JILL OF THE FIELDS

Evening Star, Issue 21631, 29 January 1934, Page 3

JILL OF THE FIELDS

A ROMANCE

[By KENNAWAY JAMES.] (Author of “ Hers lo Command,” “ What Hargreaves Knew,” etc.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS* JILL MERRIDEW, motherless, pretty, and headstrong, becomes, on the death of her father, the owner of a considerable farm. She has been brought up there, and loves the farmhouse and the fields. So she decides to retain the farm and to fill her father’s place. In taking this decision she counts on the continuance of MARK HANSON, the head man. Mark appears to be devoted to thb place, and has not even a. wife to distract his attention from it. An unusual character, Mark. He is stolid and seems to be wrapped up in agriculture; but he is also a very studious fellow, and there are those who see in his face traces of a parentage more distinguished than that of a farm man. It is said that he has a hopeless passion for Jill. One day at cider time a well-dressed stranger makes his appearance, and tries to question Mark about Jill. Mark resents his impertinences, and cuts short the conversation, Jill hears of Mark’s rudeness to the visitor, and reprimands him for it. Late that evening the strange visitor calls at the farmhouse. Jill is about to retire for the night, but she decides to see him. He is , , PHILLIP BARBOUR, who professes to be investigating the history of old county families on behalf of the College of Heralds. At first Jill receives him coldlv, but as the conversation progresses she finds much in common with him. Next day Barbour is permitted to inake some notes which ho says he requires for the College of Heralds. Actually, on returning to Loudon, he goes to a dingy restaurant in Soho, where he meets two cosmopolitans who are evidently expecting him. CHAPTER VI. MARK SPKAKS OKI. Mo an while .Jill had thought many things. She had enjoyed her walk round the farm with Phillip Harbour, and the intelligent interest which the man showed had amazed her. She little knew that Phillip was labouring to keep back his , undoubted knowledge of farming, lest .sbe should become too curious about him. , . .. She found him to he a companionable kind of man with a vivacity which she attributed to his French descent. His knack of throwing little poetic quotations into his conversation pleased her, for it was a knack of her own, and they laughed together at the discovery. To find him practical-minded on fanning subjects, .yet with something of the poet about him, made a definite appeal to Jill, and she thought of him many times during the day. When he had gone she returned to the cider-making and was quite aware of the curious glances of her men. Moreover, old George Bowker s joke about weddings had remained m their simple minds. One of them named Larry Luby a chaw-bacon with just enough intelligence not to be a lunatic, nearly got himself into trouble by addressing Jill on the matter. “Old George, he been saying some funny thinsrs about you and that young man, miss.” he said. : Georgh bi in self heard it and stopped stamping his feet to glare fiercely at the hapless half-wit, who wilted visibly. .Till turned on George with assumed anger. , “ Bv tbv long grey beard and glittering eye,” 'she said, “ PH stop your cider if you don’t keep your nonsense to yourSCfl f, * * . . t George mumbled something into his whiskers and then recommenced to stamp his feet. Towards dusk Jill, feeling n little ill at ease, decided to take a walk. Mark was not vet hack. The farm seemed strange without him, and she felt peculiarly isolated. , She came upon George Bowker s cottage and decided to have a chat with the old man in order to occupy her mind. ~ , George’s cottage was old and thatched. The man who thatched it must have known his job, _ for the thatch had braved many a winter. It had by this time become more than a mere roof, for, in summer, there grew upon it patches' of self-sown grass and nettles, whilst it was riddled with rat holes which, fortunately for old George, did not penetrate to the interior; perhaps fortunately for the rats; too, for George kept seven cats which all slept in his bedroom. Spring time always saw a number ot house sparrows’ ragged nests in the thatch, but those George did not mind Ho argued that the sparrows brought straw to the thatch, whereas the rats nibbled it away. Beneath this miscellaneous covering old George lived alone, refusing the well-meant help of the neighbours, and with a supercilious scorn for chance visitors who paused to call it picturesque. . ' . . Jill found George in the act of making tea, in which he invited her to join him, . , , “ And what’s all this'you’ve been saying about me?” she asked goodhumouredly a little later. “ Nothing much. Missy,” said George. “Only poking like. But he certainly do look a fine man. You 11 excuse me, but do he happen to be a foreigner?” “ He’s got a French kind of name, said Jill. “ Thought as much,” muttered George, partly to himself. “ What do you mean by that? asked Jill. . “ Ho looks it a bit.” said George, but that was not the reason which actuated his remark. Jasper Merridew, in his day, had rarely confided in anyone, save in old George, for whom he had a great liking. George had grown up with the farm, know it and loved every acre, and Jasper rarely took any serious step without first talking it over with the old man, who in this way became almost his sole_ confidant. There were many things which George knew to-day which others would have given much to learn. Jill accepted George’s words and then changed the subject. She could not help noticing, however, that the old fellow had become suddenly quiet. She therefore rose to go. “ You know, George,” six said, “I don’t like leaving you alone in this cottage with nobody to look after you.” “ I’m quite all right as I am, Missy, said George. “I’ve lived here many a year now, and I reckon I shall live a many more.”

“T hope so,” replied Jill, “but you’ll stand a better chance if you will only allow someone to look after you.” Old George shook his head doubtfully.

“ That means women, I suppose?” ho said. “ Well, T don’t like ’em and I don’t want ’em.” Jill laughed.

