Chapter VII: William's Birthday

George Middleweek came to see old William with a message and a gift. It was Mr. Marydrew's eighty-fourth birthday and Auna had sent him a very fine ham, and a reminder that he had promised to eat his dinner at Red House.

"You look ten years less than your age, Billy," said the kennel-man.

"We're a long-living race, George. My grandfather was thrice married, and his last he took when he was eighty-two. Gave my old sister the slip, for he was active as a kitten, and nipped off to spend a month with friends in Somerset, and came back with a wife! The woman thought she'd polish him off in a year or two and get his bit of money; but she thought wrong. He lived for ten years and left his cash, such as it was, half and half to me and my sister. His third was a failure, though he was too proud to own it."

"You get into your coat and boots," said George. "If you be coming with me, we must start."

They were soon upon the road and William asked after Jacob.

"Haven't seen him this longful time," he said.

"He's up and down," declared the other. "Says silly soft things one day, so as you think he's growing tootlish; and then, the next, he'll be short and sharp and seemingly all right. He's going through everything that belonged to his wife, and Miss tells me that it shakes him up. He's keeping some of her things for himself. His old ideas--the stuff he was taught as a child--sticks out now and again. But he's shed most of it I reckon. Life's knocked faith out of him, William, same as it does out of most honest people. But the old stuff clings to him. He'll often say he's a miserable sinner, though in my experience it's only the good people yelp about being miserable sinners. The real, right-down wicked men go on their way rejoicing."

"It ain't the sense of sin makes people miserable, because misery's a matter of character, not conscience, George."

"A very shocking business to say anybody's born in sin," argued Middleweek. "And it's an insult to honest matrimony in my opinion."

"You don't understand religion, and the fall of man, George," answered Mr. Marydrew mildly. "The mysteries of faith are beyond you. Your mind ban't built to hold 'em."

They reached Red House, where Billy thanked Auna for her gift and bade her go on with her work and not mind him, as he was early. But she was glad to stop a while and brought down Jacob from an upper chamber. His present business alternately excited the widower and cast him down. He spoke and thought much of Margery as he handled her garments; and sometimes he was normal and uttered intelligent words; but not seldom his memory tormented him and he said strange things.

"Every stitch dear mother ever wore puts father in mind of something," explained Auna. Then Jacob joined them. His eyes showed that his mind was roaming, but he remembered the occasion.

"A man can wish you many happy returns of your birthday, Billy," he said; "because life's good to you still. You can live on very safely, I reckon. But I'm different from that. It's come over me strong of late that if there's a life beyond, I must get to it soon--else there'll be more trouble. I must be there before a certain other party, William!"

"Leave all that in Higher Hands, Jacob. The length of the thread be no part of our business."

"I must be first, however; I must reach Margery before her mother does. That's commonsense, because we well know that I'd get but a bleak welcome if Judith Huxam had her daughter's ear before I did. She robbed me before, and she would again. A fault in Margery--to say it kindly--to listen to that old fiend. But I don't want her mind frozen against me for eternity. I still live in hopes that we'll be very dear friends, William--so far as a ghost man and a ghost woman can be friends."

"And why not, Jacob? Where there's no secrets hid, the people must surely come together in love and understanding."

"I say these things, because this is one of the days when I believe in a future life. Some days I do and some days I do not. To-day I do; and why do I, should you think? Because my mind is a good deal filled up with my late wife; and if there's any sort of justice and any sort of Almighty Being to do it, then there ought to be a heaven--if it was only for her."

"We found the things she was nearly drowned in to-day," continued Bullstone. "Oh, my God, Billy, what a mad shape life takes, if you see it steady with a glance spread over quarter of a century! For look at it. If Adam Winter hadn't saved her, then four lives hadn't come in the world and my children would never have been born. And what does that mean? It means that Winter is responsible for my children as much as I am; and why for shouldn't they thank him for their existence instead of me? Such thoughts go too deep for the mind of man, William; but if we could understand them, they might throw a good deal of light on life."

