THE MOTHER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13502, 29 July 1907, Page 3

THE MOTHER.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

; BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS, " : Author of " The Secret Woman," . '.' Lying Prophets," etc., etc. r

:, [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ] [COPYRIGHT.] / ■ SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS./, > CHAPTER I.—ld a Devon lane' two mothers, -Rachel Bolt and Avisa'Pomeroy. discuss the engagement 1 of the eon of- the former to; a village girl."- Jill Wickett. Rachel, • who is much the older of the two, asserts her pleasure at the arrangement, saying her son , '-Sam had chosen wisely, and reminding her companion that her (Avisa's) son had also hoped to win Jill, but had been fairly beaten. On Mrs. Pomeroy's arrival at Vixen Tor ■'/farm, her .home, she finds her daughter Lizzie, her mother-in-law, and her son, quarrelling over the jiews of the engagement. and Ives (the son) reproaches his "• mother for setting .ill against liim, and ■ "leaves the house in a passion. . — CHAPTER ll.— climbs tho steep ascent of 'the Vixen Tor, and reflects upon his, misery. Details of the ancestry of the Pome-' roy family-are.given, and mention is made of tho present household," and the rather lazy habits of Ives.' who manages tho farm for his .mother with the help of two labourers, Emanuel Codtl, an old man. and tho younger Rupert Johnson. Ives does not get on well with tho former, trouble having arisen only a short time back. Ives eventually retraces his steps to his home, and retires for the night. CHAPTER 111. " moleskin" on* WOMAN'. After Walla lias fallen from her fountains near the cradle of her greater sister, Tavy, in midmost Moor, she winds south-west and passes downward under Mis Tor into the wooded glens beneath the Vixen. But, be- " fore she leaves : the waste, a bridge of grey ; stone spans her growing stream, and road and river meet at right angles. - Down the great ' slope eastward this highway falls, then upward "climbs again under'the triple crown of the Staple Tors; and just beyond the bridge, extended straggling by the path, like a row of tired folk tramping home after a revel, shall be seen the few cottages of Merivale. Northward, separated from the village by moorland, and its own surrounding fields, the farm of " Stone Park" stands naked, treeless, and solitary southward, where Walla flows, from the upland austerities into a gentler domain of forest and arable land, there extend regions of cultivation With their dwellings in the midst. ' All round about upon this day the stone monarehs of the land thrust sombre heads : upward' into a stormy sky. ■■ Beyond -Great Mis Tor 'something of the central desolation might be seen swept with , fogbanks; and the river, in spate from heavy rain, cried aloud through the valley. Low, grey and black, with whitewashed faces and tar-pitched roofs, Merrivale - stood and faced the south. No special feature. marked this uneven row of habitations threaded up the hill, save where, in the midst, from a square building of two ■ storeys, a signboard . hung and swung : backwards and forwards at the thrust of the wind. Newly painted upon, it appeart ed a red-faced trio of gentlemen in scarlet? coats and shiny , black hats. They smiled at the world with an air of invincible good nature and high spirits; but they were ■ hopelessly out of drawing and the crude colour of their coats stared like a i wound against the 'far-Hung, silver-grey ' sobriety-of the time and place. Above them shone a legend in gold : " The Jolly Huntsmen beneath them, in black letters, it. was proclaimed'that tHe' brothers ; Toop were licensed to sell tobacco, snuff, ■ and spirits. The inn bar, at this moment in mid- ; afternoon, "presented no feature of inter-, : est, save a young woman who stood behind it. rinsing glasses. Three tourists had just departed, and for a few minutes Ruth Rendle remained alone. Very little of the professional barmaid appeared in her. Indeed,' she was new to the work, and had lived with her cousins, the pro-' prietors of the inn, no more than six months. Chance suddenly threw Ruth pennilesson