The History of David Grieve | Page 6

Louie shrilly,
striking straighter still for what she knew to be one of David's tenderest
points--his friendship for 'owd 'Lias Dawson,' the queer dreamer, who,
fifteen years before, had been the schoolmaster of Frimley Moor End,
and in local esteem 't' cliverest mon abeawt t'Peak.'
David with difficulty controlled a hot inclination to fall upon his sister
once more. Instead, however, he affected not to hear her, and shouted a
loud 'Good mornin' to the old man, who was toiling up the knoll on
which the smithy stood.
'Lias responded feebly, panting hard the while. He sank down on a
stone outside the smithy, and for a while had neither breath nor voice.
Then he began to look about him; his heaving chest subsided, and there
was a rekindling of the strange blue eyes. He wore a high white stock
and neckcloth; his plaid hung round his emaciated shoulders with a
certain antique dignity; his rusty wideawake covered hair still abundant
and even curly, but snow-white; the face, with its white eyebrows, was
long, thin, and full of an ascetic delicacy.
'Wal, Davy, my lad,' the old man said at last, with a sort of pompous
mildness; 'I winna blame yo for 't, but yo interrupted me sadly wi yur
whistlin. I ha been occupied this day wi business o' graat importance.
His Majesty King Charles has been wi me since seven o'clock this
mornin. And for th' fust time I ha been gettin reet to th' bottom o' things
wi him. I ha been probin him, Davy--probin him. He couldno riddle
through wi lees; I kept him to 't, as yo mun keep a horse to a
jump--straight an tight. I had it aw out about Strafford, an t'Five
Members, an thoose dirty dealins wi th' Irish devils! Yo should ha yerd
it, Davy--yo should, I'll uphowd yo!'
And placing his stick between his knees, the old man leant his hands
upon it, with a meditative and judicial air. The boy stood looking down
at him, a broad smile lighting up the dark and vivid face. Old 'Lias
supplied him with a perpetual 'spectacle' which never palled.
'Coe him back, 'Lias, he's soomwheer about. Yo need nobbut coe him,
an he'll coom.'

'Lias looked fatuously pleased. He lifted his head and affected to scan
the path along which he had just travelled.
'Aye, I daur say he's not far.--Yor Majesty!'
And 'Lias laid his head on one side and listened. In a few seconds a
cunning smile stole over his lips.
'Wal, Davy, yo're in luck. He's noan so onwillin, we'st ha him here in a
twinklin. Yo may coe him mony things, but yo conno coe him proud.
Noa, as I've fund him, Charles Stuart has no soart o' pride about him.
Aye, theer yo are! Sir, your Majesty's obleeged an humble servant!'
And, raising his hand to his hat, the old man took it off and swept it
round with a courtly deliberation. Then replacing it, he sat with his face
raised, as though to one standing near, his whole attitude full of a
careful and pompous dignity.
'Now then, yor Majesty,' said 'Lias grimly,' I'st ha to put that question to
yo, yance moor, yo wor noan so well pleased wi this mornin. But yo
shouldno be soa tender, mon! Th' truth can do yo noa harm, wheer yo
are, an I'm nobbut askin for informashun's sake. Soa out wi it; I'st not
use it agen yo. That--wee--bit--o'--damned--paper,--man, what sent
poor Strafford to his eend--yo mind it?--aye, 'at yo do! Well, now'--and
the old man's tone grew gently seductive--'explain yursel. We'n had
their tale,' and he pointed away to some imaginary accusers. 'But yo
mun trust an Englishman's sense o' fair play. Say your say. We 'st gie
yo a varra patient hearin.'
And with chin thrown up, and his half-blurred eyes blinking under their
white lashes, 'Lias waited with a bland imperativeness for the answer.
'Eh?' said 'Lias at last, frowning and hollowing his hand to his ear.
He listened another few seconds, then he dropped his hand sharply.
'What's 'at yo're sayin?' he asked hastily; ''at yo couldno help it, not
whativer--that i' truth yo had nothin to do wi't, no moor than

mysel--that yo wor forcit to it--willy-nilly--by them devils o'
Parliament foak--by Mr. Pym and his loike, wi whom, if God-amighty
ha' not reckoned since, theer's no moor justice i' His Kingdom than yo
found i' yours?'
The words came out with a rush, tumbling over one another till they
suddenly broke off in a loud key of indignant scorn. Then 'Lias fell
silent a moment, and slowly shook his head over the inveterate
shuffling of the House of Stuart.
''Twinna do, man--'twinna do,' he said at last, with an air of fine reproof.