The husband and wife looked at each other in mutual amazement at this unexpected charge, while Kennedy pricked up his ears and recovered his former boldness. He did not doubt now to come out of the affair with flying colours; for though John Gilsland’s reflections on the looks of Roger when he encountered him the previous night had been overheard and carried rapidly to the interested ears of Sally, the sergeant was still unaware both of Roger’s purpose and his departure. He inclined his ear with great attention to Sally’s complaint; he cocked his cap upon one side of his head, and assumed the part of moderator with a masterly promptitude; he called her in, waving his hand to her, and set a stool for her near the fire.
“It’s mortial cowld,” said the sergeant, “here’s a drop of beer for you, ould Sally. Them good foulks there, take my word, had no ill maening to Mr. Roger. We’ll al’ hear the rights on it. Many’s the talk I’ve had with him, and many’s the good advice I gave the young man. Onexperienced lads they’re al’ways the better of a good advice. Take a drop of beer.”
Sally made a nervous, frightened curtsey, warmed her icy fingers at the fire, and took the beer in her hand, with her respects to the sergeant; but before she could drink it Mrs. Gilsland arrested her with a sudden exclamation.
“Sally! touch you none on it—it’s pisoned—it’s Judas—it’s a-betraying on you!” cried the landlady; “if there’s harm come to your young gentleman, who should it be but him there? He’s seduced away my innocent lad. He’s led Sam astray, and putten it into his head to ’list and goo for a souldhier. He’s nothing but lies and deceits from end to end on him. If there’s harm to the young Squire, you take my word, it’s him!”
“Lord have a care of us!” cried Sally, emphasizing her exclamation by a violent start, and dropping the glass from her hands; “pisoned!—eh, the cannibal! the murderin’ villain!—and what harm did I ever do to him, a puir old body like me?”
Upon which text the excellent Mrs. Gilsland made a renewed onslaught upon the sergeant, referring directly or indirectly to his influence all the accidents of the country side. If he was in some way to blame for the failed crops and the potato disease, he was evidently first cause that Mr. Roger had left the Grange, and her boy had gone away; both were entirely under the influence of the all-conquering sergeant. John Gilsland stood by a little nervous, but secretly enjoying the attack which old Sally, easily diverted from her indignation against himself, and turning her arms upon “th’ Ould Hunderd,” aided with all her feeble forces. The other spectators encouraged the combatants with vociferous plaudits. As for the sergeant, he gave his cap a fiercer cock, crossed his arms upon his breast, sat back upright as a post in his chair, and puffed mighty volumes of smoke from his pipe. It was impossible to move him. When at last, in sheer exasperation and rage, the women found nothing more to say, Kennedy took the pipe from his mouth, thrust his chair farther back, and made his exculpatory address:—
“If you will listen to me,” said the sergeant, stretching forth his arms, and laying down the plan of his discourse with the fingers of one hand upon the palm of the other, “I’ll make you my answer under three heads: There’s, firstly, Sam Gilsland—and there’s, secondly, Mr. Roger—and there’s, thirdly, the Cornel. As ye cannot onderstand the first till ye’ve heard the last, I advise ye to have patience. Then, in the first place, Sam—he’s a very fine lad, clean, well-made, a good figure, a good spirit, fond to be out o’ dours, and to see the world. I’ll say, before a hunder faothers and maothers, it’s a disgrace to keep a man like that serving beer. He behooved to serve his country, did a lad like that; thinks I to mysel’, there’s a figure for a uniform; if the drill-sergeant had his will o’ him, there’s hands would be clever at their weapons! Was it my fault that his Maker had made him straight and strong? He heard me speak of the service, sure; I’m a man of experience; I see no good reason to hide my light away from the world; and natur’ up and spoke. I knowed no more of his going away nor the babe unborn.”
The wily sergeant saw with the corner of his eye that Sam’s mother, overcome by this eloquence, had fallen to crying—he knew the day was won.
“And I ask ye a’,” said the sergeant, “when a man that’s served his country sets foot among ye, with the Queen’s coat on his back, and a medal on his breast, do ye turn your backs upon him? Is he not as great a man as the Duke till his furlough’s done; and I ask you,” continued Kennedy, turning boldly round upon his principal accuser, “when the boy comes to end his life in aise and comfort, with a pension to keep him snug, and never to move his hand but when he pleases—would ye rather he was looking after the farmers’ horses, good weather and bad weather, and serving beer?”
Mrs. Gilsland was overcome; flattering fancies stole over her mind; splendid visions of a figure in uniform, with honours and rewards heaped upon him by the public gratitude, which should call her mother; she put up her apron to her eyes and sobbed. The sergeant was victorious.