the world ; and chance ordained that the,,brothers- Toop should lose their barmaid by ' marriage? at the same moment. ' Therefore they offered their kinswomana : home in exchange for service. . She ac- \ cepted gladly, came, from East Devon to the .Moor, did the new- work as well as she eoidd,a'rid soon - ma.de more friends /than / she "/desired." "=>; ' . */■ • -.She was a slim dark-faced girl of twenty- ■ /one,//with/black" hair and rather heavy - .brows//--.. The {expression -of her face was, -however//• lightened by' her manner of drawing' the hair from it abruptly. She wore ' 110 fringe, but curled her locks in one great coil at the back of her head. Her forehead was rather high, and critical maidens held . that Ruth spoilt' herself by this display of it; but she was not vain, albeit as Mr. Peter Toop always said, ; there was no need for her to show that i she ; had: brains by revealing " her brow;j because one need only to. speak to her and the brains would appear. His brother, Joel Toop,- agreed with him. Ruth was not much of a talker, but she listened well, and y by that accomplish- ' ment, . atoned for the , lack of ready and sparkling repartee deemed desirable in her. present occupation. Men liked to talk to her. • A ma n came in and began talking to her now;. He was tall, thin, and wiry. He wore riding-breeches, and slapped his leg with a hunting crop while lie addressed "the listener. A hatchet-shaped • and rather handsome face ,belonged . to him,. but his. blue eyes/shone cold, his straw-coloured beard and moustache were rough and illcared for. ■;■' Matthew Nortlnnore'.s voice was pleasant , and his intonation ; clean, strong,- and little marked by any trace of .the/.vernacular speech. He had not come to drink. Indeed, he was an abstainer from alcohol, and the brothers Toop occasionally considered the question and wondered whether a hint might be dropped' upon the subject. • • "A 1 delicate-minded man would do something, if 'twas only lemonade," declined Joel, and Peter concurred. , The brothers v.ere not-, however., blind to North more \s attention. Indeed, personal 'interest quickened their. observation where Ruth was concerned, and they, as well as other people, including the girl herself, ' knew very well what drew an unsociable and lonely spirit so often to j the bar of the " Jolly- Huntsmen.'' Never until the arrival .of Miss Rendle had the master of Stone Park thrust, himself into company.. He lived aloof, farm-; ed his hungry acres, grazed his herds, and found pleasure' in fox-hunting. He was thirty-eight, years old, reserved and shy. Now a tiling common enough to the lonely soul not yet turned forty, had befallen him. Women figured but little in his life, and lie had never loved one until the voice and direct gaze, and subtle quality of Ruth combined to waken his heart and save if from sexual atrophy. He was in love, and the passion, feeding on virgin material, swelled swiftly to a fierce fire. A man extremely sensitive until now, the' new emotion made him face his fellows with a. blunt indifference that amazed himself, He. knew that ' they laughed and talked about him'behind his back; and such a .thought in any other relation would have' made him shrink, shudder, call on the hills to cover, him; but since Ruth..Kendie was the matter, he scoffed , at secret criticism, pushed to her side fearlessly before all eyes, and despite many '.n open wink and whisper, fought with all his. immense vigour and despite his immense inexperience, to win her. '' 'Tis very good of you, I'm sure," declared .Ruth. As she spoke, she stroked the breasts of two snipe that Matthew had brought Iter. "Don't let those old men cat them," he said. "I know how greedy fond they, are of " game. But these are for you." , She nodded. .'1 ■ ' " I'll remember." • • i //,"■ Hounds meet at the Windvstone on\ Friday fortnight-. Is there a chance of you running out for an hour?" ....,'■ ' "Not a chance. We shall be very busy before the meet, and maybe again after. ■■You be going limiting?"' " Yes, I suppose so. 'Tis my only pleasure. .At least it was—till —" \ :<She kept silence and caressed the (lead 'birds. , Then ■; she.-' spoke, since he added.

