Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“Very sorry, ma’am,” said the ticket collector, who had followed her from the regular platform; “then you’ll have to pay from Bristol.”

“Put look you,” cried the old lady, “I tid pay once and cot the ticket, look you, and I put it somewhere to pe safe.”

“Have you searched all your pockets?” said Richard.

“Yes, young man,” said the old lady; “I’ve only cot one, look you – there!” and she dragged up her dress to display a great olive green pocket as big as a saddle-bag, out of which, after placing a bundle in Pratt’s hands and the umbrella in Richard’s to hold, she turned out a heterogeneous assortment of nutmegs, thimbles, reels of cotton, pieces of wax-candle, ginger, a bodkin case, pincushions, housewives, and, as the auctioneers say, other articles too numerous to mention.

“It don’t seem to be there,” said Richard, kindly.

“No, young man, it isn’t. I hunted it all over, look you, and I must have peen robbed.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m very sorry,” said the collector, “but you must pay again.”

“I teclare to cootness, young man, I can’t, and I won’t. I shall have no money to come pack.”

“Can’t help that,” said the collector, civilly enough. “I must do my duty, ma’am.”

“How much is it?” said Richard.

“From Bristol, third-class, sir, eight and tenpence.”

“Look you, young man, I shall pe ruined,” cried the old woman, tearfully.

“I’ll pay it,” said Richard, thrusting his hand into his pocket.

“You’re a tear, coot poy, pless you,” cried the old lady; and to the amusement of all on the platform, she went on tiptoe, reached up to Richard, and gave him a sounding kiss. “Pless you for it. Coot teeds are never thrown away.”

“I hope you are a witch, Mother Hubbard,” said Pratt, laughing. “Here’s your bundle. Don’t forget to do him a good turn.”

Richard took out the money, and the collector was about to write a receipt, when it suddenly occurred to the young man to open the umbrella, which he did with some difficulty, and the missing ticket fell out.

“There,” cried the old lady, joyfully, “I knew I put it somewhere to pe safe. Thank you, young man, and pless you all the same; for, look you, it was as coot a teed as if you had tone it.”

“Don’t say any more, mother,” said Richard, laughing. “Good-bye.”

A Quiet Wedding

There was just time to snatch a hasty breakfast the next morning before starting for the station, and after a short journey they mounted into the dog-cart which Humphrey had sent to meet them. By comparing times, Pratt, who had taken all the management upon himself, found that he could execute a little plan he had been hatching; and when they neared Penreife, after a chat with the groom about the preparations, he proposed to Richard that they should alight, send the vehicle on, and take the short cut by the lanes.

“If you like,” said Richard, quietly; and the sadness that had seemed to hang over him more and more as they neared their journey’s end now half unmanned him.

“I thought you’d like better to walk up to the old place alone,” said Frank, “instead of having a third person with us.”

“Thank you, Frank, thank you,” said Richard, in a voice that was husky with emotion. “It was a mistake to come.”

“No, no, a kindness to Humphrey and me.”

“I – I – thought I could stand it better, and not behave like such a weak fool,” said Richard. “There, it’s over now. Let’s get through our task, so that I may go back.”

“You must wait for me, you know, Dick,” said Frank, cheerily. “There, cheer up, old man, it isn’t for ever and a day. Try and be hopeful, and put on a bright face before the wedding folks. It’s all going to be as quiet as possible – a couple of carriages to the church and back. Your old people will be there. Say a kind word to them – there, you know how to do it.”

“I’ll try and act like a man, Frank, hard as it will be. But you’ve set me a bitter task.”

“Then you shall have some sweet to take with it,” said Pratt to himself. Then aloud, “Ah, how nice this old lane looks. I never saw the ferns brighter or richer. How the sun shines through the trees. What a lovely morning, Dick! I say,” he gabbled on in a hasty way, “look at that tiny waterfall. What a change, Dick, from Fountain Court, Temple.”

