“It’s a’most the only enj’yment
I’ve got left,” said the oldest inhabitant,
taking a long, slow draught of beer, “that and
a pipe o’ baccy. Neither of ’em
wants chewing, and that’s a great thing when
you ain’t got anything worth speaking about
left to chew with.”
He put his mug on the table and, ignoring the stillness
of the summer air, sheltered the flame of a match
between his cupped hands and conveyed it with infinite
care to the bowl of his pipe. A dull but crafty
old eye squinting down the stem assured itself that
the tobacco was well alight before the match was thrown
away.
“As I was a-saying, kindness to animals is all
very well,” he said to the wayfarer who sat
opposite him in the shade of the “Cauliflower”
elms; “but kindness to your feller-creeturs
is more. The pint wot you give me is gone, but
I’m just as thankful to you as if it wasn’t.”
He half closed his eyes and, gazing on to the fields
beyond, fell into a reverie so deep that he failed
to observe the landlord come for his mug and return
with it filled. A little start attested his surprise,
and, to his great annoyance, upset a couple of tablespoonfuls
of the precious liquid.
“Some people waste all their kindness on dumb
animals,” he remarked, after the landlord had
withdrawn from his offended vision, “but I was
never a believer in it. I mind some time ago
when a gen’lemen from Lunnon wot ’ad more
money than sense offered a prize for kindness to animals.
I was the only one that didn’t try for to win
it.
“Mr. Bunnett ’is name was, and ’e
come down and took Farmer Hall’s ’ouse
for the summer. Over sixty ’e was, and
old enough to know better. He used to put saucers
of milk all round the ’ouse for cats to drink,
and, by the time pore Farmer Hall got back, every
cat for three miles round ’ad got in the habit
of coming round to the back-door and asking for milk
as if it was their right. Farmer Hall poisoned
a saucer o’ milk at last, and then ’ad
to pay five shillings for a thin black cat with a mangy
tail and one eye that Bob Pretty said belonged to
’is children. Farmer Hall said he’d
go to jail afore he’d pay, at fust, but arter
five men ’ad spoke the truth and said they ’ad
see Bob’s youngsters tying a empty mustard-tin
to its tail on’y the day afore, he gave way.
“Tha was Bob Pretty all over, that was; the
biggest raskel Claybury ’as ever had; and it
wasn’t the fust bit o’ money ‘e made
out o’ Mr. Bunnett coming to the place.
“It all come through Mr. Bunnett’s love
for animals. I never see a man so fond of animals
as ’e was, and if he had ’ad ’is
way Claybury would ’ave been overrun by ’em
by this time. The day arter ’e got to the
farm he couldn’t eat ’is breakfuss because
of a pig that was being killed in the yard, and it
was no good pointing out to ’im that the pig
was on’y making a fuss about it because it was
its nature so to do. He lived on wegetables
and such like, and the way ’e carried on one
day over ’arf a biled caterpillar ’e found
in his cabbage wouldn’t be believed. He
wouldn’t eat another mossel, but sat hunting
’igh and low for the other ’arf.
