Chapter VIII: Advent

Gregory Daniel Brendon was born on the first day of October, and work nearly stood still at Ruddyford until the doctor had driven off and the great event belonged to past time. Nothing could have been more splendidly successful than his arrival, or himself. There was only one opinion concerning him, and when in due course the child came to be baptized, he enjoyed a wide and generous measure of admiration.

Hephzibah, who was nothing if not superlative, attended the christening, and, after that ceremony, proclaimed her opinion of the infant. Sarah Jane, whose habit of mind led her to admire Mrs. Weekes, had asked Philip's wife to be godmother, and such a very unusual compliment awakened a great fire of enthusiasm in the sharp-tongued woman's heart.

After a Sunday ceremony, according to the rite of the Luke Gospellers, all walked on foot back to Ruddyford, and Mrs. Weekes, with Sarah Jane upon one side of her and Susan, carrying the baby, on the other, improved the hour.

"Only yesterday, to market, Mrs. Swain said 'My dear Hephzibah'--so she always calls me--'why, you'm not yourself--you'm all a-dreaming! I ax for a brace of fowls,' she says, 'and, merciful goodness,' she says, 'you hand me a pat of butter!' 'Twas true. My mind ran so upon this here child, as we've marked wi' the Sign to-day. I tell you, Sarah Jane, that, cautious as I am in my use of words, I can't speak too well of him. He's a regular right down masterpiece of a child. Look at his little round barrel, if you don't believe me. An' a hand as will grasp hold that tight! An' a clever child, I warn 'e. Did 'e mark the eyes of un when he seed parson's gold watch-chain? He knowed! 'Twas his first sight of gold--yet up his fingers went to i' an' he pulled a very sour face when he had to let go. There's wisdom there--mark me. And hair like a good angel's. True 'tis only the first crop an' he'll moult it; but you can always take a line through the first what the lasting hair will be. Curly, I warrant, an' something darker than yours, but brighter than his father's."

"He've got his father's eyes to a miracle," said Sarah Jane.

"He'm listening to every word you be saying!" declared Susan.

"A precious, darling, li'l, plump, sweet, tibby lamb!" cried Mrs. Weekes in an ecstasy. "Hold off his blanket, Susie. Yes, if he ban't taking it all in. A wonder and a delight, you mark me, mother. You've done very clever indeed, and never have I seen such a perfect perfection of a baby, since my own son Jarratt was born. Just such another he was--a thought more stuggy in the limbs, perhaps, as was natural with such round parents; but noways different else. Would fasten on a bit of bright metal like a dog on a bone."

"My little one's got lovelier eyes, if I may say so--lovelier eyes than Jarratt's," said Sarah Jane.

"'Tis a matter of opinion. Some likes blue, some brown, some grey. Eyes be same as hosses: you can't have good ones a bad colour. Taking it all round, grey eyes see more than brown ones, and little eyes more than big ones. But long sight or short, us can all see our way to glory. This here infant's marked for goodness. Mind you let him use my spoon so soon as ever he can. 'Tis real silver, Sarah Jane, as the lion on the handle will tell 'e, if you understand such things."

"I knowed that well enough the moment I saw it, and so did Tabitha. 'Tis a very beautiful spoon indeed. He's had it in his mouth a'ready, for that matter."

"Trust him!--a wonder as he is! There ban't nothing he won't know the use for very soon. That child will be talking sense in twelve months! I know it! I'm never wrong in such matters. A lusty tyrant for 'e; an' a great drinker, I warrant!"

"A grand thirsty boy for sartain," admitted the mother. "An' my bosom's always brimming for his dear, li'l, red lips, thank God!"

Mrs. Weekes nodded appreciatively.

"You've got to think of his dairy for the present. Who be looking after Ruddyford's?"

"Why, I be," said Sarah Jane. "I was only away from work five weeks."

"When do Mr. Woodrow come back?"

