A COUNTY FAMILY.

Bruce Herald, Volume XI, Issue 1013, 28 May 1878, Page 3

A COUNTY FAMILY.

(By the Author of "lost Sur Maasingberd.") CHATTER IT OVER THE HILLS TOGETHER. When Denton said that the quarrymen all treated Ellen Blackburn with consideration, he did not exaggerate the fact and Stanhope also was right in concluding that the position her grandfather had once held in the world had something to do with it. They pitied the misfortunes of this old man, who had worked among them with such seeming patience for many years, and had done .nothing to offend them ; while the tender grace of the young girl herself— so different from tlie robust attractions of their own charmers^— won from them a ;certain courtesy, which showed itself in their i abstinence from remark upon her actions. If other young women had brought dinner ! p their relatives to the " top level," they would doubtless have hardly escaped comment and rough compliment-; but of this sprite-like messenger no notice wasrtaken. She had trippedV along? past, group after group, and save for a kindly nod from o : giant head or two, which she acknowledged by a grateful smUejnshad .lexcited no stir. It: was a sight: they-saw every day— this . . — pretty - but - - pale-faced girl, with her covered basket, which contained, bread and meat for her grandfather ; and they looked upon it, through their tobaccosmoke, approvingly. " You are late, my dear," said the old ..man, lifting up his gray head as she drew near, . and regarding her with eager eyes. " Was there any reason for - it— i-any particular reason?" " There was the reason of the wind upon the hill, grandfather, which was dead against me/ answered the girl, smiling. "See, I have brougb t you your favourite dinner— -beef and mustard, and a nice fresh lettuce:" ■Y. u Theresas nothing for me by the post, then?" enquired the old man v without taking the least notice of these danties. "No, grandfather." This reply was gi^en with a dejected air, quate different from that with which she had hitkerto spoken. The fact was the post: had not yet come in- to their out-of-the-way cottage, but she had answered that same question a hundred times, and • always in the negative; Anthony Blackburn was for ever expecting a letter that was to tell him that the last barrier between him and his rights was removed —he cared not how,- but surely if there was justice in heaven,- the thing, however long delayed, must so happen at last. Was it" not clear that a judgment had gone forth against his usurping kindred 1 First, Ferdinand and his son ; then Richard swept away ; and now there was only Richard's brat between Mni; and his —long-lost wealtK Would "not abath take .'" this one; like the rest %' : "'' After years, of waiting— years of toil and gloom indeedj but which had been illuminated occasionally by these family casualties, these spectral fires, in quite a brilliant manner— the goal would be surely reached at last ! True, it was a boy's life against his own : but had not Ferdinand's boy died before he had reached this lad's age, and were njt his father and Charles and Richard all junior to him (Anthony), and yet all were dead ! However the news was not to come to-day it seemed, and the old man, after one weary- sigh, began to eat his meal. Anthony Blackburn was, independently of his white beard and shaggy eyebrows, of a striking appearance; straight as a poplar, notwithstanding his weight of years and the fong use of the huge hammer which lay near him ; his eyes had -lost nOne of their fire, and his large limbs were still very powerful, although their elasticity had departed. Perhaps, if he had not been so strong, his fellow-workmen would not' have paid him such respect; at all events it pleased them to see in this old fellow, who had been brought up tp no such trade, a skilful quarryman, who used , the heaviest tools by choice. In Ellen's basket there was neither beer nor spirits, but "she took from it a glass tumbler — a vessel unknown among the other tenants of the top level, who used horn and tin — and having filled it with water from a spring that tickled over the rock, placed it by her grandfather's side. Scarcely had she done so, when a splinter flying from some rock where the men were resuming work, -"fell upon it and /shattered it to atoms. «My only glass," was the old, man's bitter comment. ' " Misfortune never forgets me in small things as, well as " " Sir, I thank you." - Stanhope had marked the catastrophe, and stepping hastily forward, offered the silver bottom of his pocket-flask in" place of the broken tumbler. "If you will permit me to fill it with sherry instead of water," said he politely. " I have more here than. I require." " Nay, Sir ; I do not drink' wine — at present," responded the old man, stiffly ; " and yet, sine© you are so courteous — yes, I will just taste it." It was curious bo see his look at the costly cup ere he put his lips to its contents. They had not touched the silver (he was thinking) for half a century. How eicllent was this jiquor, the like of which (though it was but hotel sherry) had been so long a stranger to his palate. He had intended just to sip a little, but now he slowly drained the delicious draught to the lees. A.B he gave back the empty cup to Stanhope, his eye caught sight of something engraved upon it. •' Is that your name, Sir ? enquired he with sudden interest. " Yes ; and my address— Herbert Stanhope, of Curlew Hall, at your service." v Oh, indeed," returned the old man with an affectation of unconcern, while

