ton.”
“I won't give three guineas for this bark. Take off a
pound for every hundred years. If I take it, I don't mind
two guineas."
“ Two guineas ? that's not worth having. The bark is
first-rate-must be, it is so tremendous old.”


114
KITTY ALONE
“That is just what spoils it. We get the tan-juice from
the under rind. We don't want the crust, or outer bark;
that is so much waste. Young coppice is the best for our
purpose, and worth more for tanning than thrice the value
of your old timber. I'll give you two guineas; not a penny
more. And let me tell you, you'll have some difficulty in
barking the old trees. The sap is a wonderful ticklish
thing to run in them ; it's like the circulating of blood in
old men.”
“Two guineas ! I won't look at 'em,” said Pepperill, and
passed on. He was angry and disappointed. He had
reckoned on making a good price out of the bark. This
meeting with Mr. Hamley would have a bad effect on the
schoolmaster. Pepperill turned to him and said, “He's a
cunning file. He knows the Brimpts bark is worth seven
guineas at least, but he's trying to drive a bargain. He'll
come round in time, and be glad to buy at my price."
“Halloo !”
Pepperill was clapped on the back, and, turning, saw his
brother-in-law.
“Pasco, old boy,” said Jason, “is it true you bought his
two years' stock of fleeces off Coaker ?”
“Yes, I did.”
“More fool you. What did you pay ?”
“Thirteenpence.”
“Done you are. Have you not heard that wool has
dropped to tenpence?"
“Jason! it is not true?”
“It is. There have come in several cargoes of Australian
wool, finer than ours; and behind, they say, is simply any
amount - mountains of wool. This comes of your not
reading the papers. Coaker knew it, and that made him
so eager to sell. I hear we shall have a further drop. You
are done, old boy, in that speculation. Why did you not
consult me? Have you paid Coaker?”
“I gave him fifty pounds, and a bill at two months.”
“ Try what you can do with the Sloggits. They may want
to buy, but don't reckon on making more than tenpence.
Lucky if you get that. I dare swear they will offer no more
than ninepence.”
Pepperill's face became white, but he quickly rallied, and


INSURED
115
said to Bramber, “That is Quarm all over; he loves a joke,
and he thought to frighten me. I'll go at once to Sloggitt;
I know where to find him. He has a mill at Buckfastleigh.”
He caught the schoolmaster's arm, and drew him along
with him. He had not gone many steps before a stranger
addressed him-
“Mr. Pepperill, I believe ?"
“ Certainly."
“You were pointed out to me. You have done some
business with us—the wood at Brimpts. I am the agent
of the bank. I think we oughtn't to have come to so hasty
a conclusion. The fact is, we hadn't any idea there was so
much forest timber there. But as it is, of course, it can't
be helped ; only bank rules, you understand, must be
observed.”
“And what are they?”
“Well-it is all the same, whether we were dealing with the
Duke of Bedford or with you. Rules are rules, you know."
“Of course rules are rules. But what are your rules?”
“I'm only an underling; I don't make rules. It is my
duty to see they are carried out. You comprehend ?”
“To be sure; and what are those rules?”
“Well, you are aware in the bank we always expect
payment before delivery. There is the agreement. Mr.
Quarm saw our head clerk, and it is all settled. I just
came along over the moor to Ashburton Fair, and had a
look at Brimpts on my way. They sent me, you know, to
see that all is square, and all that sort of thing. I have
nothing more to do than just see that you comprehend the
rules.”
“What am I to do?" asked Pepperill sharply.
“Well, well; it is just this. We don't allow any timber
-nothing—to be removed till full payment has been made,
and I see you have already begun felling."
“Yes; I suppose my brother-in-law has begun to cut.”
“You know, that's all right and proper ; but rules are
rules, and I'm not my own master. I don't make regula-
tions; I am held to seeing them carried out. There's a
matter of a couple of hundred pounds you'll have to pay
into the bank before a stick is disposed of, or a ton of bark
removed.”


116
KITTÝ ALONE
“And when do you demand the money? Will not a
bill do?”
“Rules, you see, are rules! they ain't india-rubber, that
you can pull about to accommodate as is desired. I dare-
say you want to get the timber removed as quickly as you
can, but, hang it! rules are rules, and you can't till the
money is paid in cash. Personally I love bills, but the
bank don't, that's a fact. I suppose you, or Mr. Quarm,
will be over next week at the bank, and pay up. Then
we've nothing to say but clear away the timber and the
bark as you can.”
When Pepperill had shaken off the agent of the bank, he
turned to Bramber, and said, “Did you catch his admission?
He said that the bank had made a mistake in letting us
have Brimpts wood so cheap. Actually it sold without ever
having seen. Of course I shall pay up; and if I don't pocket
a thousand pounds out of the transaction, call me a fool.”
A moment later he was touched on the arm, and saw the
landlady of the Crown, Mrs. Fry. She made him a sign,
and whispered, “Take care; the revenue officers have smelt
something. Have you a stock by you?”
Pepperill nodded.
“That's bad. Get rid of it as quick as you can, lest
they pay you a visit. I've had a hint."
“Thanks,” said Pasco, looking uncomfortable.
His visit to Messrs. Sloggitt was more discouraging than
he had been led to expect. Mr. James Sloggitt, who was
in Ashburton, told him bluntly that the firm was indisposed
to buy wool at any price. The importations from Australia
had disturbed the market, and there was no knowing to
what extent wool might fall. They would buy nothing till
they had received advice as to how much more foreign wool
was coming in.
“That won't touch me,” said Pasco. “Down it goes in
a panic, and up it will swing in a month or two, and then I
shall sell. Come with me to the Red Lion, and have a
glass of ale.”
“Thank you,” said Bramber ; "if you will excuse me, I
should wish to go into the fair."
“There is time enough,” answered Pepperill; “I shall
not let you go yet. What! Jason-here again ?”


INSURED
117
Quarm limped up, and planted himself in front of him.
“I have hardly had a word with you yet, Pasco. How is
my sister—and how is Kitty ? "
"Both pretty middling. Kate is here—11 the fair. I
left her with Jan Pooke and his party. Something may
Come of this, Zerah thinks. Jan has been mightily attentive
since they were together in the boat.”
“Pasco,” said Jason, “that fellow, Roger Redmore, is
abroad still.”
“Yes; he has not been caught."
“If I was you, I would insure.”
“Pshaw ! I'm not afraid of fire.”.
“There is no telling. You keep such a stock of all kinds
of goods in your place-coals, spirits, wool, hides-and now
you are likely to have bark in. Take my advice and insure,
in case of accident.”
“It is throwing good money away.”
“Not a bit. If Pooke had insured, he would not now be
the loser to the tune of fifty pounds."
“Well; I don't mind; but if I insure, it shall be for a
round sum."
“Two or three hundred ?"
“ Bah! A thousand.”
“A thousand ?”
“Why not? My stores are worth it."
“Are they? Stores, and house as well?”
“No, stores alone. I'll consider about the house."
“A thousand pounds! You don't mean it, Pasco ?”
“Ay. I'll insure for one thousand two hundred. I
shall have all Coaker's wool in, and the Brimpts tan which
Hamley won't buy; and I shall be having coals in during
summer when price is down, to sell in winter when prices
are up. Twelve hundred, Jason; not a penny under."
“Come on, then, to the office, and have your policy
drawn.”
“We do business in a large way,” said Pepperill, turning
to Bramber. “Twelve hundred would not cover my loss,
were that scoundrel Redmore to set fire to my stores. Now
I will let you go; may you enjoy yourself. Come, Jason-
twelve hundred !”


CHAPTER XVIII
BRAZIL NUTS
CHE constables, always on the alert for some breach of
the law during the fair, had come down on the com-
batants, arrested them, and conveyed them to the court-
house.
On fair-days a magistrate was ever at hand to dispose of
such cases as might arise, disputes over engagements,
quarrels, petty thefts, etc.
Mr. Caunter, the justice who lived in the town, and
who had undertaken not to absent himself that day, was
summoned. Another joined him.
The two young men presented a somewhat battered and
deplorable condition. Noah, bruised in the face, had his
eye darkened and swelling; but Jan showed the most
damaged appearance, as his head had been cut, and the
blood had flowed over his forehead and stained his cheek.
Something had been done to wash his face and to staunch
the flow, but this had been only partially successful.
The court-house was crowded. Friends and acquaint-
ances had deserted the bear, that they might see the end of
the brawl between the lusty young men, and to exhibit their
sympathy and give evidence in their favour if required.
After the constables had recorded their evidence, the
magistrate called on John Pooke to say what he had to state
in answer to the charge. It was a case of affray, and of
common assault if one of the parties chose to complain.
“You seem to be the one most damaged," said the
justice “What is your name?'
“John Pooke.”
“ Where from?"
“Coombe-in-Teignhead, sir.”
118


BRAZIL NUTS
119
“I think I have heard your name. Your father is a most
respectable yeoman, I believe.”
“Yes, sir, and woundy fat.”
“Never mind about his obesity. With so respectable a
parent, in such a position, it is very discreditable that you
should be brought up before me as taking a principal part
in a vulgar brawl.”
“Brawl, sir? where ?”
“Here in Ashburton, in the market-place, according to
the account of the constables, you were principal in an
affray, and an affray-according to Lord Coke—is a public
offence to the terror of the king's subjects, so called because
it affrighteth and maketh men afraid.”
“I, sir? Whom did I affright and make afraid ? "
“The public, before whom you were fighting.”
“ Lor, bless you, sir! they loved it. It was better sport
than a little dog snapping at a mangy bear.”
"Never mind whether they liked it or not; it was an
affray and an assault. Now tell me your version of the
circumstances.”
“What circumstances ?”
“ The brawl. Did you not hear what the constables
said ?”
“Oh, that little tittery matter! We was looking at a
bear and a dog."
“Well--proceed."
“The dog didn't understand how to get hold of the bear ;
he thought he was wus' than he was, and the bear could do
nothing till he had his muzzle off. Then up came a little
terrier. My word! he was a daring little dowse of a dog."
“I want to hear nothing about the dogs and the bear,
but about yourselves. What was the occasion of your
quarrel with your adversary ?”.
“Adversary ?”
“Yes; the other—Noah Flood, I believe he is called.
You see he has a swollen eye, and his face is puffed and
bruised. I presume you admit you hit this man Flood ?”
“What !-Noah ?"
“Yes, Noah."
“Was that him you called my adversary ?”
“Yes; you were fighting him, so the constable says.”


120
KITTY ALONE
“Bless y'! Noah is a right-down good fellow, and a
chum o' mine. He's no adversary.”
“Anyhow, you banged him about, assaulted him, and
did him grievous bodily harm.”
“Who—I?”
“Yes, you."
“Lawk, sir! Noah and I was at school together with Mr.
Puddicombe. That was before his little misfortune, sir,
when he lost the school because of cock-fighting. Father
never approved of his being turned out, nor did 1-nor
Noah neither. We got on famous wi Puddicombe ; didn't
us, Noah?”
"I want to hear nothing about your school reminiscences,"
said the magistrate sharply. “Moreover, you will please
to confine your observations to the Bench, and not address
questions to your fellow under arrest."
“Thank you, sir. What is that?” This last to the
constable. “I beg your pardon, the constable tells me I
ought to say 'your worship, and so I does. Noah and I
was in the same class; we left the school together, and the
very last thing we learned was, “Vital spark of heavenly
flame'; wasn't it, Noah ? "
Noah assented.
“I do not care what the course of instruction was in the
school," protested Mr. Caunter. “To the point, if you
please, and remember, address yourself to the Bench.
There was some sort of affray between you and Flood.
The constables separated you. What led to this ?”
“I believe there was some tittery bit of a thing. I
titched Noah, and Noah titched me, and my hat falled
off. You see, your worship, I'd pomatumed my hair this
morning, and so my hat didn't sit easy. My head was
all slithery like, and a little titch, and away went my
hat."
“Here is the hat, your worship," said a constable, pro-
ducing and placing on the table a battered and trampled
piece of headgear.
“Is that your hat, John Pooke ?"
“I reckon it may ha' been. But her's got terrible
knocked about. It wor a mussy that I hadn't on my new
hat I got at Exeter-that would ha' been a pity. I bought


BRAZIL NUTS
I 21
she for sister's Sue's wedding. Sister Sue be a-going to be
married after Easter, your worship.”
“I don't want to hear about sister Sue. So Noah Flood
knocked your hat off, and that occasioned ”—
"I beg your pardon, sir, I never said that. I said my
head was that slithery wi' pomatum the hat falled off, and
then folks trod on it."
“Come, this is trifling with the Bench, and with the
majesty of the law. The people may have trampled on
your hat, but not on your head, which is cut about and
battered almost as much as the hat."
“No, sir, I don't fancy nobody trod on my head.”
“How comes it about that you are so cut and bruised ?
I see you have had your wounds plastered.”
“Yes, your worship. The surgeon, he sewed up the
wust place."
“And your dear good friend and chum, and school
companion, and comrade in learning • Vital spark of
heavenly flame,' did that, I presume?"
“No, sir, it was the surgeon did it.”
“What, cut your head open ?”
“No, sir; sewed it up."
“Then who cut your head open ?”
“Nobody, sir."
“Someone must have done it. This evasion only makes
the case worse."
“Nobody did it at all. It was the Brazil nuts.”
“Brazil nuts?” exclaimed the magistrate in astonishment.
“I do not understand you."
“Well, your worship, they're terrible hard, and have got
three corners. Noah ! hand over some of them nuts to his
honour. Just you try your teeth on 'em, Mr. Caunter.
You can't do it. It was the Brazil nuts as cut my head.
Not that it matters much. My head be nicely sewed up
again, and right as ever it was.”
“ Explain the circumstances to the Bench, and no
meandering, if you please.”
“Well, that's easy done, your worship. Noah, he'd
bought thickey nuts at a stall. What did you give for 'em,
Noah ?”
“Tu'pence," said Flood solemnly.


I 22
KITTY ALONE
“Hish! hish !” from the nearest constable.
“ Twopence he paid, your worship, and then he wanted
to crack 'em and couldn't do it. He couldn't wi' his teeth,
nor in his fist. If your worship will be pleased to try on
the desk, you'll find how hard the nuts be."
“Go on, and to the point.”
“You see, Rose, she's got a wonderful fancy for nuts”—
“Who may Rose be?”
“Her's the beautifullest maid in Coombe-in-Teignhead-
red cheeks as she ought to have, being called Rose; and as
for twinkling eyes”---
“Never mind a description : what is the other name?".
“Rose Ash. She is here, sir, looking on and blushing."
“We'll call her presently. Proceed with your story."
“Rose, she wanted Noah to crack the nuts, and he hadn't
a hammer, nor a stone, so”-
“He broke them on your head ?”
“No, sir, he broke my head with the nuts."
“Oh, that is the rights of the story, is it? You objected,
and a fight ensued ?"
“He'd undertaken to crack the nuts for Rose, sir.” Then,
turning to Flood, “That's about it, ain't it, Noah? Shake
hands; we're old friends.”
“I agrees with everything as my friend Jan Pooke said.
He puts it beautiful,” said Flood.
“Step aside, John Pooke,” said the magistrate ; “we will
now hear what the other fellow has to say."
Nothing, however, was to be extracted from Flood but
that he agreed with Jan, and Jan could speak better than
he. He referred himself to Jan. Jan knew all about it,
and he himself was so bewildered that he could not
remember much, but as Jan spoke, all came out clear. As
to the Brazil nuts, he had them in his hand, and it was
true he “had knocked Tan on the head wi' 'em. If the
gentleman would overlook it this time, he hoped no offence;
but he'd buy no niore Brazil nuts--never as long as he
lived."
“Call Rose Ash !” said the justice. “Perhaps she can
throw some light on this matter."
Rose was in court, and was soon in the witness-box,
looking very pretty, and very conscious that the eyes of


124
KITTY ALONE
“Noah Flood."
“There is nothing to forgive. The nuts were terrible
hard. He'll never buy any more."
Kate Quarm was now brought into court, and placed in
the witness-box. She was bidden to give a succinct account
of the quarrel.
“I was standing looking at the bear,” she said, “and
someone knocked my workbox from under my arm. I do
not know who did it, there was such a crowd, and all were
in motion because the bear had got free of his chain and
muzzle. Then I ran to pick up what was fallen, and when
next I looked about me, Jan Pooke and Noah Flood were
fighting.”
“What made them fight?”
“I do not know, sir. Perhaps Jan thought Noah had
knocked my workbox from under my arm. But I cannot
tell. I had gone after my scattered things, and then I was
drawn away to be taken to my father.”
“You did not hear Pooke say anything to Flood, or vice
versâ, about cracking nuts ?”
“Not then, sir; a little before, Rose had asked to have
the Brazil nuts cracked, and Noah had promised to crack
them when the opportunity came.”
“I told you so, your worship,” threw in Pooke.
“Well,” said the magistrate, “this girl Kate Quarm is the
only one among you who seems to have her wits about her,
and can tell a simple tale in an intelligent way. As for you,
John Pooke, and you, Noah Flood, I shall bind you over to
keep the peace, and dismiss you with a caution.”


CHAPTER XIX
SUGGESTIONS OF EVIL
THE crowd in the market-place and in the streets of
| Ashburton began to thin as the afternoon crept on.
In vain did the showmen blow their trumpets, ring their
bells, and invite to their entertainments. Those who had
come to the fair had spent their loose cash. The proprietors
of the stalls offered their wares at reduced prices, but
found few purchasers. Young men who had been hired by
the farmers swaggered about singing or shouting, some
tipsy, others merely on the road to tipsiness. The ostlers
in the inns were harnessing horses to the traps, market
carts, gigs, dog-carts, that had brought in the farmers and
their wives. Empty waggons were departing. The roads
were full of streams of people fowing homeward to the
surrounding villages.
Pasco Pepperill started with the schoolmaster. He had
surrendered Kate to her father. The reins were in his
hand, and he had whipped the cob, when he saw Coaker,
the man from whom he had bought the wool, coming
towards him.
The blood rushed into Pepperill's face.
“How d'ye do?” asked the farmer. “Going home?”
“I be,” answered Pasco, with constrained anger.
“You'll find all the wool there. I sent off the lot this
morning-three waggon-loads.”
“Why did you not inform me ?-and I would have
waited for it, and not come to the fair.”
"I did not know how the weather might be-and I
wished to be rid of it.” Coaker laughed.
This angered Pasco further, and, losing command of
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KITTY ALONE
himself, he said, “'Twas scurvy--that selling me at such a
price when you knew wool was down."
“That was your concern. Each man for himself. But
I reckon you've made a worse bargain at Brimpts, if, as
they tell me, you have bought the wood.”
“How so? Is not the timber first-rate ? »
“Oh, the timber is good enough.”
“ Then what is wrong?”.
“Have you been to Brimpts ? "
“No—but Quarm has."
“Then you don't know the road. It is thus”—Coaker
made a motion with his hand up and down. “The waves
of the sea mountains high is nothing to it—and bad—the
road is ! Lor' bless y'! the cost o' moving the timber when
cut will swallow up all the profits.”
“Pshaw! The distance from Ashburton is only three
miles.”
“Better ten on a decent road. You'll never get the
timber drawn, or, if you do, farewell to all profits. But
when you have got it to Ashburton--who will buy it
there?”
“Oh, Quarm has an idea of disposing of the oak to the
Government--selling it to the dockyard at Devonport.”
“How far off is that? Some five-and-twenty miles—and
over the Moor!” Coaker laughed.
“If I don't sell the oak, I am a”- Pasco's face was
as red as blood. He checked himself from the confession
that he would be a ruined man, and said between his teeth,
“I'll never speak to Quarm again. He's led me into a
pretty quandary.”
“Quarm? He's a Jack-o'-lantern-don't trust he.”.
Coaker waved his hand, and, still laughing, went his way
to the stable-yard to get his cob.
Pasco whipped his horse and drove homewards. His
lips were closed, his brows knitted, he looked straight before
him at the ears of his horse. He was in no disposition to
speak. Nor, for the matter of that, was his companion.
Bramber was thinking of Kitty, of the uncongenial sur-
roundings, the hot-headed father, running himself and his
brother-in-law into speculative ventures that must lead them
to ruin; of the uncle, boastful, conceited, and withal


SUGGESTIONS OF EVIL
127
stupid ; of the hard, selfish aunt. He saw that young
Pooke admired her, and this did not altogether please
Bramber. Pooke might be well off and amiable, but he
was dull of intellect—a boor—and could never be a suitable
companion to the eager Kitty, whose mind was greedy for
knowledge, and whose tastes were those of a class above
that in which she was cast. The admiration of Jan Pooke
brought on her contrariety. It had involved her in the
quarrel between Jan and Noah, and had roused the jealousy
of Rose Ash.
As the trap passed out of Ashburton, many a salutation
was cast at Pepperill, but he hardly acknowledged any.
He put up his hand and beat his hat down over his brows,
then lashed savagely at his cob.
All at once something arrested his eye, and he instinc-
tively drew up, then muttered, and whipped his brute again.
What he had observed was a little plate, affixed to a house,
with the title of the Insurance Company on it, with which
he had that day had dealings.
“I wonder," thought Pasco, “what that house is insured
for ? Not for twelve hundred pounds, I'll swear.”
Then a sense of bitterness rose in his heart against his
brother-in-law for drawing him into this expense of insuring
his property ;-he had that day expended all the gold he
had about him in paying the first premium. There remained
only some silver in one pocket, and coppers in the other.
Where was he to find the money for the payment of the
oaks he had bought ? Where that to meet the bill for the
wool? The tanner would not pay enough for the bark to
cover the cost of rending. Quarm had told him that the
sap rose badly, and that it would involve much labour and
waste of time to attempt to bark the trees.
Fevered with anxiety and disappointment, Pasco thrashed
his cob savagely, and sent it along at its fullest pace,
whirling past the gigs and waggons returning from the fair,
and giving the drivers hardly time to get on one side to
avoid him. He relieved his breast by swearing at them
for their sluggishness in making way, and some retaliated
with oaths, as, in order to escape him, they ran into the
hedge or over a heap of stones.
Presently his horse slackened speed, as it reached a


128
KITTY ALONE
sharp ascent, and there Pasco met an empty waggon, with
“Coaker-Dart-meet” on it. He stopped his panting horse,
and shouted to the driver of the team, and asked whence
he came.
“I've been to your place -Coombe Cellars,” answered
the waggoner. “Master sent me with a load of fleeces.”
“Did my wife give you anything?”
“Not a glass of cider," answered the man. “We had to
unload and do the work of hoisting into the warehouse
ourselves—no one was about.”
“She left it for me-she knew you would meet us.”
Tossing his head, to shake off the depression that had
come upon him, and with a flash of his vanity through the
gloom, he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a couple
of shillings.
“There," said he; “you'd have had more, but I have
spent most of my cash at the fair. Buying, buying,
buying, that's my trade. Go and drink a glass to my
health.”
Then he drove on.
On descending the hill another waggon was encountered.
This was also one that had conveyed fleeces to Coombe
Cellars. Pasco gave this driver a couple of shillings.
Then he turned to Bramber and said, “Two years of
wool-I paid as much as thirteen pence a pound, and I
can't sell at tenpence. They say it is going down to
sevenpence; that is nearly half what I gave. A loss to me
of sixpence a pound; I have bought three waggonload.
A good sheep may have sixteen pounds on his back, but
the average is ten or eleven. Coaker must keep a couple
of hundred. You're a schoolmaster; reckon that up-two
hundred sheep at eleven. I'm not a quick man at figures
myself.”
"Nothing can be simpler than that calculation. Two
thousand two hundred."
“Ah! But two years' wool?”
“Well, that is four thousand four hundred.”
“And I have lost, say, sixpence a pound.”
“Then you lose a hundred and ten pounds by the
transaction."
“Think of that. A hundred and ten pounds—say a


SUGGESTIONS OF EVIL
129
hundred and twenty. That is something for a man to lose
and make no account of.” The vanity of the man was
flattered by the thought of the amount of his loss. “And
then," said he, “there was what Coaker said about the oak.
I've undertaken to lay out two hundred pounds on that;
and there is the fellin' and cartin'--say another hundred.
Suppose I lose this also—that is a matter of three hundred.
With the wool, four hundred and twenty pound. I reckon,
schoolmaster, you've never had the fingering of so much
money as I am losing.”
Bramber looked round at Pasco with surprise. He
could not understand the sort of pride that was manifesting
itself in the man.
“Are you able to meet such losses ?”.
“If not, I can but fail. It's something to fail for a good
sum. But I'll not fail ; I am full of resources." He beat
the horse. “I shall sell the wool. It will go up. I shall
sell the timber at a good figure, and pocket a thousand
pounds. I am sorry I did not give those men half a crown
each, but I have spent most of my money, and”-
Crash! He drove against a post, and upset the trap.
Pasco staggered to his feet.
“Schoolmaister--are you hurt?”
“No." Walter sprang to the horse and seized its
head.
"It would have been best had I broken my neck and
finished so," said Pepperill. Then he regretted the sudden
outburst of despair, and added, “So some folks might ha'
said, but I've disappointed 'em. I may have a chuck
down, but I'm up again in a jiffey. That's been ny way
all along, and will be to the end."
One of the shafts was broken, and there ensued delay
whilst it was being patched up with rope. Then, when
they were able to pursue their career, Pasco was constrained
to drive more carefully and less rapidly. Night was coming
on as they neared Newton Abbot.
“I'll tell you what it is,” said Pasco; “I'm uncommon
hungry, and I'll just go into the first public-house and have
a mouthful of something, and you shall do the same. The
cob is a bit shaken with that spill, and I'll have the shaft
fastened up firmer before we proceed. What say you ?


130
KITTY ALONE
Here's the Crown and Anchor. How the place is
changed. Ah, ha! It is insured at the same office as I
am. Why-bless my life !—the old inn was a ramshackle
sort of a place.”
Pepperill descended from his trap, and gave instructions
to the ostler what he was to do to the broken shaft. “I'll
pay you well if you do your work,” said he. Then to
Bramber, “Come in ! Cold meat and bread-and-cheese,
and a glass of ale. We need refreshment, and the house
looks as if it could provide it. Don't be concerned about
the cost. I don't suppose you are overflush with cash.
I'll pay—you are my guest.”
Pasco's self-conceit was a constant spring of energy in
him. Dashed his spirits might be by disaster, but he
speedily recovered his buoyancy, owing to this characteristic
element in his nature. It is said that the fertility of Manitoba
is due to the fact that below the surface the soil is frozen
hard in winter, and during the summer the warmth of the
sun penetrating ever farther thaws the ice, and thus water
incessantly wells up, nourishing and moistening the roots
of the corn. There was a perennial body of self-esteem
deep in the heart of Pasco Pepperill, and this fed and
sustained in vigorous growth a harvest of generosity in
dealing with his inferiors, of liberality towards the poor, of
display in his mercantile transactions, that imposed on the
public and made it suppose that he was prosperous in his
many affairs.
The landlord came to the door. .
“How do you do, Mr. Pepperill ?—glad to see you.
You do not often favour me.”
“Well—no. If I come this way I mostly stop at the
Golden Sun. You see, you are rather near my home.”
“I hope this, though the first visit, is not the last !”
“I daresay not. What brings me now is an accident.
Can you let us have some supper ?”
“Certainly. What would you like-cold beef, cold
mutton, or chops and potatoes ?”
“You have a supply of good things."
“I am obliged to have. I get plenty of custom now.”
“What! more than of old ?”
“Oh, double, since I have rebuilt my house."


SUGGESTIONS OF EVIL
131
“I see. The place is completely changed. You had
but a poor sort of a tavern."
“Yes; and now”- the landlord looked round, smiled,
and put his hands into his waistband—“middling good,
I think.”
“Uncommon,” said Pasco. “I suppose it is the better
look of the house that has brought better custom.”
“That's just it. I had only common wayfarers before-
mostly tramps. Now—the better sort altogether. Where
I turned over a penny before, I turn over a shilling now.”
“So you rebuilt your public - house to get better
business?”
“Well, you see, I couldn't help myself. The old place
caught fire and burnt down.”
"And it did not ruin you?”
“Dear me, no. I was insured."
“So—that set you on your legs again ? "
“ It was the making of me, was that fire.”
“How long had you been insured before you were burnt
out?”
“Well, now, that is the curious part of the story,” said
the landlord; “hardly a week.”
“And how did your place catch fire?”.
“There was a tramp. I refused to take him in, as he
had no money. That was the best stroke of business I
ever did in my life. He hid himself in a sort o' lean-to
there was over the pigs' houses, joined on to the house,
and in it was straw. I reckon he went to sleep there
with his pipe alight, and he set fire to the place.”
“Was he burnt ?”
“No; he got away all right; but the straw set fire to
the rafters, and they ran into the wall. It was a poor old
wall, with no mortar in it, and the rafters came in just
under those of the upstairs chambers, so that when the
roof of the linhay was afire, it set the house in a blaze too.
That was how it all came about.”
“And a good job it was for you!”
“It was the making of me.”
Pasco was silent through the meal. He seemed hardly
to taste what he was eating. He gulped down his food
and drank copiously.


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KITTY ALONE
Bramber was relieved when he left. He was afraid
Pepperill would drink more than he could bear. At the
entrance to the village he left the cart, and thanked Pasco
for the lift.
Pepperill drove on to Coornbe Cellars.
As he came up, he saw his wife standing at the door
with a light in her hand.
“Pasco, is that you ?”
“Who else?”
“So, you are home at last. There has been the coal
merchant here; he swears he will bring you no more, and
that, unless you pay up this month, he will set the lawyers
on you."
Pepperill Aung himself from his cart.
“Heavens !” said he, looking sullenly at his stores; “if
they would but burn !”
“Burn—what burn?” asked Mrs. Pepperill sharply.
“Do you think you cannot leave the house for a day but
some mischief must come on it ? As if I were not to be
trusted, and everything lay with you."
“I did not mean that, Zerah.”
" Then what did you mean?”
“I meant that it might have got me out of difficulties.”
“What might?”
Pasco did not answer.
“I should like to know how, if the store were to be
burnt, any good would come of that. You've been
drinking, Pasco."
“I'm insured,” said he in a low tone.
“Oh, it has come to that, has it? Heaven help us ! ”
The woman beat her face with her open palms, turned,
and went within.


CHAPTER XX
A FACE IN THE WATER
V ATE QUARM was very happy on the moor. Her
father had fetched her from Ashburton, and had
lodged her in a cottage near Dart-meet, the point where the
East and West Darts, rushing foaming from the moors,
dancing over boulders, breaking over granite floors, plung-
ing under tufts of golden gorse, and through brakes of
osmund and male fern, reach each other and meet in one
silver flood.
The weather was fine, though cold, that is to say, the
sun was hot, but a keen east wind blew. But then this is
one of the charms of the moor, that shelter can always be
found from the wind. A mighty bank of mountains rose
as a wall against the east, and in its dingles and dells,
dense with gorse, now in blaze of flower, the air was warm,
and balmy, and still.
At Coombe Cellars Kate had been kept continually
employed; her aunt, an active woman, gave the child no
rest. If she saw her flag in her work, Zerah goaded her
with reproach to fresh activity; she was, moreover, never
accorded a word of encouragement. Zerah accepted her
work as a matter of course; if it was well done, that was
but as it ought to be; everything that fell short of well,
was occasion for a scolding. Kate's nature was one that
needed repose from manual and sordid labour, for her
mind desired to be active, and craved for freedom in which
to expand, and for liberty to seek material on which to
feed. This Zerah did not understand; with any other
activity, except that of the body in scrubbing and rubbing,
in cooking and baking, she had no sympathy; she enter-
133


134
KITTY ALONE
tained a positive aversion for books. She had no eye for
beauty, no ear for melody, no heart for poetry.
Now Kate had leisure—now for the first time in her life,
in which her soul could draw its tender wings out of its
case and flutter them in freedom. She felt much as must
the May-fly when it breaks from its chrysalis.
It was, moreover, a joy to think that her father had
considered her so far as to require her to be sent to the
moor to recover. He usually paid little heed to Kitty, and
now her heart was warm with gratitude because he had
given her that very thing of all others which she most
desired—rest in the presence of nature awakening under
a spring sun.
Kate had another source of pleasure with her. As
Walter Bramber parted from her at Ashburton, he put a
little book into her hand, and said-
“I will lend it you. I know you will value it.”
The book was Wordsworth's poems.
As she sat beside her father in the gig, she had her hand
on the volume all the while, and her heart swelled with
excitement and eagerness to read it. At night she hugged
the book to her bosom, and fell asleep with both hands
clasped over it. She could hardly endure that night
should, with its darkness, deny her the happiness of reading.
She woke early, and in the breaking daylight devoured
the pages. As she read, she laughed and cried-laughed
and cried with sheer delight. She had a book to read;
and such a book!
This happy girl turned first to the verses on the daffodils
that she had learned by heart, to make quite certain that
she had all, that not a line had been missed, not a word
got awry. Then she looked at the little poems on the
celandine, and never did a famished child devour a meal
with greater avidity than did Kate read and master these
verses. There was much in Wordsworth that she could
not understand, but the fact that she encountered passages
that were unintelligible to her were of advantage, her clear
intellect striking on these hard portions threw out sparks-
ideas that had light in them. The book not only nourished
her mind, but proved educative to her imagination.
Kate was at first overwhelmed with the flood of happiness


A FACE IN THE WATER
135
that rolled over her. Her eyes could not satiate themselves
with the beauty of the moorland scenery. She ran among
the rocks, she dived into the coombs, she stepped on the
boulders over the water, she watched the workmen engaged
in felling trees.
Spring flowers peeped from behind rocks, bog plants
peered out of the morasses. Kate began collecting. She
dried the flowers between the leaves of her Prayer-book.
She scrambled among the towering rocks that overhung
the Dart below the meeting of the waters, and watched the
shadows and lights travel over the vast tract of moorland
that stretched away as far as the eye could see in every
direction but the east, where the river rolled out of its
mountain cradle into a lap of the richest woodland. Some-
times the beauty of the scenery, the variety of landscape,
were too much for her ; she sought change and repose by
creeping among the rocks and drawing the book from her
bosom.
Yet she could not read for long. The verses exacted
close attention, and a flash of passing sun, or impatience at
some passage she could not comprehend, made her close
the volume and recommence her rambles. The exhilarating
air, the brilliancy of the light, the complete change from the
mild and languid atmosphere in the Teign estuary told on
Kate's spirits and looks. Her cheeks gathered roundness
and colour, and her tread acquired elasticity. Her spirits
were light; they found vent occasionally in racing the cloud
shadows over a smooth hillside.
One day, with her lap full of moss of every rainbow hue,
she came upon the rector of Coombe-in-Teignhead, painting.
At her exclamation he turned, recognised her, and smiled.
“So I thought I must soon see you,” he said. “My
dear little Kitty, I come with messages for you and kind
inquiries.”
“From whom from uncle and aunt?”
“No; not from them. The schoolmaster, Mr. Bramber,
when he heard whither I was coming, begged me to see you
and ascertain how you were, and whether you liked the
book he lent you."
“Oh, sir, I read it every day! I know several pieces by
heart.”


136
KITTY ALONE
“ That you are well, I see. I never saw you with such a
glow of health and happiness in your bonnie face before.”
“Thank you, sir. And will you see him soon?”
“Whom? Bramber?”
“Yes, sir," answered Kate, the glow in her face deepen-
ing. “And will you say that I have been picking the
flowers as they come out, and I can find them, and that I
do want to know what they are called ? God brought the
beasts to Adam to name them, and I do not think Adam
can have been happy with the beasts till he had given each
a name. It is so with me and the flowers. I see them,
and I love them; but I don't feel content till I can tell
what each is called. Mr. Bramber can name them all.”
“You have made a collection ?”
“Yes, I have dried them in my Prayer-book. They are
waiting for Mr. Bramber to name. But "- Kate drew
back—“I am in your way, sir; you are painting the old
bridge."
“Yes; but you can sit down there if you like, and will
not disturb me.”
“May I? Oh, I shall be pleased.”
Kate placed herself on a lichen-covered rock on one side,
at a little distance from the water.
“I have left my few sheep for a couple of days,” said Mr.
Fielding apologetically, partly to Kate, mostly to himself;
“but I do not think I have done wrong. Moses went up
into the Mount, and came back to his people with his face
shining. I do not know, but it seems to me that when I
have been here aloft, speaking with nature and nature's God,
face to face, that I can go back and carry with me some of
the brightness and the freshness and the fragrance of the
mountain. I may be wrong, finding an excuse for myself,
because I love to come here.”
“Please, sir,” said Kate, “the Great Master of all dis-
missed the multitude and went up into the mountain
apart.”
“Yes, child, yes,” answered the rector, painting as he
talked; “and when He came down, He walked on the
stormy waves. And 1-His humble follower-I think I
can tread on the troubles and cares of life erect, and not
be swallowed up after I have been here."


