“They all want to be your friends,” she explained; “but, except my Jonathan, theer ban’t a pin to choose among ’em. He’m honest as daylight.”
Mr. Bluett thereupon changed the subject and trusted that Jenifer was none the worse for her fright. The girl had a dark, keen face, was built generously and evidently enjoyed unusual physical strength for a woman. Yet the old sailor recollected that she had been no more than a pleasant armful for her future husband.
“I be well again,” she said, “yet I wish I hadn’t seen no such dreadful contrivance, I’m sure. ’Tis a very sad thing, an’ mother sez how Parson Yates did ought to be axed to faace they phantoms in the name of the Lord wi’ a bell, a book an’ a cannel, ’cordin’ to the right an’ holy way in such matters. But Gran’faither Newte an’ Toby Pearn, my great-uncle, an’ a gude few other auld parties say that Lady Emma’s funeral be the chiefest glory of Daleham an’ ’twould be a thousand pities to go an’ lay it wi’ a bit of parson’s work.”
The officer was interested.
“For my part,” he said, “I think if the poor soul killed herself two hundred years ago, ’tis time her was laid peaceful an’ reg’lar as by law appointed. ’Tis all us can do for ghostes; to lay ’em; an’ even then it axes a clergyman. An’ the holiest have got to mind theer p’s an’ q’s, for, make a mistake, an’ so like as not they’m tored to pieces for their trouble.”
“I’d rather not hear tell no more about it,” answered Jenifer, shivering and looking uneasily about her. “But this I knaw; Parson Yates ban’t the man for the job—so meek as Moses he be, an’ would run from a goose, let alone a ghostey.”
“If ’tis proved his duty, he’ve got to faace it, however,—same as all of us has got to faace our duty,” declared Mr. Bluett.
CHAPTER III
A week elapsed and the tragic dispute between Merry Jonathan and his ancient ally grew into a nine days’ wonder. That the new-come representative of law was responsible for their quarrel none doubted, for Mr. Bluett had arrived in an hour not auspicious from the smugglers’ standpoint. He was at Daleham a fortnight earlier than most people expected him, and the presence of himself and his mates had threatened directly to interfere with greater matters than he guessed. Yet the secret of a cargo, its arrival nigh Daleham and the hour and place, now came frankly into Robert Bluett’s keeping, since old Cramphorn—his friendship turned to gall under Godbeer’s heavy hands—for once followed the unfamiliar paths of rectitude. So, at least, he declared to the Exciseman, though even Mr. Bluett, whose mind was cast in simple mould, perceived that a private hatred and a private grudge were responsible for the patriarch’s treachery, rather than any desire to do right. It was mention of his former partner that always stung old Johnny into passion, made his beard shake and his voice go shrill and cracked.
“A mighty haul of French fishes—brandy—baccy—lace an’ such like; an’ now I’m a changed man an’ shall take no part,” he explained to his new friend.