The record-union., 1897-09-12
BLIGHT ON GUESTWICK HALL.
CHAPTER I.
THE VILLAGE TALK.

10 be sung when | was a lad? How
did it go? Something about the he's
and the she's. l know it meant that,
however up and down the men-folks
| might be at the hall, the women-folks
were on their feet. so to speak, from
January to December. You ought to
know that song, Dave Brand"
The speaker was a ruddy-faced man,
with town look about him, as the
simple villagers could not help feeling.
His clothes had a newer cut than the
Lundley tailor ever attempted, and he
had various aristocratic ways which
exercised a paralyzing influence upon
men who adopted no fashions except
those of their forefathers; he used a
quill toothpick, and that was awe-in-
spring in a company which found the
small blade of pocketknife both handy
and efficient Then he carried pock-
ct handkerchief every day in the week,
luxury which at Lundley was re-
served for Sundays and holiday times.
1t was difficult to feel quite at home
with Siah Hudson, though he was a
native of the village, and he had spent
his boyhood among the people there,
just like one of ourselves.
Dave Brand was the blacksmith, a
man Of considerable Importance under
ordinary circumstances, but always
suffering from a sense of partial eclipse
when in the company of a man who
had gone into the wide world to fight
the battle of life. AS Dave said, 1.-THE
way of such is to patronize US. They
talk as if they could do more with
cold iron than we can do with hot,
and as if they could get a blast with
out bellows better than we can with
en-
The general opinion was that Dave
did not like to play second fiddle where
he usually played a more important
part; but, with a magnanimity born
of compromise, his neighbOrs called it
public spirit to each other, and thought
their own thoughts about it in Sc
cret
All eyes were turned on Dave when
Siah Hudson asked about the song.
Several old friends had responded to
Siah's suggestion that he would like
their opinion about the Marsh Mist ale,
and they were seated in the parlor of
the Marsh Mist Arms, drinking at
Siah's expense, and for the most part,
taking their cue from him in reference
to the quality of the brew.
"A homely sort of tipple,' said Siah,
holding up a glass against the light,
and examining it critically with one
eye closed. Brewing is a fine art in
the big towns, but this is homely, like
blackberry dumping and 'taters boiled
in their jackets. Ayl"
He breathed deeply, as if prosperity
had separated him from indulgences
which unsophisticated people might
still enjoy with impunity. He was in
the hay and straw business at Shelf
field, and his friends could understand
that social distinctions had their pen
alties. There was a local equivalent
for noblesse oblige, which said. CT
ganger mustn't stink, whoever else
does" Several men in the parlor
would not have thought life worth liv-
ing, if Sinking had been an impossi-
bility. But, for the moment, they
were happy. The social martyr was
paying for the ale, and they were free
to keep their boots unlaced, wear their
caps with peaks at the back, and take
surreptitious maps whenever chance IA
vored them.
Lave OcIOn w dS up I1c was UTJuk-
ing his ale from pewter pot, as he
usually did, though all the others had
glasses. This might have been expect
ed to mollify him completely, but he
felt that his self-respect demanded
further protest, therefore he replied in
surly tone:
'Ffne-Weather songs are right enough
in fine-weather times; but when every
thing is soft and sloppy, and the rains
coming down worse and worse, and il
seems wetter than you ever knowed 1T
before, what's the good of singing, Fair
shines the moon tonight or, A song
and a cheer for our bonny green stack
what's the use?"
Dave looked round. not because he
expected any answer but because he
wanted to enjoy the sight of a dunn
founded company.
Siah Hudson was equal to the occa-
sion.
Jokes go free till Christmas he
said, "and why not songs? You know
that song, Absalom E,nderby, 1 am
sure"
AbSalom was an old man in a smock-
frock. He had been looking despond-
ent because nobody had taken much
notice of him, but this direct appeal
cheered him greatly.
Yes, 1 remember the song" he re-
piled, tremulously, "and before l lost
my teeth 1 could sing it fairly; but
teeth have a deal to do with both sing
ing and whistling, not to mention eat
ing your meat"
THE chorus is what 1 mean" Siah
interrupted. 'It runs in and out of my
head like mouse popping into a trap
and back again without touching the
bait or loosening the string. How does
it go?"
1.-The chorus is nothing by ITSELF" said
Absalom, becoming sad again; he was
afraid lest a coveted privilege was
about to be wrested from him. ''The
songs says:
The Earl he was a mighty man.
With courage great and high;
But the lady she was pale and wan,
With sorrow in her eye.
Then the chorus goes:
"Oh, the he, and the he, and the he, and
the he,
They all was a rampant tribe.
And the she, and the she, and the she.
and the she,
No language can describe"
That's it," Siah exclaimed, joyously.
"All of us:
"Oh! the he. and the he. and the he, and
the he"
The chorus was sung several times.
all the company joining in except Dave
Brand, who put his hands in his pock-
cts and looked UP to the ceiling, as #
his thoughts were far away
There's deal of truth in old songs"
Siah said, at length; but they are only