138
KITTY ALONE
“You do not return till your father decides that you are
to go back to work. Then, you will return with a good
courage, as I said.”
“With all my heart !" answered Kate fervently, and her
face brightened as though the sun shone on it.
Afraid of disturbing the old rector at his painting, Kate
withdrew. She was happy at heart. What he had said
had done her good. She had shrunk from the thought of
return to the humdrum of her usual life, but Mr. Fielding
had given her a motive for facing work with cheerfulness.
It was a delight to her to think that her aunt loved her.
She loved her aunt. Daily association with Zerah had
made her cling to the hard, captious woman; she had had
no one else to love, and the young heart must love someone.
Kate delighted to lie by the river, or lie on a rock in it,
and look down into its pellucid pools, or at the flowing
crystal where it broke between the stones. She was accus-
tomed to the muddy estuary, and though the sea-water
when it flowed was clear, it had none of the perfect trans-
parency of this spring water near its source. The sea
sweeping up the creek was as bottle-green glass, but this
was liquid crystal itself, without colour of any sort, and
through it everything in the depths was visible as though
no medium intervened.
Kate could look at the shining pebbles, at the waving
water-weed, at the darting fish. When she had left Mr.
Fielding, she went to one of her favourite haunts beside the
Dart, where it brawled over a cataract of rocks and then
spread into a pool still as glass.
Now she saw what puzzled her, and set her active brain
questioning the reason. As she looked into the water, she
could see no reflection of her own face; the light sky was
mirrored, and where the shadow of her head came, she
elsewhere. Indeed, when a fish darted past she could dis-
cern its fins and scales, but when it passed beyond her
shadow, its form became indistinct.
Then Kate rose on her elbows, and as she did this, the
sun caught her cheek and nose, and cheek and nose were
at once reflected in the water, and where the reflection
came, there the water was less transparent to her eyes.


A FACE IN THE WATER
139
To observe was to rouse in the girl's mind a desire to
find an explanation for the very simple phenomenon that
puzzled her.
She was thus engaged, raising her face, then a hand, so
as to be now sunlit, then to intercept the light, and see
what the effect was on the water, when she was startled to
observe in the liquid mirror the reflection of a second face
looking down from above. The sun was on it, in the
eyes, and they glittered up at her from below.
With an exclamation of alarm, she turned and saw a man
standing above her.


CHAPTER XXI
AN OFFER
V ATE rose to a sitting posture, and drew her feet
under her, rested one hand on the rock, and with
the other screened her eyes from the glare of the sun, to
observe the intruder on her solitude.
Then she recognised Roger Redmore. He was without
his coat, an axe over one shoulder. In his right hand he
held a tuft of cotton grass dug up by the roots.
“I knowed as you wor here,” said he, “but I dursn't
speak before others, lest they should find me out who I wor.”
“ Are you living here, Roger?”
“I be working here at the felling Brimpts oaks. You
see, your fayther, he's so little at Coombe that he don't
know me, and I thought I might get money by working
here. And I want you to do a little job for me."
“What is it, Roger?”
“There's two jobs. First, do y see this here root o'
white shiny grass? Well, I want y' to take it to Coombe
and to set it on my little maid's grave. Stick the roots in.
It may grow and it mayn't. Hereabouts it groweth mostly
in wet land. But anyhows by it I shall know where the
little maid lies when I come back to Coombe.”
“You are returning, Roger?”
“Not by day. I reckon some night I shall be back just
for an hour or so, and I want, when I does come, to go to
the churchyard and find out at once where my darlin'
lieth. If it be moonlight, or dimmets (twilight), and I see
the little silver tuft glitter above her head, then I shall
know where her be. I can't go wi' my wife; that would
be tellin' folks I wor home agin. I mun go by myselt.
Whereabouts now have they put her?”


AN OFFER
141
“ By the wall where the cedar is, on the east side.”
" There'll niver be no headstone there," observed
Redmore, “but what o' that? When once I know where
her lieth, sure but I'll put a fresh new tuft of silver tassels
as oft as the old ones die, and I reckon they'll die, not
being in a wet place. My little maid's grave won't be wet
save wi’ her father and mother's tears, and her fayther he
can't be there but on the sly, and now and then.”
“I will do it for you gladly," said Kate. “When do
you think you will be home?”
“Home!” repeated Roger; “ I've no home-not like to
have. My wife and my little ones, wherever they be, that's
all the world to me, and I cannot see them but at night,
and very chancy, when I don't think nobody's about. And
t'other thing be this.”
Roger put his hand into his pocket and drew forth
some coin, and gave it to the girl.
“ Take this to my old woman. I've earned wi' my work
a bit o'money, and here is what I can send her. Tell her
to leave the door ajar. I may come any night; but," he
paused, “I reckon they've turned her out o' house and
home now.”
“Not yet, Roger," answered Kate. “Mr. Pooke has
not insisted on her leaving at quarter-day, but I believe he
has a fresh workman coming to him in a week, and then
she will have to leave.”
"And where will she go? Will they drive her into the
street?”
“I really do not know ; but”-she considered and said
timidly, “I have had it on my heart, but have been afraid
to speak of it as yet to my father. There is his cottage,
never or hardly ever occupied. Now I will take courage,
and beg him to let your wife go into it till something can
be settled; but you must keep out of danger, and you are
not safe here."
“I cannot go far till my wife and little ones are secure
and have a home. Here no one know'th me, the other
woodcutters are all men from the moor. There was but
your father, and he did not recognise me when I axed him
to take me on at felling the timber.”
“I will entreat him to allow your wife and children to


142
KITTY ALONE
go into his house till something can be done for them.
You will have to escape into another part of the country.”
“Ay, I will go. If I were took, it would go bad with us
all, and there'd be the shame on my little ones—that their
father wor hanged. They'd never shake it off.” Then he
touched Kate on the head. “My hand be but a wicked
un. It hev set fire to a rick, but it be the hand o' a hunted
man, as be nigh crushed with sorrows, as was druv to
wickedness thro' his sufferin's, and hev bitter repented it
since, and swears he'll niver do it agin, so help me God !”
He raised his hand solemnly to heaven. “That's one
thing I ha' larned, as doin' wrong niver brings matters right.
There wor just that gettin' drunk. Then there wor the
cheek to Farmer Pooke. Then my heart were all worm-
wood; and when my little maid died, I thought it wor his
doin'; and so in a way it wor, for I'd no work and no
wage, and us was just about starvin', and I did that deed
o' fire. It's kindled a fire in here”--he touched his heart
_" that nothink can quench. The Lord ha' pity on nie. I
don't know as I'd ha' come to this mind but for you, little
Kitty Alone, as was pitiful to me when I were bound and
like to be given over to gaol, and you let me go, and fed
me wi' crumbs out o' your hand; and now you will find
a house for my dear ones.” He laid his hand on her head
again. “Mebbe the Lord 'll hear a sinful thief o' a man,
and I ax His blessin' on thee; an’ if I can iver do anything
to show you I'm thankful, I will. Amen."
“ Hah!”
Roger Redmore started. He was caught by a hand in
his collar-band.
Kate sprang to her feet. Her uncle, Pasco Pepperill,
was there. He had come up from behind unobserved, and
had laid hold of the incendiary.
“I have you, you burning vagabond !” shouted he ; " and
by heaven ! I'll hand you over to the constables, and see you
hanged, as you deserve. Kate, run away-away at once !”
“Oh, uncle, do not be cruel! Let him go.”
“ You mind your business," answered Pasco sharply.
“ It's my belief you le: him escape after Jan Pooke had
bound him in the boat. Jan left you in charge, and Roger
slipped away then.”


AN OFFER
143
“But think, uncle, of his poor wife and children.”
With a suddı n wrench Roger freed himself, and then,
standing lack with brandished axe, he said
“ Touch me, and I'll split your head.”
“Get away from here," ordered Pasco, turning to his
niece; “and as for you, Redmore, I want a word. You
know very well that if I give the hue and cry you will be
caught, even though now you have slipped from me.
Lower your hatchet ; I'm not going to hurt you if you be
reasonable ; but wait till that girl is out of earshot.”
Pepperill put his hands into his pockets and watched
Kate as she withdrew. Roger assumed an attitude of
wariness. He was ready at a moment's notice to defend
himself with his axe, or to take to flight.
“Look here," said Pasco, satisfied that he could not be
overheard, “it seems to me that you, with your head
almost in the noose, have done a wonderful silly thing to
stay so near the scene of your crime.”.
“I'd my reasons as is not for you to know," answered
Redmore surlily. “I'm sure you don't consarn yourself
for me and mine so as to care." ;
“There you are mistaken,” said Pasco. “I don't mean
to say that I am deeply interested in you, but I don't
intend, unless driven to it, to take any steps to get you
acquainted with Jack Ketch.”
“I can defend myself pretty well, suppose you do.”
“ I'm not the fool to risk my head in another man's
quarrel.”
“ And I can take to my heels and find a hiding-place
anywhere on these moors.”
“Ay, and a starving-place where your bones will rot.”
" What have you to say to me?'
Redmore spoke surlily. Now that his whereabouts was
discovered, it would be needful for him to shift his place of
refuge.
“I suppose you don't deny setting fire to Farmer Pooke's
rick?” said Pasco.
Roger shrugged his shoulders and jerked his head.
“How did you do it? smoking a pipe under the tree
when drunk?”
“No, it warn't."


144
KITTY ALONE
“How was it, then ?"
“I warn’t drunk, niver but that once, and that wor just
because o' Jackson's “Tee-dum.' I've a bit of a orgin in
zingin', and the innkeeper he wor terrible longing to have
me in the choir. So he got me in, and they tried to teach
me the tenor part o' Jackson's "Tee-dum,' and I cu’dn't
maister it noways; and they stood me liquor, and I tried,
and I cu'd do naught wi’ it. You see t'other parts went
curling up and about, and bothered me. If they'd a'
stopped and let me zing alone, I cu'd ha' done it. Then I
went out into the open air, and it wor cold and frosty, and
somehow I got mazed wi' the drink and the “Tee-dum'
together, and I rinned agin my maister, Farmer Pooke, and
I reckon I zed what I ort not, and he turned me off. That
wor it. I niver did it avor, and I'll niver do it agin. Save
and presarve me from liquor and Jackson's · Tee-dum'!”
“Never mind about that. So you didn't fire the rick
with your pipe ?"
“No, I didn't. If it had niver been for Jackson's
• Tee-dum,' I'd not now be in risk of bein' hanged.”
"Of course it was Jackson did it all," sneered Pasco.
“I don't mean to say that. It wor the beginning on it.
I were throwed out o' work, and were starvin', and my
little maid, her died, and then I wor like a mazed chap,
and I ran out wi' the cann'l, and so I did it.”
“Oh, with the candle ?"
“It wor a rushlight.”
“I've heard of barns and storehouses being set fire to by
men going into them to sleep, and lighting their pipes.
There was the landlord of the Crown and Anchor at
Newton. He had a miserable sort of a house, but a tramp
got in one night "
“What, into his house ?”
“No, into a linhay over the pigstye, and slept there, or
went there to sleep, and there was straw in the loft, and in
smoking his pipe he managed to set fire to the straw, and
then the whole public-house was in a blaze and burnt
down."
“I've heard of that. Nobody knows what became o' the
tramp. There wor roast pig found in the ashes, and
whether roast tramp nobody cared to inquire.”


AN OFFER
145
“ The inn has been rebuilt. They call it a hotel now.”
“I daresay they does.”
“ The insurance money did that."
“I s'pose so. Lucky the house wor insured. I wish
Varmer Pooke 'ad been.”
“You do?”
“I reckon I does. I'm sorry for what I did when I wor
in a b’ilin' blue rage. Now I can't get over it noways, and
you may tell’n so."
“Why, that fire was the making of the landlord. He
feels no ill-will against the tramp. What are you going to
do with yourself now?”
*I don't know.”
“I suppose you will want to see your wife again ?”
“I s'pose I shall."
“For that you will return to Coombe?”
“In coorse I must.”
“At night-lest you should be seen ?”
“ Ay—to be sure.”
“You will lurk about–be in hiding. I'll tell you what,
I'm your good friend. I will do you no harm. I'll just
leave the door of my stores open-unhasped ; and if you
want to creep in, there's a lot of wool and other things
there, you can be warm there, Roger, warm in the wool.”
“Thanky', sir. You'll not peach ?”
“And if—if you like a pipe-well”—
“No, Mr. Pepperill, I won't do you that ill turn if you're
so good to me—and the little maid, Kitty, too."
"Oh, I did not mean that. I can't say but if a spark
chanced to fall among the wool, and the whole was to
blaze away, I should be sorry. I can't say that I should be
troubled, any more than was the landlord at Newton when
the tramp set fire to his linhay over the pigs.”
Redmore said nothing. Pepperill spoke slowly, and did
not look the man in the face as he spoke.
"If that chance was to happen to me as happened to
the man at Newton, it might, there's no saying, be a saving
of me from a great misfortune, and—I shouldn't mind
being a liberal friend, and helping you out of the country.”
“That is what you mean, is it?”
“It might be a convenience to both of us.”
10


146
KITTY ALONE
“'Tis a wonderful world,” exclaimed Redmore," when
the biggest rascals go free, and one of them be you! A
little rascal like me, who's sorry that ever he done wrong,
is chivied like a mad dog."
“ Well-what do you say?”
“You're a rascal and I despise you,” cried Roger, and
turned to go.
“Will you have me as your friend or your enemy?”.
“Your enemy rather than friend on them terms."
“Then I'll hang you !” exclaimed Pasco, and set off
running in the direction of Brimpts.


CHAPTER XXII
A RACE FOR LIFE
V ATE had walked away without a thought of attempt-
n i ng to gather the subject of her uncle's conversation
with Redmore. She resolved at once to seek her father
and obtain from him permission to house the unfortunate
wife with her children in his cottage. She had been told
that he had gone to a farm lying somewhat to the right of
the Ashburton road, near the prominent and stately rock
citadel of Sharpitor. She therefore ascended the long, steep
hill, up which scrambles the high road from Dart-meet.
Halfway up the ascent is an oblong mass of granite,
lying in the moor, which goes by the name of the Coffin
Stone, because on it coffins are rested by those who are
bearing a corpse to its lasting resting-place in the distant
churchyards of Buckland or Ashburton. Kate had reached
this stone, and was panting for breath, when she heard
shouts and cries in the valley she was leaving, and, leaping
upon the Coffin Stone, she saw a swarm of men on the
opposite bank of the Dart—the Brimpts side--running in
the direction of the bridge, headed by her uncle, who was
then levelling a gun he carried.
From her elevation she could not only see but hear
everything.
“An incendiary! He set fire to a stack. A pound to
any man who takes him, alive or dead !” shouted Pasco,
and to Kate every word was audible. Then she saw the
flash of the gun, and a little later heard the report. The
shot had missed, for her uncle urged on the men to run
and not let the scoundrel escape, and he himself lagged
behind to reload his barrel.
She looked for the fugitive, but was able to see him for
147


148
KITTY ALONE
one moment only, as he leaped a ruinous fence in his flight
down stream.
Why was he taking that direction ? Because the way
into the fastnesses of the moorland was closed to him by
his pursuers. He could not run up the hill that Kate
ascended, as he would be exposed throughout, without the
smallest cover, to the gun of Pepperill. Though a course
down the river led ultimately into inhabited land, yet be-
tween the moor and population lay the great woodland
belt of Buckland and Holme Chase, where the river wound
its way in sweeps among dense forest and rock, and where
Redmore knew he could hide with the greatest ease. But
before he could be in the woodland he had a long stretch
of moor to traverse, where there was no road, at best a
fisherman's track, among rocks scattered in confusion,
among heather and furze bushes, with here and there sloe
and thorn trees and an occasional “witch beam” or rowan
growing out of the rocks. Almost immediately after the
junction of the East with the West Dart, the united stream
doubles round Sharpitor, that shoots high above it on one
side, and under the ridges of Benjietor on the other side,
in whose lap grows a little copse, and which, from its crags
to the water's edge, is green with bracken in summer,
but at this period was russet with withered leaves.
Thence smoke rose—some boys had ignited the gorse,
and the flames ran among the withered ferns and the fallen
oak-leaves, and blackened and burnt the copse.
Kate hastened on her way. She knew that on reaching
the head of the ridge a short distance intervened between
the road and the precipices of Sharpitor that overhung the
ravine. Thence she could see all that followed—if Roger
Redmore succeeded in turning the moorland spur round
which the river foamed.
Hot, trembling, and breathless, Kate ran, then halted to
gasp, then ran on, and did not rest for more than a minute
till she had reached the vantage-point on the rocks, and
looked down into a wondrous ravine of river, granite
boulder, and glaring golden furze, and with the blue smoke
of the smouldering fern forming a haze that hung in its
depths, but which rose in places above the rocky crests on
the moor and showed brown against the luminous sky.


A RACE FOR LIFE
149
Kiate ensconced herself among the piles of granite, with
a “clatter," as it is locally termed, at her feet, a mass of
rocky ruin, composed of grạnite, in fragments of every size
and in various conditions of disintegration.
She saw Redmore as he doubled the foot of the moun-
tain, and for awhile had the advantage of being invisible
to his pursuers, and safe from the gun of Pepperill. He
stood on a great rock half-way out of the water, and looked
about him. He was resolving what to do, whether to con-
tinue his course down stream, or to endeavour to conceal
himself at once. The fire and smoke on the farther side
in the bosom of Benjietor made it impossible for him to
secrete himself there-every lurking-place was scorched or
menaced by the flames. The slope of Sharpitor on his left,
though strewn with the wreckage of the crags above, offered
no safe refuge; it was exposed to full light, without any
bushes in it other than the whortle and heather. Roger
did not take long to make up his mind; he pursued his
course down the river, now wading, then scrambling over
stones, then leaping from rock to rock, and then again
flying over a tract of smooth turf. Occasionally the wind,
playing with the smoke, carried a curl of it across the river,
and drew it out and shook it as a veil, obscuring Redmore
from the eyes of Kate, who watched him in panting unrest,
and with prayers for his safety welling up in her heart.
Then shouts—the men who hunted him had rounded the
flank of Shapitor, and had caught sight of the man they
were endeavouring to catch. One fellow, with very long
legs, familiar with the ground, accustomed all his life to
the moor, was making great way, and bade fair to catch
Roger.
Redmore looked behind him. He had cast away his
axe, and was therefore unarmed, but was lightened for the
race.
“A sovereign to the man who catches him!” yelled
Pepperill. “Knock him down, brain him!”
Then one man heaved a stone, picked out of the river,
and threw it. A vain attempt. He was not within reach
of Redmore; but in a pursuit, none can quite consider
what is possible, and measure distances with nicety, with-
out much greater coolness than is possessed by men run-


150
KITTY ALONE
ning and leaping over difficult ground. The long-legged
man kept forging ahead, with his elbows close to his sides;
he had distanced the rest. He was fleet of foot, he sprang
from stone to stone without pausing to consider, and
without ever missing his footing. Roger advanced slowly :
he was unaccustomed to such difficult ground; sometimes
he fell; he foundered into the river up to his armpits and
scrambled out with difficulty. His pursuer never got into
the water. The man had not merely long legs, he had a
long nose and protruding eyes and as he ran, with his
elbows back, he held his forefingers extended, the rest
folded. Every stride brought him nearer to Redmore, and
Roger, who had just scrambled upon a rock in the river,
saw that he must be overtaken, and he prepared for the
inevitable struggle.
Kate, leaning forward in her eagerness, at this moment
displaced a large block, that slid down, turned on its edge
and rolled, then leaped, then bounded high into the air,
crashed down on another rock, and from it leaped again in
its headlong course.
The girl held her breath. It seemed as though the
rock must strike the running pursuer, and if it struck him
it would inevitably be his death. The rattle of displaced
stones, the crash of the block as it struck, the cries of
those behind, who saw the danger, arrested the long-legged
man. He halted, and looked up and around, and at that
moment the stone whizzed past and plunged into the river.
Kate saw in a moment the advantage thus gained, and in
palpitating haste threw down every stone she could reach
or tilt over from its resting-place, where nicely balanced,
thus sending a succession of volleys of leaping, whistling
stones across the path, between the pursued and the pursuers.
She heard shouts and execrations from those who were
coming up, and who stood still, not daring to continue their
course, and run the risk of having their brains beaten out
by one of the falling stones. She regarded them not. Her
one idea was to save Roger. She could see that the man
for whom she acted had recognised her intervention, and
continued his flight. She could see that the pursuers were
stationary, uncertain what to do.
Then her uncle again raised his gun. Kate put her hands


A RACE FOR LIFE
151
to her mouth and called to Roger, who looked over his
shoulder, and dropped behind a stone just as the gun was
discharged.
Then he picked himself up once more and ran on. Kate
dared not desist. She continued to send block after block
rolling. Some were shattered in their descent, and resolved
themselves into a cloud of whizzing projectiles. Some in
striking the soil set a mass of rubble in motion that shut
down and threw up a cloud of dust.
She was hot, weary, her hands wounded. But the con-
sciousness of success strung her to renewed exertion.
Pasco Pepperill called the party in pursuit together. He
shouted up the height to the girl. Who it was there engaged
in dislodging stones he couldn't discern, for Kate kept her-
granite rocks thrown into heaps and dislocated, served to
disguise the presence of anyone among them. He threatened,
but threatened in vain ; Kate did not stay her hand to give
time to listen to what he cried.
After a brief consultation, as the avalanche did not de-
crease, the party resolved to cross the river and continue
the pursuit down it on the farther side, through the smoke
and over the ashes of the conflagration. By this means
Roger Redmore could be kept in sight, and possibly it
would be more easy to run over the charred soil among
bushes reduced to ash. Moreover, few, if any, of the stones
dislodged by Kate had sufficient weight and velocity to carry
them to the farther side of the river.
Accordingly, the party began to step on the rocks that
projected from the water, or to wade, so as to reach the
farther side, Pepperill lingering behind reloading his gun,
and keeping his eye on the ſugitive. Then a sudden idea
struck him, and, calling to the men to proceed as they had
proposed, he started to climb the steep side of Sharpitor, at
a point where not menaced by the falling stones, judging
that by this means he would dislodge the person who had
come to the assistance of the fugitive, and at the same time
be able to follow the flight of the latter with his eye better
than below, and to obtain a more leisurely shot at him when
a suitable occasion offered, as his poising himself on a rock,
or halting to resolve on his course.


152
KITTY ALONE
Kate desisted from sending down volleys of stones, till
the occasion should arise again. She watched the flight of
Roger, and perceived that he was aiming at a coppice which
was in a fold of the hills undiscernible by those on the
farther side of the river; by means of this coppice, if he
could reach it, Roger would be able to effect his escape.
In three minutes he was safe; then Kate drew a long
breath. At the same moment she was touched on the
shoulder, and, looking round, saw her father.
“What's all this about? What's this shouting and firing
of guns?”
“Oh, father, I hope I have not done wrong! Uncle and
all the men are after Roger Redmore.”
“Who is he?”.
“ The man who burnt Mr. Pooke's ricks, and he has been
working for you here—and uncle recognised him, and sent
the men to take him, and he ran away, and I have helped
him.”
" You?”
“Yes; by rolling down rocks.”
Jason burst into a fit of laughter. “Come, that is fine.
You and I, Kitty, aiders and abettors of an incendiary. Is
he clear off now?"
“Yes; but here comes uncle up the steep side.”
Jason hobbled to the edge of the rock, and, leaning over
called, “Halloo, Pasco! Here we are waiting for you-
Kitty Alone and I.”


CHAPTER XXIII
BORROWING
“IT is you-you two !” exclaimed Pepperill, as he reached
the summit. He gasped the words; he could not
shout, so short of breath was he. His face with heat was
purple as a blackberry. “What's the meaning of this ?”
He held to a projection of granite, and panted. “Inter-
fering with law-protecting a scoundrel.” He paused to
wipe his face. “A malefactor-a criminal-guilty.”—again
gasped like a fish out of water—"guilty of incendiarism, of
arson, of felony !”
“Why, Pasco, you're hot. Keep cool, old boy,” said
Jason, laughing. “Who has created you constable, or
sheriff of the county, that you are so anxious to apprehend
rogues ? "
“Rogues ? rogues ? Only rogues assist rogues in escaping
the reward of their deeds.”
“Is there a warrant out for his apprehension ?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what on earth makes you put yourself in a heat
and commotion to catch him?”.
Pasco mopped his brow, and, tearing up some ferns, dry
though they were, proceeded to fan his face.
“Why? Do you ask? For the public security, of course.
And now ”—again he puffed—“now I can't talk; my wind
is gone."
Pepperill looked into the ravine. He could see that the
men on the farther side of the stream were at a nonplus.
The fugitive had escaped them, had dived out of their sight
into the coppice-wood, and they knew that pursuit was in
vain. He turned sharply on his brother-in-law.
“ This is your doing-you and Kate. First you give him
153


154
KITTY ALONE
work, and then you let him escape. He who helps a felon
is a felon himself.”
“My dear Pasco,” said Jason Quarm, laughing, “what
makes you so fiery in this matter?'
“Fiery? of course I'm fiery. And look there, Jason !
There are the workmen, a dozen oi them, doing nothing,
and we shall have to pay their wages for a half day, and
nothing to show for it.”
“Whose fault is that? You sent them from their tasks.”
“Yes, to catch a villain.”
" Which was no concern of yours.”
“It is a concern of mine, and of every honest man. How
can one be safe with such a malefactor at large ? I have
my house, my stores ; I shall not be able to sleep at night
with ease, knowing that this fellow is at large. If anything
happens, I shall come on you."
“You'll get nothing from me.”
“ That is the worst; I know it. Why did you help the
man to escape ? No one is safe--no one. And I, least of
all; for now he regards me as his enemy. He has sworn
vengeance; he may come on me and cut my throat.”
“Not much throat to be cut, Pasco.”
" There is my money-box”—
“ Box, not money."
“He may set fire to my house-my barns-burn me and
my wife-your sister-Kitty-your daughter. Don't you
care for that?"
“I am not afraid. If you went after him, and have
angered him, well, we helped him, as you suppose, and have
won his good-will."
“As I know. Have I not found you here? Who else
could have rolled down the rocks? Show me your hands.
There, I said so !-there is blood on Kate's hands; they
are cut and bruised. She has been doing what she could ;
and you, her father, who ought to have known better, have
encouraged her. Rascals ! rogues !-rogues all !”
“And oh, how honest am I!-eh, Pasco ?”
“Of course I'm an honest man. I don't encourage
burglars, and murderers, and incendiaries.”
“I did not know that Redmore was a murderer or a
burglar.”


BORROWING
155
“Who can say but, having been an incendiary, he may
go on to murder and plunder ; these things run together.
One who can commit arson is capable of doing the other
crimes as well. I shall have to drive back to Ashburton
alone.”
“Kitty returns with you."
“What help is there in Kitty? That fellow Roger, full
of rage and desire of revenge, is about the woods, and may
shoot me.”
“He has not a gun.”
“He may spring upon me with his axe."
“He has thrown it away,” said Kate.
“You mind your own concerns,” exclaimed the angry
man, turning on his niece. “There are plenty of ways in
which he may fall on me and murder me, and then he will
pick my pockets and make off in my clothes, and Kitty
will help him.”
“You are talking nonsense, Pasco. Are you such a
weakling that you cannot defend yourself? But, pshaw !
the man will not injure you."
“He will steal by night to Coombe. His wife is there ;
his children are there. He knows where I am. He has
sworn revenge against me.”
“When? When he escaped ?"
“No; before I set the men after him."
“Before he knew you would hunt him? A probable
story!"
“Probable or improbable, it is true. I threatened him,
and I would have arrested him, but could not. Kate knows
I had him by the throat; but he was armed with his axe,
and I could not retain him. Then he swore he would do
me an evil turn, and he will keep his word.”
“He cannot harm you ; he is afraid for himself.”
“He can harm me. He can do to my house, my stores,
what he did to Pooke's rick.”
“Well, that would not hurt you greatly ; you are insured
over value.”
“Not over value, with the wool in."
“You were a fool about that wool, Pasco. Why did you
not consult me before dealing with Coaker? I knew of
the fall.”


156
KITTY ALONE
“Oh, you know everything. You knew that the Brimpts
oak bark was worth three times more than it is; and now
you are felling, without considering that the bark at present
is practically worthless.”
“ The sap doesn't run.”
“If the sap ran like the Dart, it would not make the bark
sell for tan. You either knew nothing about the conditions,
or you wilfully deceived me; and I dare be sworn it was
the latter. I can believe even that of you now, a favourer
of incendiaries.”
“Come, do not be extravagant. What other criminals
have I ever favoured ?”
“I am too hot and too angry to argue,” retorted Pasco.
“ But I want to know something for certain about this
Brimpts wood. It is well enough to cut it down, but what
I want to know is, how will you transport the oak so as to
make it pay ?”
“Sell on the spot."
“ To whom?”
“To timber merchants.”
“They will reckon the cost of carriage.”
“We shan't have to pay for it.”
“We shall sell at a good price.”
“We shall sell! Such oak as Brimpts oak is not to be
had every day.”
“Have you offered it to anyone--advertised it ?”
“No, I have not. Time for that when it is all felled.”
“You will make as much a misreckoning in this as you
have along of the bark.”
“Trust me. The oak will sell high.”
“You said the same of the bark. All your ducks are
swans. I must have money.”
“So must I,” said Quarm. “I want it as the March
fields want April showers."
“I am in immediate need,” urged Pepperill.
“In a fortnight I shall require money to pay the men
their wages,” observed Quarm.
“I have nothing. You were right; I have a cash-box,
but no cash in it. I have paid away all I had.”.
“Dispose of something,” said Quarm cheerily.
“ Dispose of what? Coals? No one wants coals now.”


158
KITTY ALONE
bank's demand; it will be satisfied, and more than satisfied,
that the money is safe. Bless you ! in these times a man
is happy to see his money within twelve months of him,
and know he must have it."
"I don't mind; but I'll go to Devonport at once,” said
Pepperill.
Whilst the conversation thus detailed was taking place,
the three had crossed a strip of moor that intervened
between Sharpitor and the high road, walking slowly, for
Pasco was fagged with his scramble, and Jason was
crippled.
“I don't mind,” said Pasco again. “But I shall want a
few pounds to take me there, and my pockets are empty."
"I can't help you. Mine wouldn't yield if wrung out."
“Here comes the parson,” said Pepperill—“our parson,
jogging along as if nothing were the matter and went
contrary in the world. I'll borrow of him.”
“Oh, uncle," protested Kate, flushing crimson, “pray
do not, if you have no chance of paying.”
“You impudent hussy, mind your own concerns,"
answered Pasco angrily. “I, with no chance of paying !
I'm a man of means. I'll let you see what that signifies.
How d'y' do, parson ?”
“What ! my churchwarden ?” exclaimed Mr. Fielding,
drawing rein. “What brings you to the moors ?”.
“Business, sir, a trifle with regard to oak timber. I've
bought the Brimpts wood-cost me a few hundred, and
will bring me a thousand."
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Pepperill;—and then we shall have
a double subscription to our school.”
“I daresay, Mr. Fielding; I'm a free man with my
money, as you and others have found. And, by the way,
talking of that, could you kindly accommodate me with a
little loan of a few pounds. I started from home without
a thought but of returning to-day, and I learn that the
Government has an eye on these oaks—first-rate timber-
and I must to Devonport to strike a bargain. I won't
come to their terms, they must come to mine. Such
timber as this is worth its weight in gold.”
“How much do you want, Mr. Pepperill ?”.
“How much can you spare, Mr. Fielding?"


BORROWING
159
“Well, let me see." The rector of Coombe opened his
purse. “I have about six guineas here. I shall want to
retain one for current expenses. When can you let me
have the loan returned.”
“Any day. I'll drop you a line to my wife-or-on my
return. I'm only going to Devonport to get the best price
for the timber, and then I shall be back. If you can spare
me five guineas-or five sovereigns—I shall be obliged.
You know me—a man of substance, a man of means, a
warm man. We represent the Church, do we not, Mr.
Fielding ? and hang Dissenters all, say I.”.
“I can let you have five pounds," said the rector; “I
see I am short of silver.”
“That will suffice," answered Pasco, with dignity. “I
will let you have it back directly I have settled with
Government about the oaks.”
Mr. Fielding gave Pepperill the gold, then excused
himself, as he desired to reach home before dark, and rode
on his way.
" I had no idea that to borrow was so easy,” said Pasco.
“Of course, all depends on the man who asks. Everyone
knows me—sound as the Bank of England.”
“And same thing,” said Quarm ; "all depends on the
man solicited.”
Then Pepperill, with his hands in his pockets and head
in the air, his spirits revived as though he had borrowed
five hundred pounds in place of five pounds, walked towards
Dart-meet Bridge humıning the old harvest song,-
“ We've cheated the parson ; we'll cheat him again;
For why should the vicar have one in ten?
One in ten?
We'll drink off our liquor while we can stand,
And hey for the honour of Old England !
Old England !"


