Bessie Costrell | Page 5

Eliza who had kept him
decent and comfortable for forty years, ever since he was a lad, and he
could go about whistling, and--to talk to him--as gay as a lark! Yet
John contributed handsomely to the burial expenses--Eliza having
already, through her burial club, provided herself with a more than
regulation interment; and he gave Jim's Louisa her mourning.
Nevertheless, these things did not avail. It was felt instinctively that he
was not beaten down as he ought to have been, and Mrs. Saunders, the
smith's wife, was applauded when she said to her neighbours that "you
couldn't expeck a man with John Bolderfield's money to have as many
feelin's as other people." Whence it would seem that the capitalist is no
more truly popular in small societies than in large.
John, however, did not trouble himself about these things. He was hard
at work harvesting for Muster Hill's widow, and puzzling his head day
and night as to what to do with his box.
When the last field had been carried and the harvest supper was over,
he came home late, and wearied out. His working life at Clinton Magna
was done; and the family he had worked for so long was broken up in
distress and poverty. Yet he felt only a secret exultation. Such toil and
effort behind--such a dreamland in front!
Next day he set to work to wind up his affairs. The furniture of the
cottage was left to Eliza's son Jim, and the daughter had arranged for
the carting of it to the house twelve miles off where her parents lived.
She was to go with it on the morrow, and John would give up the

cottage and walk over to Frampton, where he had already secured a
lodging.
Only twenty-four hours!--and he had not yet decided. Which was it to
be--Saunders, after all--or the savings bank--or Bessie?
He was cording up his various possessions--a medley lot--in different
parcels and bundles when Bessie Costrell knocked at the door. She had
already offered to stow away anything he might like to leave with her.
"Well, I thought you'd be busy," she said as she walked in, "an' I came
up to lend a hand. Is them the things you're goin' to leave me to take
care on?"
John nodded.
"Field's cart, as takes Louisa's things to-morrer, is a-goin' to deliver
these at your place first. They're more nor I thought they would be. But
you can put 'em anywheres."
"Oh, I'll see to them."
She sat down and watched him tie the knots of the last parcel.
"There's some people as is real ill-natured," she said presently, in an
angry voice.
"Aye?" said John, looking up sharply. "What are they sayin' now?"
"It's Muster Saunders. 'Ee's allus sayin' nassty things about other folks.
And there'd be plenty of fault to be found with 'im, if onybody was to
try. An' Sally Saunders eggs him on dreadful."
Saunders was the village smith, a tall, brawny man, of great size and
corresponding wisdom, who had been the village arbiter and general
councillor for a generation. There was not a will made in Clinton
Magna that he did not advise upon; not a bit of contentious business
that he had not a share in; not a family history that he did not know. His
probity was undisputed; his ability was regarded with awe; but as he

had a sharp tongue and was no respecter of persons, there was of course
an opposition.
John took a seat on the wooden box he had just been cording, and
mopped his brow. His full cheeks were crimson, partly with exertion,
partly with sudden annoyance.
"What's 'ee been sayin' now? Though it doan't matter a brass farthin' to
me what 'ee says."
"He says you 'aven't got no proper feelin's about poor Eliza, an' you'd
ought to have done a great deal more for Louisa. But 'ee says you allus
were a mean one with your money--an' you knew that 'ee knew it--for
'ee'd stopped you takin' an unfair advantage more nor once. An' 'ee
didn't believe as your money would come to any good; for now Eliza
was gone you wouldn't know how to take care on it."
John's eyes flamed.
"Oh! 'ee says that, do 'ee? Well, Saunders wor allus a beast--an' a beast
'ee'll be."
He sat with his chin on his large dirty hands, ruminating furiously.
It was quite true that Saunders had thwarted him more than once. There
was old Mrs. Moulsey at the shop, when she wanted to buy those
cottages in Potter's Row--and there was Sam Field the higgler--both of
them would have borrowed from him if Saunders hadn't cooled them
off. Saunders said it was a Jew's interest he was asking--because there
was security--but he