“How do you do, Mrs. Poyser?” said Arthur.
“Weren’t you pleased to hear your husband
make such a good speech to-day?”
“Oh, sir, the men are mostly so tongue-tied—you’re
forced partly to guess what they mean, as you do wi’
the dumb creaturs.”
“What! you think you could have made it better
for him?” said Mr. Irwine, laughing.
“Well, sir, when I want to say anything, I can
mostly find words to say it in, thank God. Not
as I’m a-finding faut wi’ my husband, for
if he’s a man o’ few words, what he says
he’ll stand to.”
“I’m sure I never saw a prettier party
than this,” Arthur said, looking round at the
apple-cheeked children. “My aunt and the
Miss Irwines will come up and see you presently.
They were afraid of the noise of the toasts, but it
would be a shame for them not to see you at table.”
He walked on, speaking to the mothers and patting
the children, while Mr. Irwine satisfied himself with
standing still and nodding at a distance, that no
one’s attention might be disturbed from the young
squire, the hero of the day. Arthur did not venture
to stop near Hetty, but merely bowed to her as he
passed along the opposite side. The foolish child
felt her heart swelling with discontent; for what woman
was ever satisfied with apparent neglect, even when
she knows it to be the mask of love? Hetty thought
this was going to be the most miserable day she had
had for a long while, a moment of chill daylight and
reality came across her dream: Arthur, who had
seemed so near to her only a few hours before, was
separated from her, as the hero of a great procession
is separated from a small outsider in the crowd.
The Games
The great dance was not to begin until eight
o’clock, but for any lads and lasses who liked
to dance on the shady grass before then, there was
music always at hand—for was not the band
of the Benefit Club capable of playing excellent jigs,
reels, and hornpipes? And, besides this, there
was a grand band hired from Rosseter, who, with their
wonderful wind-instruments and puffed-out cheeks,
were themselves a delightful show to the small boys
and girls. To say nothing of Joshua Rann’s
fiddle, which, by an act of generous forethought, he
had provided himself with, in case any one should
be of sufficiently pure taste to prefer dancing to
a solo on that instrument.
Meantime, when the sun had moved off the great open
space in front of the house, the games began.
There were, of course, well-soaped poles to be climbed
by the boys and youths, races to be run by the old
women, races to be run in sacks, heavy weights to
be lifted by the strong men, and a long list of challenges
to such ambitious attempts as that of walking as many
yards possible on one leg—feats in which
it was generally remarked that Wiry Ben, being “the
lissom’st, springest fellow i’ the country,”
was sure to be pre-eminent. To crown all, there
was to be a donkey-race—that sublimest
of all races, conducted on the grand socialistic idea
of everybody encouraging everybody else’s donkey,
and the sorriest donkey winning.