SHAVINGS
161
and disendowment just now. There is some benefit in an
Established Church when it will accommodate one at a
pinch with five pounds, and don't press to have it returned
till convenient.”
Pasco betook himself now to private firms of shipbuilders,
but was unable to dispose of his timber. The mowing
down of Okehampton Park had flooded the market with
Sirst-quality oak. One firm was inclined to deal with him,
if he would draw the timber into Plymouth. Sanguine at
this undertaking, he returned to Dart-meet to drive a bargain
with some of the farmers on the moor for conveying the
oak logs to the seaport town. He found that their charges
were likely to be high. The way was long, the road hilly,
in places bad. It would take them two days at least to
convey each load, with a pair of horses, or a team of three,
to Plymouth; and what was one load ?--what, but a single
log. Then there was the return journey, that might be done
in a long day; but after three such days, the horses would
not be fit for work on the fourth. A pair of horses was ten
shillings; and for three days—that was five-and-twenty; but
in reality three horses would be needed, and that would be
thrice fifteen--two pounds five for each stick of timber
before it was sold. As for the spray,—all the upper portion
of the trees,—that would have to be disposed of on the
spot; and Pepperill foresaw, with something like dismay,
that he would get no price for it. The expense of carriage
would deter all save Moor farmers from purchasing, and
they were so few in number, that the supply would exceed
the demand, especially as they could have as much turf as
they wanted for the cutting; and practically not sufficient
would be got from the sale of the faggot wood to pay for
the felling of the timber.
It is one of the peculiar features of England that our
roads are absolutely without any of the facilities which
modern engineering would yield to travellers on wheels.
Our ancient highways were those struck out by packmen,
and when wheeled conveyances came into use, the carriages
had to scramble over roads only suitable for pack-horses.
In France and Germany it is otherwise, there modern road-
engineering has made locomotion easy. The main arteries
of traffic ascend and descend by gentle gradients, an!
II


162
KITTY ALONE
make sweeps where a direct course would be arduous and
exhaustive of time.
Now the road from Dart-meet, a main thoroughfare over
the Moor, might be carried along the river-bank, with a
gentle fall of a hundred feet in the mile, for six miles. But
instead of that, it scrambles for a mile up a hogsback of
moor, nearly five hundred feet in sheer ascent, then comes
down to the Dart again; then scrambles another ridge,
and then again descends to the same river. Nothing could
be easier than to have a trotting road the whole way; but
in mediæval times packmen went up and down hill; conse-
quently we in our brakes, and landaus, and dog-carts must
do the same; not only so, but the transport of granite,
peat, wool, and the oaks from the felled forest was rendered
a matter of heavy labour and great cost. Pepperill saw that
it was quite hopeless to expect to effect any dealings on the
Ashburton side, on account of the tremendous hills that
intervened.
With rage and mortification at his heart, he sought for
his brother-in-law, and could not find him. He was told
that Quarm had gone to Widdecomb. Some repairs were
to be done in the church, the parsonage was to be rebuilt,
and he was going to ascertain whether oak timber would be
required there, and how much, and whether he could
dispose of some of the wood of Brimpts for this object.
He could not wait for Quarm. He wanted to be hone.
He was to convey Kate to Coombe Cellars—it had been
so arranged. His wife was impatient for her return, had
begun to discover what a useful person in the house Kate
was. Moreover, the Moor air had done what was required
of it, had restored health to the girl's cheeks.
In rough and testy tone, Pepperill told his niece to put
together her traps and to jump up beside him.
“You've had play enough at our expense,” he growled.
“Your aunt has had to hire a girl, and she's done nothing
but break, break — and she's given Zerah cheek-awful.
Time you was back. We can't be ruined just because your
father wants you to be a lady, and idle. We're not
millionaires, that we can afford to put our hands in our
pockets and spend the day loafing. If your father thinks
of bringing you up to that, it's a pity he hasn't made


SHAVINGS
163
better ventures with his money.". After a pause, with a
burst of rancour, “His money! His money, indeed! it
is mine he plays games with, it is my hard-earned coin he
plays ducks and drakes with—chucks it away as though I
hadn't slaved to earn every groat.”
As he talked, he worked himself up into great wrath ;
and like a coward poured forth his spite upon the harmless
child at his side, because harmless, unable to retaliate.
He was accustomed to hear his wife find fault with Kate,
and now he followed suit. We all, unless naturally
generous, cast blame on those who are beneath us; on
our children, our servants, the poor and weak, when we
are conscious of wrong within ourselves, but are too proud
for self-accusation. It has been so since Adam blamed
Eve for his fall, and Eve threw the blame on the serpent.
“I don't hold with holiday-making," said Pasco. “ It is
all very well for wealthy people, but not for those who are
workers for their daily bread. I might ha' been, and I
would ha' been, an independent man, and a gentleman
living on my own means, but for your father. He's been
the mischief - maker. He has led me on to speculate in
ventures that were rotten from root to branch, and all my
poor savings, and all that your aunt Zerah has earned by
years of toil—it is all going—it is all gone. There are
those workmen cutting down the oak, they are eating my
silver, gorging themselves on my store, and reducing me
and Zerah to beggary. To the workhouse-that's our
goal. To the workhouse — that is where your father is
driving us. What are you staring about you for like an
owl in daylight?”
“Oh, uncle," answered Kate in a voice choked with
tears, “I have been so happy on the Moor, and it is all
so beautiful, so beautiful-a heaven on earth; and I was
only looking my last—and saying good-bye to it all.”
“Not listening to what I said ?”
“Indeed I was, and I was unhappy—and what you said
made me feel I should never come back here, and I must
work hard now for Aunt Zerah. There was no harm in
my looking my last at what I have loved and shall not see
again! It is so beautiful.”
“Beautiful ? Gah!” retorted Pasco. “A beastly place.


164
KITTY ALONE
What is beautiful here? The rocks? The peat? The
heather? Gah! It is all foul stuff—I hate it. What are
you hugging there as if it were a purse of gold ?”
“Oh, uncle, it is something I love so! The school-
master sent it me by Mr. Fielding. It's only a book.”
“A book ? of what sort? Let me see."
Kate reluctantly produced the cherished volume.
“Pshaw !” said Pasco, rejecting it with disgust. “Poetry
--rotten rubbish--I hate it. It's no good to anyone, it
stuffs heads with foolery. I wish I was king, and I'd
make it a hanging matter to write a line of poetry and
publish it. It's just so much poison. No wonder you
don't like work, when you read that vile, unwholesome
trash.”
Kate hastily folded up the volume and replaced it in
her bosom.
“No wonder you and your father encourage vagabonds
and incendiaries if you read poetry.”
“Father did not help Roger Redmore to escape,” said
Kate. “It was I who rolled down the stones. Father
came up when he had already got away to a hiding-place.
I, and I alone, did it."
“More shame to you! You're a bad girl, a vicious girl,
and will come to no good.”
He continued grumbling and snarling and harping on
his grievances, and, for some while, jerking out spiteful
remarks. Presently he relapsed into silence, and let the
tired cob jog along till he reached a point where, near
Holne, roads branched: one went down the hill to Ash-
burton without passing through the village, the other went
round by the church and village inn. Here Pasco drew
up, uncertain which road to take. There was not much
difference in the distance. The direct way was the shorter,
but by not more than half a mile, whereas the other afforded
opportunity for refreshment. ,
At this point was a carpenter's shop. The workman
was not there, but he had left his shop open, and outside
was a great pile of shavings.
As Pasco sat ruminating, doubtful which way to take,
his eye rested for some while on the shavings. Presently,
without a word, he got out of the conveyance, let down


SHAVINGS
165
the back of the cart, collected as many shavings as he
could carry, and thrust them in, under the seat. He went
back to the pile, took as many more as he thought would
suffice, and crammed the body of the cart with them.
Then, still without speaking, he shut the back, remounted,
and drove down the shortest way—the steep hill, the direct
road to Ashburton that avoided the village.
“Uncle !” said Kate, after a while.
Pepperill started, as though he had been stung. “Bless
me !” he exclaimed ; "I had forgotten you were here."
“Uncle,” pursued the girl, "you know my dear mother
left a little money, a few hundred pounds, for me. And
my father is trustee, and he has charge of it, and has
invested it somewhere for me. If you are in difficulties,
and really want money, I am sure you are heartily welcome
to mine. I will ask my father to let you have the use of
it. I cannot do other—you and Aunt Zerah have been
very kind to me.”
“Yes, that we have, and been to tremendous expense
over your keep; and there was your education with Mr.
Puddicombe, and the doctor's bill coming in, and the
medicines; and there has been your clothing—and you
have always eaten-awful. That costs money, and ruins
one. Yes, you are right, you couldn't do other. I had
not thought of that. But I don't know what your father
will say."
“In a very few years I shall be old enough to have it
as my own to do with as I like. I do not think that my
father will object to its being employed as I wish. And I
know it will be quite safe with you."
“Oh, perfectly safe, safe as in the Bank of England.
I'm one of your sound men. Sound, and straight, and
square, all round-everything you can desire, you know.
Everyone trusts me. A man of substance, a man of
means—and with a head for business."
“I will ask father when I see him.”
“That is right. It will be a little relief. You are a
good girl, I always said you were, and had your heart in
the right place. You will write to your father to-morrow.”
Pasco Pepperill was comparatively genial, even boastful,
on the rest of the way. When he arrived at Coombe


166
KITTY ALONE
Cellars, his wife heard the wheels and came to the door.
She received Kate without cordiality, and took her hus-
band's little bag of clothes he had taken with him. Kate
carried hers in her hand.
“Anything in the cart? Shall I open ?” asked Zerah.
“Nothing-absolutely nothing. Leave the cart alone,”
answered Pasco hastily. “Nothing at all."
Pepperill drew his horse away, unharnessed it, and ran
the dog-cart into the coach-house. Then he stood for a
moment musing, and looking at it. Presently he turned
his back, locked the door, and left his conveyance undis-
charged of its load of shavings.
“I may chuck 'em away, any time,” said he, “or give
'em to Zerah to kindle her kitchen fire with, or”- He
did not finish the sentence, even in thought.


CHAPTER XXV
BORROWING AGAIN
W H EN Pepperill, tired with his long day's journey,
V and harassed in mind, went to his bedroom,
Zerah at once fell upon him.
“How have you fared, I'd like to know? But lawk!
what's the good of my axing, when I'm pretty confident
your journey has been all down hill, with an upset of the
cart presently."
“And if it be so, who is to blame but your brother ?”
retorted Pepperill angrily.
“My brother may have made his mistakes sometimes,
but not always-you never by any chance fail to do the
wrong thing."
“He has dragged me into this confounded affair of the
Brimpts timber; and now I cannot sell the bark or the
oaks."
“He had nothing to say to the wool. What made you
buy at a wrong price?"
“The market is always changing."
“Yes—against your interests. We shall end in the
workhouse."
“Things will come right.”
“They cannot. Look here! Here is a lawyer's letter
about the coals. You must pay by the first of the next
month, or they will put in the bailiffs.”
“It will come right. I have had an offer.”
“For the oak?”
“No, of a loan. Kate, like a good and reasonable and
affectionate girl, is going to get Jason to withdraw her
money and lend it to me."
Zerah flushed crimson. “So !” she exclaimed, planting
167


168
KITTY ALONE
herself in front of her husband, and lodging her hands on
her hips; "you want to swindle the orphan out of her little
fortune. You know as well as I do, if that money gets
into your hands, it will run between your fingers as has
all other money that ever got there. Folks say that there
is a stone as turns all base metal to gold. I say that your
palm has the faculty of converting gold into quicksilver,
that escapes and cannot be recovered.”
" This is only a temporary embarrassment.”
“It shall not be done,” said Zerah. “I don't myself
believe Jason will hear of it, and if he does, and prepares
to carry it out, I'll knock his head off-that's my last word.
The parson said I didn't love Kate, that I was starving her;
but I'll stand up for her against you—and her own father
if need be.”
“The coal merchant must wait,” said Pasco, shrugging
his shoulders.
“He will not wait. You have passed over unnoticed
his former demands, and now, unless in a fortnight the
money is paid, he will make the house too hot to hold us."
“We can sell something."
“What? You have parted with your farm, the orchard,
the meadow—with everything but the house, to follow your
foolish passion to be a merchant.”
"He must wait. I have to wait till folk pay me my
little bills. Money doesn't come in rushes, but in leaks."
“He will not wait. Where is the ready money to come
from ?”
Pasco scratched his head.
“If everything else fails,” said she further, “then I pro-
pose you go to old Farmer Pooke and get a loan of him.”
“Pooke? he won't lend money."
"I am not so sure of that. Jan has called several times
since Kitty has been away, and yesterday he told me, in
his shy, awkward fashion, that he had spoken with his
father about her. The old man made some to-do-he had
fancied Rose Ash as a match for his son, as she is likely to
have a good round sum of money; but when Jan insisted,
he gave way. You see everyone in the place knows that
Kate has something left by her mother, but they don't
know how much, and, instead of three hundred pounds or


BORROWING AGAIN
169
so, they have got the notion into their heads that it is a
thousand pounds. Now, as the father is ready to let his
son marry Kate, I think it like enough he would help you,
so as to prevent the scandal of bailiffs in Coombe Cellars."
“He may make that the excuse for breaking off the
match."
" Jan is obstinate. When that lad sets his head on a
thing, there is no turning him, and that his father knows
well. He'd ha' turned his son away from Kitty and on to
Rose if he could, but he can't do it; and what he is aware
of is, that the least show of opposition will make Jan ten
times more set on it than before.”
“Then you go to Farmer Pooke and borrow."
"I! I made to go round as a beggar-woman! You
have brought trouble on the house. You must ask for the
loan.”
Next day, Pasco Pepperill started for Pooke's house.
The lion is said to lash itself with its tail till it lashes itself
into fury. Pasco blustered and bragged with everyone he
encountered, till he had worked himself up into self-con-
fidence and assurance enough for his purpose, and then,
with bold face and swaggering gait, entered the farm
house.
Pooke senior was a stout man, as became a yeoman of
substance; he had a red, puffed face, with stony dark eyes;
his hands were enormous, and their backs were covered
with hair.
Pooke and Pepperill had not been on the best of terms.
Pooke for some time had been churchwarden, but in a fit
of pique had thrown up the office, when Pepperill had been
elected in his room. But Pooke had not intended his
resignation to be accepted seriously. He had withdrawn
to let the parish feel that it had absolutely no one else fit
to take his place, and he had anticipated that he would
have been entreated to reconsider his resignation. When,
however, Pepperill stepped into his vacant office, and every-
thing went on as usual, Pooke was very irate, and spoke of
the supplanter with bitterness and contempt.
“How do y' do?” said Pooke, and extended his hand
with gracious condescension, such as he only used to the
rector and to those whom he considered sufficiently well-off


170
KITTY ALONE
to deserve his salutation. “What have you come here
about?—that matter of Jan?”
“Well, now," answered Pepperill, with a side look at a
servant, “between ourselves, you know, we are men who
conduct business in a different way from the general
run."
“Get along with you, Anne,” said Pooke to the maid.
“Now we are by ourselves, what is it? That boy Jan is
headstrong. It runs in the blood. I married, clean con-
trary to my father's wishes, just because I knew he didn't
like the girl. I don't think that it was anything else made
me do it. But your niece, Kitty, has money."
“Money? oh, of course! We are a moneyed family."
“That is well. Mine is a moneyed family. One cannot
be comfortable oneself without money, nor have anything
to do comfortably with other people unless they're moneyed.
I have often thought there is a great gulf fixed between the -
comfortably off and those who are in poor circumstances,
and those who are in comfort can't pass to the other side
-not right they should ; let them make their associates
among the comfortably off. That's my doctrine.”
“And mine also,” said Pasco. “I like to hear you talk
* like this—it's wholesome.”
“Well, and what do you want with me?”.
Pepperill crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and crossed
them again.
“I've been doing a lot o’ business lately,' said he.
“So I hear. But do you want to do business with me?
I bought your orchard and meadow. There I think you
did wrong. Hold on to land; never let that go—that's my
doctrine. You got rid of it, and where are you now? In
Coombe Cellars, without much as five acres around it of
your own."
“I never was calculatea to be a farmer,” said Pasco.
“My head was always set on a commercial life, and I
can't say I regret it. A lot of money has passed through
my hands.”
"I don't care so much for the passing as the sticking of
money,” retorted Pooke.
“Well, in my line, money comes in with a tide and goes
out with a tide. When it is out, it is very much out indeed;


BORROWING AGAIN.
171
but I have only to wait awhile, and, sure as anything in
nature, in comes the tide once more.”
Pooke's stony eye was fixed on Pepperill.
“Which is it now--high tide or low water ?”
“There it is—low.”
“Oh!”
Pooke thrust his chair back, and looked at the space
between him and Pepperill, as though it were the great gulf
fixed, across which no communication was possible.
“Merely temporary,” said Pasco, with affected indiffer-
ence. “Nevertheless, unpleasant rather; not that I am
inconvenienced and straitened myself, but that I am unable
to extend my money ventures. You see, I have been buy-
ing a great oak wood on Dartmoor-splendid oak, hard as
iron ; will make men-of-war, with which we shall bamboozle
the French and Spaniards. Then I've bought in a quantity
of wool.”
“What, now? It is worth nothing.”
"Exactly-because there is a panic. In my business
this is a time for buying. There will be a rebound, and I
shall sell. It is the same with coals. I lay in now when
cheap, and sell when dear-in winter.”
“What do you want with me?” asked Pooke suspiciously.
“The thing is this. I find I have to pay for the timber
before I can sell a stick to Government, and I haven't the
cash at this instant. I've had to pay for the wool,-I
bought in two years' fleeces,—and for the coals, and if I
could lay my hand on four hundred pounds”—
“Four hundred pound ain't things easy laid hands on.”
“I want the money for three months at the outside. I'll
give you my note of hand, and what interest you demand.”
“Likely to make a good thing out of Government? I've
always heard as dealing with Government is like dealing
with fools-all gain your side, all loss theirs."
“Well! 'Tis something like that,” said Pepperill, with
a knowing wink. “But don't trouble yourself; if you can't
conveniently raise four or five hundred, I can easily go
elsewhere. I came to you, because my wife said there was
likely to be a marriage between the families, and so I
· thought you might help me to make this hit.”
“Now, look here,” said Pookę. “I've often had a notion


172
KITTY ALONE
I should like to deal with Government. I've a lot of hay
and straw.”
"I'm your man. Trust me. If I get to deal with
Government about the timber, they'll have confidence in
me, for the oak is about first-rate, and no mistake. They'll
become confiding, and I'll speak a word for you. But if
you haven't any loose cash, such as four or five hundred
pounds”- Pepperill stood up, and took his hat.
“Don't go in a hurry," said Pooke. “That's been my
ambition, to deal with Government. Then if one has
mouldy hay, one can get rid of it at a good figure, and
Government is so innocent, it will buy barley straw for
wheaten."
“If you are so hard up that you have no money”-
“I-I hard up? Sit down again, Pasco.”
Pooke considered for a moment, and then said, “Now, I
know well enough that in business matters sometimes one
wants a loan. It is always so. If you'll just give me a leg
up with Government, I don't mind accommodating you.
But-I must have security.”
"On my stores ?”
“No; they might sell out. On your house."
“Won't my note of hand do ?”
“No, it won't,” answered Pooke. “See here : my Jan
has gone down your way to make it up with Kitty. When
they have settled, you get me your deeds, and then I don't
mind advancing the sum you want on that security—that
is, if Kitty accepts Jan.”
“She will do so, of course,” said Pepperill.
"Well, of course," said Pooke.


CHAPTER XXVI
SILVER PENINKS
1 S soon in the morning as Kate could disengage her-
A self from the tasks which her aunt at once imposed on
her, she ran to the cottage occupied by the wife and children
of Roger Redinore. It was of cob, or clay and straw beaten
and trampled together, then shaved down, and the whole
thatched.
Such cottages last for centuries, and are warm and dry.
So long as the thatch is preserved over the walls, there is
simply no saying how long they may endure, but if the rain
be suffered to fall on the top of the walls, the clay crumbles
rapidly away. The cob is usually whitewashed, and the
white faces of these dwellings of the poor under the brown
velvet-pile thatched roofs, with the blinking windows beneath
the straw thatching just raised, like the brow of a sleepy
eye, have an infinitely more pleasing, cosy appearance than
the modern cottages of brick or stone, roofed with cold blue
slate.
The cottage of the Redmores was built against a red
hedge, rank with hawthorn and primroses. But in verity it
was no longer the cottage of the Redmores, for the family
had been given notice to quit, and although after Lady-
Day Farmer Pooke had suffered the woman to inhabit it
for a few weeks, yet now the term of his concession was
exceeded. He had a new workman coming in, and the
unhappy woman was forced to leave.
When Kate arrived at the dwelling, she found that some
sympathetic neighbours were there, who were assisting Jane
Redmore to remove her sticks of furniture from the interior.
The labourer who was incomer was kindly, and also lent a
hand. Her goods had been brought out into the lane, and
173


174
KITTY ALONE
were piled up together against the bank, and on them she
sat crying, with her children frightened and sobbing around
her. Neighbours had been good to her, and now en-
deavoured to appease the tears and distress of the children
with offers of bread and treacle, and bits of saffron cake, and
endearments. The woman herself was helpless ; she did
not know whither she should betake herself for the night,
where she should bestow her goods.
The incomer urged Mrs. Redmore to tell him what were
her intentions. He must bring in his own family that after-
noon, and would help her, as much as he was able, to settle
herself somewhere. It was not possible for her to remain in
the road. The parish officers would interfere, and carry her
off to the poorhouse; but it was uncertain whether she could
be accommodated there, interposed a neighbour, as the house
was full of real widows.
Mrs. Redmore was a feeble, incapable creature, delicate,
without the mental or moral power of rising to an emergency
and forming a resolution. She sat weeping and crying out
that she was without Roger, and he always managed for
her.
“But you see, Jane,” argued a neighbour, "as how Roger
can't be here for very good reasons, which us needn't
mention, and so someone must do something, and who else
is there but you ?”
“I wish I was dead,” wailed the poor creature.
"Well, now, Jane,” said the neighbour, “don't ye be so
silly. If you was dead, what 'd become o' the childer ?"
At this juncture Kate arrived, breathless with running.
“ It is well.” She stood panting, with her eyes bright with
pleasure at the consciousness that she brought relief. “I
asked my father, and he says Mrs. Redmore and the little ones
may go into his cottage at Roundle Post, and stay there till
something is settled."
“That's brave !” exclaimed the women who were standing
round. “Now, let me take the little ones, Jane, and you
lead the way, and Matthew Woodman, he'll help to carry
some of your things.”
“I have the key,” said Kate; “and the distance is no.
thing."
“ Lawk a mussy !” exclaimed one of the women; "what


SILVER PENINKS
175
would us ever a' done wi’out you, Kitty. The poor creetur
is that flummaged and mazed, her don't seem right in her
head, and us couldn't do nothing with she.”
Mrs. Redmore caught Kate's hand, and kissed it.
“We'd all a' died here, but for you,” she said.
“Indeed," answered Kate, hastily snatching her hand
away, “it is my father who has come to your assistance,
not I. He lends you the house."
“But you axed him for it. Oh, if Roger could do any-
thing for you!"
“I assure you my father is the one to be thanked, if any-
one is.”
“Well, if Roger could do aught for he, it would be the
same as to you.”
“Come, let us be on the move."
A little procession formed-women carrying the children,
or crocks, a couple of men with wheelbarrows, removing
some of the heavier goods. Then up came Jan Pooke,
and at once offered his assistance, and worked as hard as
any.
As soon as the poor woman was settled into her new
quarters, Jan sidled up to Kate, and, seizing her hand and
breathing heavily, said, “ Kitty, I want to say something to
you."
The girl looked at him inquiringly, waiting for what he
had to say.
“I mean, Kitty, alone."
“I am Kitty Alone,” observed she, with a smile.
“I don't mean that. I have something I want to say to
you."
“What is it?” said she. “You look very odd.”
“ It's—it's—the silver peninks.”
“What of them ?"
It must be premised that the “silver peninks” are the
narcissus poeticus.
“ They are in an orchard.”
“I know it,” said Kate. “Lovely they are--and yet,
somehow, I like the daffodils as well.”
“Now, it's a curious thing,” said Jan, “that the same
roots bring up first daffies, and then silver peninks.”
“That is not possible," objected Katę.


176
KITTY ALONE
“But it is so. Come into the orchard, Kitty, and see for
yourself.”
“I know, without seeing, that it cannot be.”
“If you will come and look, Kitty, you will see that just
where the daffies were, there the peninks are now. When
the daffies die down, the peninks bloom.”
“Exactly, Jan, because their time for blooming is a month
later than the daffodils."
“But they come out of the same roots."
“That cannot be, by any means.'
Pooke rubbed his head, and said humbly, “I know,
Kitty, I'm a duffer, and that you're clever, but I've seen 'em
with my own eyes."
“Have you ever dug up the bulbs ? "
“No, I can't say I have done that.”
“Till you have, you cannot say that the golden flower
and the silver flower spring from one root.”
“It isn't only the peninks, Kitty- can't you under-
stand?"
“I do not. You are very wonderful to-day.”
“I want to talk to you in the orchard.”
“You can say what it is, here."
“No, I cannot. I want to show you the silver peninks,
and I want to say”—he let go her hand, with which he had
been sawing.
Kate looked round. It would be considerate to leave
the poor woman alone with her children to get settled into
her new quarters, and she desired to escape another out-
burst of gratitude.
“Well, Jan, I will go and look at the flowers, and I hope
to show you your mistake—the withered heads of daffodill
apart from the bursting bud of the penink.”
The two young people walked together down the lane to
the gate into the orchard. Jan threw this open, and Kate,
without hesitation, stepped in.
“Now,” said Jan, “I said it was not the peninks."
“What is not the peninks—the daffodils ? I thought
you said that the one plant was the same which throws up
yellow flowers and white ones.”
“You try not to understand me, Kitty."
“I am trying hard to understand you, Jan.”


SILVER PENINKS
177
“Look here,” he exclaimed, letting go the gate. Kate
did as desired; she looked him full in the face. His mouth
was twitching. “Tell me, Kate”-
She waited for him to conclude the sentence, and as he
did not, she asked him gently what it was that he desired
her to tell him.
“You know already what I mean," he exclaimed, breath-
ing short and quick.
Kate shook her head.
“ Look here, Kitty. My father has given his consent at
last, and I am going to be married.”
“I am so glad to hear it, Jan.”
“ Kate, you tease me. You—you"-
“Indeed, I wish you all happiness."
“That I can only have with you.”
“With me?” Kate was frightened, drew back, and fixed
her great, dark blue, tranquil eyes on him. The sweat rolled
off his brow.
“Oh, Jan! What do you mean?"
“You know what I mean. You shall be my missus."
“ Jan-that cannot be.”
“Why not? Give me your hand-no, give me both.”
“I cannot do that."
A pause ensued.
“Kitty, you don't care for me?”
“I do care for you, Jan.”
“Then love me — take me. Sister Sue will be so
pleased.”
“I cannot do it, Jan, even for sister Sue."
“You cannot love me?” he gasped, and his face lost its
colour. “Oh, Kitty, since we were in the boat together I
have thought only of you.”
“And before that, of Rose. Was it not so ?”
“No, Kitty. Rose rather teased me."
“Jan, you are a dear, good old fellow, and I like you
better than any—I mean, almost better than anyone else
in the world.”
“Whom do you like better ?” he inquired in a tone
between sulk and anger.
“My dear father, of course."
“Oh, your father !-anyone else ?”


178
KITTY ALONE
“I love the dear old parson."
“The parson? why so ?”
“Because one can learn so much from him.”
“Oh, learn, learn !” exclaimed Pooke impatiently. “At
that rate you will love the schoolmaster, for he can teach
you all sorts of things—why some stars twinkle and others
do not; and why the tides do not come regular by half an
hour. If that sort of foolery suits you, he'll do.”
“It is no foolery, dear friend Jan. I have said that I
did regard and like you.” Her face had become crimson.
“But you will not love me.”
“Jan, I shall always think of you as a brother or a cousin.
You are so good, so true, so kind. You deserve the best
girl in Coombe, and I am not that."
He wanted to interrupt her, but she proceeded, laying
her finger-tips on his breast.
"No, Jan, I am not that I know it well; and I know
that your father, not even sister Sue, would have you marry
me. I cannot love you, and you would be unhappy with
me.”
“Why that?"
“Because I would be for ever asking you questions which
you could not answer. And I, with you, would not be
happy, because I could get no answers out of you. You
would be telling me such things as that silver peninks
sprang out of daffodil roots, and that-I could not believe.”
“So you refuse me?”
“Jan, you must get a good dear wife, who will believe
that silver peninks grow out of daffodil bulbs—will not
bother whether they do or not-one who loves you with her
whole heart. I know one who does that-no-listen to
me!” as he made a gesture of impatience, as if he would
turn away. “Let me speak plainly, Jan. Rose is a merry,
good-hearted girl ; and if she has done an unkind thing to
me, it has not been out of malice, but because it made her
mad to think that you did not love her, and cared a little
for me. No one in Coombe can say a bad word against her.
She is the prettiest girl in all the country round. She is
always neat and fitty (dapper). If you know at all what
love is, Jan, you must judge how miserable Rose is, when,
loving you with all her heart, she finds you indifferent, and
happy be telinefodil root


CHAPTER XXVII
TROUBLE
ITT HEN Kate returned to Coombe Cellars, she saw
VV that some trouble had occurred. Her aunt was
sitting at the table in tears, Pasco had planted himself
on the settle, with his legs stretched before him, wide
apart, the soles turned up and his hands in his pockets.
His hat was on and he was whistling a tune-a strain out
of Jackson's "Tee-dum”-in unconcern.
Kate had heard enough of the altercations between her
aunt and uncle to be aware that their circumstances were
strained, and that Zerah disbelieved in her husband's
business capacities. Pasco had himself admitted to her,
on the drive from Brimpts, that he was in difficulties.
Zerah, so far from refraining from her comments before
Kate, hailed her entrance as an opportunity for renewing
her animadversions on Pasco.
“Look here, Kitty! Here is what we have come to-
read that! Your uncle, like a reckless fool, has gone and
bought wool when there is no sale for it, and has given a
bill for it which has expired. The bank has returned it to
Coaker, dishonoured,—dishonoured, do you hear that, Pasco?
—and here is Coaker, furious, and demanding immediate
payment. On the other side, there is the Teignmouth coal
merchant threatening proceedings. What is to be done?”.
Kate looked at her uncle.
“Don't be excited and angry, Zerah,” said he, with the
utmost composure. “After rain comes sunshine. It is
darkest before dawn. When the tide is at lowest ebb, it is
on the turn to the flow.”
“But what is to be done? Dishonoured !” exclaimed
Zerah.
180


TROUBLE
181
“Dishonoured?—fiddlesticks! The bill is returned, that
is all. The money will come.”
“Whence. Can you stamp on the ground and make the
coin leap up? Can you throw your net into the Teign and
gather guineas as you can shrimps ?”.
“It will come right,” said Pasco. “There is no need
for this heat, I tell you. I have seen Farmer Pooke, and
he will advance me five hundred pounds.”
“Yes—on the security of this house.”
“Well, what of that ?."
“And five hundred pounds will not suffice to meet all
the claims.”
“Well, there are Kitty's hundreds."
“They shall not be touched.”
“You promised me the loan of them, did you not, Kitty ?”
asked her uncle, scarcely raising his head to look at her.
“Yes, you are heartily welcome to them,” said the girl.
“They shall not be touched !” exclaimed Zerah, leaning
her fists on the table.
“That is as Jason thinks and chooses,” answered Pasco.
“He is trustee for Kitty, not you. He got me into the
hobble, and must get me out.”
“What !—did he get you into this about the wool ?”
“I should have managed about the wool, were it not for
the Brimpts business.”
“And the coals ?” asked Zerah ironically.
“I can manage well enough when not drawn away into
foreign speculations. Jason persuaded me against my will
to embark in this timber business, and that is it which is
creating this obstruction. He got me in-he must get me
out. Kate's a good girl,—she helps, and don't rate and
rant as you do, Zerah.”
“I don't say she is not a good girl," retorted Zerah.
“What I say is, you are a bad uncle to desire to rob her”
“Rob her? I ask only a loan for a few weeks. Her
money and that from Pooke will set us on our feet again.”
At that moment, the man just alluded to came in with
much noise. His face was red, his expression one of great
anger, and without a greeting, he roared forth-
“It is an insult. The girl is an idiot. She has refused
him-him-a Pooke ! ”


182
KITTY ALONE
“Who? What?” asked Zerah, letting go the table and
staggering back, overcome by a dreadful anticipation of evil.
“Who? What?” retorted Pooke, shaking his red face
and then his great flabby hand at Kate. “She — Kitty
Alone-has said No to my John !”
Zerah uttered an exclamation of dismay. Pasco's jaw
fell, and, drawing in his feet, he pulled his hands from his
pockets and leaned them on the arms of the settle, to be
ready to lift himself.
"She-that chit-has dared to refuse him!” roared Pooke,
“Not that I wanted her as my daughter. Heaven defend !
I think my John is worth better girls than she. But that
she should have refused him-my John-she who ought to
have gone down on her knees and thanked him if he gave
her a look—that she should have the impudence-the-
the ” — he choked with rage. “Now, not one penny of
mine shall you have, not on note of hand, on no security
of your beggarly house-a cockle and winkle eating tea-
house-bah !-not a penny !”
Then he turned, snapped his fingers at Zerah and Pasco,
and went out.
There ensued a dead hush for some moments. Kate
had turned very white, and looked with large frightened
eyes at her uncle, then at her aunt. She felt that this was
but the first puff of a storm which would break in full force
on her head.
Pasco stumbled to his feet, planted his right fist in the
hollow of his left palm, and, coming up close to Kate, said
hoarsely, “ You won't have him? You, you frog in a well!
You won't have him, the richest young chap in Coombe !
I say you shall have him. You shall run after Mr. Pooke,
and say it is all a mistake-you take Jan thankfully-you
only said No just out of bashfulness, you did not think
yourself worthy. Tell him you said No because you
thought Jan was asking you against his father's wishes.
Say that now you know how the old man feels, you
gratefully accept. Do you hear ? Run.”
Kate did not move. Her head had fallen on her bosom
when he began, now she raised it, and, looking her uncle
steadily in the face, she said, “I cannot. I have told Jan
my reasons."


TROUBLE
183
“Reasons, indeed! precious reasons. What are they?”
Kate did not answer. Her reasons were such as Pasco
could not understand.
“ Kate," interposed Zerah in an agitated voice, “what
is the meaning of this ? "
“Oh, dear aunt, it is true, I cannot take Jan. I have
refused him, and I cannot, will not withdraw the No. In
this matter I alone am answerable, and answerable to God.”
“I insist," stormed Pasco.
“I cannot obey," answered Kate.
“ Cannot—will not obey us who have brought you up.
I suppose next you will refuse to obey your father?”
“In this matter, yes, if he were to order me to take
Jan Pooke.”
“ I'll force you to take him."
“You cannot do that, uncle." She spoke with com-
posure, whereas he was in a towering passion.
“Look at this,” said he, snatching up the letter from the
table. “I'm dishonoured now, indeed, as Zerah says.
If you take Jan, all is well. The old father will find me
money, and all runs on wheels. You put in your spoke,
and everything is upset. Dishonoured, ruined, beggared-
and all through you."
He beat down his hat over his brows, laughed wildly,
and shook his fist at Kate. “I was chucked out of the
trap t'other day. I wish I had broken my neck sooner
than come to this. I've nourished a viper in my bosom,
and now it turns and stings me.”
“Leave her to me,” said Zerah. “You make matters
worse by your violence. That is the way with you men.
Leave her to me."
Pasco flung himself back in the settle, and thrust out his
legs as before, and rammed his fists into his pockets.
Before he had held his chin up, now it was buried in his
shirt front.
Then Zerah pulled her niece into the window. Kate
drew a long breath. She knew that now came the worst
trial of all.
“Kitty,” said the aunt, holding both the girl's arms, and
looking into her face. “ Are you utterly heartless? Is it
a matter of no concern to you that we should be ruined?


TROUBLE
185
would have yielded. She would have given her heart's
blood for me."
Kate pressed her folded hands to her bosom ; her heart
was bursting with pain.
“What is it that I ask of you?” pursued Zerah, and
brushed the tears from her own eyes. “Nothing but what
is for your own advantage, your own happiness. How will
you like starvation-rags, no roof over your head? If you
take Jan Pooke, you become the first woman in the place.
You will have money to do with just as you likes. Jan is a
good-hearted fellow. Never have you heard of his having
wronged man, woman, or child. He is amiable; you can
turn him round your little finger. What more can a woman
wish for?”
Kate's mind was tossed with trouble. She had so
often longed that the opportunity might arise for her to
prove to her aunt that she loved her. Now the occasion
had come. The future was full of threat and disaster, and
one word from her might avert this and restore serenity;
and not only would that one word relieve her uncle and
aunt in their present distress, but it would also suffice to
make poor, worthy Jan a happy man. But that word she
could not speak, she could not prevail with herself to speak
it. She liked John Pooke, and but for one thing she
perhaps might have yielded—that one thing was that she
had met with a man very different from the young yeoman,
one who could answer questions and satisfy her hungry
mind.
“I cannot, dear auntie."
“ Cannot? What stands in the way? Who stands in
the way ?”
"I cannot, auntie.”
“Perverse, headstrong, heartless child. When luck
comes to you, you throw it away, and cast your own self,
and all belonging to you, into misery. I wish you had
never come here ; I wish I had never nursed you in my
arms, never cared for you as a child, never watched over
you as a grown girl.”
“ Auntie !"
“ Away—I will not speak to you again.”


