God's Good Man by Marie Corelli (speld decodable readers txt) 📕

been a ‘Soul’ if I had liked. I could have learnt a lot of wicked secrets from the married peer who wanted to be my ‘affinity,’—only I wouldn’t. I could have got all the Government ‘tips,’ gambled with them on the Stock Exchange, and made quite a fortune as a ‘Soul.’ Yet here I am,—no ‘Soul,’—but only a poor little body, with something in me that asks for a higher flight than mere social intrigue. Just a bit of a higher flight, eh, Plato? What do you think about it?”

Plato the leonine, waved his plumy tail responsively and gently rubbed his great head against her arm. Resting one hand lightly on his neck, she moved towards the house and slowly ascended the graduating slopes of the grass terrace. Here she was suddenly met by Primmins.

“Beg your pardon, Miss,” he said, with an apologetic air, “but there’s an old man from the village come up to see you—a very old man,—he’s had to be carried in a chair, and it’s took a couple of men nigh an hour and a half to bring him along. He says he knew you years ago—I hardly like to send him away—”

“Certainly not!—of course you mustn’t send him away,” said Maryllia, quickening her steps; “Poor old dear! Where is he?”

“In the great, hall, Miss. They brought him through the courtyard and got him in there, before I had time to send them round to the back entrance.”

Maryllia entered the house. There she was met by Mrs. Spruce, with uplifted hands.

“Well, it do beat me altogether, Miss,” she exclaimed, “as to how these silly men, my ‘usband, too, one of the silliest, beggin’ your parding, could bring that poor old Josey Letherbarrow up here all this way! And he not toddled beyond the church this seven or eight years! And it’s all about those blessed Five Sisters they’ve come, though I told ‘em you can’t nohow be worrited and can’t see no one—

”

“But I can!” said Maryllia decisively; “I can see anyone who wishes to see me, and I will. Let me pass, Mrs. Spruce, please!”

Mrs. Spruce, thus abruptly checked, stood meekly aside, controlling her desire to pour forth fresh remonstrances at the unseemliness of any person or persons intruding upon the lady of the Manor at so late an hour in the evening as half-past nine o’clock. Maryllia hastened into the hall and there found an odd group awaiting her, composed of three very odd-looking personages,—much more novel and striking in their oddity than anything that could have been presented to her view in the social whirl of Paris and London. Josey Letherbarrow was the central figure, seated bolt upright in a cane arm-chair, through the lower part of which a strong pole had been thrust, securely nailed and clamped, as well as tied in a somewhat impromptu fashion with clothes-line. This pole projected about two feet on either side of the chair to accommodate the bearers, namely Spruce and Bainton, who, having set their burden down, were now wiping their hot faces and perspiring brows with flagrantly coloured handkerchiefs of an extra large size. As Maryllia appeared, they abruptly desisted from this occupation and remained motionless, stricken with sudden confusion and embarrassment. Not so old Josey, for with unexpected alacrity he got out of his chair and stood upright, supporting himself on his stick, and doffing his old straw hat to the light girlish figure that approached him with the grace of kindliness and sympathy expressed in its every movement.

“There she be!” he exclaimed; “There be the little gel wot I used to know when she was a babby, God bless ‘er! Jes’ the same eyes and ‘air and purty face of ‘er! Welcome ‘ome to th’ owld Squire’s daughter, mates! D’ye ‘ear me!” And he turned a dim rolling eye of command on Spruce and Bainton—“I sez welcome ‘ome! And when I sez it I’spect it to be said arter me by the both of ye,—welcome ‘ome!”

Spruce, unable to hear a word of this exordium, smiled sheepishly,— and twirling the cap he held, put his coloured handkerchief into it and squeezed it tightly within the lining. Bainton, with the impending fate of the Five Sisters in view, judged it advisable not to irritate or disobey the old gentleman whom he had brought forward as special pleader in the case, and gathering his wits together he spoke out bravely.

“Welcome ‘ome, it is, Josey!” he said; “We both sez it, and we both means it! And we ‘opes the young lady will not take it amiss as ‘ow we’ve come to see ‘er on the first night of ‘er return, and wish ‘er ‘appy in the old ‘ouse and long may she remain in it!”

Here he broke off, his eloquence being greatly disturbed by the gracious smile Maryllia gave him.

“Thank you so much!” she murmured sweetly; and then going up to Josey Letherbarrow, she patted the brown wrinkled hand that grasped the stick. “How kind and good of you to come and see me! And so you knew me when I was a little girl? I hope I was nice to you! Was I?”

Josey waved his straw hat speechlessly. His first burst of enthusiasm over, he was somewhat dazed, and a little uncertain as to how he should next proceed with his mission,

“Tell ‘er as ‘ow the Five Sisters be chalked;” growled Bainton in an undertone.

But Josey’s mind had gone wandering far afield, groping amid memories of the past, and his aged eyes were fixed on Maryllia with a strange look of wonder and remembrance commingled.

“Th’ owld Squire! Th’ owld Squire!” he muttered; “I see ‘im now—as broad an’ tall and well-set up a gentleman as ever lived—and sez he: ‘Josey, that little white thing is all I’ve got left of the wife I was bringin’ ‘ome to be the sunshine of the old Manor.’ Ay, he said that! ‘Its eyes are like those of my Dearest!’ Ay, he said that, too! The little white thing! She’s ‘ere,—and th’ owld Squire’s gone!”