his^faee, .,bj^seA_witb Bun and wind turned suddenly quite pale^ ' morning, Sir, and thank you ; it is time for me to; begin work; again.? , , .. With that he took up, hia. accustomed weapon; but the visitor— who at this hint had retired to eooi^ distaoce—noticed4bat he did not make a strobe with it for several minutes, but stood leaning on the long handle as if. ia thoughts Stanhope looked round for the girl!, but; she had disappeared ; and then for the; overlooker, but he had also slipped away;.i so shrugging his shoulders, he lighted &i cigar, and betook himself down the un-: protected incline, notwithstanding that a ; bugle bad just been* blown to give warn-:; ing to all to seek shelter;: ■ | A general opinion was thereupon ex-rj pressed in the Welsh \ dialect among the] occupants of the top level that their; recent visitor was a cool: hand, and it was? not the first time thab -that observation; bad in other high cities, been made with reason upon Mr Herbert Stanhope. Not a quarter of a, mile from this same populous ; spot, Slogan was assolitjat'yj as Sahara. You had only to turn the northern corner of the craig, andtake^the steep . but winding footpath that led upwards,! tor find yourself out of all liuman v ßight ancU hearing. ' This would have DeW4H|e case - with El/erf Black bufn-,"aJfe*dy etarited on . he hqmewurd journey, but for rfchSa pre-_ sence of John Den ton, who had acco^n-' pauied her so far, in order to carry her basket for her, and assist her up the cliffy a work which, considering that the basket was empty, and the young girl, although so delicate looking, as agile as a chamois, may be set down as one of supererogation. "There. John, that will do," said she • "I will not have you come any farther. As it is, you have- wasted half. your din-ner-hour." " I need no dinner," said John . quietly. " The sight of you is meat and drink to me." / . •.-.. "But you are also neglecting . your duty, Mr .Overlooker," urged she, with a charming pretence of rigour. " No, I'm not ;. I'm overlooking them all now," said John with twinkling eyes ; for a little joke went a great way with this excellent young fellow. " I don't intend to let you cross the mountain alone to day, Ellen. There are hawks abroad, and I mean to see my pretty one safe to her dove-cot. You heed not look up at tbe sky for a- buzzard- You krtptv' as well as I do what Pmean j the ; buxU upon your cheek is blowing, blowing into, a bonny, bonny robe-blush. There! Yes, EUen. I saw him stare at you, the insoi lent hound. We want no scented geatle-' men of that sorfe on honest Slogan. I wish the big hotel yonder had never been built to harbor such folk, though its stones did come out of our quarry-.';' v "It appears to me," said the young girl' gravely, " that Mr John Den ton is jealous." . " No, darliug, it. is not that. Qoly it makes toe sick to see these idle supercilious scoundrels wasting their own time, as well as that of everybody they come across ; simply because they have nothings to do but mischief. It angers me to have to listen to their long-drawn stupid drawl, not to mention the opinions (if they can be called such) with which they are sure to favour one, and which are simply infamous. If I had my will there should be no such drones amongst us at all." " What ! You would blow the whole hive fco 1 pieces with your favourite gunpowner, eh," John, sooner than not destroy them 1 Poor drones ! and would you sweep away ail the butterflies also ?" And she pointed laughingly to an exquisite creature of that species, a very embodiment of light, and joy, and colour, flitting from sunlit stone to stone across their i path. - . >,; " "No, dear, I would not," responded the young man ; " because, although I am. not aware that butterflies are useful, yet in their beauty and in their grace they remind me of you. I said I was not jealous, nor am I, because I think you just the truest- hearted girl that ever breathed mountain air. Else, where rank is concerned, or even a little social superiority in the way of money, you women are as weak as water : <of course, you would never disgrace yourself like Phoebe Mor- I gan or Alice Jones — but, I sometimes think that even in you case, if you were suddenly to become rich, Ellen, ajid I was just as I am now, or perhaps, a trifle more prosperous " (tbis was added with a certain pride), " you might ask yourself whether you might not have looked a little higher — on such a young fellow, for instance, as we^have just left down 'yonder with a grand air, and well-fitted "jplotheg^ and pretty boots, and a sort., of — •£?■", $* She stopped him sliort with a grave face and ber slim fingers upon his wrist : " And do you really think such things as that of me, John Denton ?" " I can't help thinking, Nelly. Don't be angry with me I tease myself, as lovers do, with foolish thoughts of losing you — that's all." , • s The firm, strong voice of the overlooker had softened into speech as gentle as her own j his fine ,eyes were full of tenderness ; and his hand trembled in her grasp. "I think that must be all, indeed," said she ; " but I am sorry even for that much. Ido not tease myself with such thoughts of you, John. I feel quite sure, that though you should get *to b& r as wealthy as Mr Rhys, who is king* of Slogan, or were made the engineer to the great railway that-is coming, at thousands a year, you would still take Ellen Blackburn for -your wife, penniless as she is, and notwithstanding the - shame that clings " He placed his finger gently on her lips, and kissed her forehead., "Hush, darling hush ! no word of that. '. You are : quite right. I have no other aim in life buT; to make ' you mine ; and yet — although Heaven knows I have yearned for -you —