CHAPTER XXVIII
ALTERNATIVES
DASCO had leſt the room and the house. His anger
[ with Kate was obscured by his unrest as to his own
condition. What could he do? He must meet the bill
for the wool, he must pay for the Brimpts timber before
he removed any of it, or forſeit what had already been
spent over felling the trees. He must pay the coal
merchant's account, or bailiffs would be put into the house.
He went into his stores and observed the contents of his
warehouse. There was wool on the upper storey, coal was
lodged below. Above stairs all the space was pretty well
filled with fleeces.
Then he went to his stable, and looked at his cob, then
into the covered shed that served as coach-house. He put
his hand in his pocket, pulled out the key, and opened the
back of the cart. The shavings he had put in were there
still. He could not carry them into the house now, whilst
Zerah was engaged with Kate. Besides, he would not
require so much kindling matter within doors. Where
should he bestow it ?
Suspecting that he heard a step approach, Pasco hastily
closed the flap of the cart, and went to the front of the
shed. No one was there. He returned to the shed and
reopened the box of the cart, and filled his arms with
shavings, came out and hastily ran across with them to his
warehouse.
Then he came back on his traces, carefully picking up
the particles that had escaped him. There remained more
in his dog-cart. Would it do for him to run to and fro,
conveying the light shavings from shed to warehouse ?
Might it not attract attention? What would a customer
186


188
KITTY ALONE
and what to do. A lost sort of creetur I always thought,
and now that Roger is away and not to be found, and
what wi' the death of her little maid, gone almost tottle
(silly). Her had to clear out, and folks was nigh mazed
to know what to do wi' her, when your niece, Kitty. Alone,
came and said as how her father Jason gave his cottage
till Jane Redmore could settle something."
“I never heard a word of this till this moment,” said
Pasco. “When did it happen?”
“To-day—not long ago. Jane Redmore is in Jason
Quarm's house now. Kate gave her the key."
Pepperill grew red, and said, not looking Ash in the face,
but away at the ears of his horse, “I don't like this-not
at all. We ought to get rid of Redmore and all his
belongings. You are not safe in your house, your mill is
not safe, I am not safe, with that firebrand coming and
going amongst us—and come and go he will so long as
his wife and children be here. He were mighty fond of
they."
"Roger will do you no harm. Your people have been
good to him."
“What! do you call Jason 'my people'?'
“Jason and Kitty have housed his wife.”
“It don't follow that he loves me. I set the men in
pursuit of him at Dart-meet, and he knows it, and hates me.
I live in fear of him as long as he is uncaught.”
The miller shrugged his shoulders. “Roger is not so
bad, but Farmer Pooke did try him terrible. I won't
detain you. You'll mind and pay that little account, will
you not-to-morrow ?”.
“ Yes—certain."
Then Pepperill drove on. He passed a man in a cart,
and the man did not salute him. In fact, the way was
narrow, and the fellow was careful that the wheels should
clear, and had not leisure to look at and touch his hat to
Pasco. But Pepperill regarded the omission as an in-
tentional slight. He was in an irritable condition, and
when shortly after he drove before a cottage, and the
woman in the doorway, hushing her child, did not address
him, or answer his address, his brows knitted and he swore
that everyone was against him. His disturbed and anxious


ALTERNATIVES
189
mind longed for recognition, flattery, to give it ease, and
unless he received this from everyone, he suspected that
there was a combination against him, that a wind of his
difficulties had got abroad, and that folk considered he was
no longer worth paying attention to.
There were not many on the road, and he acted caprici-
ously towards those few. Some he greeted, others he
passed without notice. He fancied he detected a sneer
in the faces of such as returned his salutation or a
purposeful lessening of cordiality. On reaching the new
inn at Newton, his heart was full of anger against all
mankind.
The host did not receive him with cordiality, as he
expected; he looked out at the door and went in again
with a hasty nod.
In the yard Pasco cautiously opened his gig-box when
the ostler was not looking and drew out a halter, then,
hastily closed the flaps, and, extending the cord, said,
“I'm not going to stay many minutes; don't take the
cob out of harness. Let him stand and eat a bite, that
is all.”
Then Pepperill went into the inn and called for a glass
of ale.
“Halloa, Pepperill !” said a cheery voice, and Coaker
moved up to him at the table. “How are you? Sold the
wool yet? I hear there is a rise."
Pepperill drew back and turned blood-red; this was the
man to whom he owed so much money—the man to whom
he had given the bill that was dishonoured.
“No, I haven't sold,” answered Pasco surlily.
“I advise you not to. You'll make something yet.
That Australian wool won't go down with our weavers.
It's not our quality, too fine, not tough enough. Hold
back, and you will make your price."
“That is all very well for you to say, but”- Pasco
checked himself. What was on his lips was—“It is ready-
money I need, not a profit a few months hence."
“There's good things coming to you yet," continued
Coaker. “I heard on the moor that your brother-in-law
has near on made a sale of the Brimpts oaks.”
“He has ?"


ALTERNATIVES
191
'
at the end; all you have to do is to rub, and the whole
bursts into flame."
Pepperill took the box, turned it over, opened it, looked
at and smelt the matches.
“Are they terrible expensive?” he asked musingly.
“Oh no. There, as you are curious about it, I'll give
you the box, and you can show it to your missus."
Pasco put out his hand to shake that of Coaker. It was
cold and trembled.
The devil was playing a game with him. He was offering
him a reprieve from his embarrassments, and at the same
time thrusting him forward to the accomplishment of the
evil deed on which he brooded, and was placing in his hands
the means of executing it..
Pasco sank into deep thought, looking at the match-
box and playing with it, now opening, then shutting it.
“I'm depriving you of it,” he said.
“Not a bit. I have a dozen. They are just brought in
from London and are selling off amazin' fast at Ashburton.
In a week they'll be all over the country and the tinder
boxes chucked away.”
“Are they dangerous-I mean to carry about with
one?” asked Pasco.
“Not a bit. There is no fire till you strike it out."
Then Pepperill again fell into meditation. He put the
box into his pocket, and sat looking before him into space,
speechless.
Suddenly a shock went through his frame. He had
been touched on the arm by Coaker.
“What is it?" he asked, with quivering lips.
“Look at the landlord," said the farmer in an undertone,
with his hand to his mouth. “Do you know what folks
say of him?"
Pasco asked with his eyes. He could not frame the
words with his lips.
“They do say that he set fire to the old place, so
as to get the insurance money for rebuilding in grand
style."
“A tramp did it-got into the cellar,” said Pasco in a
whisper.
"Nobody never saw thickey tramp come, and sure and


192
KITTY ALONE
sartain nobody never saw him go. I don't believe in the
tramp. He did it himself.”.
“You should not speak that unless sure of it,” said
Pepperill, thrusting back his chair. “You have no evi-
dence.”
“Oh, evidence! Folks talk, and form their opinion.”
“Talk first and form opinions after on the idle chatter-
that's about it.”
Pasco stood up. He was alarmed. He was afraid he
had not fastened the box of his dog-cart. The flap might
have fallen, and then the interior would be exposed to
view ; and what would the ostler, what would anyone
think who happened to come into the stable-yard and saw
what constituted the lading of his cart? His hand had
shaken as he turned the key, after bringing out the halter;
almost certainly in his nervousness he had imperfectly
turned it. He could not rest. He went out into the yard
and looked at his dog-cart. It was closed. He tried the
key. The lock was fast.
“Put the cob in," said he to the ostler, and he returned,
much relieved, to the house.
Coaker had departed. Pepperill called for another glass
of ale, and found interest in observing the landlord. That
man had set fire to his tavern so that he might construct
an hotel. He seemed cheery. He was not bowed down
with consciousness of guilt. His voice was loud, his spirits
buoyant. He looked Pepperill full in the eyes, and it was
the eyes of Pepperill that fell, not those of the landlord.
"I wonder," considered Pasco, "whether he did do it,
or did not? If he did not, it is just as bad as if he did,
for people charge him with it all the same. No one will
believe he is innocent. Suppose he did it—and I reckon it
is most likely-well, providence don't seem to ha' turned
against him ; on the contrary, it is a showering o' prosperity
over him. P'r’aps, after all, there ain't no wrong in it.
It was his own house he burnt. A man may do what he
will with his own.” He put resolutely from him the
thought of fraud on the insurance company. What was a
company? Something impersonal. Then Pepperill rose,
paid for his ale, and went forth. As he jumped into the
dog-cart, the ostler held up the halter.


ALTERNATIVES
193
“Will you give me the key and I will put it inside ?"
asked the man.
“No, thank you-hand it to me.”
The ostler gave him the halter, and Pepperill fastened it
to the splashboard and drove on. He had attached it
hastily, carelessly, and before long the rope uncoiled and
hung before him. His eyes were drawn to it.
“What would come to me if the bailiffs were put into
the house, and Coombe Cellars were sold over my head to
pay what I owe ?”
Pasco was a man who could live only where he was
esteemed, looked up to, and where he could impose on
underlings and brag among equals. The idea of being in
every man's mouth as “gone scatt”-a ruined man-was
intolerable. “I would die rather than that,” he exclaimed
aloud, and put his hand to the halter to twist it and knot
it again.
It was a sin to commit suicide. His life was his own,
but he could not take that. His storehouse with his stores
was his own. Would it be wrong for him to destroy that?
Better that than his own life. There were but two courses
open to him. He must either use the halter for his own
neck and swing in the barn, or recover himself out of the
insurance money on his stores. He drove on brooding
over this question, arguing with his conscience, and pre-
sently he held up his head. He saw that his life was too
precious to be thrown away. What would Zerah do with-
out him ? He must consider his wife, her despair, her
tears. He had no right to make her a widow, homeless.
Were he to die—that would not relieve the strain. The
sale would take place just the same, and Zerah be left
destitute. Pepperill held up his head. He felt virtuous,
heroic; he had done the right thing for the sake of his
dear wife, made his election, and saw a new day dawning-
dawning across a lurid glare.


CHAPTER XXIX
A FRIEND GAINED
V ATE fled upstairs to her bedroom, where she might
be alone and have free scope for tears. She threw
herself on her knees by her bed, and putting her hands
under the patchwork quilt, drew it over her ears and head,
that the sound of her sobs might be muffled, so as not to
reach her aunt were she to ascend the staircase. She
feared lest there should be a repetition of the scene on the
return of her father. Aunt Zerah would wait impatiently
for him, and the moment that he arrived, would pour forth
her story, not in his ear only, but in Kate's as well, whom
she would forcibly retain to hear it and receive the re-
proaches of her father. That her father would be disap-
pointed that she had put from her the chance of becoming
a well-to-do yeoman's wife, she knew for certain. He had
never concerned himself very greatly about her, had never
endeavoured to sound her mind and put his finger on her
heart, and would be quite unable to appreciate the reasons
she could give for her conduct; he would look on her
refusal of young Pooke as a bit of girlish caprice. She
feared that he would view it as a bad speculation, and
would hasten off without consulting her, to endeavour to
pacify the mortified vanity of the old man, and to assure
the young one that she, Kate, had rejected him out of
girlish bashfulness, whilst loving him in her heart. There
was no bond of sympathy between her father and herself.
That which filled his mind had no place in hers; what
interested him she shrank from. She had returned from
Dartmoor with heart glowing with gratitude to him for
having insisted on her having a holiday, to her uncle for
having taken her out to Dartmoor, and to her aunt for having
194


A FRIEND GAINED
195
spared her. It had been her desire to find occasions to
prove to them that she was grateful, and now, her first act
on return was to run contrary to their wishes, and anger
her uncle and aunt, and lay up matter for reprimand on
the arrival of her father.
Her aunt had never comprehended the character of Kate,
filled to the full as her heart was with bitterness at the loss
of her own daughter. Kate was in all points the reverse of
Wilmot, and because so unlike, woke the antipathy of the
bereaved mother, as though the silence and reserve of Kate
were assumed out of slight to the memory of the merry,
open-hearted girl. She looked on her niece as perverse, as
acting in everything out of a spirit of contrariety. How
else explain that a young girl with warm blood in her veins
should not retain the longings and express the wishes
common to other girls of her age ? that she had no fancy
for dress, made no efforts to coquette with anyone, had no
desire for social amusements ?
Wilmot had been 'frolicsome, roguish, winsome — did
Kate desire to eschew everything that had made her cousin
a sunbeam in the house, and the delight of her mother's
heart, out of wilfulness, and determination not to please
her aunt, not to make up to her for the loss of her own
child ?
Not only by her aunt was Kate regarded as heartless and
perverse. That was the character she bore in the village,
among the girls of her own age, among the elders who
adopted the opinions of their daughters. Kate had been
brought in contact with the village girls at school, in the
choir, and elsewhere, and some had even attempted to
make friends with her. But those things which occupied
the whole souls of such young creatures -dress, the bud-
ding inclination to attract the youths of the place—were
distasteful to Kate ; there was nothing in common between
them and her, and when both became conscious of this,
they mutually drew apart, and the girls arrived at the same
conclusion as her aunt, that she was a dull, unfeeling child,
who was best left alone.
Kate had felt acutely this solitariness in which she lived ;
her aunt had often thrown it in her teeth that she made no
friends. Her father was displeased that he heard no good


A FRIEND GAINED
197
“ You darling! I never believed it of you, you are so
still. I thought you were sly. I am so sorry I misunder-
stood you ; so sorry I did anything or said anything against
you. I will never do it again. I will stand your friend ; I
will fight your battles. And, look here!”
A polished wood workbox was at her feet. She had put
it down for the purpose of disengaging her hands to hug Kate.
“Look, Kitty! This is my own workbox. Is it not
beautiful ? It has a mother-of-pearl escutcheon on it and
lock-plate. And it locks- really locks—not make-believe,
like some you buy. And, see! pink silk inside. It is for
you. I give it to you. It is nearly new. I am not much
of a needlewoman, and so have not used it. It is really a
hundred times better than that which Noah knocked—I
mean, that which the bear danced upon and smashed. And
there is a silver thimble in it. I give it you with all my
heart—that is to say, with as much heart as I have left to
give to anyone.”
Kate stepped back in astonishment. What did this
mean?
“O Kitty! you really shall no longer be Kitty Alone;
it shall be Kitty and Rose. We shall be regular friends.
Only think! I was so jealous of you. I thought that Jan
Pooke had taken a fancy to you—and I suppose the silly
noodle had done so for a bit, but you know he properly
belongs to me. We are to make a pair-everyone says so,
and his father and sister Sue wish it; and I'm sure, I'm
sure, so do I. But men are cruel giddy, they turn and
turn like weathercocks; and just for a while Jan fancied
you. But you put him off bravely, you did.”
“What have I done to you ?” asked Kate.
“My dear, I heard it all. I saw you and Jan going to
the orchard, and I was so jealous that I hid myself in the
linhay. I got over the hedge and tore my frock in a
bramble, but I did not heed it; I slipped in where I could
peep and see, and put out my ears and listen. I know
everything. I heard how you spoke up for me, and quite
right and reasonable too; and how you refused him, and
very sensible you was. Just think what a thing it would
ha' been, Kitty, if he'd gone right off his head and married
you, and then come to his senses and found he had got the


198
KITTY ALONE
wrong one, and it was me all along he should have had.
You would never have known happiness after. You never
would have enjoyed peace of conscience again. But you
were a sensible child, and did what you ought to ha' done,
and nobody can't do more than that; nor promise and vow
to do more than what is in the catechism. So, now, I'm all
for you, and there is my workbox I give you in place of
that the bear kicked to pieces. I don't mind telling you
now, Kate, that Noah did it. I put him up to it ; I told
him he was to do it. He didn't like it, but I forced him
to it-I mean to knock the workbox from under your arm.
He's a good chap is Noah, and now that it is all put right
between Jan and me "-
“Is it? Have you spoken with him ?".
“Oh no, I can't say that; but you have refused him. It
will take him a day or two to steady his head, and then he
will come up right again, and we will make it up, and be the
better friends in the end. And, what is more, I'll stand
friend to you, Kate. I daresay you'd like Noah, and I'll
get him to walk you out on Sundays and to sweetheart you."
"I don't want Noah,” said Kate, shrinking.
“Oh yes, you do. Every girl must have her young chap.
It ain't natural without. I'll speak with him. He's a terrible
good chap is Noah; he'll do anything I ask him. I made
him knock the workbox under the bear's feet, and if he'd
do that much for me, I'm sure you need not be afraid
but he'd sweetheart you at my axing. Besides, he'll be
tremendous thrown out when he sees me take up with Jan
again, and he'll want some one to walk with, and may just
as well take you as another."
“No; please, Rose, do not. I had rather be left alone.”
“Stuff and fiddlesticks! It is not right that you should
be without a sweetheart. You leave all that to me."
“No, dear Rose, no. You be my friend ; that suffices.”
“It is because I am your friend that I will do a friend's
part.”
“No, no, Rose.”
“Well, you always were queer ; I can't understand you.
But never mind; we are friends, though you make me a
helpless one. What is the good of a friend but to assist
a girl to a lover?”


CHAPTER XXX
UNDER THE MULBERRY TREE
V ATE disengaged herself from Rose, and hastened to
the Rectory. She opened the garden gate. She
was a privileged person there, coming when she liked about
choir matters, sent messages by her uncle, who was church-
warden, running in when she had a spare hour to look at
Mr. Fielding's picture-books, in strawberry time to gather
the fruit and eat it, in preserving time to collect his rasp-
berries, currants, plums, for the cook to convert into jams.
She saw the rector sitting under a mulberry tree on his
lawn with a book on his lap. He had removed his hat,
and the spring air fluttered his silver hair.
He saw Kate at once, and, smiling, beckoned to her to come
and sit by him on the bench that half encircled the old tree.
This she would not do, but she stood before him with
downcast eyes and folded hands, and said, “ Please, sir, I
am afraid you will be cross with me."
"I am never that, Kitty."
“No, sir, never.” She raised her flashing blue eyes for a
moment. “Perhaps you may be vexed with me. I've just
gone and done clean contrary to what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“You said after my holiday I was to go home, and obey
my uncle and aunt in everything."
“I am sure I never said that.”
“It was something like it-be obliging and good.”
“Well, have you not been obliging and good ?”
“No, sir."
“What have you done?”
“I've crossed them, and I fancy father will be cross too."
“What have you done to cross them?”
199


200
KITTY ALONE
“Refused Jan Pooke.”
The rector drew back against the tree and smiled.
“Refused? I don't quite understand.”
“Please, sir, Jan wanted to make me his wife.”
“Well?”
“And I said 'No.'"
“You had made up your mind already ?”
“I knew I must say 'No.' Do you know, sir, Jan thought
that silver peninks came from daffodil roots.”
“Oh! and accordingly you could not say “Yes'?”.
“It was silly ; was it not?”
“And that was your real, true reason for saying 'No'p”
Kitty looked down.
“You are not angry with me, sir?"
“No. Are your relations so?'.
“Yes; uncle and aunt are dreadfully vexed, and that is
what has made me cry. I came home wishing to do every-
thing to please them, and the first thing I did was to make
them angry and call me a little viper they had brought up
in their bosom. You do not think I did wrong? You are
not angry also ?”
“No; I do not think you could have done otherwise, if
you did not care for John Pooke."
“I did, and I do care for John Pooke.”
“Then why did you not take him? Only because of the
silver peninks ?”
“No, sir ; not that only. I care for him, but not enough ;
I like him, but not enough.”
“Quite so. You like, but do not love him.”
“ Yes, that is it.” Kate breathed freely. “I did not
know how to put it. Do you think I did right?”
The rector paused before he answered. Then he said,
signing with his thin hand, “Come here, little Kitty. Sit
by me.”
He took her hand in his, and, looking before him, said,
“It would have been a great thing for this parish had you
become John Pooke's wife, the principal woman in the
place, to give tone to it, the one to whom all would look up,
the strongest influence for good among the girls. I should
have had great hopes that all the bread I have strewed
upon the waters would not be strewn in vain.”


UNDER THE MULBERRY TREE
201
“I thought you wished it,” burst forth from the girl, with
a sob. “And yet I could not-I could not indeed. Now
I have turned everyone against me-everyone but Rose,”
she added, truthful in everything, exact in all she said.
“No, Kitty, I do not wish it. It is true, indeed, that it
would be a rich blessing to such a place as this to have you
as the guiding star to all the womanhood in the place, set
up on such a candlestick as the Pookes' farm. But I am
not so sure that the little light would burn there and not
be smothered in grease, or would gutter, and become ex-
tinguished in the wind there. The place is good in itself,
but not good for you. It might be an advantage to the
parish, but fatal to yourself. John Pooke is an honest,
worthy fellow, and he has won my respect because he saw
your value and has striven to win you. But he is not the
man for you. For my little Kitty I hope there will come
some one possessed of better treasures than broad acres,
fat beeves, and many flocks of sheep; possessed of some-
thing better even than amiability of temper."
“What is that, sir?”
"A well-stored intellect-an active mind. Kitty, no one
has more regard for young John than myself, but it would
have been terrible to you to have been tied to him. “Thou
shalt not plough with an ox and an ass together' was the
command of Moses, and we must not unite under one
yoke the sluggish mind with that which is full of activity.
No, no, Kitty. You acted rightly. The man who will be
fitted to be coupled in the same plough with you will be
one of another mould. He will be”-
The garden gate opened, and Walter Bramber entered.
A twig of laurel caught his sleeve, and he turned to extricate
himself, and did not perceive the rector and Kate. A
sudden confusion came over the girl, caused—whether by
her thoughts, whether by the words of the rector, whether
from natural shyness, she could not tell, but she started
from the seat and slipped behind the mulberry.
The schoolmaster came up to the rector when called,
and found the old man with a smile playing about his lips.
“I have come, sir,” said Bramber, " to ask your advice."
“In private?”
“Yes, sir, if you please."


202
KITTY ALONE
“Then I cannot grant you an audience now. If you
will run round the mulberry, you will discover why.”
Bramber was puzzled.
“Do what I say. There is someone there, someone who
must retire farther than behind a tree if you are to consult
me without being overheard.”
The schoolmaster stepped aside to go about the mulberry,
and saw Kate standing there, leaning against the trunk,
holding together her skirts, and looking down.
“Oh!” laughed Walter; “this is the audience! I do
not in the least mind a discussion of my concerns before
such an one."
“Come out, Kitty! You hear your presence is desired,"
called Mr. Fielding, and the girl stepped forward. “Take
the place where you were before on one side of me, and
Mr. Bramber shall sit on the other, and we will enter on
the consideration of his affairs. What are they as to
complexion, Bramber, sanguine or atrabilious ?”
“Not cheerful, I am afraid. I have my troubles and
difficulties before my eyes.”
“So has Kitty. She comes to me from the same cause."
Then he added, “Well, let us hear and consider."
“It concerns Mr. Puddicombe. I do not know what I
ought to do, or whether I should do anything. There is
an organised opposition to me, and the late schoolmaster is
at the bottom of it. I can clearly perceive that not parents
only, but children as well, have been worked upon to offer
stubborn opposition to all my changes, and to make myself
ridiculous. I need not enter into details. There is this
feeling of antagonism in the place, and it paralyses me.
If the children were left unmanipulated, I could get along
and gain their confidence; but at home they hear what
their parents say, what is said to their parents, and they
come to school with a purpose not to obey me, not to
listen to my instructions, and to make my task in every
particular irksome and distasteful. I see precisely what
Puddicombe is aiming at-to force me to use the cane, not
once or twice, but continuously, and to force me to it by
making discipline impossible without it. Then he will
have a handle against me, and will rouse the parish to
hound me out. What am I to do?”.


CHAPTER XXXI
ON MISCHIEF BENT
HEN Pasco returned from Newton, he drew up his
tax-cart close to the door of the storehouse, took
the horse out, but did not unharness him; he merely
removed the bridle and gave the brute a feed.
Then he entered the dwelling-house and seated himself
at the kitchen table without a word to his wife, and emptied
his pocket on the board. A couple of sovereigns and a few
shillings clinked together. With his forefinger he separated
the gold from the silver coins.
“What ! money come in, in place of going out?” asked
Zerah. Then, looking over his shoulder, she said, “And
precious little it is."
“Little is better than nothing," growled Pasco. “I got
this from Cole, the baker. I'd somehow forgot he owed
me a trifle, and he stopped me and paid his account. I
owe something to the miller, so I'm no better off than I
was. In at one pocket, out at the other.”
“Now look here, Pasco," said his wife. “For first and
last I say this. I have laid by a trifle that I have earned
by cockles and winkles, whilst you have been chucking
away in coals and wool. If you will pass me your word
not to run into extravagance, and not to listen to any more
of Jason's schemes, I will let you have this. No”-she
corrected her intent; "you are not to be trusted with the
money. It shall not leave my hand to go into yours. And
your word ain't of any strength, it is as weak as your
resolutions. I'll settle the matter of the coals with the
merchant at Teignmouth; that is the great call at this
moment. I don't do it for you, but to avoid the scandal
of having bailiffs in the house-a house where I've kept
206


ON MISCHIEF BENT
207
myself respectable so many years, and where my Wilmot
was born and died. I wouldn't have the brokers sell the
bed she laid on when dead, not for all my savings. So I'll
over to Teignmouth and see what I can manage about the
coal merchant's bill; and you, just take that money and
pay Ash the miller, and have done with him.”
Again the thought rose up in the mind of Pasco that the
Evil One was making sport of him. At one time he was in
a condition of hopelessness, in another moment there was a
lightening in the sky before him. The means of striking
fire had been put into his hands at the same time that he
was shown that his difficulties were not insurmountable.
But the heart which has once resolved on a crime very
speedily comes to regard this object as a goal at which it
must necessarily aim, and to look with impatience upon all
suggestions of relief, upon all dissuasives, and stubbornly,
with shut eyes, to pursue the course determined on. The
struggle to form the determination once overpassed, the
mind shrinks from entering into struggle again, and allows
itself to be swept along as though impelled by fatality, as
though launched on a stream it is powerless to oppose.
Now his wife's suggestion that she should go to Teign-
mouth and settle with the merchant for the coals opened
up to him a prospect, not of relief from his pecuniary
difficulty, but of getting rid of her to enable him the more
easily to carry out his intention unobserved. He put his
shaking hand into his breast-pocket for his handkerchief,
and in pulling this forth drew out also the lucifer match-box,
that in falling rattled on the table.
“What have you there, Pasco ?” asked Zerah.
“Nothing," he answered, and hastily replaced the
box.
"Don't tell me that was nothing which I saw and heard,”
said his wife testily.
“Well—it's lozenges.”
“ Didn't know you had a cough."
“Never mind about that, Zerah," said Pasco. “If you
go to Teignmouth it must be at once, or the tide will be out,
and I don't see how you can get back to-night."
“I've my cousin, Dorothy Bray, there. I'll go to her.
I've not seen her some months, and she has a room. I'll


208
KITTY ALONE
leave Kitty at home now, to attend to the house, and you
won't need me to the morning flow. I suppose, between
you, you can manage to light a fire?”.
Pasco started and looked at his wife with alarm, thinking
that she had read his thoughts ; but he was reassured by
her changing the topic. “There—I'll give you three pounds
towards the miller's bill.”
Pepperill was now all anxiety to hurry his wife off. He
urged precipitancy on account of the falling tide. He bade
her row herself across, and leave the boat on the farther
shore till the next morning.
His impatience in a measure woke her suspicion.
“You seem mighty eager to get rid of me,” she said
querulously.
“'Tain't that, Zerah,” he answered; "but I want myself
to be off to Brimpts."
“To Brimpts ?—and leave Kitty alone in the house?”
“No; I shall take her with me.”
“What !-leave the house to take care of itself?”.
“What can harm it? No one will break in. They know
pretty well there is nothing to be got but bills that ain't
paid.”
“I don't half like it—and the stores ?”
“There is no moving wool or coals without waggons, and
I shall lock up.”
Zerah stood in uncertainty.
“I wish you'd not go, Pasco.”
“I may or may not—but be off, or you'll get stuck in the
mud, as did Kitty."
In ten minutes Pasco was alone. He stood on the
platform where were the tea-tables and benches, and watched
till his wife was half-way across. Then he drew a long
breath, and passed through the house, went out at the main
door, and hastened to the cart. Again he stood still, and
looked searchingly in every direction; then he let down
the flap behind, drew out first the sack of shavings and
carried it within, and then he cleared out all that remained.
He was not satisfied till with a broom he had swept every
particle of chip within, leaving not a tell-tale white atom
without. Then he tacked some scraps of sacking over the
window that no one might look within, and he proceeded


ON MISCHIEF BENT
209
to place bundles of the shavings among the coals, not in one
great heap, but dispersed in handfuls here and there, and
he broke up some pieces of board into splinters and thrust
them among the shavings.
He was startled by a voice calling in the door, “Uncle,
are you here?”
Hot, agitated, and alarmed, Pasco hastened to the
entrance, and saw Kate.
“What do you want? Why are you shouting ?”
“Where is aunt? I want to see her. I cannot find her
in the house. I have something to tell her.”
“You are not like to find her," said Pepperill, coming
outside and locking the door behind him. “She is gone
over the water, and will stay at Cousin Bray's; and I'm off
to Brimpts again, and mean to take you."
“Why, uncle! we have but just returned from there."
"Well, that's no concern of yours, where you are, so
long as you have your eatin' and drinkin'. I must go, and
your aunt thinks I mustn't leave you alone. So be sharp ;
run and put what things you require together, and I will
harness the cob."
" How long shall we be away, uncle ?"
“We shall be back to-morrow evening, or the day after.
I can't say. Come, be quick. I can't wait talking with you;
it is late already."
Kate obeyed, a little surprised. She speedily returned,
with her little bundle tied up in a scarlet kerchief.
Pasco was ready and waiting. He was looking up at the
drift of the clouds. The wind was from the east and
blowing strongly.
Pepperill drove through the village. He halted at the
public-house to call out the taverner, ask for a glass of ale,
and tell him he was bound for Dartmoor. At the mill he
again drew up, and shouted for the miller, who, on emerging
from his door, saluted Pasco with the remark, “Why, you
are on the road to-day a great deal. I thought you had gone
this way already."
“So I had—to Newton; but there I learned something.
The Government has come round to a reasonable mind,
and will buy my timber. Not at Devonport, but at Ports-
mouth; and I am going to measure up. I ran home to
14


ON MISCHIEF BENT
211
“You be easy. I'll put the key in the little hole over the
lintel. She knows where to find it. Look alive, jump and
open the gate. Drat it! what a way I shall have to run!”
“Why not drive back, uncle?”.
“Why not? Because the cob must be spared. I've
been into Newton already to-day, and the distance he has
to go is just about enough to rub his hoofs down."
Pepperill drove the cart into the field indicated, whilst
Kate held wide the gate. Then he took the cob out and
ran the cart under cover.
“You keep in shelter, and mind you do not show your-
self. If anyone pass along the road, be still as a mouse.
Never mind who it may be. I shall be gone perhaps an
hour, perhaps a little more. It will be dark before I am
back. You keep close. There is some straw in the corner,
lie on that and go to sleep. We have still a long journey
to take, and get on we must, through the night, and this is
a darned matter detaining me. Hush !”
They heard something like a cart rattling along.
“Git along, Neddy! 'If I had a donkey 'wot wouldn't
go'-you know the rest, Neddy."
“It is my father, I believe," said Kate.
“I don't believe it is. Anyhow, be still,” whispered
Pasco. “Your father is at Brimpts. He can't be returned
here. It's some other chap with a donkey."
The sound of the wheels was lost, as at the point where
they had turned in at the gate there was a sweep in the
road between high hedges and overarching trees.
“I think it was father," said Kate.
“And I say it was not. However, whoever it was, he's
gone now. You bide here. I'm off-mind don't be seen
or heard by nobody till my return."
Then Pasco departed.
He did not take the way by the road. He crossed the
field, scrambled over a hedge, and directed his course
towards the river. This was not the shortest way, and it
was certainly the most arduous, for it entailed the breaking
through of several hedges, and the scrambling over many
banks.
The evening was rapidly closing in.
He saw-or heard—the keeper, and crouched under a


CHAPTER XXXII
JASON IN THE WAY
| ASON had lighted a candle, and had made himself
comfortable in the settle. Pepperill stood staring at
him in speechless anger and uncertainty.
“Where's the sister? Where's Kitty ?” asked Jason in
unconcern.
“What are you doing here?” roared Pasco, convulsed
with sudden rage. “Is this your house, that you dare come
in and use it as your home ?”
Quarm looked at his brother-in-law in surprise.
“Get out of the place at once,” shouted Pasco. “If I
happen to go away for ten minutes, is that a reason for
every Jack and Tom to come here, as if it was 'Beggars'
Hall'”
“Why, what on earth has put you out?”
“What has put me out? you—by coming in here. This
is my house, not yours."
“Brother-in-law,” said Jason, puzzled at the strange
humour of Pasco, “is not that a sufficient answer, when I
give you that title ? Zerah is my sister-I have ever been
welcome here. Kate is my daughter-she lives with you.
Why am I here? Put it-I have come to see my sister,
come to kiss my child.”
“Neither is in the house."
“Then where are they?”.
“I am not bound to answer you,” shouted Pepperill in
anger, vexation, and fear, aggravated by the coolness with
which Quarm answered him.
“Yes, you are. I have ties of blood, and ties of affec-
tion, your bad temper can't snap. I ask, where is my
daughter ?”
213


214
KITTY ALONE
“Gone back to the moor.”
“That can't be—alone.”
“She is not alone.”
“Is Zerah with her ?”.
“No, she is not; Zerah is at Teignmouth, gone there to
get me out of one of the difficulties into which you have
plunged me."
"I-I got you into difficulties ? I am always showing
you rope's-ends by which you may crawl out.”
“Who else but yourself has now put me in such an upset-
ment that I do not know under what stone to look for
money; that I'm threatened with legal proceedings; that
the bailiffs are on the way to my house ? ”
“It is your own doing, not mine. Who threatens you ?”
“There is my bill for the wool unmet. There is my
account for coals unpaid.”
"I have had to do with neither. You acted like a fool
about Coaker's wool-buying when in all the papers it was
told how that there had been an importation from New
South Wales.”
“I never read the papers."
“Then you have no right to do business. You do it at
inevitable loss. But this is neither here nor there, above
nor below. Where is Kate?”
“I have told you gone to the moor.”
“When?”
“An hour or two ago."
“With whom?"
“With me."
“Then how came you here?”
“Because I had left the doors unlocked against im-
pertinent fellows coming in. I left Kate with the trap
whilst I ran back. Now, are you content ? Out of my
house immediately. I want to lock up and go back to her."
“This is a queer tale,” said Quarm. “I have myself
but just arrived. I must have passed you on the way."
“Not at all, if we had gone into a friend's for a cup of
tea."
“With what friends were you ?”
“I shall not stand and be catechised by you. I say, get
out. I am going to lock up.”


JASON IN THE WAY
215
“Now look here, Pasco, and be reasonable. I would
not have returned to Coombe and left the men at Dart-meet
unlooked after, had I not good news to communicate.”
“Good news ?” mocked Pepperill. “The best of news
would be that you were going to take yourself off.”
“I believe we shall sell the oak."
“I have heard of that already—from Coaker.”
"Well, I tell you it is so. The authorities at Portsmouth
will take it at a reasonable price, if we deliver it."
“There is the thing we can't do—that spoils it all.”
“Yes, we can-deliver it here in the Teign. There is
the Stover Canal—we can send it down by that and ship it
all to Portsmouth right away.”
Pepperill was silent. This was indeed a rift in the cloud.
“The only difficulty is not this-it is that we must have
the timber sawn at Brimpts, and sent down and put on
board in planks. They cannot freight a vessel with rude
oak timber unsawn. Now I have a scheme—there is the
river Dart pouring down its volumes of water of no good
to anyone." Let us put up a saw-mill, and we shall have
the oak run into planks and ready for transport in a jiffy."
“And the cost?”
“Forty pounds."
“Forty pounds?" roared Pasco, and thrust Quarm from
him by a rude stroke on the shoulder. “Where am I to
look for forty pence?”.
“It is our only chance. I must agree to-morrow, or the
thing is off. If I engage to saw up the timber and despatch
it by water, we shall get a very tidy profit—not what we
had hoped, but something. If I do not accept the offer,
then I really do not see my way to disposing of the oak
at all. The felling of the Okehampton Park oaks has
spoiled the market in this country. Come, what say you,
Pasco-shall I settle ?"
"I cannot do it," answered Pepperill, a cold sweat break-
ing out over his brow.
*There is an old mine wheel available. I can buy it
for a song,” said Quarm.
"I have no money. Have I not told you that - or
must I knock it into your brain with my fist-or the house
key?" He raised his hand threateningly.


