The Parson O' Dumford

As he disappeared, Sim Slee slowly sat up, took out his handkerchief and wiped his bleeding mouth. Then rising he walked on half a mile to where a stream, known as the Beck, crossed the road, and there he stooped down and bathed his cut lip till the bleeding ceased.

“All raight, Mester Joe Banks,” he said, with a malicious look in his eye. “All raight, I’ll put that down to you, my lad. I shan’t forget it. Some men fights wi’ their fists, and some don’t. I’m one as don’t; but I can fight other ways. I’ll be even wi’ you, Joe Banks; I’ll be even wi’ you. Thou blind owd bat. Think he’ll marry her, dosta! Ha! ha! ha! ha! All raight. Let it go on. Suppose I help it now, and then get thee on our side after – a blind old fool, I shan’t forget this.”

Sim Slee washed his handkerchief carefully in the brook, spread it in the sun to dry, and then lay down amongst the furze bushes to think, till, seeing a couple of figures in the distance on the hill-side, he caught up his handkerchief and, stooping down, ran along under the shelter of the hedge, and on and on till he reached a fir plantation, through which he made his way till he was within easy reach of the two figures, in utter ignorance of his proximity.

“’Tis them,” he muttered, peering out from the screen of leaves formed by the undergrowth of the edge of the plantation. “’Tis them. Got his arm round her waist, eh! A kiss, eh! Ha – ha – ha! Joe Banks, I shall be upsides wi’ you yet.”

He glided back, and then, knowing every inch of the ground, he went to the end of the copse, out on to the open hill-side, and, running fast, made a circuit which brought him out on the track far beyond the figures, who were hidden from him by the inequalities of the waste land, close by where the vicar found Tom Podmore on his arrival.

Then, hastening on, he approached, stooping until he had well measured his distance, when, pausing for a few minutes to gain his breath, he walked on with his footsteps inaudible on the soft, velvety turf, till, coming suddenly upon the two figures, seated behind a huge block of stone, he stopped short, as if in surprise.

“Beg pardon, sir, didn’t see,” he said, with a smile and a leer.

“What the deuce do you want?” said Richard Glaire, starting to his feet, while, with a faint cry, Daisy Banks ran a few steps.

“Why you quite scar’d me, sir,” said Sim, “starting up like that. I’ve only been for a walk out Chorley way. It’s all raight, Miss Banks, don’t be scar’d; it’s only me. I know, Mr Glaire, sir, I know. Young folks and all that sort o’ thing. We ain’t friends about wuck matters, but you may trust me.”

He gave Richard a peculiar smile, shut one eye slowly, and walked on, smiling at Daisy, whose face was crimson as he passed.

“Oh, Richard! oh, Richard!” she sobbed, “why did you tempt me to come? Now he’ll go straight home and tell father.”

“Tempt you to come, eh, Daisy!” said Richard. “Why, because I love you so; I’m not happy out of your sight. No, he won’t tell – a scoundrel. There, you go home the other way. I’ll follow Master Sim Slee. I know the way to seal up his lips.”

He caught Daisy in his arms, and kissed her twice before she could evade his grasp, and then ran off after Slee, who was steadily walking on, smiling, as he caressed his tender, bruised lip with his damp handkerchief.

Once he pressed his thumb down on his palm in a meaning way, and gave an ugly wink. Then he chuckled, but checked his smiles, for they hurt his swollen face.

“Not bad for one day, eh! That’s ointment for Mester Joe Banks’s sore place, and a bit o’ revenge at the same time. This wean’t have nowt to do wi’ the strike; this is all private. Here he comes,” he muttered, twitching his ears. “I thowt he would. Well, I mean to hev five pun’ to howd my tongue, and more when I want it. And mebbe,” he continued, with an ugly leer, “I can be a bit useful to him now and then.”

A minute later Richard Glaire had overtaken Sim Slee, and a short conversation ensued, in the course of which something was thrust into the schemer’s hand. Then they parted, and that night, in spite of his swollen lip, Sim Slee delivered a wonderful oration on the rights of the British workman at the meeting at the Bull, at which were present several of the men after Sim’s own heart; but the shrewd, sensible workmen were conspicuous by their absence, as they were having a quiet meeting of their own.

Volume One – Chapter Fifteen.

Daisy is Obstinate

“A lungeing villain,” muttered Joe Banks to himself, “he knows nowt but nastiness. Strange thing that a man can’t make up to a pretty girl wi’out people putting all sorts o’ bad constructions on it. Why they’re all alike – Missis Glaire, the wife and all. My Daisy, too. To say such a word of her.”

