‘I don’t know where they can be,’ said I. ‘But come in and sit down while I go and look for them. You must be tired.’
‘Not I. This sweet balmy air is like a thousand tonics. Besides, this room is hot, and smells of those pungent wood-ashes. What are we to do?’
‘Go round to the kitchen. Betty will tell us where they are.’ So we went round into the farmyard, Rover accompanying us out of a grave sense of duty. Betty was washing out her milk-pans in the cold bubbling spring-water that constantly trickled in and out of a stone trough. In such weather as this most of her kitchen-work was done out of doors.
‘Eh, dear!’ said she, ‘the minister and missus is away at Hornby! They ne’er thought of your coming so betimes! The missus had some errands to do, and she thought as she’d walk with the minister and be back by dinner-time.’
‘Did not they expect us to dinner?’ said I.
‘Well, they did, and they did not, as I may say. Missus said to me the cold lamb would do well enough if you did not come; and if you did I was to put on a chicken and some bacon to boil; and I’ll go do it now, for it is hard to boil bacon enough.’
‘And is Phillis gone, too?’ Mr Holdsworth was making friends with Rover.
‘No! She’s just somewhere about. I reckon you’ll find her in the kitchen-garden, getting peas.
‘Let us go there,’ said Holdsworth, suddenly leaving off his play with the dog. So I led the way into the kitchen-garden. It was in the first promise of a summer profuse in vegetables and fruits. Perhaps it was not so much cared for as other parts of the property; but it was more attended to than most kitchen-gardens belonging to farm-houses. There were borders of flowers along each side of the gravel walks; and there was an old sheltering wall on the north side covered with tolerably choice fruit-trees; there was a slope down to the fish-pond at the end, where there were great strawberry-beds; and raspberry-bushes and rose-bushes grew wherever there was a space; it seemed a chance which had been planted. Long rows of peas stretched at right angles from the main walk, and I saw Phillis stooping down among them, before she saw us. As soon as she heard our cranching steps on the gravel, she stood up, and shading her eyes from the sun, recognized us. She was quite still for a moment, and then came slowly towards us, blushing a little from evident shyness. I had never seen Phillis shy before.
‘This is Mr Holdsworth, Phillis,’ said I, as soon as I had shaken hands with her. She glanced up at him, and then looked down, more flushed than ever at his grand formality of taking his hat off and bowing; such manners had never been seen at Hope Farm before.
‘Father and mother are out. They will be so sorry; you did not write, Paul, as you said you would.’
‘It was my fault,’ said Holdsworth, understanding what she meant as well as if she had put it more fully into words. ‘I have not yet given up all the privileges of an invalid; one of which is indecision. Last night, when your cousin asked me at what time we were to start, I really could not make up my mind.’
Phillis seemed as if she could not make up her mind as to what to do with us. I tried to help her, —
‘Have you finished getting peas?’ taking hold of the half-filled basket she was unconsciously holding in her hand; ‘or may we stay and help you?’
‘If you would. But perhaps it will tire you, sir?’ added she, speaking now to Holdsworth.
‘Not a bit,’ said he. ‘It will carry me back twenty years in my life, when I used to gather peas in my grandfather’s garden. I suppose I may eat a few as I go along?’
‘Certainly, sir. But if you went to the strawberry-beds you would find some strawberries ripe, and Paul can show you where they are.’
‘I am afraid you distrust me. I can assure you I know the exact fulness at which peas should be gathered. I take great care not to pluck them when they are unripe. I will not be turned off, as unfit for my work.’ This was a style of half-joking talk that Phillis was not accustomed to. She looked for a moment as if she would have liked to defend herself from the playful charge of distrust made against her, but she ended by not saying a word. We all plucked our peas in busy silence for the next five minutes. Then Holdsworth lifted himself up from between the rows, and said, a little wearily,
‘I am afraid I must strike work. I am not as strong as I fancied myself.’ Phillis was full of penitence immediately. He did, indeed, look pale; and she blamed herself for having allowed him to help her.
