Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 37, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 March 1905 — CRIPPS, THE CARRIER [ARTICLE]

CRIPPS, THE CARRIER

BY R. D. BLACKMORE

Aathor of “LORNA DOONE,” “ALICE LORR AIN E,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER Xl.—(Continued.* "Cripps, it took mt a very long time to warm him up to tlie matter again. He was burning for some great suit-at-law against some rival nursery, which always pays the upstart one; but I led him round and by patient words and simple truth brought him back to reason. The packtog of the bag ho remembered well, and th» pouring of a lot of buckwheat husks around and among the potato sets, to keep them from bruising, and to keep •nt frost. And he sent his best man to the Oxford coach, the first down from London, which passed by their gate about ten o'clyock, and would be in Oxford about two, with the weather and the roads as usual. In that case, the »"g could scarcely have been at the ‘Black Horse’ more than half an hour before you came and laid hold of it; and being put into the bar, as the Squire's parcels always are, it was very unlikely to be tampered with.” "It was witchcraft then! The same as I said all along; it were witches’ eraft, and nothing else.” “Stop, Cripps, don’t you be in such a hurry. But wait till you hear what I have next to tell. But oh, here comes ■ay friend Hardenow. as punctual as the elock strikes two! —Well, old fellow, how are you getting on?” The Rev. Thomas Hardenow, Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose. strode into his •wn room at full speed, and stopped abruptly at sight of the carrier. “Of all ■ten, most I have avoided thee,” was in his mind; but he spoke it not, though being a strongly outspoken man. Not that he ever had done any wrong to make him be shy of the Cripps race; but that he felt it in his heart a desire for commune, which must be dangerous. He knew that in him lurked a foolish tendency towards Esther: and he knew that she had done her best to overcome ■ still more foolish turn towards him. Cripps, however, looked upon any little bygone "courting" as a social and congenial topic, enabling a quiet man to get on with almost any-‘woman. Like a sensible man. he had always acquitted Hardenow of any blame in the matter, knowing tlmt young girls’ fancies may be caught without any angling. “If her chose to be a fool, how were he to blame for it?” And the-carrier never forgot the stages of social distinction. “Servant, sir.” he therefore said, with his ■sual salaam: "hope I see you well, sir.” “Thank you. Zaechary,” said Mr. Hardenow, taking the carrier’s hand, “I am pretty well, thank you.” "Then you don't look it. sir, that you doesn’t. We heer'd you was getting on wonderful well. But the proof of the puddin’ ain’t in you, sir.” “That’s right, Cripps,” cried Ov,ert •bate; "give it to him, Cripps. Why, he ■tarves himself. Ever since he took his first and second, and got his fellowship ■nd took orders, he hasn’t known what a good dinner is. He keeps all the fasts in the calendar, and the vigils of the festivals. and he ought to have an appetite for the feasts; but he overstays his time, and can’t keep anything on his •toniacli.” "Now. Russel, as usual!” Hardenow answered, with a true and pleasant ■mile; “what a fine fellow you would be ff you only had moderation! But I see that you want to talk to Cripps! and I have several men waitingun the quad.” “There goes one of the finest fellows, of all tine fellows yet.’’ With these words Russel Overshute ran to the window and looked out. A dozen or more of young men were waiting, the best undergraduates of the college, for Mr. Harden. >w to lead them for fifteen miles, without a word.

“Sir." said Cripps, “you might a’ seen ■s I was waiting, until such time as you plaze to go on wi’ ’un.” "A ery well, that satisfies the most exacting historian. I will go on where I left off. V\ ell, I left the foreman of the nursery telling me about the man he •ent with the bag of potatoes to the Oxford coach. lie told me he was one of his sharpest hands, who had been off work for a week or two then, and had only returm-d that morning. ‘Joe Smith' was his name, and when they could get him to work he would do as much as any other two mem Here to-day and gone to-morrow had always been his character; and they thought that he must be ’f gypsy race, ami perhaps had a wandering family. “This imide me a little curious about the tnan: and I asked to see him. But the foreman said that for some days now Jae had not been near the nursery, and they thought that he was in the neighborhood of Nettlebed. Suddenly I •bought of youg; sister's tale, and 1 said to the foreman. ‘t)oes he speak like this?' imitating as well as I-rmtld your sister’s imitation of him. 'You know the man. orir,’ the foreman answered, ‘you have got Aim so exactly that you must have heard Aim many times.' “Cripps, you may well suppose that sty suspicions wore strong by this time. 'Here was your sister's description eonInued to the very letter; and here was •lie clear opportunity offered for slipping •iw wreath of hair into the bag.’’ “Your worship, now, your worship! Jon be a bit too sharp! If that there Bum were at Ileadington Quarry at Bightfall of Tuesday., how could he possibly a’ been to Maidenhead next mornfog? No, no, your worship are te.» •tarp.” “Too thick, you mean. Cripps; and not ■tarp enough. Those long-legged gypsies *ink very little of going thirty miles in ■ aight. Ami then there is the up mail ■Meh. Of course he would not pay St» fare, but he might ’hang on beneath fo* guard’s bugle, with or without his Baawledge, and slip away at the ehangfoz houses. “Very well, sir." said Cripps, discreetly; “who be I Mr to argify?” “Well, 1 went back to the inn at once, •nd rode leisurely to Henley. It was Bitting hard and the river in flood with •* the melted Mnow ami so on. when I etweed that pretty bridge. I went into so entrain'* of that good inn by the VBtemide. The landlord wns good enough so eume out, and knowing ma from old Starting days, he got into a talk with me. ■anembering Vow the gypsies bang