I have preferred to wait until I had soHiptbing— -until J had built a wall to shield you from thVbitter wind of want so solid that it shbiild keep my darling safe for ever." a "Do not set your mind so much on wealth, John," returned the young girl, seriously. "I have every day the evil of that before my eyes." "Yes, Ellen; but what youiStipqor grandfather longs for is a will-o'-the-wisp; 1 heard even to-day^ that • ;this young /Richard Blackburn, : iM) whose shoes ihe looks to step, is engaged to be married. Vhereas, what lbave fixed my eyes on is a realiiy ; the dreaim bfjniy life has |already come true, thank' God ! , I have been promised an appointment -upon \this very railway of which you spoke; Mr Rhy s pu t the letter in my hands only last night ; and when I got it, Elleri^and I am sure to get it—look at me face to face —put your hands in mine— now answer me : will you be John Denton's wife in tliree" months hence ?" = . , ... _ " Y.o.U-know I willj" said, she, with a bright blush as he folded' her in his^arms f ■ " khat is, if you can get my grandfather's consent. Tb^Biinllibwe everything jify lifey John,>nd I am aure you would riot ; ,f !;j-% -;■.••«■ i rio^ear of ypur grandfather^ pElleri, since ; P : r s h8tll; ; haye n your grai^dmbther/ort my side,' l rsaidv>tiiesiy.oung > mpi, confidently.. ; " "lt is to \tell. her ( this nqws that ;/]j-]am^cros;sing: Slogan y.ou, \t^tday, and have left ray men- r to .take care of themselves. I thirii:^ that hundred ja w ( year , an,d . a house with" eight ' rooms will J recbmrn§ri(l me to her good igraces, eh? 'To' think) that five years ago I was but a . pupil-teacher — though at the' same 'school wilh you, darlings and- bhere'fore >-vf ell placed :enougL-^— ■ ."without-, a penny i Q f He world !"; and .Djen-4-ons's face glowed wii h conscious triumph. "And I have not a penny still," said the young girl, sadly. ' . ! \ M :,.■. "Nay, yon have what I have, my darling; 'with all my worldly goods I thee endow;' that in the marriage-service, you know. Oh, tell me," continued he, with unwonted fervour, " are you as happy as I ? Did the heather ever seem. so' springy be-? neath ; your fee>, or ' the so^ bright above your head ? And does not pur^sky, ;too, appear without a cloud, my darling?" I "It is very bright, dear John," answered shß, with a grave smile, ". andj am vbry happy ; but it is not .without a cloud." " I guess wKat you mean," isaid he; "but. l do nob see why the fact of your' yftncle ; being an unsatisfactory n: sort , of. person— well, a scoundrel, if one must call things by their* right names^— should interpose between us an'dthe sunshine; W n 7» ! the. greatest people of this country; my dear, are mostly/ sprung from scoundrels— Norman robbers, courtly jobbers, and state .intriguers of. all sorts— and are certainly not thought the less of. upon that accounTi. Then, why should you and I 'distress ourselves abpufc TJncle Will 1 ?. Leii: ! us think of nothing but what is pleasant. ■See, upon your cottage window yonder, ■ how the sun is glinting — the brightest | welcome, notwithstanding that you are not within it, that it has ever beamed on me. It is surely an omen for good."