216
KITTY ALONE
“ Be reasonable, Pasco. I cannot tell what has come
over you to-night. You are not yourself. If you do not
care about the outlay for a saw-mill, we must saw all up
by hand, and that will come costlier in the end. I fancy
if you bestirred yourself you could raise a loan.”
“I will not. I will have but one thing now — your
absence. Get out of my house !”
“Where be I to go to?" asked Quarm, settling himself
from one leg to the other. “There's Jane Redmore in my
cottage, with all her children.”
“Well”-
“I can't go there—the place is full.”
“You are a fool to have suffered it.”
“Kate begged and prayed of me”-
“Take the consequences, and be homeless."
“I cannot, for to-night. You are going to Brimpts, and
it is as well the men should see you. I shall return to-
morrow, but to-night I must house me somewhere. Let
me stay here; there is no one in the place, and I'll keep
guard for you if you wish.”
“There is nothing here to guard, but emptiness. I
want no help of yourn."
“But I must have a roof over my head at night."
“Any roof but mine. Will you go, or must I Aling you
out and down the steps ?”
“You're in a wonderful queer temper to-night. What is
up?"
“My temper, as you say, is up; and like to be so-
when it is through you I am brought to ruin and beggary."
He caught Jason by the shoulders, whirled him round,
and with hands and knees thrust him out of the door, and
then he slammed it behind him and turned the key. Next
moment he blew out the light. Then he threw himself
panting on the settle and buried his head in his hands.
He had not sat there many minutes before Quarm was
kicking at the door, and calling him by name. Transported
with anger, Pasco sprang to his feet, took down the
blunderbuss that was over the kitchen fire, and, going to
the door, half opened it and thrust forth the muzzle of
his piece.
“Go away, or I will shoot.”


JASON IN THE WAY
217
“This is rank folly !” bawled Jason. “Are you gone
demented ? Give me shelter for the night; I will do no
harm. What do you mean by refusing me such a reasonable
request? I tell you I can't go home-all the Redmores
are there packing every corner.
Jason thrust up the end of the blunderbuss, and put his
shoulder to the door.
“I'll kill you if you trouble me further,” said Pasco
between his teeth. “Take the consequences of befriending
scoundrels and their families.”
He drove Quarm back and refastened the door, then
he stood at the door listening, with the butt of the gun on
his foot. He heard his brother-in-law growl and pass
remarks upon him. He heard him limp away, and then
all was still.
Pepperill stepped to a window and looked out, to
observe the direction taken by Quarm, but the darkness
was too great for him to see anything. He went back to
the settle and tried to think.
The elaborate precautions he had taken to dissemble
his 'return, to make believe that he had departed before
sunset, had been made futile by the appearance of Jason
on the scene. Should what he purposed take place—then
he could not declare that he had been from home at the
time. What availed it that he had paid the miller's bill
at a quarter to seven, when his brother-in-law could aver
that he had been back at the Cellars an hour later ?
What was to be done ? Should he abandon his inten-
tion because of this mischance ? Rage against his brother-
in-law ate into his heart. All had promised so well.
Everything was moving with such smoothness, till Quarm
appeared. What but a malevolent mind could have
brought this fellow back from Brimpts to cross him ?
What was to be done? It was of no practical use
storming against Jason. Should he abandon his purpose,
or defer it?
To abandon it seemed to him an impossibility. By
carrying it out alone could he be released from his present
pecuniary difficulty. To defer it was difficult, for he
wanted immediate relief; moreover, when again could he
calculate on having the ground so clear as now—his wife


218
KITTY ALONE
away in Teignmouth, his niece waiting at a distance with
the cart?
What if Jason had seen him? Would he dare to give
evidence against him — his own brother-in-law? Was it
not to Jason's interest that he, Pasco, should be flush of
money, and ready to embark in the proposed scheme of
erecting a saw-mill?
Even if Jason spoke of having seen him, he could deny
it. Pasco sprang from the settle. He would run the risk.
It was worth it.


220
-KITTY ALONE
In the dark he could see no one: he listened and could
hear no sound.
Then he stepped back to the kitchen table and removed
the candle-end from the stick, and put it into his pocket.
No sooner had he reached the door again, however, than
it occurred to him that a candlestick without a tallow
candle in it, if left on the table, would attract attention and
comment. He therefore returned for it, and placed it
on the mantelshelf above the hearth. In doing this he
knocked over a canister that fell at his feet. He groped
and found the canister; the cover had come off, and some
of the contents were spilled. This was gunpowder.
Greatly disconcerted, Pasco felt for a brush and swept all
the grains he could into the hollow of his hand, and shook
them into his trousers-pocket, then he swept the brush
vigorously about, so as to disperse over the floor any particles
that had escaped him in the dark. After which he pro-
ceeded carefully to replace the canister. He now again
made his way to the door, passed without, locked the door
behind him, and placed the key in a hollow above the
lintel, known to Zerah and himself.
· Then he stealthily crossed the yard to his great ware-
house, but at every second step turned his ears about,
listening for a sound which might alarm him.
He did not breathe freely till he was within his store.
He had not locked it-indeed, of late he had been wont
to leave it unfastened, labouring under the hope that the
hint thrown out to Roger Redmore might be taken by the
fellow, thus relieving himself of his self-imposed task.
Without, there was a little light from the grey sky.
Within was none. What amount might have found its
way in through the window was excluded by the sacking
that Pasco had nailed over the opening..
He now proceeded to light his candle end. When the
wick was kindled, he looked about him timidly, then with
more confidence ; lastly with a sensation of great regret
and even pity for the fabric in which he had so long stored
his supplies that he retailed to the neighbourhood.
But no thought of retreat came over his mind now, he
was impelled forward irresistibly. The doubt was past
that had tortured him, after his interview with Jason Quarm.


ONE CRIME LEADS TO ANOTHER
221
He stuck the candle end upon the ground, and went
about among the coals, examining the places where he had
put the shavings, adding here and there some bits of stick,
or rearranging the coals, and then strewing over them the
contents of his out-turned pocket. Then he sat down and
panted. He must rest a moment and wipe his brow before
the irrevocable act was accomplished.
Presently, slowly, painfully, he rose from the block of
coal on which he had seated himself. The sack lay hard
by into which he had stuffed the shavings. It was now
empty.
He took up the candle-end and went towards the nearest
mass of shavings, stooped-the grease ran over his fingers.
The wick had become long and the flame burnt dull. He
thought to snuff it with his fingers, but they shook too
much to be trusted. He might extinguish the flame, and
he shuddered at the thought of being left there—in his old
storehouse in the dark. He again set down the candle,
and with a bit of stick beat the red wick, and struck off
sparks from it, till he had somewhat reduced the length of
the snuff.
He was about to take up the candle to apply it to the
shavings, when he heard a sound—a strange grating,
rattling sound behind him.
He looked round, but could see nothing, his great body
was between the light and the rear of the shed, whence the
sound proceeded. He was too much alarmed to perceive
the cause of the obscurity. Then he heard a voice-
“Pasco, I never thought you a scoundrel till now—but
now I know it."
Pepperill recognised the voice at once—it was that of
Jason Quarm.
Immediately he realised the situation. Expelled from
Coombe Cellars, debarred from sheltering in his own house,
Quarm had entered the store-shed, and had climbed the
sleep.
A sudden wild, fierce thought shot through Pasco's brain
like the flash of summer lightning. He sprang to his feet.
The terror that had momentarily unnerved him passed
away. Leaving the candle burning on the ground, without


222
KITTY ALONE
a word, he strode to the ladder, which Quarm was descend-
ing laboriously, owing to his lameness.
With clenched teeth and contracted brow, and with every
muscle knotted like cord, Pepperill threw himself on the
ladder, just as Jason got his head below the opening of the
loft, and shook it.
“For Heaven's sake! what are you about?" screamed
Jason.
"I'll rid myself of a danger," answered Pasco between
his teeth and lips, indistinctly, and he twisted the ladder,
and kicked at its feet to throw it down.
“Pasco, let go! Pasco, will you kill me?" shrieked the
crippled man, catching ineffectually at the floor through
which he had crawled, then clutching the side of the ladder.
Pepperill uttered an oath; he ran under the ladder, set
his back against it and kicked with his heels.
“Pasco! I'll not tell—I swear!”
“I won't give you the chance," gasped Pepperill. The
ladder was reeling, sliding, the feet were slipping on the
slate floor. A piercing scream, and down came ladder and
man upon Pasco, throwing him on his knees, but precipitat-
ing the unfortunate cripple with a crash on the pavement.
Pepperill, though shaken and bruised, was not seriously
hurt. He gathered himself up, stretched his limbs, felt his
arms, and with lowering brow stepped towards his prostrate
brother-in-law, who lay on his back, his arms extended, the
hands convulsively contracted. His chin was up, and the
dim glow of the candle cast its light below the chin, and
had no rays for the upper portion of the face.
Pepperill felt in his pocket for the lucifer matches, and,
stooping over Quarm, lit one, and passed the flame over his
countenance. Jason was apparently insensible. Blood
was flowing from his mouth at the corners. The flame of
the match was reflected in the white of the upturned eyes.
Pasco held the match till it burnt his fingers, then he let
it fall, and remained considering for a moment. Should
he let his brother-in-law lie where he was ? Could he be
sure that he would not awake from a momentary daze
caused by the blow on his head as he fell on the stone
floor?
Pasco picked up a huge lump of coal and stood over


ONE CRIME LEADS TO ANOTHER
223
Jason, ready to dash it down on his head, and make sure
of his not awaking. But though his heart was hard, and
he was launched on a course of crime, yet conscience
makes strange distinctions in crime, and shrinks from doing
boldly the evil at which it aims covertly.
Pasco laid aside the block of coal. He would not dash
out his brother-in-law's brains, but he would by other means
make sure that he should not rouse to give him future
trouble.
He took the sack, in which had been the shayings, and
proceeded to thrust into it the legs of Quarm, who offered
no more resistance than would a dead man, and gave no
sign of consciousness. With much labour, Pasco drew the
sack up, enclosing the body; he pulled down the arms and
forced them into the sack also. But he was unable to
envelop Jason completely. The sack was not of sufficient
length for the purpose. It reached to his breast and
elbows only.
There was a rope hanging in the store to a crook in the
wall. Pepperill disengaged this, and with the cord bound
Jason's feet, then tightly strapped him about the arms so as
to make it impossible for him to free himself, should he
return to consciousness.
The exertion used by Pasco had steadied his nerves.
He no longer trembled. His hand had ceased to shake,
and his heart no longer contracted with fear.
Greatly heated by his labour, he stood up and wiped his
brow with his sleeye. Then he was aware of a cool current
of air wafting across him, and he saw that in this same
current the candle-flame consumed its wick and swaled
away profusely. He turned in the direction of the draught,
and found that the door into the shed was partly open.
He had not locked it when he entered, but had closed it.
The night wind had swung it ajar, and then by its own
weight it had opened farther. Pepperill shut it again, and
placed a lump of coal against the foot to prevent a recur-
rence of the same thing.
As he returned to where Jason lay, he heard a slight noise
overhead, and saw a white and black pigeon perched on a
swinging pole.
The bird was young. It had been given to Pasco the


224
KITTY ALONE
week before, as he had expressed a wish to have pigeons.
He had shut the bird up in his shed to accustom it to
regard the shed as its home, and to remain there. He had
fed the bird himself with crumbs, and had entertained an
affection for it.
Now a qualm came over his heart. He could not bear
to think of this innocent bird falling a victim. He had
compunction for the pigeon, none for the unconscious
Jason. ! herefore, rolling a barrel under the perch, he
climberi ipon it, captured the sleep-stupid bird and carried
it betw* in his hands to the door, pushed aside the lump
of cort and threw the pigeon into the open air without
That act of mercy accomplished, he shut the door and
went back to where the candle was. This he now detached
from the floor and the mass of melted tallow around it, and
applied the flame to one, then to another, of the little
parcels of combustibles in various places. Flames danced
about, and for a minute Pasco looked on with satisfaction,
assuring himself that the shavings had ignited the sticks,
and the sticks had kindled the coals. When well satisfied
that all was as he desired, he knelt down, and by sheer
force rolled the heavy, lifeless body of Jason Quarm from
the floor, up the slope of the coals, and lodged it among
large blocks on the top.
Then Pepperill turned, extinguished his candle, went
out through the door, locked it, and started at a run across
the fields in the direction whence he had come an hour
before.


CHAPTER XXXIV
AND YET ANOTHER
DASCO ran on, easily surmounting the hedges which he
T had clambered over with difficulty on his way to
Coombe Cellars. He reached the track by the water's
edge, and ran along that without once looking behind him,
and only paused when he arrived at the point at which he
must strike inland, to his left, leaving the river margin to
ascend the sloping shaws in the direction of the shed where
tarried Kitty with cob and cart. Here he halted, and a
chill ran through his arteries, making him shiver and his
teeth chatter. He was hot with running, yet withal in an
icy tremor, and with a feeling of swimming in his head and
sickness at his heart.
The thought had risen up in him, an almost tangible
thought, like a great beast coiled in his heart, stretching
itself, getting on its feet, and turning. The thought was
this--that it was not too late to save his brother-in-law.
He might return, unlock the store, rush in, and drag the
unconscious man down from the heap of coals, through the
smoke and flame. The fire had not yet reached him ; it
was tonguing up the heap, sending the tips of its flames
tastingly towards him ; the fire was hot beneath, but the
crust still upheld the man in the sack; would it be so
much longer ? As the coals were consumed beneath, there
would be formed a great core of red fire, and if Jason
moved, the crust would give way, and then, shrieking,
unable to assist himself, he would drop into that glowing
mass, where the cords would be burnt to free him, but only
when it would be.too late for him to escape.
Had Jason already woke from his trance, and was he
cuddled up in his sack, watching the approaching flames,
15


AND YET ANOTHER
227
There was one person, and one only, who was a danger to
Pasco; one person, and one only, who knew that he had
been to Coombe Cellars after having ostensibly left it; one,
and one only, that he had been on the spot precisely at the
time when, presumably, the fire broke out.
If Kate Quarm were to speak, then what he had done
was done in vain; the Company would refuse to pay the
sum for which his stock was insured, and he might be sus-
pected of having caused the death of his brother-in-law.
Would not Kate speak—when she knew that her father
was dead? Might she not make dangerous admissions
should there be an inquest? The charred corpse or burnt
bones would be discovered when the ashes of the store
were removed, and Jason's cart and ass being in Coombe,
would lead to the conclusion that he, Jason Quarm, had
caused the conflagration and had perished in it. It would
be supposed that he had gone to the Cellars, and, finding it
locked and no one within, had taken shelter for the night in
the warehouse, where he had lit his pipe, gone to sleep, and
inadvertently had set fire to the coals and wool.
But then - what night Kate be brought to say if
questioned by the coroner ?
Pepperill entered the shed and called the girl. He called
twice before he received an answer. Then he struck a
light, and as the match flared he saw before him the drowsy
face of Kate.
"Oh, uncle! What a long time you have been away!
I fell asleep."
“Long time? I have not been a quarter of an hour. I
ran to the Cellars and ran back the whole way.”
“It has been more than a quarter of an hour, Uncle
Pasco. I waited, watching for ever such a time, and then
I went to sleep."
“You are mistaken. Because you shut your eyes you
think the time was long."
“What is that, uncle, you are burning?"
“A lucifer match."
“How did you get it alight ?"
“By striking it on the box.”
“How could that light it? Is there a bit of tiny flint on
the match and steel on the box?


228
KITTY ALONE
“No, there is not. I don't know how the fire comes-
but it comes somehow.”
“That must be a very curious contrivance, uncle."
“Whether curious or not is no concern of yours.”
He struck another match and held it aloft. The girl
stood on one side of the cart, he on the other. The lucifer
flame twinkled in her eyes. Her hair was ruffled with
sleep.
As Pasco looked at her by the dying flame, he was con-
sidering what to do. He had no doubt that he was
insecure so long as she lived. Desperate, hardened, pro-
jected along an evil course, could he withhold his hand
now and not make himself secure ? Would it not be
weakness as well as folly to allow this testimony to remain
who could at any moment reveal his guilt ? But if he were
to strike her down with a stake or stone, what could he do
with the body ?
“Take care, uncle," said Kate. “There is dry furze
here. If the spark falls, there may be a blaze."
He extinguished the match with his fingers. He did not
desire that his course should be marked by fires.
“Is there much furze here, Kitty ?” he asked in a
smothered voice.
“Oh no! only just under foot.”
“No great heap in a corner ?”
“None, uncle.”
“Not enough to cover you over if you were asleep.'
Kate laughed and answered, “I would never lie on furze
if I could help it, and be covered with it-I should be
tormented with prickles. I sat down and laid my head
against the hedge that makes the back of the linhay." He
was prodding the bedding of furze with his whip. “It is
all fresh," said Kate. “I reckon Miller Ash is going to
turn his cow in here, when he has taken away her calf.”
“Ah! she has calved ?”
“Yes; last week.”
“True—the cow will be here to-morrow, or in a couple
of days." To himself he muttered, “It won't do "-then
aloud, “Jump into the cart, Kitty. We must push on.
You drive out, I will open the gate.”
In another minute Pasco Pepperill was in his seat with


AND YET ANOTHER
229
Kitty at his side, driving in the direction away from the
Cellars.
He feared every moment to hear her say, “Uncle, what
is that light shining over Coombe? Can there be a fire?”
Instead of that she said, “Uncle, did you see nothing
of my father? I am quite sure that was he who drove by
after we had got into Mr. Ash's field. I heard his voice.
I know his way with the donkey. I am quite certain that
was father.”
“Your father ?—no. Never set eyes on him. You were
mistaken."
“I am sure it was my father. I know the rattle of the
cart wheel.”
“I say it was not; and take care how you say a word
about ever having gone into the field, and about my having
returned to the Cellars."
“Why, uncle ?"
“Because Ash will summons me for trespass, and be-
cause my horse ate the grass. That's one reason ; but
there's a better one-I don't choose that you should speak.”
Kate was accustomed to his rough manner, and she did
not answer.
Then Pasco's mind began to work on the theme that
had occupied it before. He had been seen driving out of
Coombe with Kate at his side. But what of that? Would
it not be a sufficient answer to give, were she not to be
seen again, that he had met Jason Quarm on the road, and
that the man had taken his daughter with him, and that
thereupon both had perished in the flames ?
The more he considered the matter, the more essential
to his security did it seem to him that Kate should be got
rid of. The only embarrassment he felt was as to the
means to be employed, and the place where it was to be
done. Not till she was removed could the weight now
oppressing his mind be cast off.
“Uncle,” said Kate after a long course in silence, “I
cannot think how that lucifer acts, if there be no flint and
no steel. How else can the match be made to light ?"
“How is no matter to me-kindle it does, somehow."
Then, abruptly, “Have you got your cotton dress on?
The wind is from the east and chilly."


230
KITTY ALONE
“Oh no, uncle, I have on my thick woollen dress, and
am very warm-thank you kindly for considering me.”
“The thick wool, is it?"
“Yes, uncle-very sure, very thick and warm.”
Then that would not do. It had occurred to him to
drop a lighted match on her frock, set her in flames, and
throw her out into the road at a lonely spot. No, that
would not do. He reversed his whip and beat the cob
with the handle.
“ Diamond is not going badly, uncle,” said Kate in mild
remonstrance.
He was in reality trying the weight of the whip handle
and the stiffness of the stem. That would not effect his
purpose; there was no metal to signify at the butt-end.
The horse did not greatly mind a blow dealt it with a full
swing of its master's arm.
Pasco bore no malice against his niece. In his cold
fashion he liked her. She was useful in the house, and
saved him the expense of a maid. It was doubtful whether
any servant would have been as submissive to Zerah as was
Kitty, whether any would have continued so long in service
to her. He had forgotten his momentary resentment at
Kate refusing the offer of John Pooke. He wished the
girl ill for no other reason than his own safety. Had he
been able to send her away, out of the country, that would
have satisfied him. But as there was no opportunity for
getting her out of the way without hurt to himself, she
must be removed by such means as were possible to
him.
How to do this, and where to do it, remained undecided.
Not where he then was could it be attempted, for he was
now approaching Newton. The lights were twinkling through
the trees, cottages were passed with illumined windows, and
sometimes with persons standing in the doors.
On entering Newton, Pepperill turned his horse's head to
make a detour, so as to avoid passing the inn that had been
rebuilt after having been burnt down. For some reason
undefined in his own heart, he shrank from driving before
that house.
In a few minutes the cob was trotting along the Ashburton
road. Pasco looked behind him. He heard the sound of


AND YET ANOTHER
231
the hoofs of another horse, and the rattle of other wheels.
Some traveller was on the road that night.
“Uncle,” said Kate, “I think the moon is going to rise."
“I suppose so.”
“Will it not be grand on the moor, with the moon shining
over it, and the Dart flowing like silver below ?”.
“Silver? I wish it were silver, and I'd pocket it,” growled
Pasco. “Dang it! what is that which is following ?"
He slackened his pace, but the conveyance did not pass
him; it approached, and the driver was content to keep in
the rear.
“Will you go on?" shouted Pasco, turning his head.
“No, we'll remain as we are," answered the driver.
“How far are you going?”
“To Ashburton.”
Well, thought Pasco, the loneliest, wildest part of the
road is that between Ashburton and Brimpts.


CHAPTER XXXV
UNSUCCESSFUL
N leaving Ashburton, Pasco Pepperill was relieved of
the attendance which had been so irksome to him.
He would not, probably, have carried out his purpose
between Newton and Ashburton, as that was a high road,
much frequented, running through cultivated lands, and
with farms and cottages along it at no great intervals.
Nevertheless, the knowledge irritated him that someone
was following him, that should an opportunity otherwise
propitious arise, he could not seize it because of the man
in the trap at his heels. Never able clearly to bring all
contingencies together before his inward eye, in the conduct
of his business, he was now more dull and confused in mind
than usual.
He took it into his head that there was something
menacing in the pursuit; that the man in his rear was
aware of what he had done at the Cellars, that he foresaw
his present purpose, and was intentionally following him,
keeping him in sight, either that he might deliver him up
to justice for what he had done, or to prevent the execution
of his present design.
It was consequently with immense relief that he heard
the man's cheery “Good-night," and his wheels turn off by
a by-street, as he trotted through Ashburton and along the
road leading to Dart-meet and Brimpts.
At a distance of rather over a mile from Ashburton the
Dart is crossed, then the road climbs a steep hill, cutting
off the great sweep made by the river as it flows through
Holne Chase, and it crosses the river again as it bursts from
the moor at Newbridge. Nearly the whole of this way is
through woods, and does not pass a single human habitation.
232


234
KITTY ALONE
That means things which come between. He explained
that to me. I cannot always make out what is said till it
is explained; but when it is, then the full truth and loveli-
ness rises and shines into me like the moon when it has got
over the hills and the woods.”
“Go on.”
" A faculty abides,
That with interpositions, which would hide
And darken, so can deal that they become
Contingencies of pomp, and serve to exalt
Her native brightness."
I did not understand what contingencies meant, but he told
me, and now all is quite plain as it is quite true. And it
goes on-
As the ample moon
Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,
Burns like an unconsuming fire, light
In the green trees'"-
“ Cease this foolery,” said Pasco impatiently. He was
fumbling in his pocket for his clasp-knife, and was opening
it.
“Do look, uncle dear!” exclaimed Kate, turning to
observe the moon as it mounted over the rich Buckland
Woods on the farther bank of the Dart.
“Halt,” shouted Pasco to the horse.
They had reached an eminence. The girl stood wrapped
in delight, with the silver shield of the moon before her,
casting its glorious light over her face and folded hands.
Pasco had his knife out. She heard the click, as the spring
nipped the blade firmly, but did not turn to see what
occasioned the sound.
“The moon has come up out of the trees just as he said
-I mean the poet-like a power in the heart and soul that
has been entangled in all kinds of dark and twisted matters
of every day. Oh, uncle, what is that?"
Pasco drew back. A white dog-a mongrel, short-haired
lurcher-crossed the road. Simultaneously a whistle was
heard, and this was answered by another in the distance.
“There are poachers about,” said Pepperill. He shut his
knife, pocketed it, and called Kate to get into the trap.
He was not going to halt to see a darned moon rise, when


UNSUCCESSFUL
235
all kinds of vagabonds were about, and there was no safety
for honest men.
Pasco drove rapidly down the hillside into the Dart
Valley at New Bridge. The road was mostly in shadow,
but the bare moor on the farther side was white in the
moonlight, as though it had been 'snowed over. The horse
was tired, and tripped. Pasco had to be on his guard lest
the beast should fall. In the shadow of the trees it could
not see the stones that strewed the way. At the bottom of
the valley flowed the Dart; the rush of the water breaking
over the rocks was audible.
"If a harm came to you or me in the river, I reckon
the body would be washed right away to Sharpitor," said
Pepperill.
* Uncle !” said Kate, with a laugh, “ that would be going
up hill."
“I'm getting mazed," growled he; “so it is. Well, folk
would say one or other of us had come by an accident
among the rocks o' Sharpitor, and tumbled into the river
and been carried down by the stream. That's likely-eh?”
“I suppose so, uncle. But if anything were to happen
to one, that the other would know, and do all he could to
help.”
"Of course."
Pepperill was looking at the brawling torrent.
“And if anything were to chance to one here, the body
would be carried right down the Chase for miles till it came
to the other bridge."
“I daresay, uncle. But don't talk like that. Let us
look at the moonlight. There is a man yonder-by the
side of the river."
“A man—where ?"
“By that large stone.”
“He is catching salmon. Not a fish has a chance up
here on the moor. What a parcel of rascals there be ! ”
Pepperill drove across the bridge. He had intended-
he hardly dared articulately to express to himself his
intention. Again he was frustrated-just at a suitable
point-by this fellow catching salmon by night.
Beyond the bridge the road rose rapidly. Both uncle
and niece were forced to descend from the cart, and relieve


CHAPTER XXXVI
ALL IN VAIN
DASCO PEPPERILL staggered to his feet, and at once
I felt pain in one ankle.
" Are you hurt, dear uncle ?” again inquired Kate.
“Hurt? I've strained and bruised myself all over. My
right arm-my leg—I can hobble only. Where's the trap?"
“If you have no bones broken, uncle, sit down, and I
will see after Diamond.”
The horse was browsing unconcernedly at no great dis-
tance. Too tired to run far, too hungry to heed his wounds,
he had at once applied himself to the consumption of the
sweet moorland grass. Happily the cart was uninjured.
It had not been upset, and no more of the harness was
broken than a strap at the head. The cob allowed Kate to
approach and take him by the forelock without remon-
strance. He knew Kate, who had been accustomed to
fondle him, and who, in the absence of friends of her own
order, had made one of the brute beast. She managed to
fasten up the broken strap and replaced the headstall; then
she drew the horse along to where her uncle sat rubbing
his leg and arm.
" It's the right arm, drat it !” said Pasco; “won't I only
give that cursed beast a leathering when I can use my
arm again!"
“Surely, uncle, poor Diamond was going on all right till
you beat him. He is so patient that he does not deserve
a beating. There is a thorn branch about which the whip
has become entangled. I suppose that must have hurt
him, poor fellow. He was good, too; when my foot
slipped and I fell, he would not trample on me. You were
bearing him, uncle, and did not see where I was. Just
238


ALL IN VAIN
239
think how good he was !-notwithstanding the thorns, yet
he would not tread on me.”
“Oh yes, that is all you think about, you selfish minx,
your own self. Because you are uninjured, you don't care
for me who am bruised all over."
It was of no use pursuing the matter. Kate knew her
uncle's unreasonable moods, so she changed the subject
and asked, “What is to be done now? shall we go on along
the moor or turn back ?"
“It is of no use going along the moor now. We may
come to some other darned accident with this vile brute.
Lead him back along our tracks to the road. I don't want
to be thrown out again. This is the second time he has
treated me in this manner. If I had a gun, I'd shoot him."
"Uncle, that other occasion was no fault of his. You
were driving the schoolmaster, and Walter Bramber told
me about it-you sent the wheel against a stone."
“Of course the blame is mine, and this time also. The
horse is innocent.”
“If you had not beaten poor Diamond”-
“Go on with the cart, and hold your tongue."
But Pasco walked with pain. He had not taken many
steps before he asked to be helped up into the trap.
Kate led the horse and spoke caressingly to the brute,
that was greatly fagged with the long journey without a
break he had taken that evening. Usually he would be
given an hour's rest and a feed at Ashburton, before the
worst and most arduous portion of the journey was taken;
but on this occasion he had been urged on at his fastest
pace and never allowed to slacken it, and not given any
rest, not even a mouthful of water, at Ashburton. No
wonder that he tripped.
Pasco looked sullenly before him at the girl walking in
the moonlight, speaking to the horse. The chance of
doing her an injury was past. He could with difficulty
move his arm. If he drew his knife on her and attacked
her there on the moor, she could run from him, and he
would be unable to pursue her, owing to his sprained
ankle.
There was no help for it, he must make the best of the
circumstances, threaten her if she showed an inclination to


240
KITTY ALONE
speak and compromise him. Perhaps, taken all in all, it
was as well that his purpose had been frustrated. There
was no telling; he might have got into difficulties had he
killed her. In escaping from one danger, he might have
precipitated himself into another.
He saw now what he had not seen before. It had been
his intention to attribute the fire to Jason Quarm. Had
Kitty disappeared according to his purpose, then he would
have said she had returned to Coombe with her father. It
was known that she had left the place in his own company
in the trap. She had been seen by the publican and by
the miller. But it was possible, it was probable, that Jason
had been seen as he drove through Coombe to the Cellars.
If so, then it would have been observed that he was alone;
accordingly his-Pasco's— story of her return with her
father would have been refuted. Then, what explanation
could he have given of her disappearance ?
Pepperill drew a long breath. He had been preserved
from making a fatal mistake. He was glad now that his
attempt on Kate had been frustrated.
Then, again, a new idea entered his brain. Could he
not have attributed her death to accident on the moor, had
the horse trampled on her ? He might have done so, but
then, would not folks have thought there was something
more than coincidence in the death, the same night, of
father and daughter ?
“I believe I'd ha' been a stoopid if I'd ha' done it,”
said Pasco, and resigned himself to circumstances. “Be us
in the road? I reckon us be.”
“Yes, uncle ; here is where we turned off from the
highway. Which turn shall I take-on to Brimpts or back
to Ashburton ?"
“On ahead, Brimpts way. There's a little public-house
at Pound Gate, and I be that dry, and the cob, I reckon,
be that lazy-we'd best turn in there and rest the night.
The shaking of the cart hurts me, moreover.”
Kate got up into the vehicle and drove. Her uncle gladly
resigned the reins to her. He could have held them,
indeed, but not have used the whip, and Diamond would
not go with him unless he used the whip.
Before long the little tavern was reached-a low building


ALL IN VAIN
241
•
of moorstones, whitewashed, with a thatched roof, and a
sign over the door.
To the surprise of Pepperill, he saw a chaise without
horses outside.
At the inn he drew up. The landlord came to the door
and helped him to descend.
“What! hurt yourself, Mr. Pepperill ?."
“Yes; had a spill."
“On your way to Brimpts, I suppose? I hear you are
selling the timber.”
“Yes, to Government. Have you visitors ?”
“Ay! Some one come after you.”
“After me?"
Notwithstanding his bad ankle, Pasco started back. Had
his face not been in shadow, the landlord might have
observed how pale he had become.
“What! come from Coombe?” he asked in a faltering
voice.
"Hardly that, master," answered the landlord. “Not
likely that when you be come from there. No, o' course,
came t'other road. He asked about you at Brimpts, and
then drove on. He's purposing to sleep the night here,
and was intending to push on to Coombe to-morrow. He's
ordered some supper, and my old woman ha' done him a
couple of rashers and some eggs. Have you a mind to
join him?"
“But who is he? What does he want?” Pasco was
still uneasy.
“A sort of a lawyer chap."
“A lawyer ?” Pepperill hobbled to his trap. “I'll push
on, thank ye, I'll not stay."
“Nay, you'd better. I hold wi' you, master, that it is
best in general to give clear room to lawyers. But this
time I don't think but you'd safest come in. He'll do you
no hurt, and maybe he brings you good, Mr. Pepperill."
“I'll go on,” said Pasco decidedly. “I hate all lawyers
as I do ravens."
“Halloo! What is this?” A gentleman put his head
out of the bar parlour window, which was open. “Who is
it that hates lawyers ? Not Mr. Pepperill ?”
Pasco attempted to scramble into his trap.
16


242
KITTY ALONE
“Is that Mr. Pepperill, of Coombe Cellars? You must
stay. I have a word to speak with you.”
"I won't stay-not a minute.”
“I'll not charge you six-and-eight. Yet it is something
to your advantage. I'm Mr. James Squire, solicitor,
Tavistock. I have come about your affairs. Your old
uncle, Sampson Blunt, is dead—died of a stroke-sudden-
and you come in for everything. What say you now?
Will you stay? Will you put up your horse? Will you
come in and have some of my rasher and eggs? I'm
drinking stout—what will you take? You won't drive any
farther to-night, I presume? Sampson has died worth
something like three thousand pounds; and every penny
comes to you, except what Government claims as pickings
-probate duty, you understand.”
“Three thousand pounds ?” gasped Pasco.
“Ay, not a guinea under, and it may be more. His
affairs haven't been properly looked into yet. I came off
post-haste, took a chaise from Tavistock, didn't think to
meet you. Was coming on to-morrow. An apoplectic
stroke. No children, no one else to inherit but yourself,
the only heir-at-law. Now, then, what do you say? Rum
and milk, they tell me, is the moor tipple, but I go in for
stout.”
With glazed eyes and open mouth stood Pasco Pepperill,
his hands fallen at his side; he seemed as though he had
been paralysed.
“Three thousand five hundred — there's no saying,"
continued Mr. Squire, through the window. “Look sharp,
come in, or the rashers and eggs will be cold. I asked for
a chop. Couldn't have it. Pleaded for a steak. No good.
No butchers on the moor. So ham and eggs, and ham salt
as brine. Never mind-drink more. Come in.”
Then the head of the lawyer disappeared behind the
blind, and the click of his knife and fork was audible.
Pasco tried to raise his right arm, failed, then he clapped
his left hand to his brow.
“Good heavens !” he almost shouted; “I've done it all
for naught.”
“Done what?" asked the innkeeper.
Pasco recovered himself.


