inmates. There being no knocker, she knocked by means of a short stick which was laid against the post for that purpose; but nobody attending, she entered the passage, and tried an inner door.
A slight noise was heard inside, the door opened about an inch, and a strip of decayed face, including the eye and some forehead wrinkles, appeared within the crevice.
‘Please I have come for the paper,’ said Anne.
‘O, is it you, dear Anne?’ whined the inmate, opening the door a little further. ‘I could hardly get to the door to open it, I am so weak.’
The speaker was a wizened old gentleman, in a coat the colour of his farmyard, breeches of the same hue, unbuttoned at the knees, revealing a bit of leg above his stocking and a dazzlingly white shirt-frill to compensate for this untidiness below. The edge of his skull round his eye-sockets was visible through the skin, and he had a mouth whose corners made towards the back of his head on the slightest provocation. He walked with great apparent difficulty back into the room, Anne following him.
‘Well, you can have the paper if you want it; but you never give me much time to see what’s in en! Here’s the paper.’ He held it out, but before she could take it he drew it back again, saying, ‘I have not had my share o’ the paper by a good deal, what with my weak sight, and people coming so soon for en. I am a poor put-upon soul; but my “Duty of Man” will be left to me when the newspaper is gone.’ And he sank into his chair with an air of exhaustion.
Anne said that she did not wish to take the paper if he had not done with it, and that she was really later in the week than usual, owing to the soldiers.
‘Soldiers, yes—rot the soldiers! And now hedges will be broke, and hens’ nests robbed, and sucking-pigs stole, and I don’t know what all. Who’s to pay for’t, sure? I reckon that because the soldiers be come you don’t mean to be kind enough to read to me what I hadn’t time to read myself.’
She would read if he wished, she said; she was in no hurry. And sitting herself down she unfolded the paper.
‘“Dinner at Carlton House”?’
‘No, faith. ’Tis nothing to I.’
‘“Defence of the country”?’
‘Ye may read that if ye will. I hope there will be no billeting in this parish, or any wild work of that sort; for what would a poor old lamiger like myself do with soldiers in his house, and nothing to feed ’em with?’
Anne began reading, and continued at her task nearly ten minutes, when she was interrupted by the appearance in the quadrangular slough without of a large figure in the uniform of the yeomanry cavalry.
‘What do you see out there?’ said the farmer with a start, as she paused and slowly blushed.
‘A soldier—one of the yeomanry,’ said Anne, not quite at her ease.
‘Scrounch it all—’tis my nephew!’ exclaimed the old man, his face turning to a phosphoric pallor, and his body twitching with innumerable alarms as he formed upon his face a gasping smile of joy, with which to welcome the new-coming relative. ‘Read on, prithee, Miss Garland.’
Before she had read far the visitor straddled over the door-hurdle into the passage and entered the room.
‘Well, nunc, how do you feel?’ said the giant, shaking hands with the farmer in the manner of one violently ringing a hand-bell. ‘Glad to see you.’
‘Bad and weakish, Festus,’ replied the other, his person responding passively to the rapid vibrations imparted. ‘O, be tender, please—a little softer, there’s a dear nephew! My arm is no more than a cobweb.’
‘Ah, poor soul!’
‘Yes, I am not much more than a skeleton, and can’t bear rough usage.’
‘Sorry to hear that; but I’ll bear your affliction in mind. Why, you are all in a tremble, Uncle Benjy!’
‘’Tis because I am so gratified,’ said the old man. ‘I always get all in a tremble when I am taken by surprise by a beloved relation.’
‘Ah, that’s it!’ said the yeoman, bringing his hand down on the back of his uncle’s chair with a loud smack, at which Uncle Benjy nervously sprang three inches from his seat and dropped into it again. ‘Ask your pardon for frightening ye, uncle. ’Tis how we do in the army, and I forgot your nerves. You have scarcely expected to see me, I dare say, but here I am.’
‘I am glad to see ye. You are not going to stay long, perhaps?’
‘Quite the contrary. I am going to stay ever so long!’
‘O I see! I am so glad, dear Festus. Ever so long, did ye say?’
‘Yes, ever so long,’ said the young gentleman, sitting on the slope of the bureau and stretching out his legs as props. ‘I am going to make this quite my own home whenever I am off duty, as long as we stay out. And after that, when the campaign is over in the autumn, I shall come here, and live with you like your own son, and help manage your land and your farm, you know, and make you a comfortable old man.’
‘Ah! How you do please me!’ said the farmer, with a horrified smile, and grasping the arms of his chair to sustain himself.
‘Yes; I have been meaning to come a long time, as I knew you’d like to have me, Uncle Benjy; and ’tisn’t in my heart to refuse you.’
‘You always was kind that way!’
‘Yes; I always was. But I ought to tell you at once, not to disappoint you, that I shan’t be here always—all day, that is, because of my military duties as a cavalry man.’
‘O, not always? That’s a pity!’ exclaimed the farmer with a cheerful eye.
‘I knew you’d say so. And I shan’t be able to sleep here at night sometimes, for the same reason.’
‘Not sleep here o’ nights?’ said the old gentleman, still more relieved. ‘You ought to sleep here—you certainly ought; in short, you must. But you can’t!’
‘Not while we are with the colours. But directly that’s over—the very next day—I’ll stay here all day, and all night too, to oblige you, since you ask me so very kindly.’
‘Th-thank ye, that will be very nice!’ said Uncle Benjy.
‘Yes, I knew ’twould relieve ye.’ And he kindly stroked his uncle’s head, the old man expressing his enjoyment at the affectionate token by a death’s-head grimace. ‘I should have called to see you the other night when I passed through here,’ Festus continued; ‘but it was so late that I couldn’t come so far out of my way. You won’t think it unkind?’
‘Not at all, if you couldn’t. I never shall think it unkind if you really can’t come, you know, Festy.’ There was a few minutes’ pause, and as the nephew said nothing Uncle Benjy went on: ‘I wish I had a little present for ye. But as ill-luck would have it we have lost a deal of stock this year, and I have had to pay away so much.’
‘Poor old man—I know