“ Well, come mid live up at the farm —just for the winter,” she pleaded. Then, seeing that it was of no avail, she said: “ Then let me just send in a woman to tidy up and make your bed when you’ve left in the morning;-”’ It was with great deliberation that George replied. “ Missy.” he said, speaking slowly, “ I’ll tell you something about beds that you mayn’t know. And it’s this: If you get in careful, and get out careful, thev don't need no making.” \Vhilst Jill had been doing what she jestingly called her welfare work with old George, Mark Hanson had returned to Stone Town. The morning’s incident in the King’s Arms at _ Den bridge had greatly disturbed his mind, but it was to bo disturbed still more when he found that the farmer’s joke about Barbour being at the farm was true. Mark received the information from Larry Luby, who, fool-like, also told him of old George’s jibe about weddings. It was almost more than Mark could bear, for his simple, loyal heart was distressed as only hearts like his can be. He had known, of course, that sooner or later someone would lay claim to Jill, someone with whom he would not be able to compete. But anticipation did not soften the shock. True, he did not know for sure that Barbour was besieging J ill’s affection. But, as is the way of a jealous man, he could not think of Barbour being in Jill’s company without falling in love with her.

The only relief he could find was in the nature of the questions which Barbour had asked in Denbridge. Why should he want to know about her father’s lawyer? Perhaps it was lor some entirely different reason that ho was calling on Jill. To ask Jill might seem an impertinence, but he was greatly tempted to risk it. Second thoughts prevailed, however, for, if he told her he knew of Barbour’s night call she might think that he was spying upon her, whilst to retail the Denbridge incident might only be another way of hurting her feelings, which of all things in the world Mark did not wish to do. But he did it- nevertheless. “ I wish to heaven I could find out what really is his game,” he, said to himself. “If I’ve half a chance I’ll find out.”

Then there came a wave of relief as he remembered them saying that Barhour had said he was returning to London. Perhaps it was not so bad after all.

A little later he heard the welcome sound of Jill’s footfalls on the cobbled farmyard. She had heard the monotonous hum of the cream separator iu the dairy, and had guessed that Mark might be in there. “Hello, Mark,” she. said. “How did you get on in Denbridge?” She was leaning against the dairy doorpost, her hands in her breeches pockets. Mark tried to hide the worship in his eyes as he told her the satisfactory results of his transactions. “That’s splendid, Mark,” she said. “ Von see, I call you Mark now.” “Thank you,” he said. “It’s lots nicer—Jill.”

He knew ho had risked a snub, but instead he received a smile, whilst he also had the satisfaction of seeing a blush come- to Jill’s face. “ And what’s the news in Denbridge this week?” she asked, for she had missed her usual visit to the market town.

In asking the question she gave him an opportunity i which his jealousy prevented him resisting. “ The news seems to be about you,” he said bitterly. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked. “ I’ve done nothing to be in the news—not even in Denbridge.”

“ No, you, haven’t,” replied Mark. “ but someone else has.”

“ Come along,” said Jill with a touch of her imperiousness. “.Get it off your mind.”

“ Well, it’s your friend, Mr Barbour —yos, I’ve learnt ]?js name—who has been asking all sorts of questions about you in the town—in the pub, in fact.” “ What sort of questions?” asked Jill.

“ About your affairs.” " Probably they were exaggerated by that gossiping woman there.” “ I don’t think they were, Jill. Ho asked who was your father’s lawyer.” “ Well, 1 suppose he wanted fo know,” said Jill, “ and didn’t want 1o ask me.”

“ Perhaps,” snapped Mark, detecting in her words a defence of Barbour. “If it suite you to think it, then it suits me.”

“ Whether it suits you is immaterial,” said Jill acidly. “ I probably know more about Mr Barbour than you do. He was here at Stone Town today, ■ and I found him very interesting.” “He pays visits by day and by night, then?” Mark wished the words unsaid as soon as he had uttered them. Jill was ominously cool. : “ So you know about him coming at night?’ Has Mrs Blore been tattling?” “ No. I saw him enter.” “Ah !” Jill breathed an expressive sigh. “So you’ve been spying on me?”

She knew very well by instinct why Mark had been by the farm that night, but she needed a verbal weapon, and this ono was at hand.

“ I don’t spy,” was all -Mark said. “ You’d better not,” replied Jill, “ and let me tell you that I object to what you said about Mr Barbour’s visit.”

“ I’m sorry,” said Mark. “ I should not have said it.”

“ And see, Mark,” continued Jill, “ yon have been very strange since we started cider-making. Why is it? And why should yon take so much interest in my callers?” She was standing at her full height, all her patrician dignity in her poise. A splendid creature she looked. Mark took a few steps towards her. “ Do you want me to tell you?” he asked almost angrily. Jill made no reply, but stood facing him, biting her lip. “Do you?” he repeated. Ho was close to her now. She had a vaguo sense of his height.

“No—no!” she stammered, a momentary sense of fear coming over her. Then she felt his two hands upon her shoulders as he looked down into her eyes.

“ Well, you shall hear,” said Mark. “ I know it will mean the end of everything, but you’re going to hear it. It’s because 1 love you, Jill." (To be continued.)

A meek little man whoso wife had recently died was walking along with a friend, when a builder accidentally let fall a brick on his head. “Gosh!” said the widower. “ Sarah must have got to heaven after all!” Waiter (yelling down the kitchen tube) : “ Hey, Alphonse, make that chop a steak.” Alphonse; “ Sacre! Vat you t’irik I’m a chef; not a magician!”