CHAPTER XXXVII
THE ANSWER OF CAIN
THE accommodation of the little inn was not extensive,
so Pasco had to be put into the same room with
the lawyer, and Kitty slept with the innkeeper's daughter.
Pasco would have greatly preferred a room to himself.
He was in a condition of unrest. As it was not possible
for him to return to Coombe Cellars that night, he was in
ferment of mind, uncertain whether it were advisable that
he should return there that week, whether he should not go
with Mr. Squire to Tavistock to make provision for the
burial of his uncle, and to see after his estate. He had
added crime to crime to save his credit as a man of
substance, and all had been in vain. The succession to
his uncle's estate supplied him with what he required.
Why had not the old man died a day earlier? Why, but
that fate had impelled him into crime only then to mock
him. If fate could play such malicious tricks with him,
might it not pursue its grim joke further, lift the veil,
disclose what he had done, and just as the property of his
relative came to him, just as the money from the insurance
company was due-strike him down, drive him into penal
servitude, if not send him to the gallows ? He tossed on
his bed; he could not sleep.
At one moment he resolved to go with the solicitor to
Tavistock, and remain there till the funeral, or till he
received news of what had taken place at home. But a
devouring desire to know what had happened, what was the
extent of his crime, to know whether Jason had escaped,
whether the fire had been put out, what his wife thought,
what was the general opinion relative to the fire,—all this
drew him homewards.
244


THE ANSWER OF CAIN
245
d explothen as had 10
Moreover, his sprained ankle and arm were painful, and
he could lie on one side only. In the night he put out
his hand for his coat, drew it to him, and groped for the
box of lucifer matches. He desired to light a candle, rise,
and bind a wet towel round his foot.
But the box was missing.
Alarmed, he started from bed and explored the pockets
of his trousers and of his waistcoat, and then again went
through all those of his coat, but in vain. He had lost
the box.
Here was fresh cause for uneasiness. Where had he lost
it ? Surely not at Coombe Cellars. With a sigh of relief,
he recalled having struck a light in the linhay in Miller
Ash's field, and that it had excited the interest of Kate.
He had then slipped it back into his pocket, as he believed.
In all likelihood it had fallen out when he was thrown from
the cart on the moor.
Towards morning he dropped into broken sleep, from
which he started every few moments in terror, imagining
that a constable was laying hold of him, or that he saw
Jason Quarm leaping upon him enveloped in flames.
When he woke, he saw the lawyer dressing himself and
shaving. His face was lathered about chin and neck and
upper lip. He turned towards Pepperill and said, “You
are a nice fellow to have as a comrade in a bedroom.”
“Am I? Well, I daresay I am," answered Pasco, always
prepared for a recognition of his merits.
“I was speaking ironically, man,” said Mr. Squire. “By
George ! how you did toss and tumble in the night. It I
had had an uneasy conscience, you would have kept me
awake. What was the matter with you ?”
“With me? Nothing. I never slept sounder."
“Then you must give your wife bad nights at home. I
thought it might have been your spill."
“Oh yes, to be sure it was that. I suffered in my arm
and foot; and look, I'm all black and yellow this morning.
I shall go back at once to Coombe Cellars."
“You will? Why, man alive, we want you at Tavi:tı ck.
There is your poor uncle's funeral, you know, to see to. I
say, if we are to travel together, you won't cry over-niuch,
will you? I love tears, but in moderation."


246
KITTY ALONE
“I must return to the Cellars, if only for an hour. I
wish to tell Zerah-that's my wife-our piece of good.
fortune—I mean, our sad bereavement. And I must put
together my black clothes and get my hat."
“If it must be, it must. I wish you had been communi-
cated with earlier.”
“Earlier ? Was that possible?”
“Of course it was; the old gentleman died two days
ago.”
“Two days ago? Why, to-day is Wednesday."
“Well, his decease took place at five in the morning of
Monday."
“Why did you not tell me at once?" alniost shrieked
Pasco, swinging from his bed, and then collapsing on his
crippled foot.
“Bless you, man, it was not my place to do so. I knew
nothing of you; the housekeeper was the person he trusted.
I came to know of it, as I managed your uncle's affairs.
When I inquired about relatives, then I heard of you, or
rather got your address, and came off. You see, as he died
on Monday, it won't do for you to be away long. The
housekeeper has instructions, and is a sensible woman, but
you are the proper person to be on the spot.”
“Is she honest? Will she make away with things ? "
Mr. Squire shrugged his shoulders.
“I will run to Coombe; we will go in the chaise, and
return to Tavistock directly I have been there. Kitty shall
be driven by the boy to Brimpts in my trap.”
Pasco would not have his niece at Coombe for some
time if he could help it.
As soon as he was dressed he was impatient to be off.
He hurried breakfast, and hardly ate anything himself. He
gave instructions that Kate was to be sent on at once, and
was not content till he had seen her off. He had not deemed
it prudent to warn her again not to speak of his return to
the Cellars after leaving Coombe. To do so might excite
her suspicions. Besides, she would be at Brimpts, where
there was no one interested in the affairs of Coombe
-no one who belonged to it. It would suffice to caution
her when she came back to the Cellars, and that return he
would delay on one excuse or another.


THE ANSWER OF CAIN
247
When Pasco seated himself in the chaise beside the
solicitor, an expression of satisfaction came over his face.
He was returning to Coombe as a man of consequence, and
in good society. How the villagers would stare to see him
in a carriage drawn by post-horses. An April weather
reigned in his heart, now darkening with apprehension,
then brightening with pride and self-satisfaction.
Ever and anon the ghastly figure of his brother-in-law in
the sack, burning, rose before his mind's eye, but he put it
from him.
As the chaise entered Ashburton, Pepperill said to his
companion—“Will you accommodate me with a sum of
money till I come in for my inheritance ?"
“With the greatest pleasure, but I have not much loose
cash about me."
“You have your cheque-book. The circumstances are
these-I owe money for wool to a fellow named Coaker,
and gave him a bill—unfortunately, I could not meet it, the
bank returned it, only a few days ago, and this has made
me very angry. I should like to show the bank and Coaker
that I am not the moneyless chap that they choose to
consider me."
“I shall be happy to assist you. " Let us go to the bank
at once; I'll settle that little matter with them. Shall I do
it for you?”
“I shall be obliged, but I think I must go also.”
It was possible that the tidings of what had taken place
might have reached Ashburton-possible, though hardly
probable.
His uneasiness was relieved when he entered the bank.
No allusion was made to any fire. The banker was profuse
in his apologies. He could not help himself. There were
certain rules in his affairs that he was bound to follow. He
had no doubt it was an oversight of Mr. Pepperill not to
pay in the sum required, but a man so full of business as
he was reputed to be was liable to such slips of memory.
The banker knew Mr. Squire by reputation, was quite sure
all was as it should be. He would at once communicate
with Coaker-indeed, Coaker was sure to be in Ashburton
that day, and let him have the money of the bill.
For some distance Pasco held up his head, and talked


248
KITTY ALONE
boastfully. He had taught that banker what he really was.
Everyone else knew he was a man of his word and a man
of substance. The solicitor was glad of this change in his
companion's mood, and talked chirpily.
But the change in Pepperill's manner did not last long.
As he neared Newton, he leaned back in the carriage. He
did not desire to be recognised and saluted with the news
of the fire. The chaise drew up for the horses to be
watered at the inn which had been rebuilt after a fire.
“Will you have a drop of something?" asked the solicitor.
“I shall descend for a minute. I suppose we have not got
far to go now?"
He left the chaise, and left the door open. Pasco closed
it, and being affected with sneezing, opened his pocket-
handkerchief and buried his face in the napkin, as the
landlord came to the door.
He did not lower the kerchief, he listened from behind
it to the host conversing with Mr. Squire.
“Fine morning, sir-come from far ? "
“No, nothing very great to-day. Off the moor and
through Ashburton.”
“Going on to Teignmouth, sir ?"
“No, only to a place called Coombe.”
“Coombe - in - Teign head? You haven't many miles
more. Nice place. Just heard there has been a fire there."
“Indeed. Insured ?”
“Can't say, sir. My little place was burnt down. A
tramp slept in the tallat over the pigs and set it ablaze with
his pipe. Happily, I was insured, and now I have a very
respectable house over my head. What will you please to
take, sir?”
“Some rum and milk, I think."
Then Mr. Squire and the landlord went within, and
Pasco lowered his kerchief. He wished he had heard more
—that the man had entered into particulars, and yet he
dared not inquire.
Presently the lawyer stepped into the carriage. The
host attended him, and in shutting the door, caught sight
of Pasco.
“Halloo !” he exclaimed. “Mr. Pepperill, have you
heard the news ?"


THE ANSWER OF CAIN
249
“ News—what news ?”
“Why, rather bad for you. There's been a terrible fire
at your place.”
6. The house?”
“I really don't know particulars. They say it's been
dreadful. I'm sorry to have to say it, but I hope there's no
lives lost, and that you are insured.”
“Drive on!” shouted Pasco to the postilion. “Drive
on—lose no time. There is a fire at my house."
The horses whirled away, and Pasco no longer disguised
his nervousness. It was natural that he should be uneasy.
“You needn't trouble yourself,” said Mr. Squire. "If
lives had been lost you would have heard, and if you are
insured to full value, well”—
On reaching the summit of the hill whence Coombe was
visible, a sickly scented smoke was wafted into the carriage
windows.
“By George, I can smell it !” exclaimed the solicitor.
“It is a sort of concentrated essence of burnt wool.”
“Then my stores are gone !” cried Pepperill. “And all
the fleeces for which I have just borrowed two hundred
pounds of you to pay-all lost. I'm a ruined man."
“Not a bit," answered the lawyer. “You are insured.”.
The postilion needed no urging; he cracked his whip,
and the horses flew down hill, the chaise rattled through
the village, past the church and the inn, whence the host
came out to see whether a distinguished guest was coming,
and drew up at the entrance to the paddock before the
Cellars.
A crowd of villagers, men, women, and children, was
assembled round the wreck of the storehouse, from which
volumes of smoke still ascended. Every now and then
stones and bricks exploded, and the children shouted or
screamed if a hot cinder flew out and fell near them.
Pasco burst out of the carriage and rushed towards his
house, pushed his way through the assembled crowd, and
ran to his door.
There stood Zerah, ghastly in her pallor, her usually well-
ordered hair dishevelled, with clenched hands held to her
breast, a look of despair in her face. Directly she saw her
husband, she shrank from him, and when he put out his


250
KITTY ALONE
hands to her, she thrust him away, with an expression of
horror.
"I will not be touched by you,” she said hoarsely.
" Where is Jason ?"
“ Jason? Am I his keeper ?”.
“The answer of Cain," retorted Zerah. “This is your
doing. I knew it would come, when you insured. And
you have destroyed my brother also. O my God! my
God! Would that I had never seen this day!”


CHAPTER XXXVIII
WANTED AT LAST
D ASCO thrust his wife within and shut the door behind.
Zerah had returned early in the morning, and had
found that her husband and Kate were away, and the house
locked, whilst the stores were in conflagration. Half the
parish was present. The fire had broken out some time
after nightfall at least, it had been observed about nine
o'clock by a boy connected with the mill, who ran to the
alehouse and roused the village orchestra, which was
practising there, and in ten minutes nearly everyone in the
little place was at the Cellars. The fire was pouring in
dense sheets of flame out of the windows. It had apparently
begun below, the wool above dropped into it as the rafters
and boards gave way. Nothing could be done to arrest it,
but precautions were adopted to prevent the fire communi-
cating with a little rick of straw that Pepperill had for litter
near the stables. The flames and smoke were carried
inland, and no apprehensions were entertained of the house
becoming ignited.
Much comment was made on the absence of Pasco, his
wife, and niece. But that which excited most uneasiness
was the presence of Jason Quarm's cart and donkey in the
yard. If they were at the Cellars, then Jason could not be
far distant. Was it possible that, finding the house locked
up, and his relatives absent, he had made his way into the
store-shed and perished there? This was the question hotly
debated.
When Mrs. Pepperill arrived from the other side of the
river, and saw the conflagration, and heard that there was a
probability that her brother had fallen a victim, she was
driven frantic with terror and grief. In her mind connecting
251


252
KITTY ALONE
her husband with the occurrence, she charged him with the
firing of the stores and with the death of her brother.
Pepperill endeavoured to pacify her. He protested his
innocence; he declared that he had left the house soon
after herself, and by entreaty, remonstrance, and threat
urged Zerah to hold her tongue and not recklessly put him
in peril by rousing against him suspicion which was without
grounds.
As to Jason, he knew nothing about him. He had
probably left his trap at the Cellars and crossed the water
on some business of his own. He would return shortly.
The fact of his cart and ass being there was not sufficient
to cause alarm for his safety. If anything transpired more
grave, Pasco would be the first to take the necessary steps
to investigate what had become of him. Meanwhile, let
Zerah moderate her transports and listen to the news he had
to tell. He must leave her, and that immediately, to go
with the lawyer to Tavistock, and make provision for his
uncle's interment and for securing his property.
Pepperill was unable to get away as soon as he wished.
He was forced to show himself among the crowd, to give
expression to consternation, to answer questions as to his
surmises about the origin of the fire, to explain how he had
left the place before it broke out, and to offer suggestions as
to the whereabouts of Quarm. He scouted the idea of his
brother-in-law having been burnt in the stores; he said he
suspected the fellow Redmore of having set fire to his
buildings. Redmore was at large still ; he, Pasco, had given
him occasion of resentment by sending the workmen at
Brimpts in pursuit of him. The man was a bitter hater
and revengeful, as was proved by his having burned the
stack of Farmer Pooke. What more likely than that he
had paid off his grudge against himself— Pepperill-in like
manner?
As soon as ever Pasco was able to disengage himself from
the crowd, he re-entered the chaise and departed with the
lawyer, glad to escape the scene. When the chaise had
got outside Coombe, he leaned back with a puff of relief and
said, “That is now well over.”
“I should hardly say that,” observed the lawyer, “ till
you have the insurance money clinking in your pocket.


WANTED AT LAST
253
Now look here, Mr. Pepperill; it may be you will have a
hitch about the same. If so, apply to me."
Among those looking on upon the mass of glowing,
spluttering combustible material was the rector, with his
hands behind him, and his hat at the back of his head.
He was touched on the arm, and, turning, saw the pretty
face of Rose Ash looking entreatingly towards him.
“What is it, my child ?”
“Please, sir, do you think anything dreadful has happened
to Kitty's father?"
The rector paused before he answered. Then he said
leisurely, “I do not know what reply to make. I saw him
last night about seven. I was at my garden-gate when he
drove by, and we exchanged salutations."
“ The neddy is in the stable here, and there is his cart,"
said Rose.
“He may have crossed the water."
“But, sir, Mrs. Pepperill had the boat."
" True-is there no other?”
“Yes; the old boat. I did not think of that. I'll run
and see if her be in place."
Rose left, and returned shortly, discouraged, and said-
“The old boat be moored to the landing-stage as well as
the new boat. And, sir, I do not think he could have got
across the water after seven by any boat. The tide was out.
By nine, when it was flowing, the people were running about
here because of the fire."
“I will go and see Mrs. Pepperill.”
“May I come with you, sir? Kitty is my very dear
friend.”
“Kitty ?—I thought she had no friends?”.
“It is only quite lately we have become friends. I
would do anything for her. I am not happy. I think she
ought to know what has taken place, and yet I wouldn't
frighten and make her miserable without reason. That is
why I so much wish to know what is really thought about
poor Mr. Quarm. It would be too dreadful if he had come
by his end here, and it will break Kitty's heart.”
“You shall come with me, certainly, Rose.”
On entering the house, they found Mrs. Pepperill moving
restlessly about the kitchen. Her mood had gone through


254
KITTY ALONE
a change since the visit of her husband. The wildness of
her first terror and grief had passed away, and given place
to great nervous unrest. She had smoothed her hair as
well as she could with her trembling fingers; her lips
quivered, her eye was unsteady, and she could not remain
in one posture or in one place for more than half a minute.
She had hitherto appeared a hard, iron-natured woman
without sympathy, but now the shock had completely
broken her down. She had rushed to the conclusion that
her husband had deliberately set fire to his warehouse, and
without scruple had sacrificed her brother. The horror of
the death Jason had undergone, and the greater horror to
her of the thought that this was the callous act of her own
husband, had shaken the woman out of all her self-restraint
and rigidity of nerve. She was morally as well as physically
broken down. A woman stern, uncompromising, strictly
honest and upright, harsh and unpitying in her severity,
she found herself involved in a terrible crime that touched
her in the most sensitive part. It was the conceit mingled
with stupidity in Pasco, his recklessness in speculation, and
his obstinacy in refusing to listen to her voice, which had
hardened and embittered the woman.
Something he had said, something in his manner, had led
her to fear he contemplated an escape from his difficulties
by dishonest means, and it was to avert the necessity of his
having recourse to these that she had produced her little
store, the savings of many years. When she returned from
Teignmouth to find that her husband, notwithstanding, had
carried out his purpose, and in doing so had swept her own
brother out of his path-then all her fortitude gave way.
After the first paroxysm of resentment and despair had
passed, she felt the need of using self-control, and of con-
cealing what she thought, of endeavouring to avert suspicion
from falling on Pasco. Now also, for the first time in her
life, did this stern woman crave for sympathy, and her
heart turned at once instinctively to the girl she had
disregarded and despised. Dimly she had perceived,
though she had never allowed it to herself, that there was
a something in her niece of a strong, noble, and superior
nature to her own. And in this moment of terrible
prostration of her self-respect and weakness of nerve, her


WANTED AT LAST
255
heart cried out with almost ravenous impatience for Kate.
To Kitty alone could she speak her mind, in Kitty's breast
alone find sympathy.
When, therefore, the door opened and the rector entered
with a girl at his side, her eyes, dazzled by the sunlight
behind them, unable to distinguish at the moment through
the haze of tears that formed and dried in her eyes, she
cried out hoarsely-
“It is Kitty! I want you, Kitty!"
“I am not Kitty,” said Rose. “I am only her dear
friend. If you want Kitty, I will fetch her.”
“I do want her. I must have her,” said Zerah vehemently.
“I have no one. My brother is dead, my husband is gone.
My Kitty—where is she? I do not know if it is true that
she is on the moor. She may be burning yonder, along wi'
her father.”
The woman threw herself into the settle, and burst into
a convulsion of tears.
Mr. Fielding spoke words intended to console her. She
must not rush to a conclusion so dreadful without sufficient
cause; it was possible enough that in the course of the day
something might transpire which would give them reason to
believe that Mr. Quarm was safe. Then, to divert her mind
from this point to one less distressing, as he thought, he
inquired whether she had any idea as to how the fire had
originated.
He could hardly have asked a question more calculated
to agitate her. Zerah sprang from the settle, walked
hurriedly about the room, hiding her eyes with her hand,
and crying-
“I know nothing. I cannot think. I want Kitty.”
Then Mr. Fielding put forth his arm, stayed her, and
said-
“Mrs. Pepperill, remember, however dear to you your
brother may be, he must be dearer to Kitty, as he is her
father. You are advanced in life, have had your losses and
sorrows, and have acquired a certain power to sustain a loss
and command sorrow, but Kitty's is a fresh young heart,
that has never known the cutting blows to which yours has
been subjected. Spare her what may be unnecessary. Let
us wait over to-day, and if nothing happens to relieve our


256
KITTY ALONE
minds of the terrible fear that clouds them, we will send to
Dart-meet for the child. Indeed, she must be brought here
-if our fears receive confirmation. All I ask is, spare her
what, please God, is an unnecessary agony."
Then Rose Ash came up close to the bewildered woman.
“Mrs. Pepperill, I will go after Kitty, I promise you, if
you will wait over to-day. I am Kitty's friend, as I was
once the friend of your Wilmot, and if you will suffer me, I
will remain in the house with you, to relieve you, all day,
and do what work you desire."
“No, no!” gasped Zerah; “I must be alone. I will have
no one here but Kitty.”
“You consent to the delay ?”
The woman did not refuse; she shook herself free from
Rose and the rector, retreated to the window, and cast her-
self on the bench in it, and cried and moaned in her hands
held over her face.
When Rose proposed to Mrs. Pepperill that she should
go to Brimpts to fetch Kate, a scheme had formed itself in
her brain. She would ask Jan Pooke to drive her. At the
time of our story two-wheeled conveyances, gigs, buggies,
tax-carts, were kept only by the well-to-do, and there were
but three in all Coombe—the parson's trap, and those of
Pasco Pepperill and yeoman Pooke. Her own father, the
miller, though a man of substance, had not taken the step
of providing himself with a trap; to have done so would
have been esteemed in the parish an assertion of wealth and
importance that would have provoked animadversion, and
might have hurt his trade. The miller is ever regarded
with mistrust. His fist is said to be too much in the meal-
sack, and had he dared to start a two-wheeled conveyance,
it would at once have been declared that it was maintained,
as well as purchased, at the expense of those who sent their
corn to be ground at his mill.
But now that Rose considered her scheme at leisure, it
did not smile on her as at first. At the moment she pro-
posed it, the prospect of a long drive by Jan's side, of union
in sympathy for Kitty, had promised something. Now that
she reviewed her plan, she foresaw that it might be disastrous.
Kate, when she heard the tidings of the fire and the news
of the disappearance of her father, would be thrown into


CHAPTER XXXIX
ONE FOR THEE AND TWO FOR ME
D OSE and Jan were side by side in the trap that
belonged to the Pookes. In his good-nature and
readiness to do whatever was kind, Jan had promptly
acceded to Rose's request that he should help her to
bring Kitty home. It was not right, she said, that the
child should be left on the moor, when her father was dead,
and her aunt in despair.
“You know, Jan,” she said, pressing against the driver's
side, and speaking low and confidentially, “I am dear
Kitty's very, very best friend,-I may say, her only real
friend,—and have to fight her battles like a Turk.”
"I did not know that,” observed Jan in surprise, ill-
disguised, for his mind ran to the incidents of the Ashburton
fair.
“You boys don't know everything. I love Kitty dearly,
and I believe she loves me. We have no secrets from each
other, and now that she is in trouble, my heart flies out to
she, and I want to be with her, and break the news to her
very, very gently.”
"I thought”—began Jan, then paused.
Rose looked up in his dull, kindly face, and said roguishly,
“Oh, Jan, a penny for your thoughts. No, really; I will
give half a crown—a thought with you must be so precious,
because so rare."
A little nettled, Jan said, “I thought this, Rose : from
your treatment of Kate the other day at the fair, that you
were her enemy rather than her friend.”
“ That is because you are an old buffle-head. Of course
we are bosom friends, but I'm full of fun, and we tease one
another, we girls—just as kids gambol. You are so heavy
258


ONE FOR THEE AND TWO FOR ME 259
and solemn and dull, you don't understand our gambols.
You are like a great ox looking on at kids and lambs, and
wondering what it all means when they frisk, and you take
it for solemn earnest.”
“But about the quarrel at the stall—the kerchief?”.
“That was play.”
“And the workbox that Noah knocked from under her
arm? Was that play ?”
“Purely. Jan, I had a much better workbox which I
wanted to give Kate, and you went and spoiled my purpose
by giving her that trumpery affair. I am not ashamed to
own it. I told Noah to strike it from under her arm, that
I might give her the box I had put aside for her.”
“And she has it ?”
“Yes; oh dear, yes !-of course she has it."
Jan shook his head; he was puzzled, but supposed all
was right--supposed, because he was too straightforward
and good-hearted to mistrust the girl who spoke so frankly,
with great eyes looking him full in the face, and smiling.
Impudence is more convincing than innocence.
Then Rose said, “How good you are, Jan — how
tremendously good! Really, it is a privilege to live in
the same parish, and drive in the same buggy beside so
excellent a Christian.”
“What are you at now?” was Jan's outspoken response.
“I mean what I say, Jan. Considering how you've been
treated, I declare that by your conduct you do a lot more
good to me than any number of sermons.”
“How so? You are making game of me.”
“Not a bit ; I'm serious. How is it you show your good-
ness? Why, by driving me to Brimpts.”
“Oh, I have nothing else to do, and I like a drive."
“With me? — or perhaps I just spoil the pleasure,"
Rose asked, with a roguish look out of the corners of her
eyes.
The young yeoman was unaccustomed to making gallant
speeches, and he let slip the opportunity thus adroitly offered
him. Rose curled her lip, as he replied-
“It is always pleasanter to have someone to talk to than
to be alone, especially for a long drive.”
“But it is so good, so very good of you to fetch her.”


260
KITTY ALONE
“Why should I be such a churl as not to go when
asked ?
“After what has occurred, you know. What a fellow you
are! In the orchard, you know.”
Pooke turned blood-red. A fly was tickling him ; he
raised the butt-end of his whip and rubbed his nose with it.
“Get along, Tucker !” he shouted. Tucker was the
horse.
“I hope I shall profit better from your example than I
have from all the parson's sermons,” pursued Rose.
"What are you at?” asked Pooke uneasily, conscious
that some ulterior end was in his companion's view, as she
thus lavished encomiums on him, and then dug into his
nerves a needlepoint of sharp remark.
“What am I at? Oh, Jan! nothing at all, but sitting
here with my hands in my lap, so happy to have a drive-
and in such excellent company—company so good.”
"I don't understand what you mean."
“ It is not every man would lend his cart, nay, drive
himself, to do a favour to a girl who had treated him
outrageously.”
“When did you treat me so ?”
“I-oh, Jan—not I! I could not have done that. A
thousand times no ”- Rose spoke in pretty agitation, and
fluttered at his side. “I mean Kitty.”
“Kitty? Get along, Tucker !—it's no use your trying to
scratch yourself with your hind hoof, and run at the same
time.” He addressed the horse, which was executing
awkward gymnastics, “Excuse me, Rose; I must dis-
mount. There is a briar stinging Tucker.”
Jan drew up, descended, and slapped with his open
hand where a horse-fly was engaged sucking blood. The
fly was too wide awake to be killed ; it rose, and sailed
away. Then young Pooke mounted again.
“Get along, Tucker!” he said, and applied the whip.
“I mean," pursued Rose, as if there had ensued no
interruption. “I mean, after you had been treated so
shamefully."
“ I didn't know it.”
“Really, Jan! Everyone knows that Kitty refused you.
It is the village talk, and everyone says it was scandalous."


262
KITTY ALONE
“Oh! about that affair, that comical affair in the
orchard ? Half the village, I reckon, was out behind the
hedges looking and listening. There was Betsy Baker,
and there was Jenny Jones, and that sprig of a chap,
Tommy Croft- I won't be sure they heard, but I fancy
so-anyhow, everyone has been talking of it, and pitying
you that you were made ridiculous; and then to go off,
right on end, and accept a schoolmaster.” In a tone of
infinite contempt, Rose added, “A schoolmaster! It
takes ten tailors to make a man, and ten schoolmasters
to make a tailor; Puddicombe excepted—that was a man,
and was so highly respected, he knew how to make himself
looked up to, and folk forgave him his profession for his
own sake. But this new whipper-snapper! And to be
rejected for him!”.
Jan Pooke writhed. He had not heard the news of
Kate's engagement. Somehow it had been kept from, or
had not reached, him. The fire had distracted men's and
women's thoughts from the affairs of Kate, Bramber, and
himself. His colour changed, and he flushed purple. He
shared the prejudice entertained by farmers and labourers
-by all who were semi-educated and wholly uneducated
—for the man of culture that was striving to enlighten dull
minds and wake torpid intelligences. Parsons and school-
masters are in the same category. The heavy soul re-
sents being raised to spiritual life, and the heavy mind
resents being wakened to intellectual life. It ever will
be so, and it ever has been so. A man going along a road
found a sodden toper lying in a ditch. He tried to pull
him out. “Leave alone!" roared the drunken man. “I
likes it, I enjoys it. I'll knock you down if you don't let
me lie in my ditch. There are effets there, and slugs
there, and frogs and toads; get along your own way and
leave me where I am."
Pooke and Rose Ash had imbibed the views of their
parents and companions, and the prevailing atmosphere in
a country parish. They had not risen above it, and their
ideas took colour from it.
“It was scandalous conduct, was it not, Tan?” asked
Rose. “If I were you, I wouldn't stand it, not half an hour.”
“But what can I do?”


CHAPTER XL
A GREAT FEAR
7 ATE was among the felled timber at Brimpts, skip-
ping about the logs, stooping, then rising again,
and withal singing merrily, when Jan and Rose, having put
up the horse at Dart-meet, came up the valley to join her.
The peeled trunks lay white as bones on the surface of
the moor, and a fresh and stimulating odour was exhaled
from them. The bark was piled up in stacks at intervals.
The whortleberry was flowering in the spring sun. The
heather was still dead. Horns of ferns, brown, and curled
like pastoral staves, stood up between the trunks.
After the first greetings had been exchanged, Rose
asked Kitty, “What in the world are you doing here-
bobbing about? In search of long cripples (vipers)? ”
“No; I do not want them. I have started some
basking in the hot sun, but they slip away at once and do
no harm. I am counting the rings on the trees.”
“What for?”
“To learn their age.”
“Who cares how old the trees are ?"
“I do; and thus one can find out in what years the
trees grew fast, and which summers were wet and cold.”
“Really, Kitty, you are going silly.”
“ It is interesting," pursued Kate; “and then, Rose,
I do not altogether believe in the rings telling the age truly.
I think the oaks are much older than they pretend to be."
“Like old maids ? " suggested Rose.
“Yes, Rose; after a certain age they cease to grow-
cease to swell, they just live on as they were, or go back
in their hearts, then they make no rings. The rings tell
you for how many years they went on expanding, but say
nothing about those when they were at a standstill. Then,
265


266
.
KITTY ALONE
look here : the rings are on one side much thicker than on
the other, and that is because of a cold and stormy wind.
They thicken their bark against the wind, just as I might
put on a shawl.”
“Oh,-by the way-touching a shawl”
But Kate was too eager and interested in her subject
to bear interruption.
“I have the oddest and most wonderful thing to show
you, Rose. You do not care about the rings, but this you
will be truly pleased to see.”
“What is that?”.
“Follow me.”
Kate skipped among the prostrate oaks till she reached
one large trunk. As she skipped, she sang merrily-
" All in the wood there grew a fine tree.'”
“What song is that, Kate?” asked Rose.
“It is one that the head woodcutter taught me.
• All in the wood there grew a fine tree,
The finest tree that ever you might see,
And the green leaves flourished around.'
All on this tree there grew a fine bough, and all on this
bough there grew a fine twig. Then it goes on to tell how
on this twig there was a fine nest, and how in this nest
there was a fine bird, the finest bird that ever you did see;
and on this bird there grew a fine feather, and out of the
feather was made a fine bed, and on this fine bed was laid
a fine babe, and out of the babe there grew a fine man,
and the man put an acorn into the earth, and out of the
acorn there grew a fine tree, and the tree was of the acorn,
and the acorn of the man, and the man was from the babe,
and the babe was on the bed, and the bed was of the
feather, and the feather of the bird, and the bird was in
the nest, and the nest was on the twig, and the twig was
on the bough, and the bough was on the tree, and the tree
was in the wood.
" And the green leaves flourished around-around-around,
And the green leaves flourished around.""
" What nonsense, Kate !”


A GREAT FEAR
269
“I'll go at once,” said Kate, flushing with pleasure.
“When did this happen?”
“Tuesday night.”
“That is the night we came here. Is my father at the
Cellars ?"
“I have not seen him. Now, Jan ”- Pooke was about
to speak. Rose stopped his mouth. “Leave me to speak.
You are a blunderer.”
“But I know he passed us going to Coombe,” said Kate.
“Passed you—where?”
“On the hill. We were in the linhay."
Rose held out a shawl.
“Kitty, is this yours?".
“Yes; it is. I lost it on my way here. Where did you
find it?"
“In the linhay in Furze Park. I went there with our
cow, Buttercup. The calf is taken from her. There I
found it.”
“We turned into the field, and I remained a long time
in the linhay,” said Kate.
“And your uncle?".
“Oh, he went back to the Cellars."
“What, by the road?”
“No; by the waterside. I was tired, and the time was
long, or I thought it was; so I folded my shawl to keep
the prickles from my head,—there is so much furze there,
and I lay down and slept.”
"I found this also,” said Rose, extending a match-box.
“I don't understand what it is.”
“It is a lucifer-box. My uncle had it. He pulled a
match across something, and it blazed up. I suppose he
dropped it in the linhay, also, whilst getting the horse and
cart out.”
“What ! you had horse and cart there?"
“Yes.”
“And your uncle went back to the Cellars ? ”
“Yes; just before. Indeed, as we turned into the
field, I heard my father go by; I heard him speak to
Neddy. He always talks to the donkey as he goes along."
“ You did not speak to your father?”
“No. Uncle was impatient, and father was rattling


270
KITTY ALONE
along at a fine pace, and you know from that place it is all
down hill to Coombe.”
“Your uncle returned to the Cellars after that, you
are quite sure of it ?”
“Yes; certain. He told me he had forgotten to
lock up."
“Why did he not go by the road?”
“I cannot tell—perhaps he thought the other way
shortest.”
“It is not that. Was he long away?”
to tell me of father? I know he went to Coombe.”
“I have told you—I have not seen him.”
“Where can he be ?”
Neither answered that question.
Even into Jan's dull brain there penetrated an idea that
some mystery connected with Pasco Pepperill was involved
—that it was singular that he, his wife, and niece should
have all left the Cellars before the fire broke out, and that
Pasco should have returned there secretly after having
left. He said nothing. If he tried to think, his thoughts
became entangled, and he saw nothing clearly. An uneasy
feeling pervaded him, which he was unable to explain to
himself.
During the first part of the journey back to the Cellars,
Kate talked. She sat beside Jan Pooke. Rose was behind,
keeping a ready ear to hear what was said, and interfere
should she deem it expedient.
“Where can my father be ?” asked Kitty.
As no answer was given to her query, she said further-
“It is very strange, and I cannot understand how he is
not there. He must have been at Coombe just before the
fire broke out. I know he passed along the road. Where
are the donkey and cart?”.
“They are at the Cellars,” answered Jan.
“Then my father must be there. He cannot be far off.
He cannot get about easily, as he is so lame."
“I suppose he must be somewhere," was the wise
observation of Pooke.
“Hasn't my aunt seen him ? "
“No, Kitty.”