about the boats and the waterside, I asked him whether any of tlieiq, happened to be in the neighborhood just now. He thought, perhaps, that 1 was timid about my dark ride homeward, and he. ti>l<l me all he knew of them. There was one lot, as usual, in the open ground about Newnham, and another large camp near Clialgroye, and another, quite a small pitch that, on the edge of the firs above Nettlebed. “This last was the lot for me; and I pressed him so about them that he looked at me with a peculiar grin. ‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked. ‘Now, Squire Overshute, as if you did not know!’ he answered. ‘Doth your worship happen to remember Cinnaminta's name?’ “Cripps, I assure you I was astonished. Of course you knew Cinnaminta — well, I don’t want to bo interrupted. No one could say any harm of her; and a lovelier girl was never seen. The landlord had heard some bygone gossip about Cinnaminta and myself. I did admire her. I am not ashamed to say that I greatly admired her. And so did every young fellow here who had got a bit of pluck in him. I will not go into that question; but you know what Cinnaminta .was.” Cripps nodded, with a thick mixture of feelings. His poetical self had been smitten more with Cinnaminta than he cared to tell.— “To be gurc^-yom?—wer—-ship,” was all he said. “Very well, now you understand me. To hear of Cinnaminta being in that camp at Nettlebed made be determined When I got to the end of ‘the fair-mile,’ the night came down in earnest. All day there had been spits of rain, with sudden puffs of wind, and streaks of green upon the sky, and racing clouds with ragged edges. The road was running like a river; come here and go there, lisle glass it shone. I stooped upon Cantelupe’s neck, or the wind would have dashed me back over his crupper. “Suddenly, in this swirl and roar, my horse stood steadfast. He spread his fore legs and stooped his head to throw his balance forward; and his mane swished down in a waterfall of hair. I was startled as much as he was, and in the strange light stared about. ‘You have better eyes than I have,’ I said. “I followed the turn of his head, and there I saw a whites thing in the ditch. Something white or rather of a whitybrown color was in the trough, with something dark leaning over it. ‘Who are you there?’ I shouted, and the wind blew my voice back between my teeth. “ ‘Nort to you, master. Nort to you. Go on, and look to your own consarns.’ “This rough reply was in a harsh, high cackle, rather than a human voice; but it came through the roar of the tempest clearly, as no common voice could come. For a moment, I had a great mind to do exactly as I was ordered. But curiosity, and perhaps some pity for the fellow, stopped me. T will not leave you. my friend,’ I said, ‘until I am sure that I can do no good.’ The man was in such trouble that he made no answer which I could hear, so I jumped from my horse, who would come no nearer; and holding the bridle, I went up to see. “In as sheltered a spot as could be found, lay, or rather rolled and kicked, a poor child in a most violent fit. ‘Don't ’e now, my little Tom; don’t ’e, that’s a deary, don’t!’ The man kept coaxing, and moaning, and trying to smooth down little legs and arms. ‘Let it have it’s way,’ I said; ‘only keep the head well up; and try to put something between the teeth.’ Without any answer, he did as I bade; and what he put betwixt the teeth must have been his own great thumb. Of course he mistook me for a doctor. None but a doctor was likely to be out riding on so rough a night.” “Ah. now I pity they poor chaps!” cried Carrier Cripps. . “Your worship’ll ’scoosc me abreakin’ in. But there's half my arrands to do yet. Might I make so bold —your worship be coming to see the Squire. Your worship is not like some worships be. Your worship is not the man to take me crooked. I means no liberty, mind you.” “Of that 1 am certain.” Mr. Overshute answered. “Cripps, your suggestion just hits the mark. 1 particularly want to see your sister. That was my object in seeking you. And I did not like to see her, until you should have had time to prepare her. I have several things to see to here, and then 1 will ride to Beckley. Mrs. Hookham will give me a bit of dinner, when 1 have seen my dear friend the Squire. At night, I will come dowh and finish my story with you.”