“Why did you come this way?” groaned Richard, as he strove hard to fight down the emotion caused by the recollections that pervaded his memory.

That lane was hallowed to him: but a quarter of a mile farther was the old woman’s cottage where he had encountered the sisters; there was the place where he had walked one evening with Tiny; there – oh, there was a happy memory clinging to every tree and mossy block of granite; and but for the strong effort he made, he could have wandered out of the path, thrown himself down amongst the ferns, and cried like a child.

Meanwhile, Pratt chatted excitedly.

“Bless the dear old place. Why, Dick, that’s where I saw my little Fin looking so disdainfully at me, coming round the sharp turn there; and, look here, that’s my old perch, where I’ve had many a jolly pipe.”

He caught his friend suddenly by the arm, in a strangely-excited fashion, and turned him round, as he pointed to the grey, lichen-covered monolith of granite.

“Dick, old man, I could smoke a pipe there now, and sit and whistle like a bird. I say, Dick, how comical a fellow would look up there in his wig and gown, and – thank goodness!”

He said those last two words to himself with a sigh of relief, as, turning round, there, timed to a moment by his vile machinations and those of Fin, the sisters came, basket and fern trowel in hand, from amongst the trees, just as if time had been standing still, and no troubles had intervened.

To two of the party the surprise was complete. Richard stopped short, rigid and firm; while Tiny, as soon as her eyes rested upon him, turned pale, her basket fell to the ground, and uttering a faint cry of pain, she pressed her hand to her side and tottered back.

Conventional feelings, rigid determination, everything went down before nature then. With one bound Richard was at Tiny’s side, and the next moment, with a cry of joy, the poor girl’s arms were round his neck, and she was sobbing on his breast.

The probabilities are that had the insane behaviour of Frank Pratt been seen, he would have lost caste at the bar; for, dashing down his hat and an expensive meerschaum, which was shivered to atoms on the granite path, he executed a wild breakdown, brought his foot to the earth with a flop, and then rushed at Fin; but only to be disappointed, for she was clinging to and sobbing over Dick – that is, as far up as she could reach, crying —

“Oh, you dear, good darling, Dick – pray, pray don’t go on breaking her poor heart any more.”

“I say,” said Pratt, reproachfully, as Richard bent down and kissed the little maid, “what have I done? Ain’t I nobody?”

“Oh, go away now,” cried Fin, “There, you may have one, if nobody’s looking. Now, that will do;” and, after suffering a kiss, she returned it with a push.

“Time’s up, Dick, come. You shall see her again,” said Pratt, looking ruefully at his meerschaum scraps, as he dusted his hat. Then followed a little whispering with Pin, and he caught his friend’s arm, as his fellow-conspirator led her sister away.

“This is madness,” groaned Richard, as he yielded to his friend’s touch, and they walked rapidly away. “Oh, Franky, you contrived this.”

“To be sure I did,” said Pratt, grinning; “and you shall have another dose to cure you both, if you are good. But, quick; now, then, look a man. Here we are.”

Richard walked steadily up to the house, where he was pleased to find that all the servants’ faces were new. Humphrey met him at the door, and Mr and Mrs Lloyd were in the hall ready to approach timidly, as the young man gravely kissed the late housekeeper, and shook hands with Lloyd.

Polly was in the drawing-room, for it was to be a very homely, unconventional marriage; and she blushed warmly on encountering the former owner of the place.

“I wish you every happiness, my dear,” said Richard, to set her at ease; and he bent down and kissed her. “Humphrey has told me of your good little heart.”

“And you will listen to him, Mr Lloy – Trevor?” said the girl, mixing the two names together.

“Time to go,” said Humphrey; and he handed Polly, Mrs Lloyd, and her husband into the first carriage, which was kept back while he, Richard, and Pratt entered the other, and were driven off to the church.

In spite of the endeavours to keep the affair quiet, the little churchyard was crowded, and it was a harder trial for Richard even than he had expected, to hear the whisperings, and receive the friendly nods and bows from so many of those who knew him well.