“What is there in that letter,” said Arthur, to Mr. Barnes, “which refuses me a hearing? I came here by the invitation of your advertisement; and as to the letter which has given you, as I perceive, an unfavorable opinion of me, the writer of it has no more knowledge of me than I have of any gentleman here present—not so much, in fact.”
“We are not bound to answer questions, young gentleman,” said Mr. Barnes; “we are sorry if you are disappointed, but you must leave us just now, as there is another person to examine, and our time is short.”
Arthur could not help laughing, in spite of his chagrin; and yet his fingers tingled with a desire to box the speaker’s ears. He made his bow, however, and told his kind friend, Mr. Green, how cavalierly he had been used. Mr. Green was too much surprised to make a remark; and his wife observed, with much anger, that old Crosbie ought to be tarred and feathered, for taking away the character of an innocent man. Arthur told them that he must get sight of the letter, for until he knew what had been alledged against him, he could not defend himself. And while they were yet speaking, Godfried Darg entered with his dogs, to say that he had been found worthy, and should enter on his duties the beginning of the week. He nodded impudently to Arthur, and observed as he went to the kennels, that it was a pity the young gentleman had not been accepted, as he had too much learning to be allowed to starve for the want of employment.
Martha Green, the landlord’s daughter, whispered something in her father’s ear, and he shook his head. She spoke to her mother, who listened with more complacency, for she beckoned her husband out of the room.
“I shall just say a few words to you, Mr. Hazerelle,” said the landlord, as he returned, “and they are this: there is your room, and here is your table; and in my house you remain until you can get some employment. I did hope that what I said to those ninnies yonder would have been sufficient to satisfy them; as it is, however, they can employ this rough old fellow if they choose, but they shall have no child of mine—and that will worry them a little. After dinner, I shall propose something to you which I hope will suit you better than to torment yourself with young children.”
At dinner Godfried Darg conducted himself quietly and respectfully—the very reverse of his conduct before he was chosen schoolmaster, at which the little party were surprised—for they expected he would be a perfect nuisance. He ate in silence, and as soon as he finished, got up, took the bones from his own, and, in fact, from all the plates at table, and went to the kennel to feed his dogs—Howler and Barker, as he called them.
“Now, come here, Mr. Hazerelle,” said the landlord; “let us sit on this bench, and enjoy our cigar, while I tell you of a plan suggested by my daughter, Martha. Over yonder,” pointing to a forest about a mile distant, “hidden from our sight though, is a fine old stone building, and in that old stone building—a perfect castle it is—lives a fine old woman, proud as Lucifer though, who has a fine young girl under her care. This lady has a son, as proud as herself, who has continued single to this day—being well-nigh to fifty years of age—because he could not find any one good and high enough for him. There the family has lived for thirty years. We cannot make Mr. Herman out exactly, for he never comes frankly and cheerily amongst us; so we have to guess a great deal—and perhaps we sometimes guess wrong. At any rate, some people say that he wants to marry his mother’s beautiful ward; and some say she is his daughter—and so we go on and know nothing certain, but that there they are, and there they will remain till they die. Sometimes we see Mr. Herman”—Arthur started—“every day for weeks together, and then he is absent for one, two, and three months at a time. Madam Herman, as the folks call her, has never been seen on this side of that forest; but that pretty creature, Grace Gordon, comes to our village-church, and sometimes rides about the country on horseback with Mr. Herman, or an old groom.”
“What sort of a looking man is this Mr. Herman?” said Arthur. “I once knew a gentleman of that name, and he interested me exceedingly.”
“Oh! he could not have been our Mr. Herman, for he is not an interesting man at all. His personal appearance is well enough, but the expression of his face is unpleasing; and he is so wrapt up in his own conceit, that he scorns to talk. I don’t think he ever asked me a question in his life, not even such questions as people ask out of pure good-fellowship—as what do you think of the weather, or how will the crops turn out?”
“It cannot be the one I know,” said Arthur, “for he was quite a talker, and interested himself in every thing that was going on—but let me not interrupt you.”