Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard by Eleanor Farjeon (best new books to read txt) 📕

"There are a thousand better things to talk of," agreed Martin. "There is Sloe Gin."

Old Gillman's eye brightened. "Ah!" said Old Gillman, and puffed at his pipe. "Her name," he said, "was Juniper, but as oft as not I'd call her June, for she was like that. A rose in the house, boy. Maybe you think my Jill has her share of looks? She has her mother's leavings, let me tell ye. So you may judge. But what's this Robin to dilly-dally with her daughter, till the gal can't sleep o' nights for wondering will he speak in the morning or will he be mum? And so she becomes worse than no use in kitchen and dairy, and since sickness is catching the maids follow suit. It's all off and on wi' them and their lads. In the morning they will, in the evening they won't. Ah, twas a tarrible life. And all along o' Robin Rue. Young man, the farm, I tell ye, was going to fair rack and ruin."

"You seem to have found a remedy," said Martin.

"If they silly maids couldn't make up their minds," said Old Gillman, "there was nothing for it but to turn em out neck and crop till they learned what they wanted. And Robin into the bargain. He's no better than a maid when it comes to taking the bull by the horns. Yet that's the man's part, mark ye. Don't I know? Smockalley she come from, the Rose of Smockalley they called her, for a Rose in June she were. There weren't a lass to match her south of Hagland and north of Roundabout. And the lads would ha' died for her from Picketty to Chiltington. But twas a Billinghurst lad got her, d'ye see?" Old Gillman filled his mug.

"How did that come about?" asked Martin, filling his.

"All along o' the Murray River."

"WHAT'S that!" said Martin Pippin. But Old Gillman thought he said, "What's THAT?"

" Tis the biggest river in Sussex, young man, and the littlest known, and the fullest of dangers, and the hardest to find; because nobody's ever found it yet but her and me. And she'd sworn to wed none but him as could find it with her. Don't I remember the day! Twas the day the Carrier come, and that was the day o' the week for us folk then. He had a blue wagon, had George, with scarlet wheels and a green awning; and his horse was a red-and-white skewbald and jingled bells on its bridle. A small bandy-legged man was George, wi' a jolly face and a squint, and as he drives up he toots on a tin trumpet wi' red tassels on it. Didn't it bring the crowd running! and didn't the crowd bring HIM to a standstill, some holding old Scarlet Runner by the bridle, and others standing on the very axles. And the hubbub, young man! It was Where's my six yards of dimity?' from one, and Have you my coral necklace?' from another. Where's my bag of comfits? where's my hundreds and thousands?' from the children; and I can't wait for my ivory fan?' My bandanna hanky!' My two ounces of snuff!' My guitar!' My clogs!' My satin dancing-shoes!' My onion-seed!' My new spindle!' My fiddle-bow!' My powder-puff!' And some little un would lisp, I'm sure you've forgotten my blue balloon!' And then they'd cry, one-and-all, in a breath, George! what's the news?' And he'd say, Give a body elbow- room!' and handing the packages right and left would allus have something to tell. But on this day he says, News? There BE no news excepting THE News.' And what's THE News?' cries one-and-all. Why,' says George, that the Rose of Smockalley consents to be wed at last.' The Rose!' they cries, and me the loudest, to whom?' To him,' says George, as can find her the Murray River. For a sailor come by last Tuesday wi' a tale o' the Murray River where he'd been wrecked and seen wonders; and a woman tormented by curiosity will go as far as a man tormented by love. And so she's willing to be wed at last. But she's liker to die a maid.' Then I ups and asks why. And George he says, For that the sailor breathed such perils that the lasses was taken wi' the trembles and the lads with the shudders. For, he says, the river's haunted by spirits, and a mystery at the end of it which none has ever come back from. And no man dares hazard so dark and dangerous an adventure, even for love of the Rose.' That pricks a man's pride to hear, boy, and Shame,' says I, on all West Sussex if that be so. Here be one man as is ready, and here be fifty others. What d'ye say, lads?' But Lord! as I looks from one to another they trickles away like sand through an hourglass, and before we knows it me and George has the road to ourselves. So he says, I must be getting on to Wisboro', but first I'll deliver ye your baggage.' You've no baggage o' mine,' says I. Yes, if you'll excuse me,' says he; and wi' that he parts the green awning and says, There she be.' And there she were, sitting on a barrel o' cider."

"What was she like to look at?" asked Martin.

"Yaller hair and gray eyes," said Gillman. "And me a bachelor."

"It was hopeless," said Martin.

"It were," said Old Gillman. "And it were the end o' my peace of life. She looks me straight in the eye and she says, Juniper's my name, but I'm June to them as loves me. And June I'll be to you. For I have traveled his rounds wi' this Carrier for a week, and sat behind his curtain while he told men my wishes. And you be the only one of them all as is willing to do a difficult thing for an idle whim,