TRIXY’S MAN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XX, Issue V, 29 January 1898, Page 128

TRIXY’S MAN.

By NORA HOPPER. "Trix Martin's come to market this morn. ... Is thy man cured, then ? Hey, Trix lass, what d'ye lack, what d’ye lack ? I’ve got apples 'ud do your heart good only to look at. soas. Will 'ee buy some, dear ? They're nigh as rosy as thy cheeks.’ Trixy Martin stood still in the midst of Polperro Market, with a smile on her strong-featured face. She was a tall, comely creature, with eyes as black as sloes and as deep as wells—so her lovers had said in the days when she had been Trixy Weaver. She gave back the greetings right and left, swinging her empty market-basket as she spoke.

’How does thy man. Trix ? Is the cough better to him '?’ 'Ay, it’s lighter.’ Trix said, as she picked over a basket of apples ; ‘but it's terrible thin he gets —and the eyes of him like lamps. I’m about making him some apple-butter, Mrs Noy : he's fond of apple-butter, is my man.'

‘Trix thinks the sun sets an' rises for her man." tittered a girl in the background. ‘A fine worker like her! Robin Martin was lucky to get her to wed him. and he a love-child, too. and a spindling, dwindling lad at that,’

’Don't 'ee let Trixy hear 'ee. Matty, or her 'll put the mark of her ten fingers in thy face.’ counselled her mother. ‘Hey. Trixy. who's looking to thy man while thou'rt away ?’ 'Elsie Black."

'She's a skilly wench enough, though she be so young. Who's yon maid running and calling '? Why. Trixy.’ cried Mrs Noy. 'there's Elsie Black running down the hill like a mad wench ! Ixiok 'ee Trix ! Why, Elsie, soas. is f house afire ?’ 'Come away home. Trixy. woman.' shrilled the child Elsie ; ‘thy man's dead !’

Trixy's heart and her feet stood still together : then she threw down her market-basket, and the brown apples and red radishes rolled all ways at once.

'Thou mayst ha" my marketing. Elsie.' she said in a odd, high, strained voice. 'l'll go to market no more if my man's dead. I'll go home to my man.' turning abruptly away from the pitying faces. 'l'll go home." she said again. 'Elsie'—putting out her hand gropingly—‘wilt come home wi’ me ? I—l've forgot t' road.'

'Let me come.' one of the marketwomen said eagerly : 'l'll see thee through ‘t. Trix. and willing.’

'Ay. you may come. Dolly : my man liked you.' Ami the two women went in haste and in silence on their way. Arrived at the door. Trix put her arm across it. and turned to th<» other woman.

'Thank ye kindly. Doll, but—go back thine ain gait.' she said harshly: 'l'll streak my man myself.' 'Wench, thou'lt break thy heart.' said Dolly Trenoweth pitifully. ‘Thou needn' be jealous now.’ Trixy laughed breathlessly. 'No.' she said. ‘I needn'. so you may e'en come in, Doll.' She opened the door with a jerk, went into the living-room, and flung open the window. When that was done, she turned to the figure on the couch. and stared down at it with loving, miserable eyes. ‘So thou wouldn’ wait,' she said softly. And where was the hurry. Robin '? I could have helped thee, my dear, if thon'd waited for Trix.' ’Thy man died easy,' Dolly ventured to say. peeping over Trix's shoulder at the quiet, upturned face. ‘Lookee. woman dear, ’tis like sleeping he looks—and his eyes half-open." 'He always slept that way.' Trix said, drawing a hard breath. ‘Stand back. you. while I lift him to the bed —no. I'll do it ray lone. Dolly, and thank you kindly all the same.' She lifted the light figure in her arms and held it to her breast a minute or two ; then, with another deep breath, laid it gently down upon the bed. •You'll never be tired no more. Robin, my dear.' she said softly. ‘lss. and I'm main glad to think that. Now. Dolly, you'll leave him and me our lone, there's a dear soul, and you may come back in an hour and make me a cup o' tay. I’ll be glad o’ it then, but I couldn’t drink a sup now. No, I'll not be lonely and I’ll not be feared—l've got my man with me.’ And there was a flickering smile on her lips as Dolly Trenoweth ceased her protests and went meekly out at the open door.

