God's Good Man - Marie Corelli (i want to read a book .txt) š
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āWell, well!ā said Buggins, tolerantly, with the dignified air of one closing the discussion; āDevil or no devil, you tell āim as āow the Five Sisters be chalked for layinā low on Wednesday marninā. Good day tāye!ā
āGood day!ā responded Bainton, and the two worthies panted, each to go on their several ways, Buggins to the āMother Huffā from whose opened latticed windows the smell of roast beef and onions, which generally composed the Bugginsā Sunday meal, came in odorous whiffs down the little lane, almost smothering the delicate perfume of the sprouting sweet-briar hedges on either side, and the nodding cowslips in the grass below; Bainton to his own cottage on the border of his masterās grounds, a pretty little dwelling with a thatched roof almost overgrown with wistaria just breaking into flower.
Far away from St. Rest, the greater world swung on its way; the whirl of society, politics, fashion and frivolity revolved like the wheel in a squirrelās cage, round which the poor little imprisoned animal leaps and turns incessantly in a miserable make-believe of forest freedom,ābut to the old gardener who lifted the latch of his gate and went in to the Sunday dinner prepared for him by his stout and energetic helpmate, who was one of the best dairy-women in the whole countryside, there was only one grave piece of news in the universe worth considering or discussing, and that was the ālayinā low of the Five Sisters.ā
āNever!ā said Mrs. Bainton, as she set a steaming beef-steak pudding in its basin on the table and briskly untied the ends of the cloth in which it had been boiling. āNever, Tom! You donāt tell me! The Five Sisters cominā down! Why, what is Oliver Leach thinking about?ā
āHimself, I reckon!ā responded her husband, āand his own partikler anā malicious art oā forestry. Which consists in barinā the land as if it was a judgeās chin, to be clean-shaved every marninā. My wurrd! Wonāt Passon Walden be just wild! Māappen heās heard of it already, for he seems main worrited about somethinā or other. Iāve allus thought āim wise-like anā sensible for a man in the Church wot aināt got much chance of knowinā the wurrld, but he was jesā meanderinā along to-dayāmeanderinā anā jabberinā about a meek anā quiet sperrit, as if any of us wanted that kind oā thing āere! Why itās fightinā all the time! If ātaināt Sir Morton Pippitt, itās Leach, anā if ātaināt Leach itās Putty Levesonāanā if ātaināt Leveson, why itās Adam Frost anā his wife, anā if ātaināt Frost anā his wife, why itās you anā me, old gel! We can get up a breeze as well as any couple wot was ever jined in the bonds of āoly matterimony! Hor-hor-hor! āMeek anā quiet sperrit,ā sez heāāhave all of ye meek anā quiet sperritsā! Why he aināt got one of āis own! Wait till he āears of the Five Sisters cominā down! See āim then! Or wait till Miss Vancourt arrives anā begins to muddle round with the church!ā
āNonsense! She wonāt muddle round with the church,ā said Mrs. Bainton cheerfully, sitting down to dinner opposite her husband, āWhat nesh fools men are, to be sure! Every-one says sheās a fine lady ācustomed to all sorts of show and gaiety and the likeāwhat will she want to do with the church? Ten to one she never goes inside it!ā
āYou shouldnāt bet, old woman, ātaināt moral,ā said Bainton, with a chuckle; āYou aināt got ten to bet agin oneāwe couldnāt spare so much. If she doos nothing else, sheāll dekrate the church at āArvest āOme anā Christmasāthatās wot leddies allus fusses aboutā dekratinā. Lord, Lord! The mess they makes when they starts on it, anā the mischief they works! Tearinā down the ivy, scrattinā up the moss, pullinā anā grabbinā at the flowers wotās taken months to grow,āfor all the wurrld as if they was cats out for a āoliday. I tell ye itās been a speshel providence for us āere, that Passon Walden aināt got no wife,āif he āad, sheād a been at the dekratinā game long afore now. Our church would be jesā spoilt with a lot oā trails oā weed round itābut you mark my wurrd!āMiss Vancourt will be dekratinā the Saint in the coffin at āArvest āOme wiā corn and pertaters anā vegetable marrers, all a-growinā and a-blowinā afore we knows it. There aināt no sense oā fitness in the feminine natur!ā
Mrs. Bainton laughed good-naturedly.
āThatās quite true!ā she agreed; āIf there were, I shouldnāt have made Sunday pudding for a man who talks too much to eat it while itās hot. Keep your tongue in your mouth, Tom!āuse it for tastinā jesā now anā agin!ā
Bainton took the hint and subsided into silent enjoyment of his food. Only once again he spoke in the course of the meal, and that was during the impressive pause between pudding and cheese.
āWhen he knows as āow the Five Sisters be chalked, Passon Waldenās sure to do somethinā,ā he said.
āAy!ā responded his wife thoughtfully; āheās sure to do something.ā
āWhat dāye think heāll do?ā queried Bainton, somewhat anxiously.