•■■"- . '■ ■-.- :■' . ■'- ', '•' •'•.' - ''■-' -'•-'■" nothing to his broken sentence, but onhj looked down at her hand. ;;'' Do you ever read: books of an even ing?" i , .■ "'Now and again. But not often—noi ;|| much of a, 'scholar, I'm afraid." g "More am I; yet I'm very fond o] |, books." ' He scented a 'possibility. •■ " What, sort of books V .".'''.....- f: ''You'll laugh. I like rhymes." ' • S _ "Do you now ! Whoever -would -have "thought it? I believe I've gotten a fal '"; old volume of verses somewhere. ' 'Twas '. my sister's. She left it behind her wher '•'< she went to be married; and seeing "thai 3 now' she've got "a house full of little stick} «.: children and a husband 'with a cruel tern *, per, 'tis odds she won't want it again." [•} "You might lend it to me,"Mr. North r, ; more." •_ ■ ,' : >.; "I will. Mies Rendle, and glad to. - I'l ;i bring it up to-night." "Next time you're coming will be quite .J soon enough." . '";. ' Next time I'm coming* be to-night;'' I:, he - said.- Then lie .paused, then die tried clumsily to get; conversation on to more '■ personal topics. . . ■• .' "I—l do wish, if I may make so hold s he began, and stopped. . •■■ '-"'■'■'" :•" '■ "Yes?" . ' _ '■ "■v''.' ; .'.:; : - \ \' : . ■"I —I—" m [. /His desire was never uttered, for two men .. entered the bar and Ruth turned to them. ' One had passed middle age, but his eyes . were still "young and bright-. \ -Laughter made a home therein, yet heavy brows overhung, them and the "left eyelid half-hid the :. iris. William Cawker had used, his sight .J- -through the hours of darkness for. so many years,. that an eternal frown Wrinkled the ;■,- 'brows,:.'and this physical accident belied a geniality that beamed from the rest of -his face. He was tin unprincipled., kind-hearted man. He declared openly that he had walk- ' ed .the broad road for so -many years that the narrow one had ceased to be possible .; for him. .His master-passion was sport, •■ and- it took the form of poaching. Indeed, he considered this the highest branch of sport; since it held a salt lacking from any form of legitimate/slaughter. He belonged to -'the old order of predatory rascals, and had learned his business from a father whose -, leg had oeen broken in a man-trap. - Nobody ever called this grey-whiskered and humorous person-Cawker.'. He was known as "Moleskin" ; within his .radius; and a mangy; waistcoat of that materia' which seemed part of him accounted fdr the nickname. For the rest he went habitually in the colours of earth, and his great pockets were stained with blood of bird, beast-, .and fish. None could remember him in a black .coat.. It was known that Moleskin had .- been to prison in his earlier days, and all men believed that he had earned similar ~ chastisement on many a subsequent occasion; but with age lie had perfected 'his craft, and gamekeepers: and ."water-bailiffs cursed in vain. He enjoyed his life—-a con- ■■: dition not shared by the bedridden wife and :■'... careworn daughter who completed his household. They lived two miles from Merivale, in a cottage of four rooms; and the women found themselves anxious and miserable above the common lot, for their man's days and nights were one long battle with order, honesty; and law. So far he ,had conquered: but he grew older, and Mrs. Cawker, with a large experience in poachers and ■' their inevitable end,--"wished that the climax ■ would- come "and her suspense terminate. V -- Moleskin went his '; way with, unfailing cheerfulness of spirit. : He made a good deal J ofmoney, but was always.in: debt to those : who would trust him. Here and there certain people permitted him to pay in kind, and the brothers Too p, albeit they mourned his unrighteous ways, would, usually: let a brace of-snipe or an occasional salmon rub off a part of his formidable: score in (lie taproom. Others did the like. Everybody : deplored the. presence of this "malefactor, yet everybody felt that, for once, he probably tola the truth when he declared him- ■ self beyond hope of regeneration. Mean's time most people enjoyed Moleskin's company, and found themselves the .merrier., if . not the better for.it." ;.