"Afore Christmas, 'tis said; and that reminds me: Mr. Prout wants a tell with your son. There's something in the wind, though what it is I can't say."

"I'll carry the message. I see Prout chattering to Weekes behind us now; but 'twill be better he gives me any message that's got money to it. When Philip Weekes says he'll bear a thing in mind, 'tis a still-birth every time, for nothing's ever delivered alive from his addled brain. That poor man! But 'tis Sunday and a day of grace. However, I'll speak to Prout. Susan--what--here, give me over the child this instant moment. You hold un as if he was a doll, instead of an immortal Christian spirit, to be an angel come his turn. An' that's more'n ever you can hope to be, you tousled, good-for-nought!"

Joe Tapson and Walter Agg joined the women.

"These be the two men gossips," said Sarah Jane. "I wanted for Mr. Prout to be one, but Daniel mistrusted his opinions. Dan's very particular indeed about religion, you must know."

"Quite right too," said Mrs. Weekes. "And I hope as you men will keep that in mind and never say a crooked word or do a crooked thing afore this infant hero. He's a better built boy than either of you ever was, without a doubt, and you can see--by the make of his head-bones--that he'll be a master one day and raised up above common men--just like my own son be. But never you dare to lead him astray, or I'll know the reason why. I'm his god-mother, and I don't take on a job of this sort without being wide awake. An' if there's any faults show in him presently, I'll have a crow to pluck with you men very quick."

"What about his father, ma'am?" asked Agg.

"I'll say the same to him as I say to you," she replied. "I'll stand no nonsense from his father. The child's worth ten of his father a'ready. Lord! the noble weight of him! Here, take hold of him, Sarah Jane, for the love of heaven. He's pulling my arms out of the arm-holes!"

At the rear of the party walked together the father and grandfather of the baby.

Daniel had talked about his child until he felt somewhat weary of the subject. But nothing could tire Gregory Friend. Already he planned the infant's first visit to the peat-works, and every time that his son-in-law changed the subject, he returned to it.

Daniel laughed.

"Well, you'll have two things to talk about now," he said. "Afore 'twas only peat--now 'twill be peat an' the baby."

"Yes," answered Gregory, "you'm quite right there, Daniel. I'll larn him all I know, and I dare say, if he's spared, he'll find out more than I know. But my secrets that child shall have in course of time--if he proves worthy of 'em."

John Prout and Philip Weekes walked together and discussed another subject.

"He's coming home presently," said the head man of Ruddyford, "but the doctors reckon he'll be wise to stop off the high ground and winter in the valleys. His idea be to put up at Lydford for the winter, and he's divided between taking a couple of rooms at the Castle Inn, with Noah Pearn, or renting a house if he can get one. He'd rather have the house for peace and quietness. But 'tisn't often a house worth calling one be in the market to Lydford. Now I'm thinking of your son's place--what he bought back-along from widow Routleigh before she died."

"Might suit Jar very well, I should think," said the other. "'Tis true he's going to be married to the schoolmaster's daughter; but they'm not in any hurry. In fact, there's more business than pleasure to the match, I fancy, though I wouldn't dare to say so. Anyway, the cottage is empty now. 'Twould want doing up. 'Tis the very house for a tender man--sheltered from north and east and west, wi' a face that catches every glimmer of sun that shines."

"I'll name it to master in writing. I'm sadly troubled about it all. I suppose you don't know what your son would ax?"

"Can't tell you that. The more Mr. Woodrow wants it, the higher Jarratt will rise. That's business, of course. I'm not saying nothing in praise of such a way of doing things, but merely telling you what will happen."

"Of course master may prefer Bridgetstowe or Mary Tavy. Your son mustn't think there's no competition."

"I'll name it to him," said Mr. Weekes. "By rights I ought to get a little bit of a commission if it goes through; but nobody won't think of that."

They talked further, and Prout deplored the fact that Hilary Woodrow's condition had called for a visit to the doctor. It was thought he had been exceedingly well and happy among his friends and relatives in Kent. Then came the frosty news of indifferent health. Philip shared John's regret, and they still discussed the matter when Ruddyford was reached.

