Chapter XII.
THE HUT BY THE BEACH.
"And you'll never hold up your head again! No more will any of us.The disgrace of it! the disgrace of it!"
Ruth stood in the middle of the wretched room, with her hands hangingslack and her eyes bent wearily upon her mother, who had collapsed upona block of sawn timber, and sat there, with sack apron cast over herhead, rocking her body.
"Hush, ye fool!" said old Josselin, and spat out of window.Mechanically, by habit, his dim eyes swept along the beach by thebreakers' edge. "What's the use, any way?" he added.
"We, that always carried ourselves so high, for all our being poor!It's God's mercy that took your father before he could see this day.'Twould have broken his sperrit. Your father a Josselin, and me aPocock, with lands of my own--if right was law in this world; and now tobe stripped naked and marched through the streets!"
Ruth's eyes met the Collector's. He stood within the doorway, and wasregarding her curiously. She did not plead or protest; only, as theireyes met, a flush rose to her cheek, and he guessed rightly that thetouch of shame was for her mother, not for herself. The flush deepenedas old Josselin turned and said apologetically,--
"You mustn't mind M'ria. She's weak-minded. Always was; but sence herhusband was drowned--he was my second son--she've lost whatever wits shehad. The gal here was born about that time." Here the old man launchedinto some obstetrical guesswork, using the plainest words.It embarrassed the Collector; the girl did not so much as wince.
"Poor might be stood," moaned the woman; "but poor and shamed!"Then of a sudden, as though recollecting herself, she arose with an airof mincing gentility. "Ruth," she said, "it's little we can offer thegentleman, but you _might_ get out the bread and cheese, after his beingso kind to you."
"Sit down, you dormed fool," commanded her father-in-law. "Here, fetchyour seat over to the look-out, an' tell me if that's a log I seefloatin'. She's wonderful good at that," he explained, without loweringhis voice, "and it'll keep her quiet. It's true, though, what she saidabout the property. Thousands of acres, if she had her rights--up thisside of the Kennebee." He jerked a thumb northwards. "The Pococksbought it off one of the Gorges, gettin' on for a hundred years sence;and by rights, as I say, a seventh share oughter be hers. But lawyers!The law's like a ship's pump: pour enough in for a start, and it'llreward ye with floods. But where's the money to start it?"
The Collector scarcely heard him. His eyes were on Ruth's face.He had walked briskly down from the Town Square to the Bowling GreenInn, refreshed himself, let saddle his horse, and set forth, leavingorders for his coach to follow. At the summit of the hill above PortNassau he had overtaken the cart with the poor girl lying in it, hadchecked his pace to ride alongside, and so, disregarding Mr. Trask'scounsel, had brought her home. Nay, dismissing the men with a guineaapiece, he had desired them to return to Mr. Trask and report hisconduct.
"Listen to me," he said suddenly, checking Old Josselin in full flow."You say, both of you, that Ruth here will live under disgrace; and Idare say you are right. Why not send her away? Get her out of this."
The woman by the window turned her head with a vague simper. The oldman, building a small heap of chips on the hearthstone, distended hischeeks and let out his breath slowly, as though coaxing a fire alreadykindled.
"All very well--but where? And where's the money to come from?Besides, we can't spare the child; she vittles us. Dorm it, Ruth," heexclaimed, on a sudden recollection, "you don't say you ha'n't broughtback the gun!"
"No, grandfather."
"Why? The magistrates would have given it back. It's ruination for uswithout the gun, and that you might have remembered. Better step overand ask 'em for it to-morrow."
"Must I?" asked the girl slowly.
"'Course you'll have to," said her grandparent. "_I_ can't walk thedistance, and that you know.--My eyesight's poor," he explained to theCollector, "and I can't walk, because--" here he stated an organiccomplaint very frankly. "As for M'ria, she's an eye like a fish-hawk;but you never saw such a born fool with firearms. Well, must heat somewater, I reckon, to bathe the poor maid's back."
"First give her food," said the Collector. He stepped forward andhimself cut her a large manchet from the loaf the old man produced.She took it from him and ate ravenously, like a young wild animal,tearing at the crust with her white teeth. "They haven't broken yourbody's health, then," he thought to himself. Aloud he said, "You don'tquite take my meaning, Mr. Josselin, and I'll put it to you in astraight offer. Let her come with me to Boston. She shall be put toschool there, say for three years; she shall live among folk who willtreat her kindly, and teach her at any rate to build up her spirit againand be happy, as she will never be within these miles of Port Nassau;and in return--"
"Ah!" said the old man significantly.
"In return you shall accept from me a decent pension--enough, at anyrate, to fend off want. We will not quarrel over the amount, up ordown. Or, if you prefer, I will get the lawyers to look into this claimof your daughter-in-law's, and maybe make you an offer for it."
"Ah!" repeated Old Josselin, and nodded. "Taken your eye, has she?Oh, I'm not blamin' your lordship! Flesh will after flesh, and--you canbelieve it or not--I was all for the women in my time." He chuckled,and had added some gross particulars before the younger man could checkhim. Yet the old fellow was so naif and direct that his speech left noevil taste. He talked as one might of farm stock. "But we're decentfolk, we Josselins. It's hard to starve and be decent too, and timesenough I've been sorry for it; but decent we are."
The Collector frowned. "Mr. Josselin," he answered, "I am offering youto take your granddaughter away and have her educated. What that willmake of her I neither can tell you nor have I means of guessing; butthis I will undertake, and give you my word of honour for it: in threeyears' time she shall come back to you in all honesty, unharmed by me orby any one. By that time she will be a woman grown, able to decide as awoman; but she shall come to you, nevertheless."
The old man fumbled with a finger, scraping together the flakes oftouchwood in a tinder-box.
"D'ye hear, M'ria? His Honour wants our Ruth to go along with him."
The Collector glanced at the girl's face. Years after, and a hundredtimes, he recalled the look with which she turned towards her mother.At the same instant her mother faced about with a vacuous silly smile.
"Eh?"
"To larn to be a lady," Old Josselin explained, raising his voice asthough she were deaf.
"That would be a fine thing," she answered mincingly, and returned hergaze to the window and the line of shore.
Lady Good-for-Nothing: A Man's Portrait of a Woman Page 12