The pathos of his voice struck Maryllia to the heart,—and for the moment she could not keep back a few tears that gathered, despite herself, and glistened on her long lashes. Furtively she dashed them away, but not before Bainton had seen them.

“Well, arter all, Josey’s nothin’ but a meanderin’ old idgit!” he thought angrily: “‘Ere ‘ave I been an’ took ‘im for a wise man wot would know exackly ‘ow to begin and ask for the sparin’ of the old trees, and if he ain’t gone on the wrong tack altogether and made the poor little lady cry! I think I’ll do a bit of this business myself while I’ve got the chance—for if I don’t, ten to one he’ll be tellin’ the story of the wopses’ nest next, and a fine oncommon show we’ll make of ourselves ‘ere with our manners.” And he coughed loudly—“Ahem! Josey, will you tell Miss Vancourt about the Five Sisters, or shall I?”

Maryllia glanced from one to the other in bewilderment.

“The Five Sisters!” she echoed; “Who are they?”

Here Spruce imagined, as he often did, that he had been asked a question.

“Such were our orders from Mr. Leach,” he said, in his quiet equable voice; “We’s to be there to-morrow marnin’ quarter afore six with ropes and axes.”

“Ropes and axes shall not avail against the finger of the Lord, or the wrath of the Almighty!” said Josey Letherbarrow, suddenly coming out of his abstraction; “And if th’ owld Squire were alive he wouldn’t have had ‘em touched—no, not he! He’d ha’ starved sooner! And if the Five Sisters are laid low, the luck of the Manor will lay low with ‘em! But it’s not too late—not too late!”—and he turned his face, now alive in its every feature with strong emotion, to Maryllia—“Not too late if the Squire’s little gel is still her father’s pride and glory! And that’s what I’ve come for to the Manor this night,—I ain’t been inside the old ‘ouse for this ten ‘ear or more, but they’s brought me,—me—old Josey,—stiff as I am, and failin’ as I am, to see ye, my dear little gel, and ask ye for God’s love to save the old trees wot ‘as waved in the woodland free and wild for ‘undreds o’ years, and wot deserves more gratitude from Abbot’s Manor than killin’ for long service!”

He began to tremble with nervous excitement, and Maryllia put her hand soothingly on his arm.

“You must sit down, Josey,” she said; “You will be so tired standing! Sit down and tell me all about it! What trees are you speaking of? And who is going to cut them down! You see I don’t know anything about the place yet,—I’ve only just arrived—but if they are my trees, and you say my father would not have wished them to be cut down, they shan’t be cut down!—be sure of that!”

Josey’s eyes sparkled, and he waved his battered hat triumphantly.

“Didn’t I tell ye?” he exclaimed, turning round upon Bainton; “Didn’t I say as ‘ow this was the way to do it?—and as ‘ow the little gel wot I knew as a baby would listen to me when she wouldn’t listen to no one else? An’ as ‘ow the Five Sisters would be spared? An’ worn’t I right! Worn’t I true?”

Maryllia smiled.

“You really must sit down!” she said again, gently persuading him into his chair, wherein he sank heavily, like a stone, though his face shone with alertness and vigour. “Primmins!” and she addressed that functionary who had been standing in the background watching the little scene; “Bring some glasses of port wine.” Primmins vanished to execute this order. “Now, you dear old man,” continued Maryllia, drawing up an oaken settle close to Josey’s knee and seating herself with a confidential air; “you must tell me just what you want me to do, and I will do it!”

She looked a mere child, with her fair face upturned and her rippling hair falling loosely away from her brows. A great tenderness softened Josey’s eyes as he fixed them upon her.

“God Almighty bless ye!” he said, raising his trembling hand above her head; “God bless ye in your uprisin’ and downlyin’,—and make the old ‘ouse and the old ways sweet to ye! For there’s naught like ‘ome in a wild wandering world—and naught like love to make ‘appiness out of sorrow! God bless ye, dear little gel!—and give ye all your ‘art’s desire, if so be it’s for your good and guidin’!”

Instinctively, Maryllia bent her head with a pretty reverence under the benediction of so venerable a personage, and gently pressed the wrinkled hand as it slowly dropped again. Then glancing at Bainton, she said softly:

“He’s very tired, I’m afraid!—perhaps too tired to tell me all he wishes to say. Will you explain what it is he wants?”

Bainton, thus adjured, took courage.

“Thank ye kindly, Miss; and if I may make so bold, it’s not what he wants more’n wot all the village wants and wot we’ve been ‘opin’ against ‘ope for, trustin’ to the chance of your comin’ ‘ome to do it for us. Passon Walden he’s a rare good man, and he’s done all he can, and he’s been and seen Oliver Leach, but it ain’t all no use,—

-”

He paused, as Maryllia interrupted him by a gesture.

“Oliver Leach?” she queried; “He’s my agent here, I believe?”

“Jes’ so, Miss—he was put in as agent arter the Squire’s death, and he’s been ‘ere ever since, bad luck to ‘im! And he’s been a-cuttin’ down timber on the place whenever he’s took a mind to, askin’