God's Good Man by Marie Corelli (best young adult book series .txt) đ
- Author: Marie Corelli
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âWell, well!â said Buggins, tolerantly, with the dignified air of one closing the discussion; âDevil or no devil, you tell âim as âow the Five Sisters be chalked for layinâ low on Wednesday marninâ. Good day tâye!â
âGood day!â responded Bainton, and the two worthies panted, each to go on their several ways, Buggins to the âMother Huffâ from whose opened latticed windows the smell of roast beef and onions, which generally composed the Bugginsâ Sunday meal, came in odorous whiffs down the little lane, almost smothering the delicate perfume of the sprouting sweet-briar hedges on either side, and the nodding cowslips in the grass below; Bainton to his own cottage on the border of his masterâs grounds, a pretty little dwelling with a thatched roof almost overgrown with wistaria just breaking into flower.
Far away from St. Rest, the greater world swung on its way; the whirl of society, politics, fashion and frivolity revolved like the wheel in a squirrelâs cage, round which the poor little imprisoned animal leaps and turns incessantly in a miserable make-believe of forest freedom,âbut to the old gardener who lifted the latch of his gate and went in to the Sunday dinner prepared for him by his stout and energetic helpmate, who was one of the best dairy-women in the whole countryside, there was only one grave piece of news in the universe worth considering or discussing, and that was the âlayinâ low of the Five Sisters.â
âNever!â said Mrs. Bainton, as she set a steaming beef-steak pudding in its basin on the table and briskly untied the ends of the cloth in which it had been boiling. âNever, Tom! You donât tell me! The Five Sisters cominâ down! Why, what is Oliver Leach thinking about?â
âHimself, I reckon!â responded her husband, âand his own partikler anâ malicious art oâ forestry. Which consists in barinâ the land as if it was a judgeâs chin, to be clean-shaved every marninâ. My wurrd! Wonât Passon Walden be just wild! Mâappen heâs heard of it already, for he seems main worrited about somethinâ or other. Iâve allus thought âim wise-like anâ sensible for a man in the Church wot ainât got much chance of knowinâ the wurrld, but he was jesâ meanderinâ along to-dayâmeanderinâ anâ jabberinâ about a meek anâ quiet sperrit, as if any of us wanted that kind oâ thing âere! Why itâs fightinâ all the time! If âtainât Sir Morton Pippitt, itâs Leach, anâ if âtainât Leach itâs Putty Levesonâanâ if âtainât Leveson, why itâs Adam Frost anâ his wife, anâ if âtainât Frost anâ his wife, why itâs you anâ me, old gel! We can get up a breeze as well as any couple wot was ever jined in the bonds of âoly matterimony! Hor-hor-hor! âMeek anâ quiet sperrit,â sez heââhave all of ye meek anâ quiet sperritsâ! Why he ainât got one of âis own! Wait till he âears of the Five Sisters cominâ down! See âim then! Or wait till Miss Vancourt arrives anâ begins to muddle round with the church!â
âNonsense! She wonât muddle round with the church,â said Mrs. Bainton cheerfully, sitting down to dinner opposite her husband, âWhat nesh fools men are, to be sure! Every-one says sheâs a fine lady âcustomed to all sorts of show and gaiety and the likeâwhat will she want to do with the church? Ten to one she never goes inside it!â
âYou shouldnât bet, old woman, âtainât moral,â said Bainton, with a chuckle; âYou ainât got ten to bet agin oneâwe couldnât spare so much. If she doos nothing else, sheâll dekrate the church at âArvest âOme anâ Christmasâthatâs wot leddies allus fusses aboutâ dekratinâ. Lord, Lord! The mess they makes when they starts on it, anâ the mischief they works! Tearinâ down the ivy, scrattinâ up the moss, pullinâ anâ grabbinâ at the flowers wotâs taken months to grow,âfor all the wurrld as if they was cats out for a âoliday. I tell ye itâs been a speshel providence for us âere, that Passon Walden ainât got no wife,âif he âad, sheâd a been at the dekratinâ game long afore now. Our church would be jesâ spoilt with a lot oâ trails oâ weed round itâbut you mark my wurrd!âMiss Vancourt will be dekratinâ the Saint in the coffin at âArvest âOme wiâ corn and pertaters anâ vegetable marrers, all a-growinâ and a-blowinâ afore we knows it. There ainât no sense oâ fitness in the feminine natur!â
Mrs. Bainton laughed good-naturedly.
âThatâs quite true!â she agreed; âIf there were, I shouldnât have made Sunday pudding for a man who talks too much to eat it while itâs hot. Keep your tongue in your mouth, Tom!âuse it for tastinâ jesâ now anâ agin!â
Bainton took the hint and subsided into silent enjoyment of his food. Only once again he spoke in the course of the meal, and that was during the impressive pause between pudding and cheese.
âWhen he knows as âow the Five Sisters be chalked, Passon Waldenâs sure to do somethinâ,â he said.
âAy!â responded his wife thoughtfully; âheâs sure to do something.â
âWhat dâye think heâll do?â queried Bainton, somewhat anxiously.
