Because it was Christmas Eve, Maniwel and Jagger had knocked off work at five o’clock, although business was brisk, and the younger man made it his only recreation, rarely leaving the shop until the supper-hour struck. Even now, as he sat with his head in his hands at the table, he was studying plans, and Hannah looked across at her father, who was deep in a book, and then turned to grannie.
“I wish to goodness t’ Sperrit ’ud move someb’dy to talk!” she said. “I should be fain of a few more young’uns to sing for us, for all they bring a lot o’ muck in. It’s fair wearisome sitting by t’ hour together, same as we were a lot o’ mutes.”
“Nay, I don’t know about that, lass,” replied the old woman. “I was never one for a deal o’ chattering myself, and there’s awlus a deal to think about. I can pass my time nicely wi’ them ’at’s gone, for they were a better breed i’ my young days nor what we’ve getten now.”
“And whose fault is that?” inquired Maniwel, who had not been too absorbed in his book to overhear what was said. “Who brought these we’ve got now into t’ world? There’s a bit i’ t’ Book ’at you must ha’ missed, where it reads ’at we’re not to talk about t’ former days being better than our own, ’cause there’s no sense in it. What about t’ mischief nights ’at father used to tell about, when they lifted t’ gates off o’ their hinges, and stole t’ goose out o’ t’ larder, and such like tricks at Christmas time? You’d look well if they were to fetch to-morrow’s dinner while you were abed, mother.”
“I should happen miss it less nor some,” replied the old woman placidly. “I reckon naught o’ bits o’ marlacks same as them. Lads is lads, and mischief comes nat’ral to ’em; and if there’s less on’t now it’s ’cos they haven’t t’ sperrit they used to have, let t’ Book say what it will.”
Maniwel looked across at his mother with great good-humour. He knew that her grumblings were not very sincere, and that she was probably happier than she had been in the old days that had been drab enough until the sunset tints of life’s eventide fell upon them. She spent the greater part of her time now dreaming dreams, and it pleased him to rouse her, and see the light of battle shine feebly in her eye again.
“Nay, mother,” he said; “you’ll wriggle loose choose how fast we tie you up. I never saw such a woman—why you’re as slippy as an eel. When there’s a bit o’ mischief goes on i’ t’ village you shake your head and think t’ Owd Lad’s got us on his fork; and when there isn’t, you say ’at we’re short o’ sperrit and t’ world’s going back’ards way! It’s heads win and tails loses every time!”
“I say grannie’s right!” Jagger had turned on his chair and was stretching out his long legs on the rug. He was a different man from the one who had sat there so disconsolately twelve months before. Little by little he had shaken off the melancholy that had enwrapped him and had clothed himself in his father’s mantle of tranquillity. But even yet the garment lacked the trimmings that beautified the older man’s and made it conspicuous—cheerfulness and breezy optimism were missing. In their stead was a fixed determination to take things quietly as they came, and to push vigorously along the path he had mapped out for himself. The encounter with Inman which had been deplored by the father as a mistake in tactics as well as an evidence of the existence of “old Adam” had given the son much satisfaction. Inman might sneer as he liked—everybody for miles round knew that he had been laid out by his rival, and the defeated man had no sympathisers. Jagger felt that it was good for his self-respect to have that victory to his account, and he had held himself more erect and viewed the world more hopefully ever since.
“I say grannie’s right!” he said. “Shifting gates once a year, and lifting a goose or two for a lark, are just lads’ tricks—mischief ’at means naught. But when grown men plan out Mischief Nights a toathri times a month it looks as if the Old Lad had somebody on his fork, and if I could just catch him I’d shove t’ fork that far in he wouldn’t get off again easy!”
“I’ll warrant you, lad,” said his father, and the two men’s eyes met. “I’d like to see you with a grip on his collar myself.”