■■/_ '.., . " . . With the poacher came Ives .Poineroy; and it was significant of their steady, patronage that Ruth, without asking either, : poured out the liquor each' desired. - Rum was Moleskin's .invariable ; stimulant; he never partook of anything else. . As for the ■ youth, he drank beer. -J „ "Put your money back," said Mr. Cawker. "I'm standing to-day, and the money's : got feathers on it." , He set down -a double-barrelled breechlouder, thrust his-hand into aroomy pocket ' and produced a- brace "of.golden plover.' The blood was still bright upon them. ' They ; -had just flown from afar to win this cruel ■: welcome. ■ ■ ■-.■■■■ ' Matthew Northmore was interested. ... " You got some, then?" he asked.. ""• I saw a flight after dawn this morning,, wheeling aloft. Then they faded away, flyingvhigh,; and 1, judged they was bound, for .the; north." You judged wrong," said Moleskin. "I seed 'em too, and guessed they -meant to stop in the bogs down Wider White Tor. And I guessed right——according to my custom'in the matter of such things. I'll take a wing feather or two for pefel flies, miss. And,-mind you tell Peter 'loop that the : 'birds'■ be worth two shillings apiece a halfpenny less." "You old liar said Northmore. "Two shilling a pair to Plymouth market anv : day." ' . ' " "?■-." No, no, farmer. A liar:! may.bo in and outas we all —more shame to •.us— even you. But not over a solemn matter like my debt to the Jolly Huntsmen. Four shillings :': should be took :■ off— or say three and- six. and allow for interest.'.' Ives talked. to Ruth Rendle. He had still: but one subject of conversation, though the matter of the engagement was now a fortnight old. ... He had wearied most ears with his wrongs, and been more egostistical than usual under his unutterable loss, y -"■As.good as tokened, mind you. She'd promised, if anything- short of,words can promise. The thing, was planned out to the very end." ; ;^';:'A:{/-:'/.:r/ ■/?;. , '"Then she flickered out in: a green dress. to church, I'm told,", said Moleskin. "Ha 7—ha—ha! Not so green as you was, ; when you heard poor Sammy Bolt had gived it to her out- of his savings. 'Well, well,. there's, as good fish an Walla as I've ever' catched there. Bau't there, miss - "You may be well out. of it," said Northmore. ":' But his tone ..showed no friendship for Ives.,: Indeed, lie held- the young man in some scorn. To bleat thus about a jilting made him contemptuous. '•;■'■; ";■ "Very likely—though .1 didn't know as you: pretended to understand the women,'' retorted Tves. "Perhaps . Miss Ruth here be putting you up to a tiling, or two?" j Matthew shrugged his shoulders,*avoided the girl's face, and himself asked a quesj tion. ! '■- " Who'are you to call her 'Miss .Ruth';' I I More civil if you said 'Miss Rendle,' I ! should think." . :/ , \ ■"..'■'■■. Ives laughed. ■■" I'll call her the Queen of -England if she likes. She understands me very: well. Don't yon -.teach.■■ me how to treat the girls. 1 know -'a . --— sight more about 'cm ■ than an old,bachelor like you do, anyway." ~;'. The farmer restrained an inclination .to answer with his horsewhip. He turned his back 011 Pomeroy, and spoke to Ruth. . "I'll bring you the book'-this ..evening/' he said. Then'he left the bar. , Moleskin winked over his tumbler at Ives. v "Had him there, my hold-boy. Couldn't answer that, because he knowed 'twas true. Rather, a tough bird to begin love-making, eh? Lord. 1 feel myself a young mail when I'look at his long-jawed, solemn features. Don't you lose your heart too quick, miss— —else you may be sorry when 'tis too late." : Ruth looked .-uncomfortable and -'.pained. She. picked up the birds and•• .departed through.a, door at,the back of the bar. Left, without- an eye upon him; Moleskin swiftly stole 'two boxes of matches, half a lemon, and-a little glass sugar-crusher. ' Then he turned to Ives and flattered him. .