‘It was very thoughtless of me. I did not know — I thought, perhaps, you really liked it. I ought to have offered you something to eat, sir! Oh, Paul, we have gathered quite enough; how stupid I was to forget that Mr Holdsworth had been ill!’ And in a blushing hurry she led the way towards the house. We went in, and she moved a heavy cushioned chair forwards, into which Holdsworth was only too glad to sink. Then with deft and quiet speed she brought in a little tray, wine, water, cake, home-made bread, and newly-churned butter. She stood by in some anxiety till, after bite and sup, the colour returned to Mr Holdsworth’s face, and he would fain have made us some laughing apologies for the fright he had given us. But then Phillis drew back from her innocent show of care and interest, and relapsed into the cold shyness habitual to her when she was first thrown into the company of strangers. She brought out the last week’s county paper (which Mr Holdsworth had read five days ago), and then quietly withdrew; and then he subsided into languor, leaning back and shutting his eyes as if he would go to sleep. I stole into the kitchen after Phillis; but she had made the round of the corner of the house outside, and I found her sitting on the horse-mount, with her basket of peas, and a basin into which she was shelling them. Rover lay at her feet, snapping now and then at the flies. I went to her, and tried to help her, but somehow the sweet crisp young peas found their way more frequently into my mouth than into the basket, while we talked together in a low tone, fearful of being overheard through the open casements of the house-place in which Holdsworth was resting.
‘Don’t you think him handsome?’ asked I.
‘Perhaps — yes — I have hardly looked at him,’ she replied ‘But is not he very like a foreigner?’
‘Yes, he cuts his hair foreign fashion,’ said I.
‘I like an Englishman to look like an Englishman.’
‘I don’t think he thinks about it. He says he began that way when he was in Italy, because everybody wore it so, and it is natural to keep it on in England.’
‘Not if he began it in Italy because everybody there wore it so. Everybody here wears it differently.’
I was a little offended with Phillis’s logical fault-finding with my friend; and I determined to change the subject.
‘When is your mother coming home?’
‘I should think she might come any time now; but she had to go and see Mrs Morton, who was ill, and she might be kept, and not be home till dinner. Don’t you think you ought to go and see how Mr Holdsworth is going on, Paul? He may be faint again.’
I went at her bidding; but there was no need for it. Mr Holdsworth was up, standing by the window, his hands in his pockets; he had evidently been watching us. He turned away as I entered.
‘So that is the girl I found your good father planning for your wife, Paul, that evening when I interrupted you! Are you of the same coy mind still? It did not look like it a minute ago.’
‘Phillis and I understand each other,’ I replied, sturdily. ‘We are like brother and sister. She would not have me as a husband if there was not another man in the world; and it would take a deal to make me think of her — as my father wishes’ (somehow I did not like to say ‘as a wife’), ‘but we love each other dearly.’
‘Well, I am rather surprised at it — not at your loving each other in a brother-and-sister kind of way — but at your finding it so impossible to fall in love with such a beautiful woman.’ Woman! beautiful woman! I had thought of Phillis as a comely but awkward girl; and I could not banish the pinafore from my mind’s eye when I tried to picture her to myself. Now I turned, as Mr Hol
dsworth had done, to look at her again out of the window: she had just finished her task, and was standing up, her back to us, holding the basket, and the basin in it, high in air, out of Rover’s reach, who was giving vent to his delight at the probability of a change of place by glad leaps and barks, and snatches at what he imagined to be a withheld prize. At length she grew tired of their mutual play, and with a feint of striking him, and a ‘Down, Rover! do hush!’ she looked towards the window where we were standing, as if to reassure herself that no one had been disturbed by the noise, and seeing us, she coloured all over, and hurried away, with Rover still curving in sinuous lines about her as she walked.
‘I should like to have sketched her,’ said Mr Holdsworth, as he turned away. He went back to his chair, and rested in silence for a minute or two. Then he was up again.
‘I would give a good deal for a book,’ he said. ‘It would keep me quiet.’ He began to look round; there were a few volumes at one end of the shovel-board. ‘Fifth volume of Matthew Henry’s Commentary,’ said he, reading their titles aloud. ‘Housewife’s complete Manual; Berridge on Prayer; L’Inferno — Dante!’ in great surprise. ‘Why, who reads this?’