"Don't you be silly, my dear. It ain't a deep thought at all, but just a brain-sick fancy. And you mustn't feel no fear about the old witch doctor going to glory before you do. In the course of nature, she'll be called, and I dare say she'll hate going, quite as much as they uncommon good people often do. By the same token I hear that she and Barlow ain't finding the villa residence all that they hoped and deserved. And I'll tell you for why: you can't alter the habits of a lifetime in a minute and not feel it in mind and body. I know, because when I retired, though naturally rather a lazy old man, I missed my work above a bit, and often did a good heavy day for a neighbour--not so much on his account as my own."

"So you did," answered Jacob. "I'll bear you out there. You sawed a good many hundred logs for me in your time, William."

"Barlow Huxam misses the shop and owns up; but his better half won't own up so far, because that would be to say the wrong thing has happened. And we well know it's a cast-iron rule the wrong thing cannot happen in their tabernacle. Then again she's had a fearful facer, and so's Amelia Winter. A very nasty jar has fallen upon them and it have cast them down a lot. I heard it from Adam Winter himself, and I've felt a good bit amused about it, though sorry for Amelia, because it looks to her as if the end of the world had got in sight."

"Whatever's fallen out, Mr. Marydrew?" asked Auna.

"Why, Adam, after taking a good bit of thought, have chucked the Chosen Few and joined up with the Establishment. And, of course, that means that Sammy have done the same, for what his brother doeth, he does. 'Tis a hugeous shock to Amelia and she's very sorry for all concerned."

"Uncle Jeremy's two little boys have been taken into the Chosen Fews," said Auna. "Aunt Jane told me they are received in. So they'll take the place of Mr. Winter and his brother, and the numbers will be kept up."

"The axe is at the root," declared Jacob, "and I'm glad of it. They're a self-righteous crew and it was well within Adam Winter's nature to find them out and leave them. I hope I'll live to see the end of them, and if that hag died, the hornets' nest would soon empty."

"How's Huntingdon getting on?" asked William.

"I'm waiting for a fine day to ride up over on a pony. But not while the floods are out."

"We've got everything very vitty now," added Auna, "and a nice load of peat stacked by the door, and the new stove. The stores go up after Christmas, and when the stores are in, our things go up."

"Peace--please God peace is in sight," said Jacob, "and I shall have a good few of her treasures around me, William. I find they are a great help to peace. Virtue goes out of these things. I was wondering if it would give her any pleasure to put her favourite junket bowl on the grave, William? Auna's against; but for my part, after deep thinking, I wouldn't be over-sure. All's doubtful with the dead. They may like to know the grey birds are hopping over them for all we can tell. Nobody can say they don't."

"I think mother would a lot sooner that Peter kept the junket bowl at Red House, with all the best china," declared Auna.

"And so I say," replied William. "I believe in very plain graves myself. I like the granite stone. That's enough--just that and the snow-drops to come up every spring. I wouldn't do no more. There's nought so proper as the green spine grass on the dead."

"I'm training some white heather to grow there," answered Auna.

"White heather's for the living, not the dead, my dear."

They came to table presently, ate well and drank William's health. Jacob grew cheerful during the meal and spoke with hope about his family.

"It's a seemly thing for a man in my position to hand over his worldly goods in his lifetime. Then the new generation comes to understand the meaning and obligations of power and rises to it after the manner born. Very likely, if all had been different and my wife had been spared, we should still have withdrawn ourselves and let the young come into their own."

He preserved an amiable and peaceful manner until the end of dinner and Auna, heartened by his mood, exchanged many pleasantries with William, George and Peter.

Mr. Marydrew praised the little feast when it was ended.

"I've ate far too much for a man my age," he said. "I'm 'filled as the moon at the full,' Auna, and if ill overgets me, the fault is yours. You'd cram your father's oldest friend like a Michaelmas goose."

Hope arose out of that anniversary for the girl. It proved but a respite between storms; yet she could look back to William's birthday and remember an interlude of peace.