CHAPTER XII./ Any kind, good-natured person, loving bright simplicity, would have thought it a little treat to look round the carrier’s dwelling room upon that Saturday evening when he expected Mr. Overshute. The room was still a kitchen, and she had made no attempt to disguise tliat much. But what can look better than a kitchen, clean nnd bright, and well supplied with the cheery tools of appetite? It was a good-sized room, and very picturesque with snugness. Little corners, ip and out, gave play for light and shadow; the fire place retired far enough to well express itself; and the dresspr had brass-handled drawers, that seemed quietly nursing table cloths. Well, above these, upon lofty hooks, the chronicles of the present generation might be read pu cups. Zacchary headed the line of eon’rse; and then—as Genesis is ignored by grander generations—Exodus, and Leviticus and Numbers, and a great many more, showed that the carrier's father and mother had gladly baptized every one. Russel Overshute knocked at the door, in his usual quick and impetuous way. In the main he was a gentleman; nnd he would have knocked at a nobleman’s door exactly as he did at the carrier’s. To put it more plainly—Overshute knocked hard, ami meant no harm by it. “Come in, sir, and kindly welcome,” Cripps began, as he showed him in; “plnize tb take this chair, your worship. Never mind your boots; the mud of three counties cometh here.” “Then it goes away again very anlck-

Ijr! Miss Cripps, how are yon? May I shake hands?” Esther, who had been shrinking int* the shade of the clock and the dresser, came forward with a brave bright blush, and offered her hand, as a lady might. Russel Overshute took it kindly, and mowed to her curtsy, and smiled at her. In manly way he admired pretty Esther. “Cripps,” he continued, “have you told your sister all I told you at Brasenose? Very well, then; I may begin at the point where I left off with you. Where did I break it? I almost forget.” “With the man’s big thumb in the mouth of the cheeld, and the wind and the rain blowing furious.” “Ah, yes, I remember; and so they were, I thought that the crest of the hedge would fall over and bury the whole of us out of the way. And When the poor boy had kicked out his convulsions, and fallen into a senseless sleep, the rough man turned on me savagely, as if I could have prevented it. ‘A pretty doctor you be,’ he exclaimed. But I took the. upper hand of him. ‘Stand back, there!’ I said; and I lifted the child and placed the poor little fellow on my horse, and managed to get up into my saddle before the wind blew him off again. ‘Now tead the way to your home,’ I said. And muttering something, he set on. “He strode along at such a pace that, having to manage both child and horse, it was all I could do to keep up with him. But I kept him in sight till he came to a common; and there he struck sharply away to the right. By the light of the wind and the rain I followed him perhaps for half a mile through a narrow track, in and out furze and bramble. At last he turned suddenly round a corner, and a shadow fell behind him—his own shadow thrown by a gusty gleam of fire. Cantelupe—that is my horse, Miss Esther—has not learned to stand fire yet, and he shied at the light, and set off through the furze, as if with the hounds in full cry before him. We Avere very lucky not to break our necks. “I got my horse under command, but we must have gone half a mile anywhere, and to find the way back seemed a hopeless task. But the quick-witted people saved me miles of roundabout by a very simple, expedient. They hoisted from time to time a torch of dry furze blazing upon a pole; and though the light flared, and went out on the wind, by the quick repetition they guided me. Cantelupe, and the child, and I fetched back tc the place. And we saw, not a flash, but a glow this time, a steadfast body oi cheerful fire, with pots and caldrons over it. So well bad the spot been chosen, in the lee of ground and growth, that the ash of ths fire lay round the embers, as still, as the beard of an oyster; while thicket and tree but a few yards off were threshing in the wind and wailing. Behind this fire, and under a rick-cloth sloping from a sandstone crest, women aad children and one or two men sat as happy and snug as could be; dry,-and warm, and ready fqr supper, and pleased with the wind and the rain outside, which Improved their comfort and appetite. “But while 1 was watching them a woman came out of the darkness after me. Heedlqps of weather,- and reckless of self, she had been seeking for me, or rakher for ijy little burden. Her hair was steeped with the drenching rain, and her dai k clothes hung on the lines of her figure, as women hate to let them do. Her eyes and face I could not see because of the way the light fell; but I seemed to R/iow her none the less. “While 1 gazed in doubt, my little fellow slipped like an eel from my clasp and the saddle; and almost before I could tell where he was—there he was in the arms of bis mother! Wonders of love now began to go on; and it struck me that I wan one too many in a scene of that sort: and I turned my good horse, to be off apd away. But the woman called out and a man laid hold of my bridle and tjok his hat off. I saw that it was my iood friend of the ditch. He was doing no less than inviting me, with all his heart, to an uncommonly good dinner!” , “Now that,” said Cripps, “is what I call the proper way of dcing things. Arter all, they hathens knows a dale more than we credit ’em.” (To be continued.)