‘I told you Phillis read it. Don’t you remember? She knows Latin and Greek, too.’
‘To be sure! I remember! But somehow I never put two and two together. That quiet girl, full of household work, is the wonderful scholar, then, that put you to rout with her questions when you first began to come here. To be sure, “Cousin Phillis!” What’s here: a paper with the hard, obsolete words written out. I wonder what sort of a dictionary she has got. Baretti won’t tell her all these words. Stay! I have got a pencil here. I’ll write down the most accepted meanings, and save her a little trouble.’
So he took her book and the paper back to the little round table, and employed himself in writing explanations and definitions of the words which had troubled her. I was not sure if he was not taking a liberty: it did not quite please me, and yet I did not know why. He had only just done, and replaced the paper in the book, and put the latter back in its place, when I heard the sound of wheels stopping in the lane, and looking out, I saw cousin Holman getting out of a neighbour’s gig, making her little curtsey of acknowledgment, and then coming towards the house. I went to meet her.
‘Oh, Paul!’ said she, ‘I am so sorry I was kept; and then Thomas Dobson said if I would wait a quarter of an hour he would — But where’s your friend Mr Holdsworth? I hope he is come?’
Just then he came out, and with his pleasant cordial manner took her hand, and thanked her for asking him to come out here to get strong.
‘I’m sure I am very glad to see you, sir. It was the minister’s thought. I took it into my head you would be dull in our quiet house, for Paul says you’ve been such a great traveller; but the minister said that dulness would perhaps suit you while you were but ailing, and that I was to ask Paul to be here as much as he could. I hope you’ll find yourself happy with us, I’m sure, sir. Has Phillis given you something to eat and drink, I wonder? there’s a deal in eating a little often, if one has to get strong after an illness.’ And then she began to question him as to the details of his indisposition in her simple, motherly way. He seemed at once to understand her, and to enter into friendly relations with her. It was not quite the same in the evening when the minister came home. Men have always a little natural antipathy to get over when they first meet as strangers. But in this case each was disposed to make an effort to like the other; only each was to each a specimen of an unknown class. I had to leave the Hope Farm on Sunday afternoon, as I had Mr Holdsworth’s work as well as my own to look to in Eltham; and I was not at all sure how things would go on during the week that Holdsworth was to remain on his visit; I had been once or twice in hot water already at the near clash of opinions between the minister and my much-vaunted friend. On the Wednesday I received a short note from Holdsworth; he was going to stay on, and return with me on the following Sunday, and he wanted me to send him a certain list of books, his theodolite, and other surveying instruments, all of which could easily be conveyed down the line to Heathbridge. I went to his lodgings and picked out the books. Italian, Latin, trigonometry; a pretty considerable parcel they made, besides the implements. I began to be curious as to the general progress of affairs at Hope Farm, but I could not go over till the Saturday. At Heathbridge I found Holdsworth, come to meet me. He was looking quite a different man to what I had left him; embrowned, sparkles in his eyes, so languid before. I told him how much stronger he looked.
‘Yes!’ said he. ‘I am fidging fain to be at work again. Last week I dreaded the thoughts of my employment: now I am full of desire to begin. This week in the country has done wonders for me.’
‘You have enjoyed yourself, then?’
‘Oh! it has been perfect in its way. Such a thorough country life! and yet removed from the dulness which I always used to fancy accompanied country life, by the extraordinary intelligence of the minister. I have fallen into calling him “the minister”, like every one else.’
‘You get on with him, then?’ said I. ‘I was a little afraid.’
‘I was on the verge of displeasing him once or twice, I fear, with random assertions and exaggerated expressions, such as one always uses with other people, and thinks nothing of; but I tried to check myself when I saw how it shocked the good man; and really it is very wholesome exercise, this trying to make one’s words represent one’s thoughts, instead of merely looking to their effect on others.’
‘Then you are quite friends now?’ I asked.
‘Yes, thoroughly; at any rate as far as I go. I never met with a man with such a desire for knowledge. In information, as far as it can be gained from books, he far exceeds me on most subjects; but then I have travelled and seen — Were not you surprised at the list of things I sent for?’
