John Halifax [53]
impression it gave, both as to sight and scent, was of roses--nothing but roses.
"How are you, Mrs. Tod?" as a comely, middle-aged body appeared at the right-hand doorway, dressed sprucely in one of those things Jael called a "coat and jacket," likewise a red calamanco petticoat tucked up at the pocket-holes.
"I be pretty fair, sir--be you the same? The children ha' not forgotten you--you see, Mr. Halifax."
"So much the better!" and he patted two or three little white heads, and tossed the youngest high up in the air. It looked very strange to see John with a child in his arms.
"Don't 'ee make more noise than 'ee can help, my lad," the good woman said to our post-boy, "because, sir, the sick gentleman bean't so well again to-day."
"I am sorry for it. We would not have driven up to the door had we known. Which is his room?"
Mrs. Tod pointed to a window--not on our side of the house, but the other. A hand was just closing the casement and pulling down the blind--a hand which, in the momentary glimpse we had of it, seemed less like a man's than a woman's.
When we were settled in the parlour John noticed this fact.
"It was the wife, most likely. Poor thing! how hard to be shut up in-doors on such a summer evening as this!"
It did seem a sad sight--that closed window, outside which was the fresh, balmy air, the sunset, and the roses.
"And how do you like Enderley?" asked John, when, tea being over, I lay and rested, while he sat leaning his elbow on the window-sill, and his cheek against a bunch of those ever-intruding, inquisitive roses.
"It is very, very pretty, and so comfortable--almost like home."
"I feel as if it were home," John said, half to himself. "Do you know, I can hardly believe that I have only seen this place once before; it is so familiar. I seem to know quite well that slope of common before the door, with its black dots of furze-bushes. And that wood below; what a clear line its top makes against the yellow sky! There, that high ground to the right; it's all dusky now, but it is such a view by daylight. And between it and Enderley is the prettiest valley, where the road slopes down just under those chestnut-trees."
"How well you seem to know the place already."
"As I tell you, I like it. I hardly ever felt so content before. We will have a happy time, Phineas."
"Oh, yes!" How--even if I had felt differently--could I say anything but "yes" to him then?
I lay until it grew quite dark, and I could only see a dim shape sitting at the window, instead of John's known face; then I bade him good-night, and retired. Directly afterwards, I heard him, as I knew he would, dash out of the house, and away up the Flat. In the deep quiet of this lonely spot I could distinguish, for several minutes, the diminishing sound of his footsteps along the loose, stony road; and the notes, clear and shrill, of his whistling. I think it was "Sally in our Alley," or some such pleasant old tune. At last it faded far off, and I fell into sleep and dreams.
CHAPTER X
"That Mrs. Tod is an extraordinary woman. I repeat it--a most extraordinary woman."
And leaning his elbows on the table, from which the said extraordinary woman had just removed breakfast, John looked over to me with his own merry brown eyes.
"Wherefore, David?"
"She has a house full of children, yet manages to keep it quiet and her own temper likewise. Astonishing patience! However people attain it who have to do with brats, _I_ can't imagine."
"John! that's mean hypocrisy. I saw you myself half-an-hour ago holding the eldest Tod boy on a refractory donkey, and laughing till you could hardly stand."
"Did I?" said he, half-ashamed. "Well, it was only to keep the little scamp from making a noise under the windows. And that reminds me of another remarkable virtue in Mrs. Tod--she can hold her tongue."
"How so?"
"In two whole days she has not communicated to us a single fact concerning our neighbours on the other half of Rose Cottage."
"Did you want to know?"
John laughingly
"How are you, Mrs. Tod?" as a comely, middle-aged body appeared at the right-hand doorway, dressed sprucely in one of those things Jael called a "coat and jacket," likewise a red calamanco petticoat tucked up at the pocket-holes.
"I be pretty fair, sir--be you the same? The children ha' not forgotten you--you see, Mr. Halifax."
"So much the better!" and he patted two or three little white heads, and tossed the youngest high up in the air. It looked very strange to see John with a child in his arms.
"Don't 'ee make more noise than 'ee can help, my lad," the good woman said to our post-boy, "because, sir, the sick gentleman bean't so well again to-day."
"I am sorry for it. We would not have driven up to the door had we known. Which is his room?"
Mrs. Tod pointed to a window--not on our side of the house, but the other. A hand was just closing the casement and pulling down the blind--a hand which, in the momentary glimpse we had of it, seemed less like a man's than a woman's.
When we were settled in the parlour John noticed this fact.
"It was the wife, most likely. Poor thing! how hard to be shut up in-doors on such a summer evening as this!"
It did seem a sad sight--that closed window, outside which was the fresh, balmy air, the sunset, and the roses.
"And how do you like Enderley?" asked John, when, tea being over, I lay and rested, while he sat leaning his elbow on the window-sill, and his cheek against a bunch of those ever-intruding, inquisitive roses.
"It is very, very pretty, and so comfortable--almost like home."
"I feel as if it were home," John said, half to himself. "Do you know, I can hardly believe that I have only seen this place once before; it is so familiar. I seem to know quite well that slope of common before the door, with its black dots of furze-bushes. And that wood below; what a clear line its top makes against the yellow sky! There, that high ground to the right; it's all dusky now, but it is such a view by daylight. And between it and Enderley is the prettiest valley, where the road slopes down just under those chestnut-trees."
"How well you seem to know the place already."
"As I tell you, I like it. I hardly ever felt so content before. We will have a happy time, Phineas."
"Oh, yes!" How--even if I had felt differently--could I say anything but "yes" to him then?
I lay until it grew quite dark, and I could only see a dim shape sitting at the window, instead of John's known face; then I bade him good-night, and retired. Directly afterwards, I heard him, as I knew he would, dash out of the house, and away up the Flat. In the deep quiet of this lonely spot I could distinguish, for several minutes, the diminishing sound of his footsteps along the loose, stony road; and the notes, clear and shrill, of his whistling. I think it was "Sally in our Alley," or some such pleasant old tune. At last it faded far off, and I fell into sleep and dreams.
CHAPTER X
"That Mrs. Tod is an extraordinary woman. I repeat it--a most extraordinary woman."
And leaning his elbows on the table, from which the said extraordinary woman had just removed breakfast, John looked over to me with his own merry brown eyes.
"Wherefore, David?"
"She has a house full of children, yet manages to keep it quiet and her own temper likewise. Astonishing patience! However people attain it who have to do with brats, _I_ can't imagine."
"John! that's mean hypocrisy. I saw you myself half-an-hour ago holding the eldest Tod boy on a refractory donkey, and laughing till you could hardly stand."
"Did I?" said he, half-ashamed. "Well, it was only to keep the little scamp from making a noise under the windows. And that reminds me of another remarkable virtue in Mrs. Tod--she can hold her tongue."
"How so?"
"In two whole days she has not communicated to us a single fact concerning our neighbours on the other half of Rose Cottage."
"Did you want to know?"
John laughingly