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Of My Coming of Age
During the next few days Jack Drumbleforth was in his element. Naught pleased him so well as to be manager of a feast or entertainment, and he found vast delight in making plans how this or that should be done, and in what order the guests should sit, and so with a multitude of matters which would have caused me a great deal of discomfort. I was well pleased to have Jack close at hand at this time, for he took the weight off my shoulders and left me free, which was what I wanted.
The final arrangement come to between Jack and my mother, with Lucy thrown in as counsellor, was that we should have two entertainments, the first for the labourers and their wives and children, the second for our friends and acquaintance, and such of our own quality as might drop in upon us. This we thought to be better than entertaining all together, as it left us free to pay more attention to our guests than if they had all come upon one day. Again, said Jack, the men would feel more at home amongst themselves, and would cut their jokes and amuse themselves better than in the presence of their masters. So we fixed the entertainment for the labourers on the 24th of August, that being my birthday, and for our other friends on the 25th. These things being settled, my mother and Lucy set to work with a right good will, and very soon our larder began to look as if we were threatened with a siege. I was at that time always blessed with a good appetite—indeed, I thank God, I always have been—and it used to whet it to look through the latticed window and see the good things which their nimble fingers had shaped in honour of the coming feast. I used to call Jack Drumbleforth and bid him peep through the lattices too, at which Jack’s mouth would water, for he, too, was endowed with a healthy appetite, so that we were often forced to cut ourselves a great slice of cold pie, and wash it down with a quart of ale out of sympathy. Nor did we ever find that these slight refreshments interfered with our meals, though I have heard people say that to eat between breakfast and dinner is to spoil the latter.
It was no slight trouble to invite the guests to our entertainment, for my mother was anxious that all our acquaintance should come, and as many of them were hard to get at, I had no little riding about to do before I had got them all invited. As for the labourers, we decided that all who had ever done a day’s work for us at odd times should come, with their wives and families, and that all our present hands should have the privilege of asking a friend. In this way there was a goodly assemblage gathered together in our great barn when the day came. The barn, thanks to Jack Drumbleforth, had been very gaily decorated with boughs and flowers, and looked quite inviting as one entered it from the stackyard. My mother, indeed, said that she had never seen a prettier sight than it presented when all the company were met, and Parson Drumbleforth rose up to say grace before meat.
And indeed a pleasant sight it was, and one that did my heart good to see. For right down the centre of the barn ran a long table, which the carpenter had fixed up that morning, with benches on either side that would seat each over fifty persons. The walls were gaily spread with fresh-plucked boughs, and Lucy had ornamented the table with bunches of flowers, so that there was green, and red, and white, and blue everywhere. But if the flowers on the table looked well, what shall I say of all the goodly dishes that almost hid the snow-white cloth from sight? My mother, like all good housewives, loved hospitality, and nothing would satisfy her but that she must put before her guests all that she could devise or our larder command. I do not think that the daintiest epicure could have found fault with our table that night, for if the fare was homely, it was well cooked and pleasantly served, which is no small matter. As for the beef, it was of Jacob Trusty’s own feeding, and so was the bacon, and our people seemed to think that there was additional recommendation in that. At any rate, they praised both by sending up their plates time and again, and the carvers had a merry time of it, and so had Jack Drumbleforth, whose office it was to preside at the great barrel of ale that had been placed in the coolest corner of the barn. Everybody, indeed, was at his or her busiest attending to the wants of our guests, and my mother’s face beamed with satisfaction as she watched the men and their wives and children enjoying their entertainment.
Though I had somewhat hung back from it, being always loath to put myself forward, they had forced me, saying it was the proper thing, to take the chair at the head of the long table, and preside over this great feast. So there I sat in my best, feeling as if every eye was fixed upon me, and yet very proud withal of the honour, and Jacob Trusty and Timothy Grass, being our oldest men, sat one on either side of me, while Parson Drumbleforth sat at the foot of the table as vice-chairman. While the supper was being discussed, every man was too busily engaged to think of aught else; but when all had eaten their fill, and their minds had a chance, certain of the older men began to look at Jacob Trusty and cough in a significant manner, so that I immediately grew very hot about the ears, knowing right well that they wanted Jacob to propose my health, which would oblige me to make a speech in reply. For a time, however, Jacob Trusty did not choose to take the hint. Perhaps he was already composing his speech in his own mind, or waiting for an idea to come to him. However, the silence and the expectant looks continuing, Timothy Grass thought it well to call Jacob’s attention to the matter.
“I think, Jacob,” said Timothy Grass, “I think the folks expect a word or two from you, it being a great occasion, and you the oldest man present. So up, Jacob, and let us hear what hast got to say, man.”
I think that Jacob was secretly pleased with his mission, and felt his own importance in the matter, though, like other greater men, he pretended that he rose with diffidence, and was unprepared to sustain so difficult a part. Jack Drumbleforth, too, said that he was minded to believe that Jacob had been committing his little speech to memory, and practising it in spare moments; but I paid no heed to Jack, knowing of old that Jacob was a ready talker, and never fast for words. However, I question whether Jacob ever had so large an audience, or such an attentive one, as upon that occasion, for every eye was turned upon him, and the youngest stable-boy ran outside into the fold to drive away the hens which were cackling and clucking without the barn-door.
“Master William, and friends all,” said Jacob, when he had fairly gotten upon his legs, and Parson Drumbleforth had rapped loudly upon the table to command attention—“Master William, and friends all, this is a great occasion, and has been honoured accordingly. I thank God that I have lived to see it, to see the lad grow into a man. And such a man! Friends, I have seen three generations of Dales, and they have all been big men; but this is bigger all ways, length and breadth, wherefore, I say, I am glad, because the old stock is as fine as ever. Now, there’s some among you who can remember Master William being born, and how he grew up to a lad, and you’ve seen him change from a lad to a man. All that I’ve seen too, perhaps a bit closer than most of you, because he’s been mine from the very first, and he’ll not deny it. Who showed him his first bird’s-nest but Jacob Trusty? Who made him his first whip, or gave him his first ride a-horseback, but me? I ha’ done a deal for him, child and boy, and I feel a sort o’ right in him. Well, friends all, Master William has come to manhood at last, and here he sits amongst us, master of the good old acres on which you and me have toiled. Here he sits for all to look at and admire—a fine, big man, like his fathers, six foot four in his stockings, and strong as a bull. And so, friends, having seen him grow up to manhood, I have seen all I wished for, and can die happy. ’Tis but a poor way of saying it, but Master William knows how old Jacob loves him and the old place. So now, friends, young and old, fill your glasses. Fill ’em up, and drink ’em off to the health and long life of William Dale.”
I can see him now as he stood there, tall, erect, silver-haired, in his clean smock and gay neckerchief, his old weather-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 no longer a little maiden, but grown almost a woman.”