Julia and Her Romeo: A Chronicle of Castle Barfield | Page 5

doors with unnecessary violence,

slamming them with needless force behind him, and clamping heavily
from room to room. His wife, who was submissive at the surface, but
unconquerable at bottom, knew these signs, and accepted them with
outer show of meekness. Samson tramped into the sitting-room, and
there found his wife alone. He flung to the door behind him with a
crash which would have been startling if it had been unexpected, and
fell heavily into a roomy arm-chair by the fireside. Mrs. Mountain took
no notice of this, but went on placidly with her sewing. Samson threw
his heavily-booted feet noisily into the fender, and still Mrs. Mountain
went on placidly, without so much as looking at him. Stung by this
disregard of his obvious ill-humour, Samson made a lunge with his foot
at the fire-irons, and brought them down with a bang.
'Lawk a daisy me, Samson,' said his wife mildly. 'What's the matter
with the man?'
'Matter!' growled Samson. 'It's a thing as ud get a saint to set his back
up. I was down i' the bridge leasowe bare an hour ago, and who should
I see but that young imp of a Reddy along wi' that old viper of a Bubb.
Thee know'st the chap--that Ichabod.'
'I know him, Samson,' answered Mrs. Mountain. 'He's the most
impudent of all of 'em.'
'They stood atop o' the bridge,' pursued Samson, 'and I could hear 'em
talkin'. Th' ode rip was tellin' the young un that outworn lie about the
brook. I'd got a shot i' the barrel, and I'd more than half a mind to ha'
peppered him. I'd ha' done it if it had been worth while.'
'There's no end to their malice and oncharitable-ness,' said Mrs.
Mountain.
'I heard the young imp say he'd fowt our Joe and licked him,' pursued
Samson. 'If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I'd put
Master Joe in such fettle he wouldn't sit down for the best side a month
o' Sundays.'
'They 'm giving the child such airs,' said his wife, 'it's enough to turn

the bread o' life which nourishes.'
Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had
held it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious,
and she determined to approach it.
'Young toad!' said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.
'To hear him talk--that fine an' mincin'--you'd think he was one o' my
lord's grandchildren or a son o' the squire's at least,' said Mrs. Mountain,
approaching her theme with circuitous caution.
'Ay!' Samson assented 'It's enough to turn your stomach to listen to
him.'
'If they go on as they're goings pursued his wife, circling a little nearer,
'we shall live to see fine things.'
'We shall, indeed,' said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
unusually warm in the quarrel. 'There's no such a thing as contentment
to be found amongst 'em. They settle up to be looked upon as
gentlefolks.'
'Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don't tek care. But
thanks be, Samson, it's left in our own hands.'
'What be'st hoverin' at?' demanded Samson, turning upon her with his
surly red face.
'Things ain't what they used to be when you an' me was younger,' said
Mrs. Mountain. 'The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me
was bred up to, Samson, ain't good enough nowadays for the very
kitchen wenches and the labourers on the farm. Everybody's gettin' that
new-fangled!'
'Barfield's good enough for me, and good enough for mine,' said
Samson, with sulky wrath.

'It's good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it's good enough for
ourn is another churnin' o' butter altogether,' his wife answered. 'It ud
seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My
mother, as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a
cup o' tay a dish o' tay, and that's a thing as only the very ignorant ud
stoop to nowadays.' Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in
the big arm-chair. 'A mother's got her natural feelings, Samson,' Mrs.
Mountain continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. 'I don't
scruple to allow as it'll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe looked
down upon by a Reddy.'
'Looked down upon!' cried Samson. 'Where's the Reddy as can count
acre for acre agen us, or guinea for guinea?'
'The Reddy's is fairly well-to-do, Samson,' said Mrs. Mountain; 'very
nigh as well-to-do as we be.'
'Pooh!' returned Samson.
'Oh, but they be, though,' his wife insisted. 'Pretty near. There's nothing
so much between us as'd prevent 'em from taking airs with us