In an hour she came back, and found Trixy ready for her. She had changed her cotton gown for a black dress, and out of a strip of rusty crape she had contrived a makeshift widow’s cap. Robin lay, made ready for his last sleep, on their bed, not with hands folded in the orthodox fashion, but palms upturned and filled with the reddest sweetwilliams Trixy could find in her borders. Flowers were over all the bed. and over Robin's body — flowers of the vividest colour. Black-hearted poppies blazed on Robin's breast, and over his feet was a heap of fiery marigolds. Beside his head, on the pillow where Trixy's head had lain, were spikes of yellow gorse and stalkless crimson heads of sops-in-wine.

‘Not a white flower anywhere '?* cried Dolly Trenoweth. scandalised. "Tisn' titty. Trix : you'd ought to lay lilies and roses and suchlike round vour man.’

'Lilies and roses '? Them weren't like my man and me.’ Trixy said gently. 'You d'n understand, Dolly; we’m different.’ 'Yes. you be.’

To-morrow Robin Martin was to be buried, and Trixy had sent away all her would-be helpers, and was making the clean house cleaner than ever. On the white floor she sprinkled crushed shells till it glittered as if sprinkled with diamond-dust, and to the flowers withering round Robin she added many more until the air was heavy with their perfume. Then she changed her black gown for a clean print one. and she unpinned all her mass of red-brown hair, and cut off one thick lock. This she laid upon the carnations on her husband's breast. ''Twill keep you company, dear.' she said, ‘till I come back.’ She set out the table in the kitchen with plates and mugs, and brought in a small barrel of cider, then stood looking at her preparations and considering. ‘They'll sure be main and thirsty when they brings me back.’ she muttered ; but there's nought else 1 need get- ready. Dolly, she knows where to get the bread and salt, and I've shown her the press where I keeps t’ linen. I think I've forgot nought : I’ve slacked the fire, and fed owd puss and her kittens out in t" shell : and now I may get forward wi' my work.’ She wound her loose hair in a great coil, and stowed it away under a sun-bonnet, whose strings she tied in a knot under her chin. 'I d'n want to look like some trollop when they brings me home to my man,’ she said, as she drew the door to gently after her. with never a glance at dead Robin, and ran out into the windy dark down towards the shore. The wind was against her all the way. and seemed as though it desired to hold her back : but Trixy's will was strong, and soon she had crossed the crescent of beach and ran down the wet and slippery rocks to the place she had in her mind—a dark and quiet spot in a nook of the cliffs. The water was out now. and the sand was dry. but here there was heaped coil u [Min coil of dark-green weed, stranded here by weeks of storm. Trixy felt her way out into the yielding mass, and at the outmost edge of it 'ay down. and. lifting coil after

coil of it. drew it over her like a quilt till she was covered to the waist. '1 ere.’ she said, shivering a little as tne wet mass weighed upon her thinly-clad body, ‘I might ha' drownded easier, but the undertow’d ha' dragged me out to sea. Now, I’ll just lie here and drown decently when tide turneth, and they’ll find me here in the morn and bury me with my man.’ The tide came sluggishly in—it had never been so slow before—and Trixy began to talk to herself softly again. 'I could ha’ done it in the house ; there was t* knife and all, but I hadn’t the heart. Tis all so clean, and my dear lyin’ there so quiet ; and he never liked ugly sights, did my man. Robin . . . ’ It was the first wave lapping coldly on her outflung hand, but it put her in mind of Robin's cold and clinging fingers, and the love and hunger grew sharper in Trixy’s breast. 'Y'ou were gentleman born, my dear.' she whispered. ‘lss fay. you were, and you'd ha' married a lady if so be your mother'd had her rights ; but 'tisn't every lady as 'd lie in a cold bed like this, so's to be buried with her man. Robin, do you hear ? Robin, Robin

. . . ’ A wave buffeted her on the mouth, and choked the tender words on her lips : another and yet another, and still the gasping voice called •Robin.’ . . . Then a light through the darkness, that was only the light of a fishing - smack, but to Trixy's dying eyes it meant 'Robin's coming!' and her soul leapt to her lips to meet him. . . . Thev buried Trixv and

her man together.—'London Sketch.’