Cutlass and Cudgel | Page 8

in the face of my dear child."
"Mistress Denise, Sir Risdon? Tchah! Bless her! I don' believe she'd like her father to miss getting a lot of things that would be good for him, and your madam. There, Sir Risdon; don't say another word about it. Leave the door open, and go to bed. You shan't hear anybody come or go away, and you're not obliged to look in the cellars for a few days."
"But, my child--the old servant--suppose they hear?"
"What? The rats? Tell 'em to take no notice, Sir Risdon. Good day, Sir Risdon. That's settled, then?"
"Ye-es--I suppose so. This once only, Master Shackle."
"Thank ye, Sir Risdon," said the man. "Jee, Dutchman!"
The horse tugged at the tumbril, and Sir Risdon went thoughtfully along the field, toward a clump of trees lying in a hollow, while Master Shackle went on chuckling to himself.
"Couldn't say me nay, poor fellow. Half-starved they are sometimes. Wonder he don't give up the old place, and go away. Hope he won't. Them cellars are too vallyble. Hallo! What now?"
This to the fair curly-headed lad, who came trotting up across the short turf.
"Been looking at the cutter, father?"
"Oh, she don't want no looking at. Who brought those cows down here?"
"Jemmy Dadd."
"He's a fool. We shall be having some of 'em going over the cliff. Go home and tell mother to put a clean napkin in a basket, and take two rolls of butter, a bit of honey, and a couple of chickens up to the Hoze."
"Yes, father."
"And see if there's any eggs to take too."
"Yes, father. But--"
"Well?"
"Think the lugger will come to-night?"
"No, I don't think anything, and don't you. Will you keep that rattle tongue of yours quiet? Never know me go chattering about luggers, do you?"
"No, father."
"Then set your teeth hard, or you'll never be a man worth your salt. Want to grow into a Jemmy Dadd?"
"No, father."
"Then be off."
The boy went off at a run, and the fisher-farmer led his horse along the two rutted tracks till he came down into the valley, and then went on and on, towards where a couple of men were at work in a field, doing nothing with all their might.
CHAPTER FOUR.
Ramillies--commonly known by his father's men as Ram--Shackle trotted up over the hill, stopping once to flop down on the grass to gaze at the cutter, lying a mile out now from the shore, and thinking how different she was with her trim rigging and white sails to the rough lugger of his father, and the dirty three-masted vessels that ran to and fro across the Channel, and upon which he had more than once taken a trip.
He rose with a sigh, and continued his journey down into the hollow, and along a regular trough among the hills, to the low, white-washed stone building, roofed with thin pieces of the same material, and gaily dotted and splashed with lichen and moss.
He was met by a comfortable-looking, ruddy-faced woman, who shouted,--"What is it, Ram?" when he was fifty yards away.
The boy stated his errand.
"Father says you were to take all that?"
"Yes."
"Then there's a cargo coming ashore to-night, Ram."
"Yes, mother, and the cutter's lying a mile out."
"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" cried the woman; "I hope there won't be no trouble, boy."
She stood wiping her dry hands upon her apron, and gazed thoughtfully with wrinkled brow straight before her for a minute, as if conjuring up old scenes; then, taking down a basket as she moved inside, she began to pack up the various things in the dairy, while Ram looked on.
"Father didn't say anything about a bottle of cream, mother," said the boy, grinning.
"Then hear, see, and say nothing, my lad," cried his mother.
"And I don't think he said you was to send that piece of pickled pork, mother."
"He said chickens, didn't he?"
"Said a chickun."
"Chicken means chickens," cried Mrs Shackle, "and you can't eat chicken without pork or bacon. 'Tisn't natural."
"Father said two rolls of butter."
"Yes, and I've put three. There, these are all the eggs I've got, and you mind you don't break 'em!"
"Oh, I say, mother," cried Ram, "aren't it heavy!"
"Nonsense! I could carry it on my finger; there, run along like a good boy, and you must ask for her ladyship, and be very respectful, and say, Mother's humble duty to you, my lady, and hopes you won't mind her sending a bit o' farm fare."
"But she ought to be thankful to us, mother?"
"And so she will be, Ram?"
"But you make me speak as though we were to be much obliged to her for taking all these good things."
"You take the basket, and hold your tongue. Father's right, you chatter a deal too much."
Ram took the basket, grunted because it was so heavy, and then set off up the hill-slope towards where the patch of thick woodland