The Village by the River | Page 3

train, and, when
it ran in with much splutter and fuss, not even by a turn of her head did
Miss Rose show herself aware of Tom's presence. Instead, she was
looking after her ladies, lifting out their various belongings--not a few
in number--and ordering round the porters with a pretty pertness as she
counted out the boxes from the van. It was only when she found her
own box missing that she turned appealingly to Tom.
"Run, there's a good boy, quick to the other van!" she said,
acknowledging him with a nod. "It must have got in there, and the train
will be off in another moment."
Tom ran as requested, pantingly rescued the box, and came back
smiling to tell her of his successful search.
"That's right," said Rose, graciously. "Now you can help me on to the
box-seat of the carriage, if you like. I'm going to sit beside Mr. Dixon."
Dixon was the coachman, and a formidable rival in Tom's eyes.
"I thought, perhaps, as you'd come along of me. I'm drivin' the cart
back for Berry, as he had a message in the village. I've not seen you for

such a time, Rose."
"Come with you!" said Rose, with a toss of her head. "The ladies would
not like it; besides, we shall meet sure enough some day soon. I mustn't
wait a minute longer. You need not help me unless you like."
But poor Tom, under the pretext of making some inquiry about the
luggage, managed to be near so as to hand up Rose to her seat by the
coachman, who appeared far more absorbed in the management of his
horses than in the young woman who sat by him, upon whom he did
not bestow even a glance, preserving a perfectly imperturbable
countenance.
"He's pretending! just pretending--the scamp!" said Tom, under his
breath, turning back to his horse and cart.
A strange man stood near stroking the animal's head and keeping a light
hand on its bridle. He wore a loosely fitting brown suit, and the hand
that caressed the horse was almost as brown as his clothes. His head
was closely cropped and his face clean-shaven, showing the clear-cut,
decided mouth and chin, and the white, even teeth displayed by the
smile with which he greeted Tom.
"You may be glad I was at hand or your cart with its cargo of luggage
would have been upset in the road," he said. "It's not a wise thing to
leave a creature like this standing alone when a train is starting off."
A quick retort was on the tip of Tom's tongue; he had no fancy for
being called to account by a perfect stranger, but, although the words
sounded authoritative, the tone was good-humoured.
"Thank you, I only left him for a moment; he stands quiet enough as a
rule," he said, taking the bridle into his hand.
The stranger picked up the small portmanteau he had set down in the
road, and prepared to walk off, then turned half-hesitatingly back to
Tom.

"Can you tell me where I can get a night or two's lodging? It does not
much matter where it is as long as it is clean and quiet."
Tom took off his cap and rubbed his head thoughtfully.
"Mrs. Lake's a wonderful good sort of woman."
"And who may Mrs. Lake be?" inquired the stranger, pleasantly.
"She keeps the Blue Dragon, but I couldn't say as it's exactly quiet of a
Saturday night. She don't allow no swearin' on her premises, but some
of the fellers gets a bit rowdy before they go home."
"Very possibly," replied his companion, dryly. "I don't think the Blue
Dragon would suit me; but surely there is some cottager with a spare
bed and sitting-room, who might be glad of a quiet, respectable lodger
for a bit?"
Tom threw a searching glance at the speaker; he was not quite sure that,
notwithstanding his gentle manner of talking, he was to be altogether
trusted.
"If you'd step up beside me I'll drive you to the forge," he said, willing
to shelve his responsibility of recommendation. "It's close here, and
Allison will help you if no one else can. He knows every one's
business."
"Just the sort of man I want," said Tom's new acquaintance, climbing
into the cart and seating himself on the cushion that had been intended
for Rose. His alert grey eyes took in his new surroundings at a glance.
No one could call Rudham a pretty village: it was too straggling, too
bare of trees, which had been planted sparsely and attained no
luxuriance of growth; but it was not wholly unattractive this evening,
with the setting sun turning to gold the varying bends of the river which
ran through