âOh, you know best, Tom,â replied his buxom partner, setting a flat Dutch cheese before him and a jug of foaming beer; âThere ainât no sense oâ fitness in ME, beinâ a woman! You know best!â
Bainton lowered his eyes sheepishly. As usual his better half had closed the argument unanswerably.
VII
Seldom in the placid course of years had St. Rest ever belied its name, or permitted itself to suffer loss of dignity by any undue display of excitement. The arrival of John Walden as minister of the parish,âthe re-building of the church, and the discovery of the medieval sarcophagus, which old Josey Letherbarrow always called the Sarky Fagus, together with the consecration ceremony by Bishop Brent,âwere the only episodes in ten years that had moved it slightly from its normal calm. For though rumours of wars and various other mishaps and tribulations, reached it through the medium of the newspapers in the ordinary course, it concerned itself not at all with these, such matters being removed and apart from its own way of life and conduct. It was a little world in itself, and had only the vaguest interest in any other world, save perhaps the world to come, which was indeed a very real prospect to most of the villagers, their inherited tendency being towards a quaint and simple piety that was as childlike as it was sincere. The small congregation to which John Walden preached twice every Sunday was composed of as honest men and clean-minded women as could be found in all England,âmen and women with straight notions of honour and duty, and warm, if plain, conceptions of love, truth and family tenderness. They had their little human failings and weaknesses, thanks to Mother Nature, whose children we all are, and who sets her various limitations for the best of us,âbut, taken on the whole, they were peculiarly unspoilt by the iconoclastic march of progress; and âadvancedâ notions of doubt as to a God, and scepticism as to a future state, had never clouded their quiet minds. Walden had taken them well in hand from the beginning of his ministry,âand being much of a poet and dreamer at heart, he had fostered noble ideals among them, which he taught in simple yet attractive language, with the happiest results. The moral and mental attitude of the villagers generally was a philosophic cheerfulness and obedience to the will of God,âbut this did not include a tame submission to tyranny, or a passive acceptance of injury inflicted upon them by merely human oppressors.
Hence,âthough any disturbance of the daily equanimity of their agricultural life and pursuits was quite an exceptional circumstance, the news of the âlayinâ low of the Five Sistersâ was sufficient cause, when once it became generally known, for visible signs of trouble. In its gravity and importance it almost overtopped the advent of the new mistress of the Manor; and when on Tuesday it was whispered that âPasson Waldenâ had himself been to expostulate with Oliver Leach concerning the meditated murder of the famous trees, and that his expostulations had been all in vain, clouded brows and ominous looks were to be seen at every corner where the men halted on their way to the fields, or where the women gathered to gossip in the pauses of their domestic labour. Walden himself, pacing impatiently to and fro in his garden, was for once more disturbed in his mind than he cared to admit. When he had been told early on Monday morning of the imminent destruction awaiting the five noble beeches which, in their venerable and broadly-branching beauty, were one of the many glories of the woods surrounding Abbotâs Manor, he was inclined to set it down to some capricious command issued by the home-coming mistress of the estate; and, in order to satisfy himself whether this was, or was not the case, he had done what was sorely against his own sense of dignity to do,âhe had gone at once to interview Oliver Leach personally on the subject. But he had found that individual in the worst of all possible moods for argument, having been, as he stated, passed overâ by Miss Vancourt. That lady had not, he said, written to inform him of her intended return, therefore,âso he argued,âit was not his business to be aware of it.
âMiss Vancourt hasnât told me anything, and of course I donât know anything,â he said carelessly, standing in his doorway and keeping his hat on in the ministerâs presence; âMy work is on the land, and when timber has to be felled itâs my affair and nobody elseâs. Iâve been agent on these estates since the Squireâs death, and I donât want to be taught my duty by any man.â
âBut surely your duty does not compel you to cut down five of the finest old trees in England,â said Walden, hotly,ââThey have been famous for centuries in this neighbourhood. Have you any right to fell them without special orders?â
âSpecial orders?â echoed Leach with a sneer; âIâve had no âspecial orderâ for ten years at least! My employers trust me to do what I think best, and Iâve every right to act accordingly. The trees will begin to rot in another eighteen months or so,âjust now theyâre in good condition and will fetch a fair price. You stick to your church, Parson Walden,âyou know all about that, no doubt!âbut donât come preaching to me about the felling of timber. Thatâs my business,ânot yours!â
Walden flushed, and bit his lip. His blood grew warm with indignation, and he involuntarily clenched his fist. But he suppressed his rising wrath with an effort.
âYou may as well keep a civil tongue in your head, Mr. Leachâit will do you no harm!â he said quietly; âI have no wish to interfere with what you conceive to be your particular mode of duty, but I think that before you destroy what can never be replaced, you should consult the owner of the trees, Miss Vancourt, especially as her return is fixed for to-morrow.â
âAs I told you before, I know nothing about her return,â replied Leach, obstinately; âI am not supposed to know. And whether sheâs here or away, makes no difference to me. I know whatâs to be done, and I shall do it.â
Waldenâs eyes flashed. Strive as he would, he could not disguise his inward contempt for this petty jack-in-office,âand his keen glance was, to the perverse nature of the ill-conditioned
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