‘Yes; I thought it did not promise much rest.’
‘Oh! some of the books were for the minister, and some for his daughter. (I call her Phillis to myself, but I use euphuisms in speaking about her to others. I don’t like to seem familiar, and yet Miss Holman is a term I have never heard used.)’
‘I thought the Italian books were for her.’
‘Yes! Fancy her trying at Dante for her first book in Italian! I had a capital novel by Manzoni, I Promessi Sposi, just the thing for a beginner; and if she must still puzzle out Dante, my dictionary is far better than hers.’
‘Then she found out you had written those definitions on her list of words?’
‘Oh! yes’ — with a smile of amusement and pleasure. He was going to tell me what had taken place, but checked himself.
‘But I don’t think the minister will like your having given her a novel to read?’
‘Pooh! What can be more harmless? Why make a bugbear of a word? It is as pretty and innocent a tale as can be met with. You don’t suppose they take Virgil for gospel?’
By this time we were at the farm. I think Phillis gave me a warmer welcome than usual, and cousin Holman was kindness itself. Yet somehow I felt as if I had lost my place, and that Holdsworth had taken it. He knew all the ways of the house; he was full of little filial attentions to cousin Holman; he treated Phillis with the affectionate condescension of an elder brother; not a bit more; not in any way different. He questioned me about the progress of affairs in Eltham with eager interest.
‘Ah!’ said cousin Holman, ‘you’ll be spending a different kind of time next week to what you have done this! I can see how busy you’ll make yourself! But if you don’t take care you’ll be ill again, and have to come back to our quiet ways of going on.
‘Do you suppose I shall need to be ill to wish to come back here?’ he answered, warmly. ‘I am only afraid you have treated me so kindly that I shall always be turning up on your hands.’
‘That’s right,’ she replied. ‘Only don’t go and make yourself ill by over-work. I hope you’ll go on with a cup of new milk every morning, for I am sure that is the best medicine
; and put a teaspoonful of rum in it, if you like; many a one speaks highly of that, only we had no rum in the house.’ I brought with me an atmosphere of active life which I think he had begun to miss; and it was natural that he should seek my company, after his week of retirement. Once I saw Phillis looking at us as we talked together with a kind of wistful curiosity; but as soon as she caught my eye, she turned away, blushing deeply.
That evening I had a little talk with the minister. I strolled along the Hornby road to meet him; for Holdsworth was giving Phillis an Italian lesson, and cousin Holman had fallen asleep over her work. Somehow, and not unwillingly on my part, our talk fell on the friend whom I had introduced to the Hope Farm.
‘Yes! I like him!’ said the minister, weighing his words a little as he spoke. ‘I like him. I hope I am justified in doing it, but he takes hold of me, as it were; and I have almost been afraid lest he carries me away, in spite of my judgment.’
‘He is a good fellow; indeed he is,’ said I. ‘My father thinks well of him; and I have seen a deal of him. I would not have had him come here if I did not know that you would approve of him.’
‘Yes,’ (once more hesitating,) ‘I like him, and I think he is an upright man; there is a want of seriousness in his talk at times, but, at the same time, it is wonderful to listen to him! He makes Horace and Virgil living, instead of dead, by the stories he tells me of his sojourn in the very countries where they lived, and where to this day, he says — But it is like dram-drinking. I listen to him till I forget my duties, and am carried off my feet. Last Sabbath evening he led us away into talk on profane subjects ill befitting the day.’ By this time we were at the house, and our conversation stopped. But before the day was out, I saw the unconscious hold that my friend had got over all the family. And no wonder: he had seen so much and done so much as compared to them, and he told about it all so easily and naturally, and yet as I never heard any one else do; and his ready pencil was out in an instant to draw on scraps of paper all sorts of illustrations — modes of drawing up water in Northern Italy, wine-carts, buffaloes, stone-pines, I know not what. After we had all looked at these drawings, Phillis gathered them together, and took them. It is many years since I have seen thee, Edward Holdsworth, but thou wast a delightful fellow! Ay, and a good one too; though much sorrow was caused by thee!
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