Читать книгу The Soul of Susan Yellam - Horace Annesley Vachell - Страница 13

Everybody in Nether-Applewhite called Habakkuk Mucklow Uncle.

In all villages remote from what we call civilisation there may be found men like him, loose-limbed, loose-tongued, easy, pleasure-loving, quick-witted in what concerns others, strangely slow to grapple with their own opportunities, always at the mercy of their wives and genially dependent upon them. Uncle was the best thatcher in the countryside. He might have been busy all the time, but it was known that he refused disdainfully the more primitive forms of his work; he never touched barns or stacks. On the other hand, he was artistically eager to tackle the decorative thatching which is still to be found in Wiltshire. Although he was older than his sister, Mrs. Yellam, and past sixty, he still ran afoot with the hounds, and earned handsome tips as an independent harbourer of deer. During many years, also, he had been "beater" to old Captain Davenant, who took out a Forest License from the Crown which afforded him three days' rough shooting a week, from October till the end of January. Nobody, in those parts, knew the northern half of the New Forest better than Habakkuk Mucklow.

Like all his family, he was an upstanding fellow, a six-footer, and finely proportioned, with a cheerful red face, cleanly-shaven save for a wisp of grey whisker which he sported high on his cheek after the fashion adopted by the Iron Duke, whom Habakkuk venerated as the greatest of Englishmen. Had you told him that his hero came from Ireland, he would not have believed it.

Uncle loved creature comforts, and could carry more strong ale without showing it than any man in the parish. Very wisely he had married Jane Rockley who, in her time, had served a long apprenticeship at Pomfret Court as scullery-maid and then kitchen-maid, becoming, finally, cook in that handsome establishment. Jane Mucklow ruled Habakkuk through his stomach, and he was well aware of this, and rebelled constantly against what he considered to be an abuse of power.

"Womenfolk," he would remark, "don't wage honourable warfare. They hits below the belt, they do. When my old 'ooman gets miffed wi' me, I notices a tremenjous difference in my victuals."

Uncle had pipeclay in his marrow. During his hot youth he had taken the Queen's shilling after a poaching affair, and served some five years with the colours of the county regiment. He had not seen active service, but he allowed strangers to believe that he was a great warrior. Possibly, the discipline of the parade ground had made him swear to take life easily for the rest of his days.

Captain Davenant spoke of him as a "character." The word "card" was not known in Nether-Applewhite.

Uncle loved two persons nearly as much as himself—his sister, Susan, and his nephew, Alfred. When the news of Alfred's engagement became known to him, he expressed great interest and pleasure, drinking the health of prospective groom and bride in much ale and cider. Alfred brought the blushing Fancy to Uncle's cottage, and received the felicitations which the good looks of the young woman warranted.

Uncle had sentimental views about the married state not shared by his wife. As he kissed Fancy, he said solemnly:

"'Tis a great venture. We all likes a dip into the lucky bag. And it do seem to me, Alferd, as you've pulled a prize."

Mrs. Mucklow sniffed. She, too, kissed Fancy, but uttered a warning note:

"Marriage ain't what some folks crack it up to be, my girl. But I've not a word agen courtship. Your uncle, as is to be, follered me about like a dog for three years, and I own up truthful 'twas the happiest time o' my life."

Uncle laughed cheerily.

"I be your old dog still, Jane, and allers ready for a bone."

Mrs. Mucklow nodded, looking whimsically at Fancy.

"You hear that, my girl? 'Tis the bone they look for. A man's heart lies in his stomach. Feed up Alferd so long as he behaves himself. I says nothing about the power o' prayer, seein' as generally speaking my most powerful prayers ain't been answered as I could wish, but fasting do wonnerful work, especially wi' men."

Uncle laughed again.

Marriage, however, seemed reasonably remote. Fancy wished to "make good" in her new place. Alfred, very comfortable at home, intended to work hard for a year at least, laying the solid foundations of a business likely to be bigger than he had ever dreamed it to be. Mrs. Yellam, moreover, had spoken plainly and sensibly to her son.

"She be a sweet maid, Alferd, but tarribly spindlin', a slip o' muslin, and young for her years."

"Twenty-two, Mother."

"I knows that. And I minds that her mother died, pore soul, when Fancy was born. A bottle-baby; and I never did hold wi' that. Don't 'ee look so glum. She be plumper a'ready. Pa'son give his maids good plain food, and our air blowing over downs be better nor strong ale for such as she."

"You do love her, Mother?"

"In course I do, and I'm doing my duty by her and you when I tells 'ee that she ain't marriage-ripe, nor likely to be for many months to come. If I was only thinking o' myself, my son, I'd be laying out your wedding sheets this day. Squire and me has many things in common, and this afore all: we likes to see red-cheeked little 'uns coming on."

"You're a wonderful, farseeing woman. Fair aching I am for her, the pretty dear, but wait we must for matrimonial joys, and wait we shall. That's certain."

To his surprise, she laid her strong hands upon his shoulder and kissed him solemnly: demonstrations rare indeed with her, which provoked surprise.

"Why, Mother!"

She said slowly:

"You be all I have, Alferd, and a son to be proud of as never was. I be farseein'. 'Tis a gift o' God. Biding for happiness, in the right Christian spirit, generally brings it, but not allers, not allers."

With a sigh she turned to her daily work, and he went, thoughtfully, to his.

July glided away peacefully. Wars and rumours of wars reached few ears in Nether-Applewhite. The possibility of civil war in Ireland disturbed Mr. Hamlin and provoked to wrath Sir Geoffrey Pomfret; the villagers remained blandly indifferent to anything outside the sphere of their own interests and activities.

With the one exception of Uncle.

Perhaps that old war-horse—for so he deemed himself to be—nosed from afar the coming battles. More than likely, he picked up chance words dropped by Captain Davenant, once a Guardsman, who rented two miles of fishing on the Avon, preserves under Uncle's watchful eye. The Captain predicted war with Germany as inevitable. Uncle, like his wife, could be trusted to repeat what he heard with sundry additions peculiarly his own. In the ale-house, he told his cronies what he knew and much more.

"'Twill be a nice bloody how-dy-do; and it mads me to think that time, as the saying goes, have laid me by the heels. The Kayser be bent on the job, and have been ever since they ancient days, which I recalls right well, when he licked the Frenchies. A rare doin' he give 'em, to be sure."

An old gaffer answered promptly, voicing, unwittingly, the general opinion:

"'Tain't none of our affair. I be sick to my stomach wi' such flustratious talk. We English be the mightiest people on earth because we minds our own business. I don't think nothing o' foreigners; they be, one and all, so wonderful peevish."

Uncle smiled genially.

"Minds our own business, do us? I bain't so cocky-sure o' that, old friend. Speaking up for myself, and bigger fools have spoken in this ale-house, I be sartain sure that good money comes my way through minding other folks' business. I was never one to think of myself."

"What a tale!"

"The Captain be a dry old stick, but cracklin' wi' ripe wisdom, as I be. And he's seen the world, as I have. Stay-at-home folk never look further than their back-yards. I takes a very wide view. Me and Lord Roberts have sized up this yere Kayser for what he be, a very bumptious, slambang, bold pirate, a Grab-all as must be put in his place by we. And why? Because 'tis our duty and privilege to keep proper order. We had to down Krooger." He trolled out lustily: