Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 37, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 March 1905 — CRIPPS, THE CARRIER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

CRIPPS, THE CARRIER

BY R. D. BLACKMORE

Author of “LORNA DOON E,” “ALICE LORR AI N E,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.) “Yon ;ire light,” answered Ovei'shntp. "1 gave my horse to a boy to hold and followed the man into a warm? dry place, ■nd into his own corner. As 1 passed, •nd the people made way for me, I saw foat they were genuine gypsies, not mere English vagabonds. My gruff companion snised a screen, and showed me into his •nuggery. “It was dimly lit by a queer old lamp •f red earthenware, and of Roman shape. Conches of heather, and a few low stools •nd some vessels were the only furniture; but the place was beautifully clean ■nd fragrant with dry fern and herbs. In the furthest corner lay little Tom. with a woman bending over him. At the sound of our'entry she turned to meet us. and I saw Cinnaminta. Her Sair and eyes and graceful carriage were as grand as ever, and her forehead as •tear and noble: but her face had lost tiie bright puzzle of youth, and the flush •f damask beauty. In a word, that rich mysterious look, which used to thrill so many hearts, was changed into the glance of fear, ami the restless gaze of anxiety. “She knew me at once, and asked, with a very poor attempt at gaiety—- • Are yon come to have your fortune Aold. sir?’ “Before I could answer, her husband •poke some words in her own language, •nd the ‘Princess.’ as we used to call her. took my hand in both of hers, and kissed jt, and poured forth her thanks. She had Seen so engrossed with her poor sick <hihl that she had not known me on Borseback. Having done so little to deserve her thanks, I was quite surprised •t such gratitude: and it made me fear that she must be now unaccustomed to kind treatment. I asked how her grandmother was. w ho used to sit up so proud,Hjr at Cowley, as well as her sister, the Httle thing that used to run in and out •o. As 1 spoke of them, she shook her Bead and gazetj at some long distance. tell me that they were no more. I •ould not remember the rest of her peo-

>ie, except Uncle Kershoe, as fine a fellow as ever stole a horse. When I spoke •f him. she laughed as if he were going <»n as well as ever: and I hoped that it might be no son of his to whom I had trusted Cantehipe. But of course I knew that gypsy honor would hold him sacred lor the time. It really made me feel as if I never should laugh again almost, when I saw this tine, unselfish woman controlling herself, and commanding herself, in the depth of her misery about ier child. And when I thought how she slight have got on. if she only had liked education, and that: and to marry a fellow of Oriel. I really could not help feeling that poor Cinhamiuta had not made a jK>od tally with her husband. However, that was no concern of mine. She had mad<* her own choice, and must stick to it. But to think of it made me uncomfortable, and I could not speak then of what I wished to speak of. but took short leave and rode away. First, however. I got permission to come over again on the Friday—yesterday. 1 mean: end now I will tell you exactly what happened then.” The log had burned down, and the fire was low, when Russel thus ended his story. Cripps was indignant, because he Sad made up his mind for "summat of a settlement.” and Esther was full of noting womanly thoughts about Cinnawinta and her poor child. But even before they could consult one another, or wwM-exainine. a loud, sharp knock at Hie door was heard, and in ran Mary Hookham.

“Oh, if yon please, sir—oh, if yon please, sir!” she exclaimed with both tends up. “such a thing have turned up j never'. Them stockings! Oh. them ■Bk stockings, sir! Your worship—oh. Stem silk stockings, sir!” “Silk stockings, forsooth!” cried Master Cripps. being vexed at this break of 4te evening. “Why; my grandmother ted a whole pair of they! I belave I «*«rid jiud 'em now, I do! Silk'stoekto break up one's comfort for! Kat but what I be glad to see you." “Oh, Mr.- Cripps. you are so funny! Dk, I am so shocked to trouble you! sfteternl hair are so provoking, comparto what most people wears nowadays. Vat about what I come for —oh, your worship, stockings is not what I ought te speak of, except in the ear of fe•srtes.” “Stockings are a very good subject. ,W,rr; particularly if they are silk ones.” “Now, I never thought of that. To be «ve, that makes all the difference! Well, Mtete your worship must know all, and Master Cripps, and Miss Esther, too. It usuoteeth that Mrs. Fermitage. masjer s lCn sister, you know, sir, have never eonfortgbls in her mind about her l«a*vHor when the ’quest was held. Wsgs lay on her nerves at that time so, Mm off and on she hardly seemed to