A GREAT FEAR
271
“Nor anyone."
Jan hesitated, and presently said-
“I did hear something about the parson having spoke
with her, but I don't know the rights of it.”
“He must be there. He cannot be far off. We shall
see him when we arrive. I daresay he had some business
that took him off ; but if he heard of the fire, he would come
back at once. He will be a loser by it as well as my
uncle.”
“Folk say there will be no loss, as Mr. Pepperill insured
so terrible heavy. They do tell that he has insured for
two thousand pounds, and that only about fifty pounds
worth of goods is burnt."
Kate shrank together. Rose touched Pooke significantly
to hold his tongue.
After that Kitty remained very silent. A feeling of
unrest took possession of her, even of alarm, at some im-
pending catastrophe. That her uncle had been in difficulty
she knew. That he was in want of money to pay for the
timber before he could realise on it, and to meet his dis-
honoured bill for the wool, she knew. A chill ran through
her veins.
After a long period of silence Rose said to her-
“Kitty, is it true that you and the schoolmaster went to
old Mr. Puddicombe about being engaged ?”
“Yes," answered the girl addressed.
“He took it as a mark of proper respect?'
“ Yes."
“ Tan, dear,” said Rose, touching Pooke, “as soon as we
get to Coombe, you and I will go and call on Mr. Puddi-
combe. It will please him. He was the first who heard
about your engagement, Kitty ?”
“Not quite that—we told Mr. Fielding.”
“Oh, the parson! But everyone respects Mr. Puddi-
combe so much, that I think Jan and I will go to him
first. You know, Kitty, we have settled it between us-
I mean, Jan and I-on our way to Brimpts, and Mr.
Puddicombe ought to know,"
ne real I wille ween
war


CHAPTER XLI
TAKING SHAPE
[ T was evening when Kate was driven up to the Cellars,
1 yet not so dark but that she could see the donkey in
the paddock, and dark enough to make the glow of the
still smoking heap visible, here and there, in red seams and
yellow sparks.
“There is Neddy,” exclaimed Kate. “My father must
be here."
As she was descending from the cart, she said, “Why, he
may have crossed the Teign in the boat."
“No, Kitty," answered Jan; “I don't think that.”
“Why not?"
Pooke was afraid of answering lest he should involve
himself; and Rose had jumped down at the mill, and so
was not there to prevent him from committing an error..
Before entering the house, in her anxiety about her
father, Kate ran to the mooring-place of the boats, and
came back in some exultation to Jan. “I said so. He
has crossed. The old boat is gone."
“ It was there yesterday. It was there all the night of
the fire and next day. It has been taken since," answered
Pooke.
Kate was downcast. She held out her hand to Jan,
took her little bundle, and entered the house. Her aunt
had not come out to meet her. That she had not expected.
No one in that house had shown her graciousness and
desire for her presence, and she had ceased to expect it.
When she entered, it was with a hesitating foot. She
thought that Rose, out of good nature and desire to please,
had represented her aunt as more desirous to have her
than she really was. Having never met with affection on
272


274
KITTY ALONE
tained from his lips that he had seen and exchanged words
with Jason Quarm on the evening of the fire, in fact, only
an hour or two before the fire must have broken out.
But where was her father? The old boat was gone, that
was true; but it was in its place on the morning after the
fire, as well as all that night. It had been taken later;
and there was, perhaps, not much to marvel at in this,
when the Cellars were crowded with all conditions of sight-
seers and mischief-doers pervading the precincts. Dis-
honest men might have taken advantage of the confusion
to purloin the boat, or mischievous boys to have loosed the
cable and let her drift with the tide where it chose to sweep
her.
Inevitably Kate became aware of the opinion prevailing
in the village, that her father was burned to death in the
storehouse, and it was hard for her to come to any other
conclusion. She went to Mrs. Redmore to inquire whether
he had been to his old cottage, but the timid, not very
bright woman nervously denied any knowledge of him.
Her distress was very great, but she sought to conceal
it from her aunt, who wanted nothing to augment her own
trouble.
Hitherto the fire had smouldered on in the ruins, but it
became less, and though the charred masses still gave out
gusts of heat, there was no more smoke rising from them,
only a quivering of the air above the ashes.
The fire was naturally the main topic of conversation in
the neighbourhood. Minds as well as tongues were
exercised. Comments were made on the absence of Pasco,
which were rendered hardly more favourable by the know-
ledge that he had gone to a funeral. He knew nothing of
his uncle's illness and death when he started. Why had
he sent his wife away? Why had he carried his niece back
to Dartmoor, from which she had been recently brought ?
Incautious exclamations of Zerah, when first made aware
of the fire and of her brother's disappearance, together with
her reticence since, were discussed.
Prowlers came round the house, peering into this part,
then another. An agent from the insurance office suddenly
presented himself, listened to and noted down the various
rumours in circulation, and threw out a hint that his office


TAKING SHAPE
275
-
would consider before it paid the sum for which the store-
house and its contents were inscribed.
The rector called on Mrs. Pepperill, and without
appearing to intrude on her troubles, endeavoured to gain
from her something which might elucidate the mystery of
Quarm's disappearance. Her mouth remained shut, and
her eyes scrutinised him with suspicion.
Mr. Pooke senior was constable, and he considered it
his duty to intervene. He owed a grudge, nay, two, to
Pasco Pepperill, and this fire was an opportunity for paying
it off. He was angry with Pepperill because he had not
shown him the deference that Pooke considered his due,
and had wrested from him the office of church warden. A
triumph indeed would it prove were he to be able to make
Pepperill amenable to the law. Moreover, Pepperill was
uncle to the chit who had dared-positively dared !-to
refuse his son. He had not desired the engagement--he
had disliked the idea of it-he would have vastly preferred
his son's union with the miller's daughter. But that
Pepperill's niece—the daughter of that donkey-driver, Jason
Quarm-should have the temerity to refuse his son was a
fact he could not stomach ; it was a spot in his mantle
of pride.
When he heard the talk about Pepperill, he considered
himself justified—nay, called upon by virtue of his office
-to make himself acquainted with all the facts, and, if
possible, to get his rival into difficulties. A rival Pepperill
was. Pooke regarded himself as a sort of king in Coombe,
where his family had held lands for centuries; never,
indeed, extending the patrimony; never suing for a granı
of arms, but holding on to the paternal acres as yeomen-
substantial, self-esteeming, defiant of new-comers.
Pasco was not exactly in this latter category, but he was
a man who gave himself great airs, who showed the yeoman
no deference, and took a delight in thwarting him, and head-
ing a clique against him at vestry, and generally in the parish.
Pooke listened attentively to all that was said relative to
the fire, and prejudice against the man induced him to
believe that Pasco had fired his own stores in order to
obtain the insurance money; by what means Quarm was
made the victim he could not tell. If he could prove


276
KITTY ALONE
Pepperill to be a rascal, it would be great satisfaction, but
if he proved him to be a villain guilty of murder, that would
be ecstasy.
Without warning given to Mrs. Pepperill, Mr. Pooke
made a descent on the Cellars, attended by four of his
men armed with shovels and picks. He did not even ask
her leave to overturn the ruins and search among the heaps
of ash for the remains of the man who, it was surmised,
had perished in the fire. With an imperious voice and a
consequential air he gave his orders; and when the men
were engaged in testing the cinders to find whether they
were cool, and might safely be turned over, and in hacking
and removing the beams charred and menacing a fall, he
betook himself to the outhouse, where was the cart, so as
to examine that.
He returned speedily, carrying a bundle fastened in a
handkerchief, and this he proceeded to open. It contained
a clean shirt, stockings, a razor, and other articles such as
a man would be likely to take with him when about to stay
abroad a night or two.
• " There !” exclaimed Pooke. “I have found at once
what no one else saw-indubitable evidence not only that
Jason Quarm came here, but that he never left this place.
If he is not under these cinders, I ask, where else can
he be?”
Kate and her aunt looked out at the door timidly.
They knew that Mr. Pooke was constable, and they had no
idea of any limit to his authority. He came towards them.
"I must know all about it-the ins and outs; the ups
and downs. No blinking with me—no rolling of the
matter up in blather. What do you know of Jason
Quarm ?” He turned to Mrs. Pepperill.
“Nothing at all,” she answered. “I do not even know
that he came here."
“Come here he did," said Pooke. “Here is the donkey
-here the cart-here his bundle of clothes. Now, did he
go away?”
“I was not here; I was at Teignmouth. I know
“The girl—the girl who had the impudence-to-to
refuse my son—she knows something about this! She was


TAKING SHAPE
277
with her uncle. Why did he ask Mr. Ash, the miller, to
not only date his receipt of a trifle by the day of month,
but by the hour of the evening ? That is not ordinarily
done. And why did he sneak back to the Cellars, after he
had got a little way along the road, putting his trap up, and
leaving it with the girl ? I want to know all that !”
“Here is my uncle; he will answer you himself,” gasped
Kitty, perplexed and alarmed at the string of questions,
and then relieved to see Pasco arrive.
“What is the meaning of this ?" shouted Pepperill,
jumping out of a hired conveyance. He was in profound
mourning, very new and glossy. “What is this you are
doing, Pooke? Where is your authority?”
“I am constable.”
“A constable without a warrant! Off ! — leave my
ground at once! I'll communicate with my solicitor, and
have a summons taken out against you. My solicitor is
not a man to understand jokes-nor am 1."
“ You may be in the right for the moment,” said Pooke,
becoming purple with vexation at being caught going
beyond his powers, and with anger at being sent off, when
he had come to the spot with such blare and blaze of
authority. “But I'll tell you what it is, Master Pepperill,
there are queer tales abroad about you and this fire, and
we want to know, where is Jason Quarm ?”
6 Quarm ?-gone to Portsmouth."
“ To Portsmouth?”
“Of course; we are in treaty with the dockyard for our
timber at Brimpts.”
“I don't believe it! He is burnt !-here!”
“Burnt? Fudge! He said he was going to Portsmouth.”
“He said that? When did you see him?"
“I mean I heard from him to that effect. Now be off!
I'll have no overhauling of my premises ! I'll have no
cross-questioning here! I have a solicitor of my own now,
and he shall know the reason of everything. Get you gone!
- and be blowed!”


280
KITTY ALONE
pleasure. But then, Kate could make allowance for the
preoccupation of her aunt's mind consequent on the fire.
Kate now timidly approached her uncle, keeping her
eyes riveted on his face, and, standing on the other side
of the little round table on which was his jug, she asked-
“Are you quite sure my dear father is all right?”
Pasco looked sharply at her.
“Questions again ?" he said hastily, and a flush came
into his cheek.
“I have a right to ask this question," said Kate firmly.
His eye fell under hers; he set down the glass unsteadily
and upset the cider.
“Hang it! why have you a right?”
“I want to know that my father is alive."
“I say he's gone to Portsmouth."
“But how did he go?"
“That was his affair, not mine; the Atmospheric, I
suppose.”
“He could not cross during that night—at least, not till
near dawn, and so must have been here when the warehouse
was burnt.”
“I don't see that; there are other ways of getting away.
He went on to Shaldon.”
That was certainly possible. Quarm might have pursued
the right bank of the river to where it could be crossed at
any tide, but this was not probable.
An interruption was occasioned by the entry of the
rector. After the usual salutations, he at once turned to
the topic which had been engaging thoughts and tongues
before he appeared.
"I have no desire to intrude,” said he, “but I have come
to prevent a scandal, if possible, and perhaps a quarrel.
Mr. Pooke is in a great heat, and vows he will have a search-
warrant to turn over the heaps, as you have refused him to
explore them. You are churchwarden, Mr. Pepperill, and
I not only desire to prevent unpleasantness on your own
account, but on that of the Church. You have, I believe,
sent Mr. Pooke off?”.
“I have."
“But why so? He may have acted irregularly, but it
was with good intentions, and you were absent.”


AN UGLY HINT
281
“He had no right to touch what was mine."
“No doubt he erred, but you were absent, consider; and
your wife, your niece, the whole village, were in excitement
and alarm. He did what seemed fit to allay this unrest; to
find out whether Mr. Quarm had been here or not."
“It is no good. He'll get no warrant, unless magistrates
be fools. He has no case—not a ghost of a case. Jason
went to Shaldon, and so over the water."
“ You are sure?”
“I fancy he did. I heard he wanted to reach Portsmouth,
and the tide was out when he got here, so he could not
cross in the ferry. He went on. At Teignmouth he would
get into the Atmospheric.”
“That is readily ascertained. We have but to send to
Shaldon and inquire. The boatman who took him across
can be found. If he crossed the wooden bridge, then the
man who takes toll will be able to say something."
“He may have gone round the head of the estuary."
“Not likely, if he left his cart and donkey here."
Pepperill was unable to answer. He was a heavy-headed
man, not quick at invention.
“Then,” continued the rector, “the warehouse did not
catch fire of itself; someone must have fired it.”
“Of course,” said Pepperill.
“I may as well tell you,” continued Mr. Fielding, “that
Mr. Bramber, the schoolmaster, came to the Cellars the
evening of the fire ”—
“The deuce he did !”
“Just after dusk.”
“And what brought him here, the puppy ?”
“He came," answered Mr. Fielding, “because he wished
to see Kitty and you."
“Pray what did he want with Kitty? ”
“Surely, Mr. Pepperill, you know that the two young
people have come to an understanding."
Pasco shrugged his shoulders. “I may have heard some-
thing of the sort, but I have other things more important
to interest and occupy my mind. I gave it no heed.”
“Well, he desired to speak with you, as her father was
away, and you stood in a semi-parental relation to her,
living as she did in your house."


AN UGLY HINT
283
Kitty, whom I have always found true and direct as a
needle, has made one statement,—not indeed to me, but
to others,—and this you contradict.”
“I'm church warden—I'm a man of means and in a good
business. I should think my word was worth more than
that of a sly, chattering, idle minx.”
“Sly, chattering, that my little Kitty is not; I have ever
found her straightforward and reserved. As to her work in
the house, her aunt is better qualified to express an opinion
than you, Mr. Pepperill."
“I don't see that you've any call to come here, poking
into matters and axin' questions like another Kitty, if I may
make so bold as to say so,” said Pasco, defiant and then
qualifying his defiance.
“As I told you at the outset, Mr. Pepperill, I have come
here not to make an official inquiry, but to prevent one.
There is a mistake somewhere. My wish was to clear it
up before matters grew to a head. You and Mr. Pooke are
both stubborn men, and may knock heads and crack skulis
over nothing. A word will probably lighten what is now
dark, and dissipate a growing mistrust. I cannot, and I
will not, believe half of what is being said relative to you.
I have come to your house as a peacemaker, to entreat you
to so account for little matters which puzzle the good people
here, before what is now whispered may be brayed, what is
now a conjecture may be crystallised into a conviction. As
far as is known, the matter stands thus : Mr. Quarm came
here, and here have been found his donkey and cart and
his little bundle of clothes. If he had crossed the water,
he would have taken the latter with him. Two persons
were heard in altercation here shortly after his having passed
through Coombe, and the door was shut violently. Next
morning the door was locked, and Mrs. Pepperill when she
came found the key in a hiding-place known, as she then
said, only to herself and you.”
“Don't you suppose Kitty knew it also ?”
“I daresay she did. Your wife's words, when she
arrived, found the stores burnt, and the house locked, and
the key in a certain place—her words were, ‘Pasco has put
the key where I have found it.' It was of course surmised
that before you left you had locked the door, but Kitty told


284
KITTY ALONE
young Pooke that when you reached the top of the hill you
returned to the Cellars, saying that you had forgotten to
lock the house. It, therefore, seemed to me probable that
on your return, you and Quarm came to high words about
something."
“Nothing of the sort. I never came back."
“Oh, uncle !” escaped Kate's lips.
He turned his menacing eyes on her, with the same snarl
on his mouth.
“I'll tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth,” said he. “That is, if you will insist on having it,
and you can make of it what you like, pass'n. When I got
to the top o' the hill, where is Ash's linhay, it is true that
I remembered I'd not locked up the dwelling-house. Then
I sent Kitty back and told her to lock and put the key
where her aunt would find it, and I'd stay and mind the
hoss.”
“Uncle !” Kitty turned white and rigid.
“And, dash it! if someone must ha' set fire to the old
place,--and I reckon there was someone, them things don't
do themselves, -it must ha' been either she or Jason, or
both together. And I reckon he's run away to escape the
consequences.”
The rector stood up. He had reseated himself after his
protest. His face was very grave.
"I see,” said he, taking his hat, and moving to the door.
“This affair wears a different colour from what I supposed.
It must be elucidated irrespective of me. My part is done.
It must be taken up and investigated by the proper
authorities."


MUCH CRY AND A LITTLE WOOL
287
On five thousand pounds—Lord! I'm a Christian and a
gentleman."
“Bank-notes won't plaster sore consciences," retorted
Zerah, “You think money is everything, and no matter
how it be come by. So it has ever been with you.”
“Am I like to be a villain," queried Pasco in exaspera-
tion, “when I knew my uncle was worth a pot o'coin that
was sure to come to me?"
“ You did not know he was dead."
“I knew he was sickening and worn out. A man of
means don't do criminal acts; that's the perquisite of
beggars and labouring men.”
“I do not ask for excuses and evasions. I ask-where
is my brother?” persisted Zerah.
At that moment the door was thrown open, a hand was
thrust in, waving a paper, and a voice shouted-
“There you be, Pasco Pepperill. I've got my warranty.
I said I would, and I'm the man o' my word. I went full
gallop up to Squire Carew. None can stand agin me.”
Pepperill went to the door, saw the back of Mr. Pooke
as he walked away, and the faces of a number of work-
men with pick and crowbar and shovel, backed by a
crowd of all descriptions of persons from the village and
neighbourhood.
He hesitated for some moments. He stood irresolute,
holding the door-posts and working his nails at the paint,
picking it off in flakes. His heart turned sick within him.
If the heaps of cinders were thrown back, then surely the
remains of Jason Quarm would be discovered, and with the
discovery there would ensue an inquest, and much un-
pleasantness if not danger to himself. With low cunning
he resolved to make the best of the inevitable. He shouted
to his wife,
“Zerah ! bring out cider for the good fellows. They are
working for us, as you know. If you have saffron cake, out
with that too. I daresay I shall find a shilling apiece as
well.”
He went behind Pooke, slapped him on the back, and
said boisterously-
“Well done, old man! That is what I wanted. If a
thing has to be executed, let all be above-board and legal. ·


288
KITTY ALONE
That's my doctrine. I don't like no hole-and-corner pro-
ceedings. Meddlin' wi’out authority makes the end a
botch. If you hadn't begun, I would have done it myself.”
In the house Zerah restrained Kitty with one hand and
closed the door with the other. The woman was labouring
for breath, so great was her excitement. Her face was
now flushed, then became wan as death.
“Kitty, my darling,” she said, “I reckon I've been hard
and exactin' in the past. The old pass'n were right, though
I wouldn't believe him, and said he was insultin' of me to
say it. 'Twas love, he told, as you wanted, and I didn't
give it you. Love, the very air of heaven, wi’out which the
little maid couldn't thrive. I wi'held it from you—so he
told—and I shut my ears and hardened my heart. But in
the end he were right. When I found out what had been
done, then it broke me down. I cannot respect and love
him no longer. I tried my best when he was foolish and
unfortunate. But now he's guilty, I cannot-I cannot, and
then all my love turns to you.”
Kitty threw herself into her aunt's arms and sobbed.
“There's no time now for tears,” said Zerah, with a gulp
in her throat. “We cannot tell what is coming on us. It
may be that the remains of your poor father will be found.
If so, then--" Zerah shivered as if frost-smitten. “God
bless us! It will be too horrible—to live under the same
roof, to eat at the same table, to see the face, hear the
voice of the man—" She was unable to conclude her
sentence. After a long pause and a hug of Kitty, she
continued: “I cannot say how it all came about. Bad as
he may be, I hardly think he did it of purpose. 'Twas
some accident. I don't mean the burning the stores—but
of your father. No; he was not so bad as that, please
God! I hope, I trust not! Now, Kitty, you and I must
make up our minds to whatever happens. And I reckon
there is but one thing us can do."
“ What is that, dear auntie ?"
“Hold our tongues.”
After a long pause, whilst the girl clung to her, she
added, “No good can come of us speaking what we know,
and what we fancy. It can but heap up a great pile of
misery and shame. If it comes to an inquiry in court


MUCH CRY AND A LITTLE WOOL
289
that's another matter. They won't call on me, as I am
Pasco's wife, but they will on you, and you must up and
speak the truth at any cost. But if there be no such
inquiry, then hold your tongue, as I will mine. The mis-
chief, so far, has come from what we have said. We can
do no good; we may make the affair worse for ourselves if
we talk. Leave him in the hands of God, to do wi' him as
He wills.”
Kate kissed her aunt and promised silence.
Then both went forth, and reached the crowd about the
ruins and piles of ashes, as Pepperill was saying in a loud
tone, “ I don't say you won't find bones. I believe now I
had a pile, but all mutton and beef bones.”
“Why, what were you doing wi' bones ?” asked Pooke.
“ Collecting of 'em for dressing," answered Pepperill
promptly. “I've been in the hide line some while, and
lately I took a fancy to bones also ; but I didn't do much,
just begun on it, so to speak—all ox and sheep bones-
nothing else. Pound bones up wi' a hammer, they're fine
for turnips. Jason put me up to speculating in bones.”
The mass of crumbling wall, charred beam, and cinder
was speedily attacked by the workmen under the direction
of the constable, who had much difficulty in keeping the
curious at a distance; men, women, and children were
eager to assist with their hands, or advise with their
tongues. They ran into danger by approaching tottering
walls. They trampled down the ashes; they got in the
way of the workmen; and occasionally a scream and an
objurgation was the result of a labourer casting his shovel-
ful of cinders in the face of an inquisitive spectator who
got in his way. Mr. Pooke protested and stormed, but
with little avail; all were too interested to attend to his
orders, and he was without assistants to enforce them.
Pepperill bustled about, vociferating, driving spectators
back, encouraging workmen, running after cakes and cider,
and making the confusion greater. Kate sat on a fallen
beam, chin in hand, watching intently every spade as it
turned the ashes, wincing at every pick driven into the
cinder heaps. The tears were trickling down her cheeks.
Then Walter Brarnber, who had just arrived, went up to
Farmer Pooke and asked leave to run a cord across from


290
KITTY ALONE
one rail to anotner, and volunteered with the assistance of
Noah Flood and John Pooke to keep the people from
interference.
“Why should they be kept back ? Don't they want to
find what has become of Mr. Quarm every whit as much as
me? Let 'em come on,” shouted Pepperill.
But the constable saw the advantage of the proposal, and
gave the order. In ten minutes the scene of the confiagra-
tion was freed from sightseers, who were confined at a
distance.
Then Bramber went to Kitty and said in a low tone,
“ You do not think it is hopeless, I trust ?”
“I do not know what to think,” she answered.
“Is it true what I have heard, that your uncle returned
here after dark and left you at the top of the hill?”
Kate did not answer.
“That is what is said. Jan Pooke told me he had heard
it from your own lips."
She continued silent.
“I should like to know, Kitty, the truth in this matter."
“I can say nothing," she answered, and hung her head
lower.
Bramber was surprised, but he had not time to expend
in conversation : he had undertaken to keep off the crowd,
and some were diving under the rope, others attempting to
stride over it.
An hour was expended in turning about the refuse. All
the coal had been consumed, but, singularly and inexplic-
ably, not all the fleeces. Bundles of wool were found--
not many, indeed, but some, singed, not consumed, which,
when exposed, exhaled a sickening odour. The dangerous
portions of tottering walls had been thrown down, the slate
flooring exposed. Not a trace of Jason Quarm could be
found.
Pasco, who had been nervous, watching all the operations
of the excavators in deadly fear of a revelation of the
charred remains of his brother - in-law, breathed freely,
recovered all his audacity and boisterousness.
"I said as much, but none believed me. Jason is gone;
he was not the man to sit quiet in a fire. How the fire
came about is a question we won't go into too close.”


MUCH CRY AND A LITTLE WOOL
291
“The bones you spoke of,” said Pooke, "we ha'n't come
on them. They've been consumed-perhaps poor Quarm
as well. The fire must have been deadly hot."
“It didn't burn those fleeces," answered Pasco triumph-
antly. “I'll tell you what; Jason made off for reasons well
known to himself. If we don't hear of him again, I sha'n't
wonder; but burned here he certainly was not, as any fool
can see. He was not the man to let himself burn. Cripple
though he was, he could hop out of danger.”
Pasco turned to Bramber. “What is that you have been
saying to the parson about hearing Mr. Quarm and his
daughter argyfying at my door the night of the fire ?"
Walter Bramber was taken aback.
“Yes, you said you had heard them in hot dispute."
“I said," answered Bramber in surprise and indignation,
“ something very different from that. I said "-
His hand was caught by Kate, who looked pleadingly
into his face.
“A word alone.”
“What is it, Kitty ?”
“Say nothing to anyone of what you saw and heard that
night."


296
KITTY ALONE
Puddicombe in F began with a movement slow and
stately, with all the harmonies in thirds and fifths, and a
solemn tum-tum bass. Then, precipitately, it transformed
itself into something headed Fugg. If it had been entitled
fugue, no one would have understood what was meant. But
“fugg” signified that the instruments were to perform a
sort of musical leap-frog, to go higgledy-piggledy, one after
the other, like children tumbling out of school, with the
master behind them threatening to whack the hinder-
most.
And, verily, never was a fugue more of a higgledy-piggledy
devil-take-the-hindermost character than this one of Puddi-
combe in F, never such a caterwauling of cats that could
surpass it in discords, with random gruntings in and out
A villager, standing breathless outside, listening, ventured
to say to the landlord, who was smoking complacently at
his door, “There don't seem to be much tune in it.”
“No; but there's tremendous noise."
The landlord drew whiffs, blew out the smoke in a long
column, and said, smiling, “Wait till we come to the largo
molto tranquillo con affettuoso caprizio."
“What's that?" asked the bumpkin, in an awestruck
tone.
“It's something writ on the music by the hand of Mr.
Puddicombe. The Lord knows what it means !”.
The hubbub of the “fugg” came to an end, and the
instruments paused, drew a sort of sigh, and, with stately
tread, marched in unison largo molto tranquillo con affettuoso
caprizio, and stalked through it to the end.
“There's tune there now, and be blowed,” said the land
lord triumphantly.
“It's the tune of ‘Kitty Alone and 1,'” retorted the
irreverent countryman, and he began to sing-
" There was a frog lived in a well,
Crock-a-mydaisy, Kitty alone ;
And a merry mouse lived in a mill,
Kitty alone and I.'"
The instruments behind the lighted window-curtains were
hushed. They had heard the rustic song.


PUDDICOMBE IN F
297
“It is that, ain't it?” pursued the man.
another verse, and make sure-
“I'll sing
"So here's an end to the lovers three,
Crock-a-mydaisy, Kitty alone,
The Rat, the Mouse, and the little Frogee,
Kitty alone and I.'"
Within, the instrumentalists looked at each other. None
spoke for a minute, and then the 'cello said, in a deep voice,
as from a tomb, “Puddicombe han't riz to the theme. He's
forgot and worked in that frog and mouse tune. Not but
what it's a good ’un, only unsootable.”
“It's easy set right,” observed the first violin. “If you'll
wait, brothers, I'll clap on my hat and run up to his house,
and get him to titch it up a bit, and git the Kitty tune out
of it altogether. The fugg was famous.”
“Yes," said the second violin; "it's only to stir it about
a bit and shuffle as you do cards. Cut along with all your
legs.”
At that moment Pasco Pepperill came up, puffing,
looking about him half suspiciously, half defiantly. “How
are ye, gents ?” said he. “What! practising? I don't
mind if I sit a bit and listen to you. I'm fond of music,
especially sacred music, as I'm churchwarden.”


CHAPTER XLV
DAYLIGHT
HE musicians looked at each other. They could
hardly continue to practise Puddicombe in F till the
little awkwardness of the passage largo molto con affettuoso
caprizio was set to rights. It would be half an hour before
this was done. Meanwhile, the orchestra might as well
work their tongues as well as their arms and fingers, and
blow questions and puff opinions in place of musical notes.
They had assembled that evening with a double intent: the
excuse for their meeting was the rehearsal; the real object,
the airing of their views on the fire at the Cellars, its
probable origin, and what had become of Jason Quarm.
For the gathering of information on such matters, what
was more fortunate than the presence in their midst of
Pasco Pepperill, the man of all others best qualified to give
information relative to the matters troubling all hearts? It
was true that a good many—the bassoon and the ophicleide
among the orchestra-entertained grave views relative to
the conduct of Pepperill. Well! there the man was. They
might prove him with keen questions, catch him off his
guard with sly hits, entangle him in a net of incautious
admissions into which they had lured him, and then sit in
judgment on him and the whole case, after he had withdrawn.
“Gents and neighbours, and friends all,” said Pasco,
seating himself, “as church warden, my place is among you,
and allow me to stand treat of rum and water all round-
no, better than that, a grand bowl of punch, and we'll
spoon it out with our good host's whalebone ladle, and the
Queen Anne shilling in the bottom. Landlord, don't spare
the rum; thanks to my uncle, I'm a man of means, and can
pay my way.”
Marvellous as a solvent is punch. The mere mention of
298


DAYLIGHT
299
a bowl began to melt and break up prejudice and fixed
opinions. The bassoon had been persistent in insisting on
the criminality of Pepperill; he had urged every point
against him, he had turned aside every argument that
tended to exonerate him. As a man of strict integrity, he
was now placed in a difficult position. Either he must
hold to his opinion, rise, bow stiffly, and decline to drink
out of the bowl, to wet his lips with the generous liquor the
churchwarden provided, or else his judgment must undergo
modifications, then a complete volte face.
The popping of a cork was heard. At once the bassoon
acknowledged that he had been precipitate in forming his
conclusions. A waft of rum and lemons entered the room.
He began to see that there were weighty considerations
which had escaped him hitherto, and which undermined
his convictions. Then came the clink of the ladle in the
bowl, as the bowl was being brought in. The bassoon's
preconceptions went down like a pack of cards. The whole
room was redolent with a fragrant steam, as the great iron-
stoneware bowl was planted on the table. The bassoon
was converted into an ardent, enthusiastic believer in the
churchwarden.
Wondrous is the power of conscience. It may lie asleep,
it may remain for long inert, but a little something comes,
unexpectedly touches it, and it springs up to full energy,
and resolves amidst much self-reproach to make amends
for the past. So was it in the interior of the bassoon.
The sniff of punch was to his conscience what “Hey, rats!”
is to the dozing dog. It was alive, it was stinging him, it
had brought him metaphorically in penitence to his knees
before Pasco Pepperill. He could not think, say, show
himself, sufficiently convinced that that man who provided
and paid for the punch was the embodiment of all virtues,
with a character unstained as is the lily. He trampled on
his own base self, he spurned at it, for having for a while
thought evil of so admirable a man.
“Peter Squance bain't here. 'Tis a pity—our first fiddle,"
said the second violin. “He'll be mazed when he comes
back with the molto largo, and finds the punch all gone."
“Gone?” exclaimed Pepperill. “Not a bit of it. When
this bowl is done, we will have another.”


300
KITTY ALONE
Mr. Pepperill stood up and stirred the steaming sea
before him, in which floated yellow islets of lemon. All
eyes were on the bowl, all nostrils were dilated and sniffing,
all mouths watering.
Pasco filled each glass, and then ensued a nodding all
round; eyes were turned up, lips smacked, and the precious
liquor allowed to trickle down the throats in thin rills over
the tongue.
Presently the clarionet put down his glass and said, “It
was a lucky job, Pasco, that your rick o'straw escaped
t'other night."
“Ay, 'twas a first-rate chance," said the landlord, who
had come and remained to taste his own brew and hear
encomiums on it.
“You see the wind was t'other way," said the 'cello.
"And 'twasn't insured," added the clarionet.
All the rest looked round, and frowned, and reared
their chins. The clarionet shrank together. What had he
said ? Something stupid or uncivil? He was too dull to
see where his error lay.
“That had nothing to do with it. 'Twas water chucked
over it as saved it,” threw in the bassoon, flying to the rescue.
“My straw rick suffered more from well-intentioned
assistants than from anything else," said Pepperill. “The
wind was direct away from it, and so it couldn't hurt."
“It was coorious, though, the fire taking place when
everyone was away from home," said the clarionet.
Again all looked indignantly at him. That instrument
had a way of always sounding out of key.
“There was nothing coorious at all in it,” answered the
church warden, with promptitude. “It was just because
everyone was away that the fire got the upper hand.”
“There's something in that," said the hautboy.
“There is everything,” answered Pasco. “If I or my
wife had been at the Cellars, we would have speedily called
help and had the fire extinguished before it could take
hold. No one was there, so it was allowed freedom to get
the mastery, and then, no one could do nothing.”
"That's true," said the second violin.
“It's true," said the rest of the instruments in unison,
looking into each other's faces; “it couldn't be truer.”


DAYLIGHT
301
“You don't happen to know how the fire came about?”
asked the clarionet.
“I don't know," answered the churchwarden.
“You don't know," repeated the violoncello, “but you
guess."
“I have my ideas,” observed Pasco. “Gents ! let me
fill your glasses again.”
"And if I might make so bold to ask?” pursued the
clarionet.
“My mouth is shut," answered Pasco. "I don't want
to hurt nobody, least of all a relation. Just fancy, gents
all! the insurance company have refused payment."
“You don't say so! Well! what is the world coming
to? But it all stands in prophecy, in the Book o’ Dan',”
said the hautboy.
“It is one of them beasts in Revelation !” said the
second fiddle. “The question only is which.”
“But,” pursued Pepperill, “ I've set my solicitor at 'em.
He'll make 'em dance a Halantow."
“Very glad to hear it,” said the bassoon. “I drink to
his and your success.”
“We're going to institute proceedings,” continued Pasco.
“What is proceedings?” asked the clarionet under his
hand of the hautboy.
“It's a sort of blister o’Spanish fly," was the answer, also
in confidence.
“Then it will make 'em dance, no mistake,” said the
clarionet. “Do you think, churchwarden, it will draw ?”
“Draw?" Pasco rubbed his hands and looked round.
“It'll draw getting on for fifteen hundred pound. If that
bain't drawin', show me what is !”
This announcement produced a great effect.
“To go back to the p'int," said the clarionet. “It would
be a comfort to us all if you'd give us your ideas on the
matter of the fire. You see, we're all abroad."
“I wouldn't hurt nobody — not a fly. I was always
tender-hearted,” said Pasco. “Besides, you'd talk.”
“We are all friends," urged the bassoon. “You see,
coals don't as a rule set alight to themselves, nor wool, nor
hides neither."
“That's what I've said all along," observed the second


352
KITTY ALONE
fidulle. “Someone must ha' done it.
The question is-
שכ' who
“I'll have another thimbleful of punch,” said the bass viol.
It's lincommon good, and does credit to all parties—
Conne let's drink, and drown all sorrow,
For Perchance we may not-
for per chance we may not meet here to-morrow.'"
Then the hauti oy trolled out,
61. He that goes to ted, goes to bed sober,
Falls as the leaves Toes
Falls as the leaves du as-in October.'”
“Someone must ha' done iu;." observed the clarionet.
“Of course some one did,” sail Pepperill, " and when folk
begin yarnin' lies, you ain't got to gro far to find the evil-doer.”
“ That's true,” was the chorus.
“ And no one was at the Cellars at the time but one or
two persons,” said the clarionet.
“One was Jason Quarm," said Paisco; "and burnt he
was not, as was proved by the constable."
“I don't know," said the second fiddle. " The fire was
so tremendous hot, and lasted so tremendo us long, it would
ha' burned a fatter man nor Jason Quarm."
“ Jason's not burnt. He's runned away."
“Runned away?"
“ Yes,” pursued Pasco; “'cos he didn't want ito have to
give evidence as to what he knew."
“What wor that?”.
“He comed to the Cellars, and found someone there
doin' of the wickedness, and he runned away so as not to
have to say what he didn't want to be forced to say."
“What was that?”
“It's not for me to speak !”
“Someone did it! who could ha' done it?” said they
clarionet. “I thought it wor proved, if I may be so bould,
that you, Mr. Church warden, comed back to the Cellars.”
“I?” exclaimed Pasco, becoming purple in the face.
“It suited somebody's convenience to say so, but I was in
the linhay minding the hoss, and I put it to the company,
no one can be in two places at once, can they ? "


CHAPTER XLVI
A TRIUMPH
HE fumes of the punch had been dissipated, not only
from the room of the Lamb and Flag, but also from
the brain of the orchestra.
The bassoon's scruples revived; he was still grateful
for the punch, but resentful for the headache it had
produced.
The several points brought out by the clarionet, that
provoking advocate for Pasco, who asked awkward questions
and propounded awkward suggestions, stood twinkling like
sparks in tinder. The bassoon thought that punch, good
thing though it might be, did but momentarily overflow,
and did not drown, doubts. It darkened the burning
questions, but did not quench them. The disappearance
of Quarm was not satisfactorily explained. The coincidence
of the voiding of the Cellars conveniently for the fire, was
not explained. The contradiction between the statements
made by the uncle and the niece was unsifted. The
bassoon grunted in his bed a grunt of dissatisfaction with
himself for having yielded his opinions, a grunt of resent-
ment against Pasco for having obfuscated his clear
judgment, a grunt of resolve never again to allow his
opinions to give way before punch. Conscience, that
capricious factor, which had pricked him in one direction
last night, pricked him in another this morning.
The hautboy, also, was out of tune. On review of the
events of the past night, he considered that the entry of
Pasco was an unwarrantable intrusion. The rule was well
known that during a practice of the orchestra no one
should be admitted. Pepperill had entered uninvited, had
forced himself into their society, and he must have done
304


A TRIUMPH
305
that for a purpose. For what purpose but to cajole, to
hoodwink them?
In'vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird. The
hautboy was a very wideawake and watchful bird, and he
saw the meshes clearly. In vain is the hook cast in clear
water; and the medium was so transparent that the
hautboy plainly saw the hook. He resolved to maintain
an independent, observant attitude, to form his own
opinion, not accept ready-made views served up to him
with punch. When before had the church warden favoured
the village orchestra with punch? Never—since Pasco had
been churchwarden. Never when in a private capacity.
Only when popular feeling became suspicious or hostile, did
he show himself free-handed. His present liberality told
against him.
The violoncello also entered into commune with himself.
Was there any chance of another brew? Would another
bowl of punch be produced to keep up the favourable
opinion formed on the preceding evening, or would a
mistrustful attitude act as a stimulant to excite greater
liberality ? One brew of punch was not much, it prepared
the soil, a second would sow the seed, a third make it
germinate, a fourth develop, and only a fifth fructify con-
viction in the integrity of the provider.
The words spoken by Pepperill relative to Kate had
spread. The orchestra confided them to their spouses, and
the wives whispered them to their intimates. There arose
in Coombe-in-Teignhead two rival factions. One party
contended that Pasco was guilty, the other argued that
Kitty had fired the storehouse. The advantage of the
latter view was that it explained what was otherwise in-
explicable -- the disappearance of Quarm. The story was
worked into shape; it was elaborated in detail. Kitty, of
a morose and vindictive nature, had been exasperated
because her uncle had forbidden her engagement to the
schoolmaster. Kitty had never been as other girls were.
Her reserve was slyness, her bashfulness sulkiness. Her
schoolfellows had disliked her. Their mothers shared the
feelings of their daughters. As the proverb says, “ Still
waters run deep,” and of the stillness of Kitty there could
be no question.


