The vicar and his wife, whether by accident or design, never crossed her path. One day, when she made her accustomed pilgrimage to Brignal, she saw that Rivers was not alone, and, at first, thought it was the sacerdotal back that blotted the fair landscape. But it was not Mr. Popham’s; it was that of the opulent farmer on whose land Rivers had taken up his position, and with whom the dispute of the pig’s unlawful consumption of Naples yellow had long been arranged amicably. Farmer Ward was standing by the side of the artist, passing his felt wide-awake from one hand to the other and staring up into the sky as if he expected the first rain-drop of the autumn to fall on his expectant features from moment to moment.
“No, it won’t rain to-day,” Rivers was saying, decidedly, “but you had better make the most of the opportunity, for I won’t vouch for this spell of weather lasting.”
“Aal reet, Measter, I’ll take yer word for’t.... Ye see, Miss,” he turned to the young woman who now approached, “artisses and sech like, they seem to know the meanin’ of it all!—” he waved his hand comprehensively round the horizon,—“a deal better nor we do.”
“We are bound to notice it,” said Rivers, indulgently. “You see, the weather affects our crops, too!” He pointed to his canvas.
“Ha! Ha! Measter, I takes ye! And if I might be so bold as to ask, what might ye happen to get for that little pectewer there? A matter o’ fifteen shillin’—or saxteen, maybe.”
“My good man, how do you think I could possibly live at that rate? I have been at this thing a month already!”
“Ay, ay, Measter, but then, some folks is pertickler slow!”
“There’s a snub for me!” whispered Rivers to Mrs. Elles.
“But it’s a grand pectewer, all the same,” continued the honest farmer, “though I’d like it better a deal, I must say, if there was a bit o’ life in it, just a hen and chicken preening about maybe, or a bit doggie, ye knaw, or even the young leddie here!... Well, I’ll just be going now, I’m thinkin’!”
He touched his cap and withdrew, tactfully, conscious that the “gentry” might perhaps be getting a little tired of him.