He hastened home, filled his pipe, lit it, and went out and sat down in the garden, in front of his bees, to smoke and watch them, while he calmed himself down and went over what had gone by, before thinking over the future.

This was a favourite place with Joe Banks on a Sunday, and he would sit in contemplative study here for hours. For he said it was like having a holiday and looking at somebody else work, especially when the bees were busy in the glass bells turned over the flat-topped hives.

“I’d no business to hit a crippled man like that,” mused Joe; “but he’d no business to anger me. Be a lesson to him.”

He filled a fresh pipe, lit it by holding the match sheltered in his hands, and then went on —

“Be a lesson to him – a hard one, for my hand ain’t light. Pity he hadn’t coot away, for he put me out.”

“Now, what’ll I do?” mused Joe. “Shall I speak to the maister?”

“No, I wean’t. He’ll speak to me when it’s all raight, and Daisy and him has made it up. I’ll troost him, that I will; for though he’s a bit wild, he’s a gentleman at heart, like his father before him. Why of course I’ll troost him. He’s a bit shamefaced about it o’ course; but he’ll speak, all in good time. Both of ’em will, and think they’re going to surprise me. Ha – ha – ha! I’ve gotten ’em though. Lord, what fools young people is – blind as bats – blind as bats. Here’s Daisy.”

“It’s so nice to see you sitting here, father,” said the girl, coming behind him, and resting her chin on his bald crown, while her plump arms went round his neck.

“Is it, my gal? That’s raight. Why, Daisy lass, what soft little arms thine are. Give us a kiss.”

Daisy leaned down and kissed him, and then stopped with her arms resting on his shoulders, keeping her face from confronting him; and so they remained for a few minutes, when a smile twinkled about the corners of the foreman’s lips and eyes as he said —

“Daisy, my gal, I’ve been watching the bees a bit.”

“Yes, father,” she said, smiling, though it was plain to see that the smile was forced. “Yes, father, you always like to watch the bees.”

“I do, my bairn, I do. They’re just like so many workmen in a factory; but they don’t strike, my gal, they don’t strike.”

“But they swarm, father,” said Daisy, making an effort to keep up the conversation.

“Yes,” chuckled Joe, taking hold of the hand that rested on his left shoulder. “Yes, my bairn, I was just coming to that. They swarm, don’t they?”

“Yes, father.”

“And do you know why they swarm, Daisy?”

“Yes, father; because the hive is not big enough for them.”

“Yes, yes,” chuckled Joe, patting the hand, and holding it to his rough cheek. “You’re raight, but it’s something more, Daisy: it’s the young ones going away from home and setting up for theirselves – all the young ones ’most do that some day.”

The tears rose to Daisy’s eyes, and she tried to withdraw her hand, for Joe had touched on a tenderer point than he imagined; but he held it tightly and gave it a kiss.

“There, there, my pet,” he said, tenderly, “I won’t tease you. I knew it would come some day all right enough, and I don’t mind. I only want my little lass to be happy.”

“Oh, father – father – father,” sobbed Daisy, letting her face droop till it rested on his head, while her tears fell fast.

“Come, come, come, little woman,” he said, laughing; “thou mustn’t cry. Why, it’s all raight.” There was a huskiness in his voice though, as he spoke, and he had to fight hard to make the dew disappear from his eyes. “Here, I say, Daisy, my lass, that wean’t do no good: you may rain watter for ever on my owd bald head, and the hair won’t come again. There – tut – tut – tut – you’ll have moother here directly, and she’ll be asking what’s wrong.”

Daisy made a strong effort over self, and succeeded at last in drying her eyes.

“Then, you are not cross with me, father?” faltered Daisy.

“Cross, my darling? not a bit,” said Joe, patting her hand again. “You shan’t disgrace the man as has you, my dear; that you shan’t. Why, you’re fit to be a little queen, you are.”

Daisy gave him a hasty kiss, and ran off, while Joe proceeded to refill his pipe.

“Cross indeed! I should just think I hadn’t,” he exclaimed – “only with the women. Well, they’ll come round.”

But if Joe Banks had stood on the hill-side a couple of hours earlier, just by the spot where Tom Podmore had sat on the day of the vicar’s arrival, he would perhaps have viewed the matter in a different light, for – of course by accident – Daisy had there encountered Richard Glaire, evidently not for the first time since the night when they were interrupted by Tom in the lane.

It was plain that any offence Richard had given on the night in question had long been condoned, and that at every meeting he was gaining a stronger mastery over the girl’s heart.

“Then you will, Daisy, won’t you?” he whispered to her.