know where she was. or how dooty lay to her. You could Hot expect her—could you now?—to go through it. as if she was a man: or rather, 1 should say, a gentleman?” •• ■■■, ~‘ "Of course we could not." answered Overshute: and the carrier began to think why “However, she did go through it.” said Mary, “as well as the very best mah could have done. She covered her feelings? Well, this very day, sir, in she come when I was doing of my morning doos, and she say to me, ‘Mary Hook-ham!’-and I says, ‘Yes. ma’am: at your service.’ And she ask me without any more to do, for to send at once, without troubling poor master, to fetch they stockings as was put by, to the period of the coroner’s ’quest. Poor master have never been allowed to see them, no more has none of us, sir; for fear of setting on foot some allowance of vulgar curiosity. So I acted according to mother's directions. And between us we got Master Kale to go all the way to Oxford. He carried a letter from Mrs. Fermitage. couched in the thirtieth person, to Mrs. Luke Sharp of Cross Duck House. Master's sister have felt below contempt towards her. And now she put it short and sharp, and word for word can I say of it: “‘Mrs. Fermitagb has the honor of presenting her compliments to . Mrs. Sharp, and begs to express her surprise at the strange retention by Mrs. S, of a pair of valuable silk stockings, which are the property of Mrs. F. If they are not in use, it is begged that they may be returned by the bearer.’ “And sure enough, back they come by Mr. Kale, about an hour after you left our house, sir. It seems that Mr. Luke Sharp” was gone to dine with the Corporation, or likely they never would have come at all. And they never would have come at all, because Mrs. Sharp could not have found them if it hadn't been that. Master Sharp, the boy they think such wonders of, just happened to come in from shooting. He found his mother

in the hystrikcs-of a heart too full for tears, as she expressed it bootifully to both cook and housemaid; and they pointed to the letter, and he read it; and he were that put out that Master Kale run away and got under the mangle. That wicked young man he kicked open the door and flung a parcel at hinv _ '■ ‘Tell your missus,’ he says, ‘that her rubbish is there! And add, without no compliments, that a lady of her birth should a' known better than to insult another lady so!’ “Well done. Kit Sharp!” exclaimed Overshute. “I rather admire him for that. I like a young fellow to get in a rage When he thinks that his mother is trampled on.” ‘‘Then you might a' been satisfied with him, sir. In a rage he were, and no mistake. So much so that orfr Mr. Kale made off by the quickest door. “Master Kale sent his parcel in by me. together with Mrs. Sharp's compliments; leaving the truth in the kitchen to strengthen. And so master's sister, she put out her hand all covered with rings, ami no shaking, and she hod to m<£ pleasantly, and take it. '.Mary, you may go,' she said; and f< r sure, I am not one of those who linger. "There happened, however, to be a new candle full of thieves and guttering. So back I turned by the corner of a screen, for to right it. I had no more idea, bless you. Master Cripps, of cooriosity, than might have happened to yourself, sir; but I pulled a pair of scissors out of my pocket, no snuffers being handy: and then I heer'd a most .sad groan. “To my heart it went, like a clap of thunder, having almost expected it, which made it worst*: and back I ran to do my dooty, if afforded rightly. And sure enough there was poor Mrs. Fermittige afell back well into the long-backed chair, with her legs out straight, and her hands to her forehead. and a pair of gray stockings laid naked on her lap! ‘ls it they things, ma'am? Is it they?' I asked, and she put up her chin to acknowledge it. By the way, they were lying upon her lap. I was sure that she was vexed with them. ‘Oh. Mary,' she cried out; ‘oh, Mary Hookham, 1 am both a foolish and a wicked woman, if everjin the world there was one!’ “So deeply was I shocked by this, master's own sister, and a mint of money, going the wrong way—that I give her both ends of the smelling bottle, open, and running on her velvet gown, as innocent ns possible. ‘Oh, you wicked, wicked girl!’ she says, coming round, before I could stop; ‘do you know what it cost a yard, you minx?’ ‘This gave me good hopes of her, being so natteral. Twice the price comes always into ladies’ minds, when damage is: if anybody cau be made to pay. But it did not become me to speak one word,