-.' . "You understand 'em, almost so well as I did in- my young days. Women be a -noble branch of laming, and they'm like reading, or writing, or figuresto some they come as easy as pat; others, do what they will, can't get no forwarder. I loved 'em from the time I was 14, and done very .well,in my quiet way. But there's some men he always 1 dunces that sandy, chap as have just gone out the bar. Near forty and don't know no'more than the dead how to set about 'em! Wasted , his youth, he did —now 'tis too late: for him to make any sort of figure among the.females." ■" Nobody's going to look at an ugly, hard- , voiced, hard-eyed.- fool like him," declared Ives. " Ban't that; there's no male living, that'can't find -a market somewhere, owing to the laws of supply: and. demand. But lie mustn't hope-high now. \ This here bower-

' Iv ; maidenshe won't never look at him if I understand anything about 'em. " She d • rather take mo if I was free! Or even you, glumpy and glowering and sulky as i von be." : " I see nothing in her for thai matter." "I see a lot. ; She's .the right sort—good ;; moss for some stone, she'll be.'■; You don t 1 often get silence without sense. ; One more little un, my dear."- , ! Ruth ; had come : back; and . lie addressed her; while Ives returned: to bis. own wrongs. - /' '.v.' -l. v ,•. v;_- ' . "To throw rne over because I told her , : the truth! .She shall live to repent it, -.' anyhow, that I will swear. And so shall he—though he's not worth, powder and shot. What would volt, do, Moleskin, if it had happened to you "I can tell you in a word," answered the poacher. " For that matter it did happen to me—more than once. A girl here and there threw me overl must confess it; and for that matter I throwed a few of them over too. "' So that was all fair and square, profit and loss. Then corned a very fine, fat, dear creature called Daisy Blee— one of «he Chagford Bices'— dead now but hei. A noble piece she was. and would be -my wife to-day, only for the changes and chances of life. I got misunderstood just about three months afore we was to be married, and the justices took a wrongful view, poor toads—along of reading the game laws without any understanding—and I was sent to Exeter. . I suppose they ■ thought I wanted a close time, like the birds and fish. And I got it, and had to ; rest from my labours all through one. win- '■ ter. And when I came out Daisy Btee i wouldn't . know me. . Besides, she was on with the. Chagford postman. A good wife she made the man, and I often go .in and talk over her girlhood when I'm down that way. No malice on either side. With all my faults, I can say this for myself: I never felt an unkind thought to anything that went in petticoats, and never shall.. Here'i to 'em all!" ' ; He beamed and blessed the sex; then lie took up his gun and patted his bulging pockets. "Three brace more here, as have got to go to Tavistock, so I'd best to be moving,' he said. At this moment, however, Pete;; Toop appeared. '"Stop, will 'e?" said Peter. "I see the first golden plover be come in. Us'll wet the day, -.unless you've, had enough." " And thank you, Peter/ sure," answered the poacher. "Good birds and fair-. ]y plump for after flight. And, as to having enough, that's a state • I never allow myself to reach, as you know." Mr. Toop was bald, but? he atoned for this lack by a flowing, and handsome beard. The colour of it was grizzled, and bis moustache had been stained to a brilliant yellow under his 'lose by a habit of taking snuff in large quantities. He was rather short, strong, and sturdy. His eyes were bright, his nose was made coarse with snuff and veined with purple. ' He wore gold-rinuned spectacles, and spoke with great deliberation. - "I be comforting this poor blighted lover here," explained Moleskin, and Mr. Toop showed interest. . . . "Ahl've heard about it. 