The History of David Grieve | Page 8

into his visions.
'Davy, what's your opinion o' that?' or, 'Davy, my lad, did yo iver hear sich clit-clat i' your life?' or again, 'Davy, yo'll not be misled, surely, by sich a piece o' speshul-pleadin as that?'
So the appeals would run, and the boy, at first bewildered, and even irritated by them, as by something which threw hindrances in the way of the only dramatic entertainment the High Peak was likely to afford him, had learnt at last to join in them with relish. Many meetings with 'Lias on the moorside, which the old seer made alive for both of them--the plundering of 'Lias's books, whence he had drawn the brown 'Josephus' in his pocket--these had done more than anything else to stock the boy's head with its present strange jumble of knowledge and ideas. Knowledge, indeed, it scarcely was, but rather the materials for a certain kind of excitement.
'Wal, Davy, did yo hear that?' said 'Lias, presently, looking round on the boy with a doubtful countenance, after Cromwell had given an unctuous and highly Biblical account of the slaughter at Drogheda and its reasons.
'How mony did lie say he killed at that place?' asked the boy sharply.
'Thoosands,' said Dawson, solemnly. 'Theer was naw mercy asked nor gi'en. And those wha escaped knockin on t' yead were aw sold as slaves--every mon jock o' them!'
A strong light of anger showed itself in David's face.
'Then he wor a cantin murderer! Yo mun tell him so! If I'd my way, he'd hang for 't!'
'Eh, laddie, they were nowt but rebels an Papists,' said the old man, complacently.
'Don't yo becall Papists!' cried David, fiercely, facing round upon him. 'My mither wor a Papist.'
A curious change of expression appeared on 'Lias's face. He put his hand behind his ear that he might hear better, turned a pair of cunning eyes on David, while his lips pressed themselves together.
'Your mither wor a Papist? an your feyther wor Sandy Grieve. Ay, ay--I've yeerd tell strange things o' Sandy Grieve's wife,' he said slowly.
Suddenly Louie, who had been lying full length on her back in the sun, with her hat over her face, apparently asleep, sat bolt upright.
'Tell us what about her,' she said imperiously.
'Noa--noa,' said the old man, shaking his head, while a sort of film seemed to gather over the eyes, and the face and features relaxed--fell, as it were, into their natural expression of weak senility, which so long as he was under the stress of his favourite illusions was hardly apparent. 'But it's true--it's varra true--I've yeerd tell strange things about Sandy Grieve's wife.'
And still aimlessly shaking his head, he sat staring at the opposite side of the ravine, the lower jaw dropping a little.
'He knows nowt about it,' said David, roughly, the light of a sombre, half-reluctant curiosity, which had arisen in his look, dying down.
He threw himself on the grass by the dogs, and began teasing and playing with them. Meanwhile Louie sat studying 'Lias with a frowning hostility, making faces at him now and then by way of amusement. To disappoint the impetuous will embodied in that small frame was to commit an offence of the first order.
But one might as well make faces at a stone post as at old 'Lias when his wandering fit was on him. When the entertainment palled, Louie got up with a yawn, meaning to lounge back to the farm and investigate the nearness of dinner. But, as she turned, something caught her attention. It was the gleam of a pool, far away beyond the Downfall, on a projecting spur of the moor.
'What d' yo coe that bit watter?' she asked David, suddenly pointing to it.
David rolled himself round on his face, and took a look at the bluish patch on the heather.
'It hasna got naw name,' he said, at a venture.
'Then yo're a stoopid, for it has,' replied Louie, triumphantly. 'It's t' Mermaid Pool. Theer wor a Manchester mon at Wigsons' last week, telling aw maks o' tales. Theer's a mermaid lives in 't--a woman, I tell tha, wi' a fish's tail--it's in a book, an he read it out, soa theer--an on Easter Eve neet she cooms out, and walks about t' Scout, combin her hair--an if onybody sees her an wishes for soomthin, they get it, sartin sure; an--'
'Mermaids is just faddle an nonsense,' interrupted David, tersely.
'Oh, is they? Then I spose books is faddle. Most on 'em are--t' kind of books yo like--I'll uphowd yo!'
'Oh, is they?' said David, mimicking her. 'Wal, I like 'em, yo see, aw t' same. I tell yo, mermaids is nonsense, cos I know they are. Theer was yan at Hayfield Fair, an the fellys they nearly smashed t' booth down, cos they said it wor a cheat. Theer was just a gell, an they'd