The Trumpet-Major. Томас ХардиЧитать онлайн книгу.
thing for ye, death and glory! In short, I hope from my heart you will be, and I say so very often to folk—in fact, I pray at night for’t.’
‘O! cuss you! you needn’t pray about it.’
‘No, Maister Derriman, I won’t.’
‘Of course my sword will do its duty. That’s enough. And now be off with ye.’
Festus gloomily returned to his uncle’s room and found that Anne was just leaving. He was inclined to follow her at once, but as she gave him no opportunity for doing this he went to the window, and remained tapping his fingers against the shutter while she crossed the yard.
‘Well, nephy, you are not gone yet?’ said the farmer, looking dubiously at Festus from under one eyelid. ‘You see how I am. Not by any means better, you see; so I can’t entertain ’ee as well as I would.’
‘You can’t, nunc, you can’t. I don’t think you are worse—if I do, dash my wig. But you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make me welcome when you are better. If you are not so brisk inwardly as you was, why not try change of air? This is a dull, damp hole.’
‘’Tis, Festus; and I am thinking of moving.’
‘Ah, where to?’ said Festus, with surprise and interest.
‘Up into the garret in the north corner. There is no fireplace in the room; but I shan’t want that, poor soul o’ me.’
‘’Tis not moving far.’
‘’Tis not. But I have not a soul belonging to me within ten mile; and you know very well that I couldn’t afford to go to lodgings that I had to pay for.’
‘I know it—I know it, Uncle Benjy! Well, don’t be disturbed. I’ll come and manage for you as soon as ever this Boney alarm is over; but when a man’s country calls he must obey, if he is a man.’
‘A splendid spirit!’ said Uncle Benjy, with much admiration on the surface of his countenance. ‘I never had it. How could it have got into the boy?’
‘From my mother’s side, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps so. Well, take care of yourself, nephy,’ said the farmer, waving his hand impressively. ‘Take care! In these warlike times your spirit may carry ye into the arms of the enemy; and you are the last of the family. You should think of this, and not let your bravery carry ye away.’
‘Don’t be disturbed, uncle; I’ll control myself,’ said Festus, betrayed into self-complacency against his will. ‘At least I’ll do what I can, but nature will out sometimes. Well, I’m off.’ He began humming ‘Brighton Camp,’ and, promising to come again soon, retired with assurance, each yard of his retreat adding private joyousness to his uncle’s form.
When the bulky young man had disappeared through the porter’s lodge, Uncle Benjy showed preternatural activity for one in his invalid state, jumping up quickly without his stick, at the same time opening and shutting his mouth quite silently like a thirsty frog, which was his way of expressing mirth. He ran upstairs as quick as an old squirrel, and went to a dormer window which commanded a view of the grounds beyond the gate, and the footpath that stretched across them to the village.
‘Yes, yes!’ he said in a suppressed scream, dancing up and down, ‘he’s after her: she’ve hit en!’ For there appeared upon the path the figure of Anne Garland, and, hastening on at some little distance behind her, the swaggering shape of Festus. She became conscious of his approach, and moved more quickly. He moved more quickly still, and overtook her. She turned as if in answer to a call from him, and he walked on beside her, till they were out of sight. The old man then played upon an imaginary fiddle for about half a minute; and, suddenly discontinuing these signs of pleasure, went downstairs again.
VII. HOW THEY TALKED IN THE PASTURES
‘You often come this way?’ said Festus to Anne rather before he had overtaken her.
‘I come for the newspaper and other things,’ she said, perplexed by a doubt whether he were there by accident or design.
They moved on in silence, Festus beating the grass with his switch in a masterful way. ‘Did you speak, Mis’ess Anne?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Anne.
‘Ten thousand pardons. I thought you did. Now don’t let me drive you out of the path. I can walk among the high grass and giltycups—they will not yellow my stockings as they will yours. Well, what do you think of a lot of soldiers coming to the neighbourhood in this way?’
‘I think it is very lively, and a great change,’ she said with demure seriousness.
‘Perhaps you don’t like us warriors as a body?’
Anne smiled without replying.
‘Why, you are laughing!’ said the yeoman, looking searchingly at her and blushing like a little fire. ‘What do you see to laugh at?’
‘Did I laugh?’ said Anne, a little scared at his sudden mortification.
‘Why, yes; you know you did, you young sneerer,’ he said like a cross baby. ‘You are laughing at me—that’s who you are laughing at! I should like to know what you would do without such as me if the French were to drop in upon ye any night?’
‘Would you help to beat them off?’ said she.
‘Can you ask such a question? What are we for? But you don’t think anything of soldiers.’
O yes, she liked soldiers, she said, especially when they came home from the wars, covered with glory; though when she thought what doings had won them that glory she did not like them quite so well. The gallant and appeased yeoman said he supposed her to mean chopping off heads, blowing out brains, and that kind of business, and thought it quite right that a tender-hearted thing like her should feel a little horrified. But as for him, he should not mind such another Blenheim this summer as the army had fought a hundred years ago, or whenever it was—dash his wig if he should mind it at all. ‘Hullo! now you are laughing again; yes, I saw you!’ And the choleric Festus turned his blue eyes and flushed face upon her as though he would read her through. Anne strove valiantly to look calmly back; but her eyes could not face his, and they fell. ‘You did laugh!’ he repeated.
‘It was only a tiny little one,’ she murmured.
‘Ah—I knew you did!’ thundered he. ‘Now what was it you laughed at?’
‘I only—thought that you were—merely in the yeomanry,’ she murmured slily.
‘And what of that?’
‘And the yeomanry only seem farmers that have lost their senses.’
‘Yes, yes! I knew you meant some jeering o’ that sort, Mistress Anne. But I suppose ’tis the way of women, and I take no notice. I’ll confess that some of us are no great things: but I know how to draw a sword, don’t I?—say I don’t just to provoke me.’
‘I am sure you do,’ said Anne sweetly. ‘If a Frenchman came up to you, Mr. Derriman, would you take him on the hip, or on the thigh?’
‘Now you are flattering!’ he said, his white teeth uncovering themselves in a smile. ‘Well, of course I should draw my sword—no, I mean my sword would be already drawn; and I should put spurs to my horse—charger, as we call it in the army; and I should ride up to him and say—no, I shouldn’t say anything, of course—men never waste words in battle; I should take him with the third guard, low point, and then coming back to the second guard—’
‘But that would be taking care of yourself—not hitting at him.’
‘How can