Sylvia's Lovers - Page 92/290

'My cousin Philip, him as is shopman at Foster's,' said Sylvia,

innocently. But it was far too good an opportunity for the exercise

of Molly's kind of wit for her to pass over.

'Oh, oh! our cousin Philip, is it? and he'll not be living so far

away from your mother? I've no need be a witch to put two and two

together. He's a coming here to-night, isn't he, Bessy?' 'I wish yo' wouldn't talk so, Molly,' said Sylvia; 'me and Philip is

good enough friends, but we niver think on each other in that way;

leastways, I don't.' '(Sweet butter! now that's my mother's old-fashioned way; as if

folks must eat sweet butter now-a-days, because her mother did!)

That way,' continued Molly, in the manner that annoyed Sylvia so

much, repeating her words as if for the purpose of laughing at them.

'"That way?" and pray what is t' way yo're speaking on? I niver said

nought about marrying, did I, that yo' need look so red and

shamefaced about yo'r cousin Philip? But, as Brunton says, if t' cap

fits yo', put it on. I'm glad he's comin' to-night tho', for as I'm

done makin' love and courtin', it's next best t' watch other folks;

an' yo'r face, Sylvia, has letten me into a secret, as I'd some

glimpses on afore I was wed.' Sylvia secretly determined not to speak a word more to Philip than

she could help, and wondered how she could ever have liked Molly at

all, much less have made a companion of her. The table was now laid

out, and nothing remained but to criticize the arrangement a little.

Bessy was full of admiration.

'Theere, Molly!' said she. 'Yo' niver seed more vittle brought

together i' Newcassel, I'll be bound; there'll be above half a

hundredweight o' butcher's meat, beside pies and custards. I've

eaten no dinner these two days for thinking on 't; it's been a weary

burden on my mind, but it's off now I see how well it looks. I told

mother not to come near it till we'd spread it all out, and now I'll

go fetch her.' Bessy ran off into the house-place.

'It's well enough in a country kind o' way,' said Molly, with the

faint approbation of condescension. 'But if I'd thought on, I'd ha'

brought 'em down a beast or two done i' sponge-cake, wi' currants

for his eyes to give t' table an air.' The door was opened, and Bessy came in smiling and blushing with

proud pleasure. Her mother followed her on tip-toe, smoothing down

her apron, and with her voice subdued to a whisper:-'Ay, my lass, it is fine! But dunnot mak' an ado about it, let 'em

think it's just our common way. If any one says aught about how good

t' vittle is, tak' it calm, and say we'n better i' t' house,--it'll

mak' 'em eat wi' a better appetite, and think the more on us.

Sylvie, I'm much beholden t' ye for comin' so early, and helpin' t'

lasses, but yo' mun come in t' house-place now, t' folks is

gatherin', an' yo'r cousin's been asking after yo' a'ready.' Molly gave her a nudge, which made Sylvia's face go all aflame with

angry embarrassment. She was conscious that the watching which Molly

had threatened her with began directly; for Molly went up to her

husband, and whispered something to him which set him off in a

chuckling laugh, and Sylvia was aware that his eyes followed her

about with knowing looks all the evening. She would hardly speak to

Philip, and pretended not to see his outstretched hand, but passed

on to the chimney-corner, and tried to shelter herself behind the

broad back of farmer Corney, who had no notion of relinquishing his

customary place for all the young people who ever came to the house,

--or for any old people either, for that matter. It was his

household throne, and there he sat with no more idea of abdicating

in favour of any comer than King George at St James's. But he was

glad to see his friends; and had paid them the unwonted compliment

of shaving on a week-day, and putting on his Sunday coat. The united

efforts of wife and children had failed to persuade him to make any

farther change in his attire; to all their arguments on this head he

had replied,-'Them as doesn't like t' see me i' my work-a-day wescut and breeches

may bide away.' It was the longest sentence he said that day, but he repeated it

several times over. He was glad enough to see all the young people,

but they were not 'of his kidney,' as he expressed it to himself,

and he did not feel any call upon himself to entertain them. He left

that to his bustling wife, all smartness and smiles, and to his

daughters and son-in-law. His efforts at hospitality consisted in

sitting still, smoking his pipe; when any one came, he took it out

of his mouth for an instant, and nodded his head in a cheerful

friendly way, without a word of speech; and then returned to his

smoking with the greater relish for the moment's intermission. He

thought to himself:-'They're a set o' young chaps as thinks more on t' lasses than on

baccy;--they'll find out their mistake in time; give 'em time, give

'em time.' And before eight o'clock, he went as quietly as a man of twelve

stone can upstairs to bed, having made a previous arrangement with

his wife that she should bring him up about two pounds of spiced

beef, and a hot tumbler of stiff grog. But at the beginning of the

evening he formed a good screen for Sylvia, who was rather a

favourite with the old man, for twice he spoke to her.