'Tis a very trying tiling to be crossed in love, Pome-. S roy. I'm sorry for you with all, my, heart. .If it happened to me,: I should—l don't know. I should certainly never get over it..;' ■ ■ Peter turned his gold-rimmed glasses towards Ruth in a very significant manner, which she failed to observe. "You be like the caterpillar—haven't got 110 use for courting," said. Mr. Cawker; but Peter Toop would not allow this. " Plenty of timeplenty of time," he answered- " Wise men don't rush into it nowadays. They wait for the right partner to come along. You'll see me married yet—if only for ,my brother's sake." Moleskin winked at Ives. . " All the same, you mustn't let it go too long. I wouldn't be so rude as to hint at your age, Peter; but we'nynono of us .growing younger, and the juice dries up terrible quick in some men's bones-alter they ' puss 50." "A bald head's often a deception," declared Mr. Toop. "You'll frequently find it along with a young disposition." . He looked at Ruth impressively. . , j " Now % brother, Joel," continued the ■ 'innkeeper;" lie may look a ? bit ' younger than 'me,', is really years and years older—both in mind and body. ' I'm a regular light down >.oy compared to him. But my wife, when I take her, .will find me straight as a. line and faithful and highminded—all, that,l can promise any. woman." • _ ■ 'v. - "You'iii a. treasure for—somebody—such a lion of virtue as you be!" . ; . . "Virtue I have got," admitted Peter. " And a very tender way with the female sex. Always felt a remarkable modesty come over me afore -them. Couldn't look at' 'em without my eyes watering till I was getting 011 past twenty year old." • " -Twas my mouth watered, not my eyes," said the bold Moleskin. " My great habit of blushing up to the roots of my. hair made the hair go — a barber once told me," continued Peter. " But I feel a wonderful reverence for 'em. A iran like.you—.'gay and free and. deep as the dark in your knowledge of some sort ' of women, can't understand the high line I take." ■ •• ••/•'•V' Mr. .Cawker laughed. " You take a devilish high line, you do ! Such a high line that you've been able to get, 011 very comfortable without 'em, ever since you had no more use for your mothers bosom. A bachelor's an • insult to the whole female sex in my' opinion. Now me and Ives here be quite different. Gay or free or not, tliey'm our life's blood—at least they was. Of course now—the past is. past with me; still 1 think like young 1111. But to hear you Lord ! a female prude's a dashing, dangerous customer compared to a man like you!" "Not at all," said Mr. Toop. "I won't have that. A prude is the last thing lam —far from it." /. ; The poacher smiled at his imagination. "Listen to him. now.!. If that han't like all you good people—men and . women;" cried Mr. Cawker. "You ought to rejoicein the name of the prude; yet'when itcomes to the point, no matter how highly [ proper you be, you all grow angered at it as if 'twas impertinent to call you so nice and good and vartuous." " 1 know why, too," declared Ives. " Because, under their cant, they be men and women like everybody else. 'Tis only chaps who haven't got the pluck to dash at .the girls,, and only girls who don't get the chance to play a bit with the men, pretend all that silly drivel." Moleskin roared with laughter. * "Never heard truth better put-,"'lie "said. "This'* here vartue lie a habit of mind, like i church-going be a habit of hotly. But'if . you. tell 'em they be so pure and high- I minded, they take it for a left-hand compli- I ment and would much rather you thought they knowed a, bit, too, and had had their adventures with the best!" Mr. Toop shook his head. "Your opinions was always outrageous and always will be, lie said. , Then Moleskin departed, Peter disappeared, and Ives was left with Ruth Rendle. 'At last lie talked himself tired and invited her to speak. - . She' made a few timid and sympathetic remarks as to his disappointment; but they did not interest him and he went his way. After he had gone Ruth stood quite still for a while, then came to herself and smiled at her own thought. ' She - had heard little of his grievances, and while she looked into young Pomeroy's frowning face, had been wondering what was the colour of his eyes. (To be continued daily.)