Jesse Cliffe | Page 9

Phoebe!" ejaculated the culprit
"Oh, grandfather, it's all my fault," continued Phoebe; "and if anybody
is to go to prison, you ought to send me. I had been reading about
Cowper's hares, and I wanted a young hare to tame: I took a fancy for
one, and told poor Jesse! And to think of his going to prison for that!"
"And did you tell him to set a wire for the hare, Phoebe?"
"A wire! what does that mean?" said the bewildered child. "But I dare
say," added she, upon Farmer Cobham's explaining the nature of the
snare, "I dare say that the poachers set the wire, and that he only took
up the hare for me, to please my foolish fancy! Oh, grandpapa! Poor
Jesse!" and Phoebe cried as if her heart would break.
"God bless you, Miss Phoebe!" said Jesse.
"All this is nonsense!" exclaimed the unrelenting fanner. "Take the
prisoner to the Chequers, Daniel, and get another man to keep you
company in sitting up with him. Have as much strong beer as you like,
and be sure to bring him and the constable here by nine o'clock
to-morrow morning."
"Oh, grandfather, you'll be sorry for this! I did not think you had been
so hard-hearted!" sobbed Phoebe. "You'll be very sorry for this."
"Yes, very sorry, that he will. God bless you, Miss Phoebe," said Jesse.
"What! does he threaten? Take him off, Daniel. And you, Phoebe, go to
bed and compose yourself. Heaven bless you, my darling!" said the
fond grandfather, smoothing her hair, as, the tears still chasing each
other down her cheeks, she stood leaning against his knee. "Go to bed
and to sleep, my precious! and you, Sally, bring me my pipe:" and
wondering why the fulfilment of a strong desire should not make him

happier, the honest farmer endeavoured to smoke away his cares.
In the meanwhile, old Daniel conducted Jesse to the Chequers, and
having lodged him safely in an upper room, sought out "an ancient,
trusty, drouthy crony," with whom he sate down to carouse in the same
apartment with his prisoner. It was a dark, cold, windy, October night,
and the two warders sate cosily by the fire, enjoying their gossip and
their ale, while the unlucky delinquent placed himself pensively by the
window. About midnight the two old men were startled by his flinging
open the casement.
"Miss Phoebe! look! look!"
"What? where?" inquired Daniel.
"Miss Phoebe!" repeated the prisoner; and, looking in the direction to
which Jesse pointed, they saw the flames bursting from Farmer
Cob-ham's house.
In a very few seconds they had alarmed the family, and sprung forth in
the direction of the fire; the prisoner accompanying them, unnoticed in
the confusion.
"Luckily, master's always insured to the value of all he's worth, stock
and goods," quoth the prudent Daniel.
"Miss Phoebe!" exclaimed Jesse: and even as he spoke he burst in the
door, darted up the staircase, and returned with the trembling child in
his arms, followed by aunt Dorothy and the frightened servants.
"Grandpapa! dear grandpapa! where is grandpapa? Will no one save
my dear grand-papa?" cried Phoebe.
And placing the little girl at the side of her aunt, Jesse again mounted
the blazing staircase. For a few moments all gave him up for lost But
he returned, tottering under the weight of a man scarcely yet aroused
from heavy sleep, and half suffocated by the smoke and flames.

"Miss Phoebe! he's safe, Miss Phoebe!--Down, Venus, down--He's safe,
Miss Phoebe! And now, I sha'n't mind going to prison, 'cause when I
come back you'll be living at the Moors. Sha'n't you, Miss Phoebe?
And I shall see you every day!"
One part of this speech turned out true and another part false--no
uncommon fate, by the way, of prophetic speeches, even when uttered
by wiser persons than poor Jesse. Phoebe did come to live at the Moors,
and he did not go to prison.
On the contrary, so violent was the revulsion of feeling in the honest
hearts of the good yeoman, John Cobham, and his faithful servant, old
Daniel, and so deep the remorse which they both felt for their injustice
and unkindness towards the friendless lad, that there was considerable
danger of their falling into the opposite extreme, and ruining him by
sudden and excessive indulgence. Jesse, however, was not of a
temperament to be easily spoilt. He had been so long an outcast from
human society that he had become as wild and shy as his old
companions of the fields and the coppice, the beasts of the earth and the
birds of the air. The hare which he had himself given to Phoebe was
easier to tame than Jesse Cliffe.
Gradually, very gradually, under the gentle influence of the gentle