306
KITTY ALONE
The dislike entertained of Kitty had been vague and
unreasonable. Now a reason was supplied, and consistency
given to what had been shapeless.
It was suspicious that Kitty had volunteered the state-
ment relative to her being left in the linhay before she had
been asked questions relative to her whereabouts. Why
should she have blurted this out to Jan Pooke and Rose
Ash, but for the purpose of throwing dust in their eyes?
Kitty had been unwarrantably forward in telling her tale,
and the schoolmaster unwarrantably reticent relative to his
experience. Why did the schoolmaster refuse to speak out
what he had seen and heard at Coombe Cellars, on that
eventful night. The reason was plain enough. He did
not desire to compromise Kitty. But it was clear what
had occurred. She had been sent back to the Cellars by
her uncle, and there her malignant spirit had induced her,
out of revenge, to set fire to her uncle's stores. Her father
had come on her red-handed, and had rebuked her sharply.
That was what the schoolmaster had overheard. Then
Quarm, finding it too late to undo the mischief done by
his daughter, afraid to call in neighbours to his aid, lest
Kitty should be compromised, had made his escape.
There were a thousand other ways by which he might get
away besides crossing the Teign. No one had thought of
that. Everyone had considered only whether he had
crossed by ferry or by bridge. There were a score of, lanes
at the back of Coombe by which he might get away
unperceived. All attention and investigation had been
devoted to the water, and every other means of evasion
left unconsidered.
Thus was the case worked out against Kitty. It assumed
deeper colouring when it was remembered that she had
allowed Roger Redmore to escape when entrusted with the
charge of him by Jan Pooke, and Jan had said that as he
left Roger he could not free himself, without Kate's
consent. It was noted, also, that she had, as her uncle
had told, deliberately and of malice prepense, frustrated the
efforts he made to catch the incendiary at Dart-meet.
She had, moreover, induced her father to give up his
house to Jane Redmore. Birds of a feather flock together
-and surely fireflies are actuated by mutual sympathy.


A TRIUMPH
309
sented by the insurance company, and that the latter had
cringed and acknowledged defeat without daring to measure
arms. That was something unheard of heretofore. If
Coombe-in-Teignhead were not proud of its doughty
champion, then it would cover itself with disgrace. The
situation was discussed in the bar of the Lamb and Flag,
and a self-constituted committee formed to celebrate this
momentous achievement. The rector was to be solicited
to have a special service, at which Puddicombe in F would
be performed and a sermon preached. The rector had a
service on Saints' Day, attended only by a few old women.
Who cared for the saints ? But Pepperill—who had extorted
one thousand two hundred pounds from the insurance coni-
pany—that was the sort of man to honour, and the service
in his honour would be attended by all Coombe. The bells
should be rung. There had been a disturbance with the
parson about the right to the belfry on the occasion of
Puddicombe's return. The parish must assert and maintain
its right to ring the bells when it chose, and defy the rector
if he objected.
As was feared, Mr. Fielding raised objections to both the
thanksgiving service and to the peal of bells. Thereupon
ensued another meeting in the bar.
Now Mr. Pooke, senior, came forward. He had been
opposed to Mr. Pepperill; he had disapproved of his
conduct. But when it came to a matter of ringing of
bells, he felt that a principle was involved. If once the
parishioners yielded that point, they might as well yield
everything, and be priest-ridden. There were two church-
wardens; Pasco Pepperill was one, Mr. Ash, the miller, was
the other, having succeeded at Lady-Day to Whiteaway, the
grocer. Let Mr. Ash insist on the bells being rung, and
if the rector withheld the key, then let him authorise the
blacksmith to break open the door. He, Yeoman Pooke,
would back him up.
They could not force Mr. Fielding to preach a sermon,
but that didn't matter; they'd have music, and have it in
the road, and escort Pasco Pepperill home to the strains of
Puddicombe in F.
Carried by acclamation.


CHAPTER XLVII
PARTED
TF anything had been needed to clinch in Pasco Pepperill
I the sense of his conduct being irreproachable, the ova-
tion on his return to Coombe-in-Teignhead would have
served this purpose; but nothing was necessary after that
the insurance office had thrown up the ball. The retire-
ment of the Company from the contest, and the payment of
the money for which his stores were insured, acted on his
conscience as much as would a plenary papal absolution on
that of a Roman Catholic.
Previous to this his conscience had given occasional
twitches, now it glowed with conscious sense of righteous-
ness. It was vexed with neither qualm nor scruple. He
held his head higher, boasted louder, strutted with more
consequence, and became impatient and offended at his
wife's maintaining her distance. He might deceive himself,
deceive the world, but he could not blind her, and this
made him angry. He was slighted in his home, where he
had best claims for recognition.
He was, moreover, disappointed that there was so little
real enthusiasm for himself at the back of the demonstra-
tion, which was organised rather in honour of the parish
than of himself. The same suspicion attended him, the
same reluctance to deal with him, and the same indifference
to his society.
The demonstration was destined not to pass without
leaving some unpleasant consequences.
At the urgency of Farmer Pooke, Miller Ash, the second
churchwarden, had forced the belfry door and admitted the
ringers, and authorised them to give a peal of welcome to
the returning conqueror.
810


PARTED
315
Kate looked at the poor woman with tear-filled eyes.
“I can't say nothin'," said Mrs. Redmore hastily.
“Only—there—it makes me bad to see you cry, it do, and
I reckon there's no reason."
Then she slipped back in the same wavering, timid
manner to the kitchen, without another word.
But Kate's distress of mind was not due solely, as the
woman believed, to her anxiety concerning the fate of her
father. She had been debating in her heart whether she
ought to continue her engagement with Bramber, and,
perhaps, never had Kitty felt how truly she was “alone"
as now, when she had satisfied herself that for his sake it
were well for her to release him.
She stood up, when her purpose was formed, and walked
quietly, firmly, to the Rectory. One friend she had there,
ever faithful—the parson. He knew that she was innocent,
he alone could appreciate her difficulties, and he would
approve her determination.
She entered the study where he was at work on a sermon.
He smiled, and his face brightened when he saw her, and
he signed to a chair.
Kate, direct, clear, and firm in all she said and did, told
the rector of her intention. She informed him of what he
knew already, that a body of feeling was engaged against
her, that she was incapable of establishing her innocence.
That, under the circumstances, it was out of the question
her holding Walter Bramber to his promise. She had,
furthermore, passed her word to her aunt not to leave her.
Mr. Fielding, though disappointed, saw that under the
circumstances nothing could be done ; and he felt that
Kate was acting honourably and in accordance with her
conscience. He knew, therefore, he must not dissuade
her from obedience to that inner voice. He took a more
hopeful view than did she, and this he expressed
“If things change, then no harm has been done,” said
Kate. “I have to say what is in my mind as made up on
things as they are. Will you be so kind, sir, as to speak
to Walter?"
"I see him coming in at the gate,” said Mr. Fielding.
“He is with me about this time every day for a Greek
lesson-a bit of New Testament in the original tongue.”


316
KITTY ALONE
Kate stood up.
“Yes," said he. “You go to meet him at the mulberry
tree.”
The girl left quietly and composedly, as she had entered,
and, crossing the lawn, came on the young man just as he
reached the bench under the mulberry.
“Walter,” she said, “I want a word with you. Have you
a knife ?"
“Yes; why?"
“Will you cut this in the mulberry bark? Mr. Fielding
will not object-
O Tree, defying time, witness bear,
That two''
She hesitated, slightly coloured-
“That two friends met and parted here.'”
“What do you mean, Kitty ?”.
“Ask the rector—he will tell you all.”
Then hastily, unable further to control herself, she passed
him, and left the garden.


318
KITTY ALONE
She was thoroughly resolved to forward the match between
Noah and Kate, and now that the field was cleared of the
schoolmaster, she hurried to the house of the Floods to spur
on Noah to immediate action.
The evening was already closing in, and the house of the
Floods was at some distance out of Coombe; but Rose was
impulsive, and what she did was done in impulse. She was
generous, so far as did not interfere with her own pro-
spects and wishes and comforts. Mrs. Flood was her aunt,
and with her she was ever welcome. Noah was happily at
home when Rose arrived. She was not the girl to beat
about the bush, and she rushed at once upon the topic
uppermost in her mind.
“You must put on your hat at once, Noah, and come
with me. I'm going to the Cellars, and going to make all
right between you and Kitty. The time has arrived. The
door is ajar, and you must thrust your shoulder in before
it is shut. It's off with the schoolmaster, and must be on
with you at once."
“Noah hasn't been hisself of late," said Mrs. Flood.
“I don't think he ought to be out with the dew falling
heavy."
"Nonsense, Aunt Sally! it's love,” said Rose. “The dew
won't hurt. It's his disappointment has upset him.”
“He's been off his feed terrible," said the mother;
“there is a nice piece of boiled bacon I've had cold, but he
don't seem to relish it.”
“That's love,” said Rose ; “and I heard Mr. Pepperill
say that Noah had a pain under his ribs.”
" It's like a hot pertater lodged here," said Noah; “I can't
get no rest at all from it."
“That's love also; I know it. I've had the same till Jan
came to his senses.”
“And I don't seem to take no interest in the farm ; do
I, mother?” asked Noah.
“Indeed you don't, Noah.”
“That also is love,” said Rose ; “we'll soon put that to
rights."
" I thought it was liver," observed the mother; "and
that blue pill”—
“Oh, nothing of the sort,” interrupted Rose. “I know


A SHADOW-SHAPE
319
all the symptoms: hot potato, distaste for biled bacon, and
indifference to farm affairs—it's love ; I had it all badly till
Jan came round. Love turns heavy on the chest, if dis-
appointed. That's what Noah feels under his ribs. Come
on, Noah, take your hat, and we will go to the Cellars
together.”
Noah complied with as much alacrity as he was capable
of displaying. He was a docile youth; he had fallen in
love with Kitty, partly at Rose's bidding, partly out of com-
punction at his conduct at the fair.
That evening had closed in rapidly. There were dense
clouds overhead, so that the twilight was cut off, also all
danger of dew, as Rose at once pointed out to Mrs. Flood.
As, however, the mother feared her dear boy might get
wet in the event of rain, Noah was induced to take a
greatcoat.
The young man was shy and timid.
“You know, Rose, I treated her terrible bad at Ash-
burton, when I knocked away the workbox from under her
arm."
“She will like you all the better for it," answered the girl.
“ Young maidens like a lad of spirit, and you may be sure
it gave her pleasure to see you and Jan punching each
other's heads. That schoolmaster! he ain't up to nothing
but whacking childer with a cane. If you like, I'll try and
egg him on to fight you, and then you can knock him all to
pieces; and there's nothing surer for finding your way to
Kitty's heart. If she's like me, she'll like to see lads
fighting about her.”
"You don't think, Rose, she really had anything to do
wi' the fire ?”
“The fire?” snapped the girl. “No more than you or I.
Her uncle did it. He wanted the insurance money. That's
a fine tale-that she set fire to the warehouse, because her
uncle wouldn't hear of her marrying the schoolmaster-and
now, of her own accord, she throws the fellow over. If she
had been so set on him, she wouldn't have done that. Can't
you see, Noah, or are you stupid, that her giving up Mr.
Bramber is the best answer to that story? It shows it
could not have been. And then, as to that other tale, -
that Mr. Pepperill sent her back to set the place in a blaze,


320
KITTY ALONE
-no one who knows Kitty can believe that. She's not the
girl to do a wrong thing at anyone's bidding. Besides, what
good would it have been to her?"
Noah did not answer.
“You can't do better than go right up to her and ask her
to be yours-now. Everything is in your favour. Folk
talk a pass'l of nonsense and spiteful lies about her. It
makes her cruel unhappy. She's been doing little else but
cry for some days. You show her you don't mind one snap
what folks say, and you don't believe a word o' the lies
against her, and I tell you she'd jump into your arms. It's
my belief that the schoolmaster turned nasty—that he
began to show her he thought there might be something in
it, that he knew people said they'd take away their sub-
scription if he married her, and he made it so unpleasant
for Kitty that she gave him up. And now you march in
and conquer."
“I'll do so," said Noah.
“And,” pursued Rose, “ you must begin by making
Kitty cry ; that's the preparing of the ground.”
“How am I to do that?"
“Talk about her father. Ask if she has heard any news
of him."
“Why? it don't seem kind to make her cry.”
" What a noodle you are, Noah! Nothing is more pro-
fitable for what you intend than to get her into a crying
mood, regular soft and tender, and then pity her about her
father, and so out with it when she is in tears. That's the
way to win her!”
Noah mused awhile, walking by the side of Rose, in
silence. After a minute he said, “What is your notion,
Rose? I mean about Jason Quarm. Is he dead or not?”
“Of course he is. Burnt to ashes."
“But the ashes were not found.”
“My dear Noah, you saw the fire as well as I; you know
with what fury it burnt, and how it lasted three days. He
was no Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego all pounded into
one."
“You really think he is dead ?”
“Sure of it. Would he not have turned up and let folk
know he was alive, if he had not perished? Would he


CHAPTER XLIX
FLAGRANTE DELICTO
N OAH and Rose reached the Cellars just as Pasco
and his family were about to seat themselves to
supper. Pepperill somewhat boisterously welcomed
them, and insisted on their sharing the evening meal.
“You see," said he, “it is dull here. Zerah ain't
much in the way of entertainment, and Kitty be just as
heavy. Stupid place this, and stupid people ; I shall get
away as soon as possible.”
“Going to leave the Cellars, Mr. Pepperill ?” asked
Rose.
“I don't find this place lively enough for me, now I'm
a man of independent means. I want amusement, and
can get none here; society, and here no one can talk of
anything but bullocks.”
“I don't know that,” said Noah; "there is the fire,
everyone is talking of that."
Rose cast a reproachful glance at her cousin. His
remark made Pasco wince, and Zerah look down into her
plate.
“You see," pursued Pepperill, "having come in for a
little propertyman"
“The insurance money?" asked the blundering Noah.
“My uncle's little fortune," answered Pasco hastily.
“There's no occasion for me to toil and drudge like a
slave selling coals, and wool, and hides, and the like ; so
I think I'll take a little box somewhere near Exeter,
somewhere where I can amuse myself, and have agree-
able neighbours.”
As soon as opportunity offered, Rose drew Kate aside
and said to her cheerily, "I have brought you Noah."
“Noah! Why?”
“I heard you were off with the schoolmaster."
323


FLAGRANTE DELICTO
325
“Noah is a blundering fellow," she said, “and does
not know what he says. Your father! Do you think
that if we had seen him we would not at once have made
him come on here with us?"
“You told me "- began Noah apologetically.
“Whatever I may have said, you are too dull to under-
stand, and you turn everything cat-in-the-pan."
Apparently satisfied, Kate prepared to go back into the
kitchen, and Noah would have followed her ; but she stood
in the doorway and said firmly, “No, I do not wish to
have you in the kitchen. If you persist in following, I
shall pin a dish-clout to your back. Jane Redmore wants
to get home to her little ones, the night is dark as pitch.
I must help her to clean up, and we can have no one to
interfere with us; you nearly made me break a dish with
what you said just now.”
“Come here,” said Rose. “ You are a duffer, and
don't know how to manage ;” and Noah obeyed, and
seated himself in the settle. Kate shut the kitchen
door.
“What was that you said about my brother Jason?”
asked Zerah.
“ It was nonsense," answered Rose sharply.
“But Noah meant something, when he said he had
seen him.”
“Noah is a fool; are you not, Noah ?”.
“I suppose you know," answered the young man
meekly.
“Tell me what it was that made Kate nigh on drop the
dish,” persisted Zerah, always a resolute woman to have
her way.
“ It was nought but a parcel of nonsense,” said Rose
evasively.
“There must have been something," persisted Zerah.
"Well, I don't mind saying,” Rose replied, "that is,
if you will hear—but it was fancy, I reckon.”
“What was fancy?"
“ Thinking we saw him. I had told Noah to propose
to Kate, and to get her into proper humour for accepting,
first by making her cry, and then I told him he could
make her cry by speaking in a sort of sympathising way


CHAPTER LI
THE PASS'N'S PRESCRIPTION
N OT a word on that evening would the old rector
IV allow himself to speak to Kitty relative to the fire,
nor would he suffer her to speak about it. He saw that she
was in a condition of nervous excitability, and that she
must be tranquillised. But, indeed, she made hardly an
attempt to speak about the rick, and how it was set on fire ;
and directly the rector put up his hand to indicate that
the topic was taboo, she submitted with a sense of relief.
Mr. Fielding had a kind motherly housekeeper, with
tact, and, at a word from him, she understood how that
Kate was to be treated. The rector was, indeed, alarmed
lest the fright and mental excitement he found the girl
labouring under might throw her into fever. He knew
that she was not strong in constitution, and that she was
endowed with high-strung and sensitive nerves.
Walter Bramber, having heard of the fire, of the threat-
ened arrest of Kate, of her having been taken to the
Rectory, hastened to the parsonage in the hope of seeing
her. But this Mr. Fielding would not allow. The young
man was greatly agitated, grievously distressed. He
entreated to be permitted an interview, but the rector
was peremptory in refusing it.
“Remember, all is off between you, at all events for a
time. That she likes you, has not ceased to like you, I
am convinced. In her present trouble the sight of you
would but increase her distress. There is something
behind all this—something of mystery, which I do not
fathom. Kitty cannot justify herself; not that she is
guilty, that neither you nor I credit. There is something
that ties her tongue. She is, perhaps, afraid of compro-
mising another, and who that is I do not know."
“I believe," said Walter impetuously, “that this is a
wicked conspiracy against Kitty. Mr. Pepperill, to clear
336


338
KITTY ALONE
“No, it is something else. A prescription I had long
ago from a Great Physician : one I have often tried, and
never found to fail."
“ What is that?”
"• Cast all your care upon God, for He careth for you.'"
Walter clasped the old rector's hand, he could not
speak, something rose in his throat. He turned away, and
found that the prescription availed.
Before Kitty went to bed that night, the rector sought
her. She had been standing for an hour at a window,
looking in the direction of the Cellars.
In the few hours that had passed she had become
whiter, more sunken under the eyes, more tremulous in
her limbs and mouth. It was with her as the rector sur-
mised. Her mind was torn with doubt as to what course
she should pursue. If she were to save herself, it must
be at the cost of others.
“Mr. Fielding, is it possible to prevent my being brought
before the magistrates ? that is, can I see my uncle in
private here, and induce him to withdraw what he has
said ?"
“I do not think it is possible."
“ I could tell him something which would make him
most anxious to hush the matter up.”
“Nevertheless, he cannot withdraw. He has made a
charge against you. It has gone beyond the stage at
which a recall is possible. Remember, Kitty, this is not
a mere prosecution for injury done ; it is a criminal
charge, and your uncle dare not now hold back without
making himself guilty of compounding a felony. I am
nothing of a lawyer, but I fancy such is the law. Even
if your uncle did not take the matter up, Mr. Pooke would
be bound to do so. You must make up your mind to that."
“ Then something dreadful will happen."
" Kitty," said the rector, “you will have to take my
prescription-not mine, but one given by the Greatest of
physicians. Unless you do that, you will have no rest for
mind or body, no sleep, and you will be worn out before
the trial.”
“ What is that?”
He told her. “The matter, you see, is taken out of


THE PASS'N'S PRESCRIPTION
339
your hands. You can do nothing by torturing your
brain with thoughts how to avoid this, how to modify that.”
“ It is so.”
“ Then 'cast all your care upon God, for He careth for
you. Now go to sleep, and be fresh to-morrow.”
The rector left his house and visited the Cellars. The
rick was resolved into a huge glowing ember, from which
fell avalanches of fiery powder. Above the mass flick-
ered ghost-like blue flames, not in touch with the incan-
descent heap below.
At the door of the house the rector encountered Pasco
Pepperill.
“There—see how I am served by the public !” ex-
claimed Pasco. “ When a misfortune happens, there are
always some wanton rascals to do mischief above and be-
yond what is the main loss.'
“What has happened to you now, Mr. Pepperill ? "
asked the rector.
“Some idle vagabonds have been at my boat again,"
answered Pasco. “ It was so when my stores were burnt
-not the same night, but soon after-out of sheer wicked-
ness they cut my old boat adrift, and I lost her. She was
carried out by the tide, and never have I heard of her
from that day to this.”
“Well, and now?”.
“And now they've gone and done the same-or worse.
Before it was my old boat, and now it's the new one-cut
the rope, and away she's gone. It's wickedness. Oh my!
You should preach and pray against it. There be such a
lot of it in the world-and cost me six guineas did that
boat."
“I am very sorry to hear of this additional loss," said
the rector.
“I suppose the next thing they will say is, I cut my own
boat away and let her go out to sea, because I had insured
her. But you may tell everyone, passon, that I hadn't
insured my boat no more than I had my rick o' straw.
Oh dear! the wickedness there is in the world !”
“I wish to see your wife for a moment."
“ Zerah's inside, in a fine take-on. She's gone about
like a weathercock lately, and can't make enough of Kitty.


342
KITTY ALONE
in the witness-box. He had sent for his solicitor to con-
duct the prosecution.
As soon as the case was called, Mr. Squire stood up.
He had, he said, a painful task imposed on him, and
none felt it more deeply than his client, the plaintiff, who
naturally shrank from taking a step of so grave a char-
acter, against one who was his wife's niece, young in age,
and who had been for many years an inmate of his house,
and one for whom hitherto he had entertained an almost
fatherly regard. Indeed, so deeply did the plaintiff feel
this, that if possible he would have held back altogether,
and have borne his loss in silence. But there were at-
tendant circumstances which precluded him from adopt-
ing this course. He acted in the matter solely from a
sense of duty he owed to himself and to the neighbour-
hood, and he might add, of humanity towards the un-
happy individual placed before the bench under the grave
charge of arson.
It was no secret-it could be no secret—that the most
serious and damaging reports had been circulated relative
to his client in connection with a recent fire at Coombe
Cellars, reports most wounding to a man of high integrity
and irreproachable character, peculiarly distressing to
one of so sensitive and scrupulous a conscience as Mr.
Pasco Pepperill, who was church warden of his parish,
and had served in several important parochial offices, as
guardian of the poor, waywarden and overseer, always to
the satisfaction of everyone, and had borne, in all his
dealings, the character of a straight and upright man.
Mr. Pepperill had formed his own opinions relative to
the fire that had occurred on his premises previous to this
last, but with them, he, Mr. Squire, would not trouble the
bench. Suffice it to say that his view relative to the
origin of that fire had compelled him to act with prompt-
itude on the present occasion, not merely to bring to
justice the perpetrator of this last atrocious deed, but
also to exhibit to the neighbourhood the fact that he had
harboured in his house one who was capable of such acts,
for which he himself had been most unjustly and cruelly
charged by the popular voice.
Moreover, in consideration of the fact that three cases


344
KITTY ALONE
Atmospheric is most irregular of all. Then us took the
clock to Mr. Ford, to Newton, to have 'n put to rights,
and us paid 'n seven and six, and he sent ’n home worse
than he was afore. He used to go, reg'lar, right on end
till he runned down, tho’ he didn't always keep time
exact-ly. But after Mr. Ford took 'n in hand, then he
began to stand still, after he wor winded up, out o' pure
wickedness; and if you gentleman would make Mr. Ford
pay me back that there seven and six”—
The chairman interrupted her. “Come to the point,
please, Mrs. Pepperill.”
“ Is it the leg o' pork you mean?” asked Zerah. “I'm
comin' to her direct-ly. You see, sirs, 'twerent cured
proper, not as I likes it, and so the maggots got to the
bone. Which do your worships like, gentlemen-rubbin'.
in the salt dry, or soakin' in brine ? I hold to the dry
rubbin'—that is, if it be well done ; but to have a thing
well done you must do it yourself. You can't trust
nobody now. And so the maggots"-
“Never mind the maggots, my good woman."
“So I sed to Pasco. Us can't waste thickey leg o'
pork ; us must eat 'n and so I'll get 'n out as well as I
can, and you go and take plenty o' exercise and work up
a cruel strong appetite, and you won't make no count o’
there having been maggots in the leg o' pork."
The chairman again intervened, and requested Mr.
Squire to extract what was necessary to be known from
this good woman by interrogation. If allowed her own
course, she would not know where to stop, like the clock
before taken in hand by Mr. Ford, and run clean away,
as was threatened by the leg of pork.
“Mrs. Pepperill,” said Mr. Squire, " you seem to be
diffusive in your evidence. However engrossing may be
the interest attaching to your clock and leg of pork, still
we are not concerned, thank goodness, with either-
specially, thank goodness, we are not here to discuss that
same leg of pork.".
“The leg ought to ha' been turned in the brine twice a
day, and her wasn't. If her had been, her'd ha' been
famous.”
“I rather think, Mrs. Pepperill, this leg of pork is


IN COURT
345
likely to become famous now, as I see a local reporter
present, and it will appear in the paper. But this leg is
blocking our way ; let us lay it on the shelf and proceed,
as the French say, to our mutton. Where were you at
seven, or, may be, half-past seven on the evening of the
16th ultimo ?”
“I don't think I was nowhere."
“What! nowhere three days ago ?”
“That wor the 16th August.”
“Well, I said so."
“Beg pardon, sir, you asked for the 16th of Ultimo, and
I never heered tell o’that month. It ain't in the calendar."
“Come; on the evening of the 16th last, were you at
supper with your husband and others ?"
"Yes.”
“ And those others were "-
“Rose Ash and Noah Flood. They came in ”-
“ Never mind that. Answer shortly my questions.
Where was Kate Quarm ?”.
“She had her supper, too."
“And when she had done, did she go into the back.
kitchen to clean up?"
“ Yes, sir."
“Was any one with her then ?".
“ Yes, sir ; Jane Redmore."
“And when Jane Redmore went home, did your niece
accompany her?”
“She said she was going with her."
“Did your niece take a lantern ?”
“Yes, sir."
“ And did you see there was a candle in the lantern ?"
“ Yes, sir.”
“Sufficient to burn for an hour ?"
“I don't know that exactly."
“ Well, three-quarters of an hour ?”
"Perhaps so. I didn't notice exactly how long the
candle was.”
“Anyhow, it would have burnt for more than a quarter
of an hour?"
“ Oh yes.”
“Or, for half an hour?"


348
KITTY ALONE
tossing, as though the mass of mankind there densely
packed was boiling up from below.
“I insist on order in the court !” called the chairman.
Then Pasco, having kissed the Bible, turned his face to
the bench. He was elate, had spread his breast, and
tossed back his head, a self-complacent smirk was on his
countenance.
“I have felt it my duty," he said, “ to speak—to clear
my own self, and to cut short the career of crime of the
girl I have regarded as my niece.”
Again the agitation among the public; and now
through the mob came a man, elbowing his way, till he
had forced himself to the front, and stood face to face
with Pasco Pepperill.
Pasco, disturbed in his pompous address, turned and
saw before him— Jason Quarm.
He put his hand to his head with a gasp, staggered
back, and fell senseless to the ground.


352
KITTY ALONE
and that I'd bide handy and keep an eye on him. Well,
gentlemen, when he jostled me out o' the house door,
I went to the warehouse, and it wasn't locked, so I
stepped in and found the ladder and clambered up that.
Thinks I to myself, if Pasco don't mean no wicked-
ness, well, I can sleep here comfortable enough, anyhow.
There were plenty o’ fleeces—they weren't over clean
and sweet, but in such a case one can't be partic'lar. I
hadn't been there a terrible long time before I heard the
door open and I see'd a light. So I went to the ladder
head and looked down, and there. sure enough wor
Pasco. I watched him a while to see what May-games
he wor up to, and at last I spied what it wor. He were
arranging and settling shavings among the coal knobs, so
as to make up grand fires, and he was gettin' everything
ready to burn down the whole consarn, coals and fleeces
and building, and me in it, if I were that jack fool to
bide where I was. So I hollered out to he, and let 'n
understand who was there, and that I marked his little
game. I were on the ladder. He looked toward me,
and came at me, and shook the ladder, and shook me
down, and I fell on my head, I reckon, and remember
nothing more till I came to myself, bound hand and foot
in a sack, and throwed a-top of a heap o' coal, that were
afire and fizzing out in flame and smoke, and aʼmost
stified I were, and didn't know 'xactly where I were,
whether I'd got to the wrong place down below. I cried
out, and I tried to get free, but couldn't move, and then
I rolled myself down over fire and coals, and scorched I
were a bit ; but what 'd been the end I cannot tell, if it
had not been for Roger Redmore, who broke open the
door and came in, and dragged me out of the smoke and
smother, and cut the bands and got me out o' the sack,
and helped me off to where his missis were, that is to say,
my cottage.”
Jason paused and looked about him.
“ That, I reckon, is the first chapter. Now to go on.
When I came there, I thought it all over, and I got
Roger to put me in the outhouse, where none of the chil-
dren might see, and himself he dursn't bide more than
the night lest he should be took, but he told Jane to


JASON'S STORY
353
mind me and let me have what I wanted. Well, I turned
the matter well over in my head, and I thought as how
Pasco were my brother-in-law, and if all came out, I'd
bring trouble on Zerah, and on my own child; I'd have
to say as how Pasco had fired his own building so as to
get the insurance money, and tried to kill me too, 'cause
I see'd what he were up to. So I didn't like to do that,
and I thought it 'ud be best for all parties if I got out o'
the way. I dursn't stir all the day that followed. But
at night I got out when I knowed the tide was suitable,
and I took the old boat at the Cellars and I made off wi’
that, and I rowed out to sea, and rowed along the coast
to Torquay, and I landed there, and there I ha' been,
unbeknown to the Coombe folk-there or in London.
When I'd been a bit to Torquay, I seemed to smell
money. I seed as how a lot o' fortune could be got
there by building and making a great place of it for
invalids and such folk; and I went up to London to
start a company, and get a building firm to take the
matter up. I've been off and on about this idee, and a
fine idee it is like to turn out-so I reckon. I did hear
as how Pasco, he'd dra'ed twelve hundred pounds out o'
the insurance company. Blessed if I knowed 'xactly
what I should do. On the one side, I were agent for the
company ; on the other, I were brother-in-law to Pasco,
and if I peached on Pasco, I might just as well ha' stuck
a knife into my sister's heart. And then I owed him
something for having reared my daughter in his house
since she wor a baby. And Pasco and me, us got on
famous together about speculations, and taken in the
lump he weren't a bad chap till he began to look to
gettin' money by burning down his warehouse.”
Jason stood up, stretched his limbs, sat down again,
and proceeded-after a word of cheer to his daughter,
who had risen and was standing speechless, looking at
him with dismayed eyes. She knew that her uncle was
false, but Jason had revealed a depth of wickedness in
the man which she had not conceived to be possible.
She had been satisfied that he had set fire to his
magazines for the sake of the insurance, and she knew
that, basely, he endeavoured to throw the guilt of the


354
KITTY ALONE
*
act on her. She had feared that her father had been
sacrificed when the warehouse was burned, but had
never supposed that her uncle had done this deliberately.
“Now," continued Quarm, “I reckon I come to the
third chapter. After a bit, I thought I'd come back to
Coombe, but not openly, and see how Kitty were getting
along. So I came unbeknown to everyone, and went to
Mrs. Redmore, and her put me in the same old outhouse
as I were in before, and I told her, as she worked at the
Cellars, to say nothing about it to Kitty, but find an
excuse for getting her out from the house after dark.
That is what Jane Redmore did, and I met Kitty at the
rick, and us went together behind the rick, so as the
light might not be seen from the house while we talked.
Well, I'd been wi’out my bacca-pipe for some time, and
seein' as how Kitty had a light, I told her to open the
lantern, and I'd have a bit o' a smoke for comfort. Her
opened the lantern door-but lor! gentlemen, I han't
told you how struck wi' amaze and main glad the little
maid was to see her father, whom she had believed to be
dead, come to life again, hearty and wi' fine prospects of
makin' money out of building speculations to Torquay.
But you must imagine all that, your worships ; it ain't,
as you may say, to the point ; but this here little affair
o'the pipe and lightin' it is. Well, when she opened the
lantern door, I took out the bit end of a candle as was
therein, and I put it to my pipe to kindle my 'baccy.
She was talkin' and tellin' me of all as had happened,
and when her said as how Pasco Pepperill had tried to
lay the firing of his warehouse on she, then I were that
angry I burnt my fingers wi' the candle-end, not think-
ing what I were about, and throwed it down right among
the straw, and afore I could say Jack Robinson, there
was a blaze as no stamping would put out. The first
thing Kate did was to run in, and the first thing I did
was to tumble into the boat and make off. I didn't
know what the consequences might be, and I first
thought I'd consider it, and learn what came of it all
before I stirred. If Pasco didn't make a fuss, why, it
might pass and no harm come of it; if he made a stir,
why, all must come out. The little maid, I reckon, she


JASON'S STORY.
355
would say nothing, because her knowed it was my doing
the stack catching alight, and thought she'd bring me
into trouble ; and then there was that other fire behind ;
she didn't know what might come if it were examined
into, and I made my appearance as one returned from
the dead. But I heard of it all. Jane Redmore sent to
tell me. And now, your worships, I reckon I'm the
guilty one of the fire, but it was accident, and she's
innocent and may be discharged. That is my story.”
The Bench withdrew for a few minutes. When the
magistrates returned, the buzz of voices in court ceased
at once.
“We have decided," said the chairman, “that the case
against Kate Quarm be dismissed. She leaves the court
without an imputation against her character. You, Mr.
Jason Quarm, must stand security in yourself and find
two others to stand bail for you to reappear before the
court when required.”


CON AFFETTUOZO CAPRIZIO
5
357
have loved her more dearly had Kitty been her own child.
The hardness in the woman's character gave way; the
trouble she had undergone had softened and sweetened a
nature really good and kind, but ruffled and soured by
adverse circumstances and uncongenial associations. A
great change had taken place in the opinion of the public
in Coombe-in-Teignhead relative to Kitty. The gen-
eral feeling was, that she had been hardly treated, in
having a crime attributed to her of which she had been
guiltless ; that if she had been reserved in her manner, it
was her way, and all folk were not constituted alike ; that
if she asked questions, no one was bound to answer them
unless he liked, and if he couldn't give the required infor-
mation. Kitty was quiet-she harmed nobody. She had
done Rose Ash a great favour in stepping out of the way
when Jan Poke was inclined to "make a fool of himself
wi' her.” She was worth three thousand pounds for cer-
tain, and it was said that her father was piling up a for-
tune in Torquay. Coombe Cellars would ultimately be
hers, as well as the little bit of ground about it-or rather,
at the back of it, which was what remained of the farm.
and she had been grown in Coombe, she had foothold
there, and “all knew the worst o' her, and that weren't
so cruel bad.” Finally and conclusively, Mr. Puddi-
combe pronounced in her favour.
So public opinion veered round, and was prepared to
make much of Kate. The worst that could be spoken of
her was that she had taken up with that schoolmaster again.
But then, just as Scripture said that the believing wife
might sanctify the heathen husband, so it was reasoned
that the indigenous Kitty might naturalise the foreign
Walter, and that because she belonged to the place, he
might be accepted as a strange plant, given room to root
in at Coombe.
It was very well known that sometimes a stray cat came
to a house from nobody knew where, and meeowed,
entreating to be fed and harboured, and few housewives
would shut it out. They would take in the stranger, give
it milk and a place by the fire, and domesticate it. Even
so came this Walter Bramber into Coombe out of space ;
whom he had belonged to, and from what sort of habita-


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