A Son of Hagar. Sir Hall Caine
a voice from the crowd.
"What, man, did you never hear of the day I bought it?"
Sundry shakes of many heads were the response.
"No?" said Gubblum, with an accent of sheer incredulity, and added, "Well, there is no accounting for the ignorance of some folks."
"What happened to you, Gubblum?"
Gubblum's expression of surprise gave place to a look of condescension. He lifted his bronzed and hairy hand to the rim of his straw hat to shade his eyes from the sun.
"Well, when I got on to auld Bessy, here, I couldn't get off again—that's what happened."
"No? Why?"
"You see, I'd got my clogs on when I went to buy the saddle in Kezzick, and they're middling wide in the soles, my clogs are. So when I put my feet into the stirrups, there they stuck."
"Stuck!"
"Ey, fast as nails! And when I got home to Branth'et Edge I couldn't get them out. So our Sally, she said to my auld woman, 'Mother,' she said, 'we'll have to put father into the stable with the pony and fetch him a cup of tea.' And that's what they did, and when I had summat into me I had another fratch at getting out of the saddle; but I couldn't manish it; so I had—what you think I had to do?"
"Nay, man, what?"
"I had to sleep all night in the stable on Bessy's back!"
"Bless thee, Gubblum, and whatever didsta do?"
"I'm coming to that, on'y some folks are so impatient. Next morning that lass of mine, she said to her mother, 'Mother,' she said, 'wouldn't it be best to take the saddle off the pony, and then father he'll sure come off with it?'"
"And they did do it?"
"Ey, they did. They took Bessy and me round to the soft bed as they keeps maistly at the back of a stable, and they loosened the straps and gave a push, and cried 'Away.'"
"Weel, man, weel?"
"Weel! nowt of the sort! It wasn't weel at all! When I rolled over I was off the pony, for sure; but I was stuck fast to the saddle just the same."
"What ever did they do with thee then?"
"I'm coming to that, too, on'y some folks are so mortal fond of hearing theirselves talk. They picked me up, saddle and all, and set me on the edge of the kitchen dresser. And there I sat for the best part of a week, sleeping and waking, and carding and spinning, and getting fearful thin. But I got off at last, I did!" There was a look of proud content in Gubblum's face as he added, "What a thing it is to be eddicated! We don't vally eddication half enough!"
A young fellow—it was Lang Geordie Moore—pushed a smirking face between the shoulders of two girls, and said:
"Did you take to reading and writing, then, Gubblum, when you were on the kitchen dresser?"
There was a gurgling titter, but, disdaining to notice the interruption, Gubblum lifted his tawny face into the glare of the sun, and said:
"It was my son as did it—him that is learning for a parson. He came home from St. Bees, and 'Mother,' he said, before he'd been in the house a minute, 'let's take fathers clogs off, and then his feet will come out of the stirrups."
A loud laugh bubbled over the company. Gubblum sat erect in the saddle and added with a grave face:
"That's what comes of eddication and reading the Bible and all o' that! If I had fifty sons I'd make 'em all parsons."
The people laughed again, and crowed and exchanged nods and knowing winks. They enjoyed the peddler's talk, and felt an indulgent tenderness for his slow and feeble intellect. He on his part enjoyed no less to assume a simple and shallow nature. A twinkle lurked under his bushy brows while he "smoked the gonies." They laughed and he smiled slyly, and both were satisfied.
Gubblum Oglethorpe, peddler, of Branth'et Edge, got off his pony and stroked its tousled mane. He was leading it to a temporary stable, when he met face to face the young wrestler, Paul Ritson, who was coming from the tent in his walking costume. Drawing up sharply, he surveyed Paul rapidly from head to foot, and then asked him with a look of bewilderment what he could be doing there.
"Why, when did you come back to these parts?"
Paul smiled.
"Come back! I've not been away."
The old man looked slyly up into Paul's face and winked. Perceiving no response to that insinuating communication, his wrinkled face became more grave, and he said:
"You were nigh to London three days ago."
"Nigh to London three days ago!" Paul laughed, then nodded across at a burly dalesman standing near, and said: "Geordie, just pinch the old man, and see if he's dreaming."
There was a general titter, followed by glances of amused inquiry. The peddler took off his hat, held his head aside, scratched it leisurely, glanced up again at the face of young Ritson, as if to satisfy himself finally as to his identity, and eventually muttered half aloud:
"Well, I'm fair maizelt—that's what I am!"
"Maizelt—why?"
"I could ha' sworn I saw you at a spot near London three days ago."
"Not been there these three years," said Paul.
"Didn't you wave your hand to me as we went by—me and Bessy?"
"Did I? Where?"
"Why, at the Hawk and Heron, in Hendon."
"Never saw the place in my life."
"Sure of that?"
"Sure."
The grave old head dropped once more, and the pony's head was held down to the withered hand that scratched and caressed it. Then the first idea of a possible reason on Paul's part for keeping his movements secret suggested itself afresh to Gubblum. He glanced soberly around, caught the eye of the young dalesman furtively, and winked again. Paul laughed outright, nodded his head good-humoredly, and rather ostentatiously winked in response. The company that had gathered about them caught the humor of the situation, and tittered audibly enough to provoke the peddler's wrath.
"But I say you have seen it," shouted Gubblum in emphatic tones.
At that moment a slim young man walked slowly past the group. He was well dressed, and carried himself with ease and some dignity, albeit with an air of listlessness—a weary and dragging gait, due in part to a slight infirmity of one foot. When some of the dalesmen bowed to him his smile lacked warmth. He was Hugh Ritson, the younger brother of Paul.
Gubblum's manner gathered emphasis. "You were standing on the step of the Hawk and Heron," said he, "and I waved my hand and shouted 'A canny morning to you, Master Paul'—ey, that I did!"
"You don't say so!" said Paul, with mock solemnity. His brother had caught the peddler's words, and stopped.
"But I do say so," said Gubblum, with many shakes of his big head. Let any facetious young gentleman who supposed that it was possible to make sport of him, understand once for all that it might be as well to throw a stone into his own garden.
"Why, Gubblum," said Paul, smothering a laugh, "what was I doing at Hendon?"
"Doing! Well, a chap 'at was on the road along of me said that Master Paul had started innkeeper."
"Innkeeper!"
There was a prolonged burst of laughter, amid which one amused patriarch on a stick shouted: "Feel if tha's abed, Gubblum, ma man!"
"And if I is abed, it's better nor being in bed-lam, isn't it?" shouted the peddler.
Then Gubblum scratched his head again, and said more quietly: "It caps all. If it wasn't you, it must ha' been the old gentleman hissel'."
"Are