I can see him now as he stood there, tall, erect, silver-haired, in his clean smock and gay neckerchief, his oldweather-beaten, wrinkled face shining with good humour, and a tear in his bright blue eye as he lifted his glass to drink my health. I can feel the clasp of his hard, horny hand as he grasped mine and said, “God bless thee, William, lad, God bless thee!” No heartier or truer handclasp ever met mine than that, for no man ever loved me more than Jacob Trusty.
There was quite a storm of shouting and cheering when Jacob had done, and I was outfaced with the warmth of the reception given to me. Then came Jack Drumbleforth to the back of my chair, whispering me to rise and speak while the iron was hot, and then I found myself on my legs, staring at the eager faces before me, and wondering what I was going to say. As to what I did say I cannot tell, though I can remember everything that old Jacob said. But I spoke from my heart, and thanked them for their kindly feeling to me and mine, and promised to be a good master to all who worked, and should work for me, and swore that no man who ever tilled my land should want food or shelter if any evil day fell upon him and his, which vow I have faithfully kept to this present. And after that there were more healths drunk, and Parson Drumbleforth made us a serious speech, after which his son Jack made us a merry one, whereat everybody laughed heartily. And then the whole company adjourned into the orchard, where the elder people sat about under the trees, and the children played at various sports, devised by Ben Tuckett and my sister Lucy, and everything went as merry as a marriage bell. As for Jack Drumbleforth, he was here, there, and everywhere, superintending this, and arranging that, while his father and my mother and I walked about from group to group, saying a word to everyone, and bidding all hearty welcome to Dale’s Field. When all were tired of further merrymaking there was more ale and refreshment served out, and then I stood at the orchard gate and shook hands with all as they went homeward, receiving their blessings as they passed away.
“Odd’s fish!” said Jack Drumbleforth, when the last was gone; “I am as dry as if I had sat before a limekiln this five hours. It is hard work this merrymaking, after all, Will. However, what matters a dry throat and tired legs, if other folk are pleased? Thy guests—I think they all enjoyed their entertainment, Will?”
“That indeed they did, Jack, thanks to you.”
“Nay, man, no thanks to me. But I am so hungry that I must inside and persuade Lucy to give me a cut of game pie and a pint of ale. ’Tis suppertime already. Come in, Will, and join me.”
But I was in no humour for it just then. My head was all in a whirl with the events of the evening, and I was anxious to take a quiet walk round my meadows in the moonlight to get the heat and noise out of my brain. Already through the lighted window I could see my mother and Lucy and Ben Tuckett and Parson Drumbleforth gathering round the supper-table, well pleased with the day’s proceedings. I bade Jack go in and join them.
“I am going for a walk round the meadow, Jack,” I said. “Tell them I will come in presently when my head cools. The noise rings in it yet.”
So I went away through the orchard into the home meadows and wandered, thinking of many things, across the dewy grass in the direction of the woods. The harvest-moon was at its full, and the air was soft and warm. From the road beyond Dale’s Field came the sound of a post-chaise driven rapidly onward by the hurrying postboy. The sound of the wheels died away as I walked across the shining grass; and then the silence was complete. I lifted my hat and let the cool air sweep over my forehead. I thought of what good old Jacob had said, and of the hearty expressions of goodwill which had come to me on every side. These thoughts were serious and weighty, and made me think much of my new responsibilities. For I was now Dale of Dale’s Field, and the broad acres around me were mine.
I was in no hurry to turn homewards, and half unconsciously I passed into the wood and went down the path that led to the mill by the riverside. The wheel was turning slowly and the spray darted like silver in the moonlight. I stood in the lane and watched it for awhile, and then I turned down towards Wentbridge, thinking to reach home by the road. I remembered that I must say good night to Parson Drumbleforth and Jack before they drove homewards, and I hurried my steps, chiding myself that my thoughts had carried me so far afield. But as I reached the foot of the lane and was turning up the hill I came upon two figures in the moonlight, at sight of whom I stopped. A man, on horseback, evidently booted and spurred for a journey, sat bending down to speak to a female whose hand lay on his horse’s bridle. At sound of my foot the man looked up. I could not see his face, but the moon shone full on my own. He raised his hand.
“Ah!” said he, “an that is not Will Dale, I am dreaming! Will, is it not you? It is years since we met, lad, and ’twas a sad time; but, why, it is I, Philip Lisle, Will, and here is Rose—thou wilt remember Rose, though she is
