So that, in spite of all attractions, and really serious business, and the important duty of awaiting the Captain’s return from Pomeroy Castle, and even in spite of Jerry Toms’ offer to take Polly off my hands—as if she would say a word to him!—and all the adjurations of poor Heaviside, who had defied his wife (all the time I was there to back him up), and now must have to pay out for it—what did I do but agree to doff my uniform, and work my passage on board the Majestic, a fore-and-aft-rigged limestone boat of forty-eight tons and a half? Of course she was bound on the usual business of stealing the good Colonel Lougher’s rocks, but I distinctly stipulated to have nothing to do with that.
My popularity now was such, with all ranks of society, also I found myself pledged for so many stories that same evening, that I imparted to none except Sir Philip, and Polly, and Jerry Toms, and Heaviside, and one or two more, the scheme of my sudden departure. My mind was on the point of changing when I beheld sweet Polly’s tears, until I felt that I must behave, at my time of life, as her father would; because she had no father.
When I brought the Majestic into shallow water off the Tuskar, every inch of which I knew, it was no small comfort to me that I could not see the shore. For years I had longed to see that shore, and dreamed of it perpetually, while tossing ten thousand miles away; and now I was glad to have it covered with the twilight fogginess. It suited me better to land at night, only because my landing would not be such as I was entitled to. And everyone knows how the Navy and Army drop in public estimation, when the wars seem to be done with. Therefore I expected little; and I give you my word that I got still less.
It may have been over eleven o’clock, but at any rate nothing to call very late, just at the crest of the summertime, when I gave three good strong raps at the door of my own cottage, knowing exactly where the knots were. I had not met a single soul to know me, or to speak my name, although the moon was a quarter old, and I found a broken spar, and bore it as I used to bear my fishing-pole.
No man who has not been long a-roving can understand all the fluttering ways of a man’s heart when he comes home again. How he looks at every one of all the old houses he knows so well; at first as if he feared it for having another piece built on, or grander people inside of it. And then upon finding this fear vain, he is almost ready to beg its pardon for not having looked at it such a long time. It is not in him to say a word to, or even about, the children coming out thus to stare at him. All the children he used to know are gone to day’s work long ago; and the new ones would scarcely trust him so as to suck a foreign lollipop. He knows them by their mothers; but he cannot use their names to them.
There is nothing solid dwelling for a poor man long away, except the big trees that lay hold upon the ground in earnest, and the tombstones keeping up his right to the parish churchyard. Along the wall of this I glanced, with joy to keep outside of it; while I struck, for the third time strongly, at not being let into mine own house.
At last a weak and faltering step sounded in my little room, and then a voice came through the latch-hole, “Man of noise, how dare you thus? you will wake up our young lady.”
“Master Roger, let me in. Know you not your own landlord?”
The learned schoolmaster was so astonished that he could scarcely draw back the bolt. “Is it so? Is it so indeed? I thank the Lord for sending thee,” was all he could say, while he stood there shaking both my hands to the very utmost that his slender palms could compass.
“Friend Llewellyn,” he whispered at last, “I beg thy pardon heartily, for having been so rude to thee. But it is such a business to hush the young lady; and if she once wakes she talks all the night long. I fear that her mind is almost too active for a maid of her tender years.”
“What young lady do you mean?” I asked; “is Bunny become a young lady now?”
“Bunny!” he cried, with no small contempt; then perceiving how rude this was to me, began casting about for apologies.
“Never mind that,” I said; “only tell me who this wonderful young lady is.”
“Miss Andalusia, the ‘Maid of Sker,’ as everyone now begins to call her. There is no other young lady in the neighbourhood to my knowledge.”
“Nor in the whole world for you, I should say, by the look of your eyes, Master Roger Berkrolles. Nevertheless put your coat on, my friend, and give your old landlord a bit to eat. I trow that the whole of my house does not belong even to Miss Delushy. Have I not even a granddaughter?”
“To be sure, and a very fine damsel she is, ay, and a good and comely one; though she hath no turn for erudition. What we should do without Bunny I know not. She is a most rare young housewife.”
The tears sprang into my eyes at this, as I thought of her poor grandmother, and I gave Master Berkrolles’ hand a squeeze which brought some into his
