The Delectable Duchy | Page 8

afore.
"But she, the pale woman, had a-seen me, dro' a chink o' the
parlour-door, as I tuk the coat down. An' she knowed what I tuk it for.
I've a-read it, times and again, in her wifely eyes; an' to-day you
yoursel' are witness that she knowed. If Seth knowed--"
She clenched and unclenched her fist, and went on rapidly.
"Early next mornin', and a'most afore I was dressed, two constables
came in by the gate, an' she behind 'em treadin' delicately, an' he at her
back, wi' his chin dropped. They charged me wi' stealin' that coat--wi'
stealin' it--that coat that I'd a-darned an' patched years afore ever she
cuddled against its sleeve!"
"What happened?" I asked, as her voice sank and halted.
"What happened? She looked me i' the eyes scornfully; an' her own
were full o' knowledge. An' wi' her eyes she coaxed and dared me to
abase mysel' an' speak the truth an' win off jail. An' I, that had stole
nowt, looked back at her an' said, 'It's true. I stole the coat. Now cart me
off to jail; but handle me gently for the sake o' my child unborn.' When
I spoke these last two words an' saw her face draw up wi' the bitterness
o' their taste, I held out my wrists and clapped the handcuffs together
like cymbals and laughed wi' a glad heart."
She caught my hand suddenly, and drawing me to the porch, pointed
high above Sheba, to the yellow upland where the harvesters moved.
"Do 'ee see 'en there?--that tall young man by the hedge--there where
the slope dips? That's my son, Seth's son, the straightest man among all.
Neither spot has he, nor wart, nor blemish 'pon his body; and when she
pays 'en his wages, Saturday evenin's, he says 'Thank 'ee, ma'am,' wi' a
voice that's the very daps o' his father's. An' she's childless. Ah,
childless woman! Childless woman! Go back an' carry word to her o'
the prayer I've spoken upon her childlessness."
And "Childless woman!" "Childless woman!" she called twice again,

shaking her fist at the windows of Sheba Farm-house, that blazed back
angrily against the westering sun.

WHEN THE SAP ROSE.
A FANTASIA.
An old yellow van--the Comet--came jolting along the edge of the
downs and shaking its occupants together like peas in a bladder. The
bride and bridegroom did not mind this much; but the Registrar of
Births, Deaths, and Marriages, who had bound them in wedlock at the
Bible Christian Chapel two hours before, was discomforted by a pair of
tight boots, that nipped cruelly whenever he stuck out his feet to keep
his equilibrium.
Nevertheless, his mood was genial, for the young people had taken his
suggestion and acquired a copy of their certificate. This meant five
extra shillings in his pocket. Therefore, when the van drew up at the
cross-roads for him to alight, he wished them long life and a multitude
of children with quite a fatherly air.
"You can't guess where I'm bound for. It's to pay my old mother a visit.
Ah, family life's the pretty life--that ever I should say it!"
They saw no reason why he should be cynical, more than other men.
And the bride, in whose eyes this elderly gentleman with the tight boots
appeared a rosy winged Cupid, waved her handkerchief until the
vehicle had sidled round the hill, resembling in its progress a very
infirm crab in a hurry.
As a fact, the Registrar wore a silk hat, a suit of black West-of-England
broadcloth, a watch-chain made out of his dead wife's hair, and two
large seals that clashed together when he moved. His face was wide and
round, with a sanguine complexion, grey side-whiskers, and a cicatrix
across the chin. He had shaved in a hurry that morning, for the wedding
was early, and took place on the extreme verge of his district. His is a
beautiful office--recording day by day the solemnest and most

mysterious events in nature. Yet, standing at the cross-roads, between
down and woodland, under an April sky full of sun and south-west
wind, he threw the ugliest shadow in the landscape.
The road towards the coast dipped--too steeply for tight boots--down a
wooded coombe, and he followed it, treading delicately. The hollow of
the V ahead, where the hills overlapped against the pale blue, was
powdered with a faint brown bloom, soon to be green--an infinity of
bursting buds. The larches stretched their arms upwards, as men
waking. The yellow was out on the gorse, with a heady scent like a
pineapple's, and between the bushes spread the grey film of coming
blue-bells. High up, the pines sighed along the ridge, turning paler; and
far down, where the brook ran, a mad duet was