The History of David Grieve | Page 9

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 stuffed her
into a fish's skin and sewed 'er up; an when yo went close yo could see
t' stuffin runnin out of her. An theer was a man as held 'er up by a wire
roun her waist, an waggled her i' t' watter. But t' foak as had paid
sixpence to coom in, they just took an tore down t' place, an they'd 'a
dookt t' man an t' gell boath, if th' coonstable hadn't coom. Naw,
mermaids is faddle,' he repeated contemptuously.
'Faddle?' repeated 'Lias, interrogatively.
The children started. They has supposed 'Lias was of doting and talking
gibberish for the rest of the morning. But his tone was brisk and as
David looked up he caught a queer flickering brightness in the old
man's eye, which showed him that 'Lias was once more capable of
furnishing amusement or information.
'What do they coe that bit watter, 'Lias?' he inquired, pointing to it.
'That bit watter?' repeated 'Lias, eyeing it. A sort of vague trouble came
into his face, and his wrinkled hands lying on his stick began to twitch
nervously.
'Aye--theer's a Manchester man been cramming Wigsons wi tales--says
he gets 'em out of a book--'bout a woman 'at walks t' Scout Easter Eve
neet,--an a lot o' ninny-hommer's talk. Yo niver heer now about it--did
yo, 'Lias?'
'Yes, yo did, Mr. Dawson--now, didn't yo?' said Louis, persuasively,

enraged that David would never accept information from her, while she
was always expected to take it from him.
'A woman--'at walks t' Scout,' said 'Lias, uncertainly, flushing as he
spoke.
Then, looking tremulously from his companions to the pool, he said,
angrily raising his stick and shaking it at David, 'Davy, yo're takin
advantage--Davy, yo're doin what yo owt not. If my Margret were here,
she'd let yo know!'
The words rose into a cry of quavering passion. The children stared at
him in amazement. But as Davy, aggrieved, was defending himself, the
old man laid a violent hand on his arm and silenced him. His eyes,
which were black and keen still in the blanched face, were riveted on
the gleaming pool. His features worked as though under the stress of
some possessing force; a shiver ran through the emaciated limbs.
'Oh! yo want to know abeawt Jenny Crum's pool, do yo?' he said at last
in a low agitated voice. 'Nobbut look, my lad!--nobbut look! --an see
for yoursen.'
He paused, his chest heaving, his eye fixed. Then, suddenly, he broke
out in a flood of passionate speech, still gripping David.
'Passon Maine! Passon Maine!--ha yo got her, th' owd woman? Aye,
aye--sure enough--'at's she--as yo're aw drivin afore yo--hoontit like a
wild beeast--wi her grey hair streamin, and her hands tied--Ah!'--and
the old man gave a wild cry, which startled both the children to their
feet. 'Conno yo hear her?--eh, but it's enough to tear a body's heart out
to hear an owd woman scream like that!'
He stopped, trembling, and listened, his hand hollowed to his ear.
Louie looked at her brother and laughed nervously; but her little hard
face had paled. David laid hold of her to keep her quiet, and shook
himself free of 'Lias. But 'Lias took no notice of them now at all, his
changed seer's gaze saw nothing but the distance and the pool.

'Are yo quite sure it wor her, Passon?' he went on, appealingly. 'She's
nobbut owd, an it's a far cry fro her bit cottage to owd Needham's Farm.
An th' chilt might ha deed, and t' cattle might ha strayed, and t' geyats
might ha opened o' theirsels! Yo'll not dare to speak agen that. They
might? Ay, ay, we aw know t' devil's strong; but she's eighty-one year
coom Christmas--an an--. Doan't, doan't let t' childer see, nor t' yoong
gells! If yo let em see sich seets they'll breed yo wolves, not babes!
Ah!'
And again 'Lias gave the same cry, and stood half risen, his hands on
his staff, looking.
'What is it, 'Lias?' said David, eagerly; 'what is 't yo see?'
'Theer's my grandfeyther,' said 'Lias, almost