Tabitha had prepared a handsome tea which all attended, and Gregory Daniel sat on his grandfather's knee and watched the eating of the christening cake. A handsome silver mug quite threw Hephzibah's spoon into the shade. The gift commanded very general admiration, and Mrs. Weekes, when appealed to, declared that it could not have cost a penny less than five pounds. It came from Hilary Woodrow.

"I'm hoping he'll lift Dan up a bit after he comes back," Sarah Jane said privately to Mrs. Weekes, as the tea progressed. "My man's worked like a pair of hosses since master went away; and everybody knows it."

"Why for do he stop if he'm not satisfied with his wages?" asked Hephzibah. "Such a mighty man he is. Why, if there was an inch or two more of him, he might a'most have got his living in a doom-show, an' never done a stroke more work. I seed a giant at Plymouth fair two or three years back--a poor reed of a man, up seven foot high, wi' death written in the great, sorrowful white face of him. But Dan's so strong as he be large."

"He wouldn't fling up Ruddyford for anything. He gets very good money, you know, though not so good as he could wish. Then there's father up to the peat-works. I promised, and Dan promised, not to go very far off from him."

Mrs. Weekes shook her head at Gregory Friend, though he did not appreciate the fact, for he was talking to Philip.

"A wilful and a silly soul, though your father," she said. "'Tis wasting the years of his life to stop up there--no better than a pelican in the wilderness. He ought to be made to drop it."

"I wish you could make him," said Sarah Jane. "Already he's planning to teach the baby all about peat."

"'Peat'!" cried Hephzibah scornfully. "I hope no godchild of mine will sink to peat. Let me make a market-man of him, and take him afore the nation, and teach him the value of money, and the knack to get it, and the way to stick to it!"

"'Tis very good of you, I'm sure," declared the mother. "I hope he'll be much drawed to you, come he grows."

"He's drawed to me already," asserted Mrs. Weekes. "We understand each other mighty well."

Going home with her husband, Hephzibah heard the news concerning Hilary Woodrow and his proposed winter lodgment. She was much excited, and even Mr. Weekes won a word of praise. But he deserved it, and, in justice, his wife dispensed the same.

When first he told her, she stood still and rated him.

"You post--you stock of a man!--couldn't you see that the first thing was Woodrow's address? Now others will get to hear tell of this, and then Thorpe will be offering his dog-kennel of a house at Little Lydford, or them Barkells at Bridgetstowe will try to get him for that tumble-down hovel by the church. Why didn't Prout tell me instead of you? If you were a man instead of a mommet,[1] you'd turn back this minute and not rest till you'd got farmer's address for Jarratt. 'Tis taking bread out of your son's mouth if you don't--mark me."

[1] _Mommet_, Scarecrow.

"I'll run back an' get it, if you like," said Susan, who walked beside her aunt.

"As a matter of fact, the address is took down in my pocket-book," explained Mr. Weekes with calm triumph. "An' more than that: I've got John Prout's faithful promise not to tell nobody else the address till we've had two days' start. That may be the work of a post or a mommet, or it may not. For my part, I'm pleased with myself."

"Then why ever didn't you say so?" asked Mrs. Weekes. "'Twas a very proper, smart thing to do, Philip--and a very hopeful thing in you. I always say, and always shall say, that so far as Almighty God's concerned, He've done His part in you. You've got a handsome share of intellects--in fact, more than your share, if you wouldn't be so rash and reckless."

"So I say my self," answered the huckster; "and another thing: I ought to have a bit of commission from Jarratt, if this goes through. A lot of these little bits of business I do for him, off and on, but I never get a half-crown from the man."

"If it goes through, us ought to be thought upon, certainly," admitted his wife; "but what with his marriage next year, and that bad debt to Sourton, and one thing and another, Jar won't be flinging his money about over-free just now."