as you see. Mr. Russel, and Masttt Cripps. And there was my regard at once. “ ‘I must have a magistrate.’ she cries; ‘a independent justice of the peace. Not my poor brother—too much of him already. Where is that ‘boy Overshute?’ she says, saving, of course, your worship’s presence. ‘I heered he were gone to the carrier's. Mary, run and fetch him.’ ” CHAPTER XIII. , Mr. Overshute had always been on good terms with Mrs. I’ermitage. The lady desired no better suitor f<>r her_niece„ than Ru--sel Overshute. and had labored both by word and deed to afford him fair opportunity. Moreover, it was one of hM'.dgre;it delights, when time, wont heavily with her. to foster a cjuit't little fight between young Russel and his mother. Those two. though tilled with the deepest affection and admiration for each other, could scarcely sit half an hour together Without a warm argument rising. The late Mr. Overshute had been for years a knight of the shire, and for some few months a member of the Tory government; and this conferred on his widow, of course, authority paramount throughout the county upon every political question. How great, then, was her indignation to find subversive and radically erroneous principles coming up, where none but the best seed had been sown. Mrs. Fermitage sat well up, in a chair that had been newly stuffed. She was very uncomfortable; and it made her cross, because she was a good-sized woman. She kept on turning, but all for the worse; and her mind was uneasy at her brother’s house. The room was gone dark, and the lights going down, while Miss Mary Hookham was revelling in the mansion of the carrier. Nobody cared to hurry for the sake of anybody else, of course; and Mrs. Fermitage could not see what the good of all her money was. The lady was all the more vexed with others, because her own conscience was vexed with her; and as Overshute came with his quick, firm step, she spoke to him rather sharply. “Well, Russel Overshute, there was a time when you would not have left me to sit in this sad way by myself all the evening. But that was when I had pretty faces near me.” “My dear Mrs. Fermitage, I had no idea that you were even in the house. The good Squire sent me a very nice dinner; but you did not grace it with your presence.” “And for a very good reason, Russel. I have on my mind an anxiety, which precludes all idea of eating.” “Oh, Mrs. Fermitage. never say that. You have been brought up too delicately.” “Russel, I believe that is too true. The world has conspired to spoil me. I seem to be quite in a sad position, entirely forthe sake of others. ’ I fear that I have not quite acted for the best, entirely as I meant to do so. You remember that horrible state of things, nearly two months ago, and my great distress?!!. “At the time of that wretched inquest? Yes; you were timid, as well you might be.” “It was not only that. But the weather was so cold that 1 scarcely knew what I was doing at all. Hard weather is to me as it is to a plant, a delicate fern, or something. My circulation no longer is correct; even if it goes on at all. I scarcely can answer for what I am doing when .they put me into cold rooms, and bitter draughts.” “To be sure, to be sure!” answered Overshute, wondering what was next to come. “Yes, and that is the manner in which justice is now administered. The canal was frozen, and the people of the inn grudged a quarter of a hundredweight of coal. And the coroner sided with the price of copls, because he had three topcoats on. The jury, however, with their teeth all chattering, wanted only to be done and go. They were Only too glad, when any witness failed to answer when called upon; and having all made up their minds outside, they were shivering to declare them.” “You speak the bare truth, Mrs. Fermitage.’’ “ ‘What verdict does Missus desire?’ the coroner asked. And he made nil the rest go accordingly. Nobody knows what they might have sworn, without a’ clever man to guide them.” “Of course. What can you expect? But still, you have something new to tell me.” (To be continued.’

AT THE SOUND OF OUR ENTRY SHE TURNED TO MEET US, AND I SAW CINNAMINTA.