This time it was his own glance that went to the window, as again he remembered the bird gone out to the waves. When Dent spoke, his mind came back from its flight with a tiny jerk.
“Then they made off to Canada, didn’t they, the two lads? You told me something about it when I first came.”
“Ay, they cleared off in a night without a word or owt, and they’ve never done no good from then to this. Sarah sticks to it Geordie would never ha’ gone at all if it hadn’t been for Jim, and Will’s missis sticks to it t’other way about. I reckon there was nowt to choose between ’em myself, but my missis never could abide poor Jim. He was that set on her, though, there was no keeping him off the spot. Right cruel she was to him sometimes, but she couldn’t drive him off. He’d just make off laughing and whistling, and turn up again next day. Of course, she was bound to have her knife into him, for his mother’s sake. She and Eliza have always been fit to scratch at each other all their lives.”
“Long enough to finish any feud, surely, and a bit over? It’s a pity they can’t bury the hatchet and make friends.”
“They’ll happen make friends when the rabbit makes friends wi’ the ferret,” Simon said grimly, “and the blackbird wi’ the cat! I don’t say Sarah isn’t to blame in some ways, but she’s had a deal to put up wi’, all the same. There’s summat about Eliza as sets you fair bilin’ inside your bones! It’s like as if she’d made up her mind to pipe Sarah’s eye straight from the very start. She never said ay to Will, for one thing, till Sarah and me had our wedding-day fixed, and then danged if she didn’t make up her mind to get wed that day an’ all! She fixed same church, same parson, same day and same time—ay, an’ there’s some folk say she’d ha’ fixed on t’same man if she’d gitten chanst!” He paused for a moment to chuckle when he had said that, but he was too bitter to let his vanity dwell on it for long. “She tellt parson it was a double wedding or summat o’ the sort, but she never let wit on’t to Sarah and me until she was fair inside door. Sarah and me walked to kirk arm in arm, wi’ nowt very much by-ordinar’ on our backs; but Eliza come scampering up in a carriage and pair, donned up in a white gown and wi’ a gert, waggling veil. Will was that shammed on it all he couldn’t abide to look me in t’face, but there, I reckon he couldn’t help hisself, poor lad! Sarah was that wild I could feel her fair dodderin’ wi’ rage as we stood alongside at chancel-step. She was that mad she could hardly shape to get her tongue round Weddin’-Service or owt, and when we was in t’vestry I see her clump both her feet on the tail of Eliza’s gown. She would have it nobody knew she was as much as getting wed at all—they were that busy gawping at Eliza and her veil. She was a fine, strapping lass, Eliza was, and I’d a deal o’ work keeping my eyes off’n her myself! … ay, and I won’t say but what she give me a sheep’s eye or so at the back o’ Will as well. …” He chuckled again, and his face became suddenly youthful, with a roguish eye. “But yon was no way o’ starting in friendly, was it, Mr. Dent?
“Ay, well, things has gone on like that atween ’em more or less ever since, and I won’t say but Sarah’s gitten a bit of her own back when she’s gitten chanst. Will having all the luck and suchlike hasn’t made things better, neither. Blindbeck’s ganged up and Sandholes has ganged down—ay, and seems like to hit bottom afore it stops! Will and me have hung together all along, but the women have always been at each other’s throats. It riled Eliza Jim being always at our spot, and thinking a deal more o’ Sarah than he did of her. Neither on ’em could break him of it, whatever they said or did. He always stuck to it Sandholes was his home by rights.”
“Pity the two of them aren’t here to help you now,” Dent said. “Those runabout lads often make fine men.”
“Nay, I doubt they’ve not made much out, anyway round.” Simon shook his head. “Likely they’re best where they be,” he said, as Sarah had said on the road in. He sat silent a moment longer for politeness’ sake, and then was stopped again as he rose to go.
“May I enquire what you intend to do when you leave the farm?”
The old man’s face had brightened as he talked, but now the shadow came over it again.
“I can’t rightly tell, sir, till I’ve had a word wi’ Will, but anyway he’ll not let us come to want. He’s offered us a home at Blindbeck afore now, but I reckon his missis’d have summat to say to that. Ay, and mine an’ all!” he added, with a fresh attempt at a laugh. “There’d be lile or nowt done on t’farm, I reckon, if it ever come about. It’d take the lot on us all our time to keep them two apart!”
Again, as he finished, he remembered Sarah’s eyes, and once again he let the opportunity pass. He was on his feet now, anxious to get away, and there seemed little
