Nicky-Nan, Reservist | Page 6

scullery on the
ground-floor, with a fairly large bedroom above it. The old Doctor's
own bedroom it had been, and was remarkable for an open fireplace
with two large recessed cupboards let into a wall, which measured a
good four feet in depth beyond the chimney-breast. Once, in cleaning
out the cupboards, Nicky-Nan had discovered in the right-hand one that
one or two boards of the flooring were loose. Lifting them cautiously
he had peered into a sort of lazarette deep down in the wall, and had
lowered a candle, the flame of which, catching hold of a mass of dried
cobweb, had shot up and singed his eyebrows, for a moment
threatening to set the house on fire. It had given him a scare, and he
never ventured to carry his exploration further.
His curiosity was the less provoked because at least a score of the old
houses in Polpier have similar recesses, constructed (it is said) as
hiding-places from the press-gang or for smugglers hotly pursued by
the dragoons.
The Penhaligon family inhabited the side of the house that faced the
street, and their large living-room was chiefly remarkable for the beams
supporting the floor above it. They had all been sawn lengthwise out of
a single oak-tree, and the outer edges of some had been left untrimmed.
From a nail in the midmost beam hung a small rusty key, around which
the spiders wove webs and the children many speculations: for the
story went that a brother of the old Doctor's-- the scapegrace of the
family--had hung it (the key of his quadrant) there, with strong
injunctions that no one should take it down until he returned--which he
never did. So Mrs Penhaligon's feather-brush always spared this one
spot in the room, every other inch of which she kept scrupulously
dusted. She would not for worlds have exchanged lodgings with
Nicky-Nan, though his was by far the best bedroom (and far too good
for a bachelor man); because from her windows she could watch
whatever crossed the bridge--folks going to church, and funerals. But
the children envied Nicky-Nan, because from his bedroom window you
could--when he was good-natured and allowed you--drop a line into the

brawling river. Of course there were no real fish to be caught, but with
a cunning cast and some luck you might hook up a tin can or an old
boot.
Now Nicky-Nan was naturally fond of children, as by nature he had
been designed for a family man; and children gave him their confidence
without knowing why. But in his early manhood a girl had jilted him,
which turned him against women: later, in the Navy, the death of a
friend and messmate, to whom he had transferred all the loyalty of his
heart, set him questioning many things in a silent way. He had never
been able to dissipate affection or friendship: and his feelings when
hurt, being sensitive as the horns of a snail, withdrew themselves as
swiftly into a shell and hid there as obstinately: by consequence of
which he earned (without deserving) a name not often entered upon the
discharge-sheets of the Royal Navy. But there it stood on his, in black
upon white--"A capable seaman. Morose."
He had carried this character, with his discharge-sheet, back to Polpier,
where his old friends and neighbours--who had known him as a brisk
upstanding lad, sociable enough, though maybe a trifle shy-- edged
away from the taciturn man who returned to them. Nor did it help his
popularity that he attended neither Church nor Chapel: for Polpier is a
deeply religious place, in its fashion.
Some of the women-folk--notably Mrs Polsue, the widow-woman, and
Miss Cherry (Charity) Oliver, a bitter spinster--spoke to the Wesleyan
Minister about this.
The Minister listened to them politely. He was the gentlest of little men
and had a club-foot. Mrs Polsue and Miss Oliver (who detested one
another) agreed that it would be a day of grace when his term among
them expired and he was "planned" for some other place where
Christianity did not matter as it did in Polpier. They gave various
reasons for this: but their real reason (had they lived in a Palace of
Truth) was that the Rev. Mark Hambly never spoke evil of any one, nor
listened to gossip save with a loose attention.
"The man has a wandering mind!" declared Miss Oliver. "It don't seem

able to fix itself. If you'll believe me, when I told him about
Bestwetherick's daughter and how she'd got herself into trouble at last,
all he could say was, 'Yes, yes, poor thing!'--and invite me to kneel
down an' pray she might come safely through it!"
"You surely weren't so weak as to do it?" said Mrs Polsue, scandalised.
"Me?" exclaimed Cherry. "Pray for that