CONSCIENCE.
"Would'st draw a bow at a venture? Then see
thou to it, that the point of thy arrow be dipped in
love, and its winged shaft in prayer."
Before supper was over at the Yews, Chance and Laddie were heard barking vehemently without. This vociferous demonstration was made whenever any stranger appeared on the premises, but was not warlike in its meaning; it was only intended as a notification that there was somebody come, who ought to be attended to.
The somebody on this occasion was an old exciseman, Mr. Knibb, who itinerated though the dales almost as punctually as the schoolmaster, but who was not nearly so popular a personage. And yet when his old white mare, Madam, was comfortably housed in the stable, and the drab top-coat was hung up in the kitchen, Mr. Knibb could make himself very pleasant company beside the hearth, or at the simple table of the farm-houses within his round: for it was he who brought the greatest amount of intelligence respecting the doings of the great wide world on the other side of the barrier mountains; and he generally had in his pocket a Kendal newspaper, not more than ten days or a fortnight old.
Mr. Knibb, therefore, helped to keep up the circulation of ideas within his circuit; and a great flood-tide of news overflowed the valleys and rose up to the homesteads on the steep hill-sides whenever he made his periodical appearances. Old Madam was so thoroughly aware of her master's communicative habits, that she used to make a full stop whenever she met a grown person in winding lane or rocky pathway; and if left to her own devices, she would allow her master just ten minutes for every "crack;" at the expiration of which social interval, she would prick her ear and slowly jog on again. Boys and girls neither she nor her master thought it worth while to enlighten, but trotted past them with contemptuous indifference.
Somehow or other, Mr. Knibb's visit on the present occasion was not acceptable to the young master of the Yews. Nobody looked exactly pleased when the old gentleman's well-known whistle was heard without, because it was a rather uncongenial interruption to the new-born happiness of the household group; but Miles looked both displeased and discomposed. He started—turned pale—flushed deep red—and then hastily rose and went to the door as if to bid the visitor welcome: but this movement seemed less like an impulse of hospitality than a mask for his unaccountable confusion. In truth, Miles was strangely moved.
These symptoms of perturbed feeling were not lost upon the young schoolmaster, whose calling had cultivated that keen perception of character and that skill in reading the symbolic language of manner, look, and tone, with which he had been originally gifted. The old lady—and lady she might fairly be called, because, in spite of provincial accent and mountain phrase, she was one of nature's own aristocracy, and one of religion's own gentlewomen—the old lady bestowed a kindly and courteous greeting on the guest, who in his turn advanced to her chair, and gave her that horizontal shake of the hand, (swinging cheerily like a pendulum from side to side) which is supposed to express cordiality.
The Exciseman's Visit.
Mr. Knibb soon formed a member of the group round the circular table, which was drawn near the widow's rocking chair. A solemn grace, not a ceremonial form, but a heart-felt giving of thanks, was spoken from that same presidential chair; and then the sharp clatter of knife and fork began in earnest. Much too earnest was the business in hand, in its earlier stages, to admit of any table-talk; but when the healthy intercourse between good appetites and good fare had begun a little to relax, Mr. Knibb opened the sluices of conversation.