Clare Avery | Page 9

was Marton Mere; the swamp was Marton Moss; and the district was the Fylde of Lancashire. The County Palatine was renowned, at that time, in the eyes of the Londoners, for its air, which was "subtile and piercing," without any "gross vapours nor foggie mists;" for the abundance and excellence of its cattle, which were sent even then to the metropolis; for the plentiful variety of its provisions; for its magnificent woods, "preserved by gentlemen for beauty," to such an extent that no wood was used for fuel, and its place was supplied by "sea-coal" and turf; for its numerous churches, "in no part of the land more in proportion to the inhabitants." But the good qualities of the County Palatine were not likely to be appreciated by our weary travellers.
The travellers were three in number:--a short, thick-set man, in a coat of frieze as rough as his surroundings; a woman, and a child; lastly came a pack-horse, bearing a quantity of luggage.
"Eh me!" ejaculated Barbara Polwhele, with a weary sigh. "Master, doth any man live hereaway?"
"Eh?" queried the man, not looking back.
Barbara repeated her question.
"Ay," said he in a rough voice.
"By 'r Lady!" exclaimed Barbara, pityingly. "What manner of folk be they, I marvel?"
"Me an' th' rest," said the man.
"Eh? what, you never--Be we anear Enville Court now?"
"O'er yon," replied the man, pointing straight forward with his whip, and then giving it a sharp crack, as a reminder to the galloways.
"What, in the midst of yonder marsh?" cried poor Barbara.
Dick gave a hoarse chuckle, but made no other reply. Barbara's sensations were coming very near despair.
"What call men your name, Master?" she demanded, after some minutes' gloomy meditation.
"Name?" echoed the stolid individual before her.
"Ay," said she.
"Dick o' Will's o' Mally's o' Robin's o' Joan's o' owd Dick's," responded he, in a breath.
"Marry La'kin!" exclaimed Barbara, relieving her feelings by recourse to her favourite epithet. She took the whole pedigree to be a polysyllabic name. "Dear heart, to think of a country where the folk have names as long as a cart-rope!"
"Bab, I am aweary!" said little Clare, rousing up from a nap which she had taken leaning against Barbara.
"And well thou mayest, poor chick!" returned Barbara compassionately; adding in an undertone,--"Could she ne'er have come so far as Kirkham!"
They toiled wearily on after this, until presently Dick o' Will's--I drop the rest of the genealogy--drew bridle, and looking back, pointed with his whip to the village which now lay close before them.
"See thee!" said he. "Yon's th' fold."
"Yon's what?" demanded Barbara.
The word was unintelligible to her, as Dick pronounced it "fowd;" but had she understood it, she would have been little wiser. Fold meant to her a place to pen sheep in, while it signified to Dick an enclosure surrounded by houses.
"What is 't?" responded Dick. "Why, it's th' fowd."
"But what is `fowd'?" asked bewildered Barbara.
"Open thy een, wilt thou?" answered Dick cynically.
Barbara resigned the attempt to comprehend him, and, unwittingly obeying, looked at the landscape.
Just the village itself was pretty enough. It was surrounded with trees, through which white houses peeped out, clustered together on the bank of the little brook. The spire of the village church towered up through the foliage, close to the narrow footbridge; and beside it stood the parsonage,--a long, low, stone house, embowered in ivy.
"Is yonder Enville Court?" asked Barbara, referring to the house in the park.
"Ay," said Dick.
"And where dwelleth Master Tremayne?"
"Eh?"
"Master Tremayne--the parson--where dwelleth he?"
"Th' parson? Why, i' th' parsonage, for sure," said Dick, conclusively. "Where else would thou have him?"
"Ay, in sooth, but which is the parsonage?"
"Close by th' church--where would thou have it?"
"What, yonder green house, all o'er ivy?"
"For sure."
They slowly filed into the village, rode past the church and parsonage,--at which latter Barbara looked lovingly, as to a haven of comfort--forded the brook, and turned in at the gates of Enville Court. When they came up to the house, and saw it free of hindering foliage, she found that it was a stately quadrangle of grey stone, with a stone terrace round three sides of it, a garden laid out in grim, Dutch square order, away from the sea; and two or three cottages, with farm-buildings and stables, grouped behind. The horses drew up at a side door.
"Now!" lethargically said Dick, lumbering off his horse. "Con ye get off by yoursen?"
"I'll try," grunted the rather indignant Barbara, who considered that her precious charge, Clare, was being very neglectfully received. She sprang down more readily than Dick, and standing on the horse-block, lifted down little Clare.
"Hallo!" said Dick, by way of ringing the bell.
A slight stir was heard through the open door, and a young woman appeared, fresh-looking and smiling-faced.
"Mistress Polwhele, I reckon?" she asked. "An' is this t' little lass? Eh, God bless thee, little lass! Come in--thou'rt