Bill the Minder

by W. Heath Robinson

'My dearest friend was the tea-grocer, a man of sad and dreamy ways and quite devoid of guile, who returned my affection with all the ardour of a singularly loving nature. He shared his every joy with me, and when his holidays came round no greater recreation could he find than in my society. Walking by my side as I strolled along my beat, he would confide to me his simple hopes and fears, and in his troubles seek my readily extended sympathy. Such simplicity and inoffensive mien had he as brought to him a rich harvest of respect and love, together with the custom of his fellow-townsmen.

'In time his little store became quite an evening resort for those older townsmen who, no longer able to race about the green when work was done, would perhaps look in to purchase half a pound of coffee or tea, or sugar or salt for the good wife, and stay chatting with the amiable grocer. Then maybe one would look in to buy an ounce of tobacco, or the excellent snuff for which the grocer was far famed, and so on and so on until the shop was full. Seated around on the tea-chests, coffee bins, tobacco boxes and snuff tins, many a pleasant evening have we spent, enlivened by good-natured arguments and discussions on every conceivable subject.

'One sultry summer's afternoon, as I was standing thinking in the cobbled high-street, the quiet of the still warm day disturbed only by the gentle breathing of the shopmen as they dozed amongst their wares,

or the distant bleating of the sheep as they browsed in and out the rocks and Druid stones capping the surrounding hills, the comforting remembrance came to me of many a refreshing cup of tea partaken with the grocer in the snug little parlour behind his shop. With hardly a thought of what I was about, I allowed my idle steps gently to stray towards the homely store of my friend. Entering therein, and finding that he was away from home, I sat me down upon the little chair, so thoughtfully provided for weary customers, and with my head supported by the counter, resumed my broken train of thought until, completely overcome by a sense of drowsy comfort, I feel asleep.

'I was suddenly awakened by the church clock striking eight, and found that all the town was wrapped in slumber and that the grocer had not yet returned. Wondering what on earth could keep him away so late, and hoping that no harm had overtaken him, I stiffly arose from my seat, stretched myself, and betook me to my home and bed.

'On the following morning my first thought was for my friend, and on learning that he had not returned during the night, I called in turn on each of his neighbours,—the doctor, the vicar, the solicitor, the postman, and the corn-chandler, and many another equally interested in his movements. Not one, however, had seen him since the previous day, and all showed the liveliest concern and anxiety at his mysterious absence.

'Night followed day, and day again followed night, with no sign of the vanished grocer. Weeks now passed by, and grief took possession of the little town at the loss of one who was missed at every turn. Hoping that even yet he might return, we kept his shop still open for him, and the little birds, encouraged by the silence, flew in and out and nested in the scales and amongst the stores, glutting their fluffy little bodies with the sugar-plums, the currants, the herbs and spices that everywhere abounded. And even the swallows, so much entertainment did they find therein, forgot, as the summer drew to its close, to fly away, preferring much to sleep the winter through in comfort.

'But alas! months, and years and years and years rolled by, and the grocer never returned, and in time little enough thought was given to one who had, at one time, been held in such esteem by all. But we, the older Troutpegsters, still thought at times of our vanished friend, and many were the theories we suggested to account for his disappearance.