āOh, you know best, Tom,ā replied his buxom partner, setting a flat Dutch cheese before him and a jug of foaming beer; āThere aināt no sense oā fitness in ME, beinā a woman! You know best!ā
Bainton lowered his eyes sheepishly. As usual his better half had closed the argument unanswerably.
VII
Seldom in the placid course of years had St. Rest ever belied its name, or permitted itself to suffer loss of dignity by any undue display of excitement. The arrival of John Walden as minister of the parish,āthe re-building of the church, and the discovery of the medieval sarcophagus, which old Josey Letherbarrow always called the Sarky Fagus, together with the consecration ceremony by Bishop Brent,āwere the only episodes in ten years that had moved it slightly from its normal calm. For though rumours of wars and various other mishaps and tribulations, reached it through the medium of the newspapers in the ordinary course, it concerned itself not at all with these, such matters being removed and apart from its own way of life and conduct. It was a little world in itself, and had only the vaguest interest in any other world, save perhaps the world to come, which was indeed a very real prospect to most of the villagers, their inherited tendency being towards a quaint and simple piety that was as childlike as it was sincere. The small congregation to which John Walden preached twice every Sunday was composed of as honest men and clean-minded women as could be found in all England,āmen and women with straight notions of honour and duty, and warm, if plain, conceptions of love, truth and family tenderness. They had their little human failings and weaknesses, thanks to Mother Nature, whose children we all are, and who sets her various limitations for the best of us,ābut, taken on the whole, they were peculiarly unspoilt by the iconoclastic march of progress; and āadvancedā notions of doubt as to a God, and scepticism as to a future state, had never clouded their quiet minds. Walden had taken them well in hand from the beginning of his ministry,āand being much of a poet and dreamer at heart, he had fostered noble ideals among them, which he taught in simple yet attractive language, with the happiest results. The moral and mental attitude of the villagers generally was a philosophic cheerfulness and obedience to the will of God,ābut this did not include a tame submission to tyranny, or a passive acceptance of injury inflicted upon them by merely human oppressors.
Hence,āthough any disturbance of the daily equanimity of their agricultural life and pursuits was quite an exceptional circumstance, the news of the ālayinā low of the Five Sistersā was sufficient cause, when once it became generally known, for visible signs of trouble. In its gravity and importance it almost overtopped the advent of the new mistress of the Manor; and when on Tuesday it was whispered that āPasson Waldenā had himself been to expostulate with Oliver Leach concerning the meditated murder of the famous trees, and that his expostulations had been all in vain, clouded brows and ominous looks were to be seen at every corner where the men halted on their way to the fields, or where the women gathered to gossip in the pauses of their domestic labour. Walden himself, pacing impatiently to and fro in his garden, was for once more disturbed in his mind than he cared to admit. When he had been told early on Monday morning of the imminent destruction awaiting the five noble beeches which, in their venerable and broadly-branching beauty, were one of the many glories of the woods surrounding Abbotās Manor, he was inclined to set it down to some capricious command issued by the home-coming mistress of the estate; and, in order to satisfy himself whether this was, or was not the case, he had done what was sorely against his own sense of dignity to do,āhe had gone at once to interview Oliver Leach personally on the subject. But he had found that individual in the worst of all possible moods for argument, having been, as he stated, passed overā by Miss Vancourt. That lady had not, he said, written to inform him of her intended return, therefore,āso he argued,āit was not his business to be aware of it.
āMiss Vancourt hasnāt told me anything, and of course I donāt know anything,ā he said carelessly, standing in his doorway and keeping his hat on in the ministerās presence; āMy work is on the land, and when timber has to be felled itās my affair and nobody elseās. Iāve been agent on these estates since the Squireās death, and I donāt want to be taught my duty by any man.ā
āBut surely your duty does not compel you to cut down five of the finest old trees in England,ā said Walden, hotly,āāThey have been famous for centuries in this neighbourhood. Have you any right to fell them without special orders?ā
āSpecial orders?ā echoed Leach with a sneer; āIāve had no āspecial orderā for ten years at least! My employers trust me to do what I think best, and Iāve every right to act accordingly. The trees will begin to rot in another eighteen months or so,ājust now theyāre in good condition and will fetch a fair price. You stick to your church, Parson Walden,āyou know all about that, no doubt!ābut donāt come preaching to me about the felling of timber. Thatās my business,ānot yours!ā
Walden flushed, and bit his lip. His blood grew warm with indignation, and he involuntarily clenched his fist. But he suppressed his rising wrath with an effort.
āYou may as well keep a civil tongue in your head, Mr. Leachāit will do you no harm!ā he said quietly; āI have no wish to interfere with what you conceive to be your particular mode of duty, but I think that before you destroy what can never be replaced, you should consult the owner of the trees, Miss Vancourt, especially as her return is fixed for to-morrow.ā
āAs I told you before, I know nothing about her return,ā replied Leach, obstinately; āI am not supposed to know. And whether sheās here or away, makes no difference to me. I know whatās to be done, and I shall do it.ā
Waldenās eyes flashed. Strive as he would, he could not disguise his inward contempt for this petty jack-in-office,āand his keen glance was, to the perverse nature of the ill-conditioned
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