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Page 68
'"'Ware, Sirrah Devil!" cries Sir John, reining back.
'"Oh!" says Will. "Market-day, is it? And all the bullocks from
Brightling here?"
'I spared him his belting for that--the brazen knave!
'But John Collins was our masterpiece! He happened along-street (his jaw
tied up where Sebastian had clouted him) when we were trundling the
first demi-cannon through the lych-gate.
'"I reckon you'll find her middlin' heavy," he says. "If you've a mind
to pay, I'll loan ye my timber-tug. She won't lie easy on ary
wool-wain."
'That was the one time I ever saw Sebastian taken flat aback. He opened
and shut his mouth, fishy-like.
'"No offence," says Master John. "You've got her reasonable good cheap.
I thought ye might not grudge me a groat if I helped move her." Ah, he
was a masterpiece! They say that morning's work cost our John two
hundred pounds, and he never winked an eyelid, not even when he saw the
guns all carted off to Lewes.'
'Neither then nor later?' said Puck.
'Once. 'Twas after he gave St Barnabas' the new chime of bells. (Oh,
there was nothing the Collinses, or the Hayes, or the Fowles, or the
Fenners would not do for the church then! "Ask and have" was their
song.) We had rung 'em in, and he was in the tower with Black Nick
Fowle, that gave us our rood-screen. The old man pinches the bell-rope
one hand and scratches his neck with t'other. "Sooner she was pulling
yon clapper than my neck, he says. That was all! That was Sussex--seely
Sussex for everlastin'!'
'And what happened after?' said Una.
'I went back into England,' said Hal, slowly. 'I'd had my lesson against
pride. But they tell me I left St Barnabas' a jewel--justabout a jewel!
Wel-a-well! 'Twas done for and among my own people, and--Father Roger
was right--I never knew such trouble or such triumph since. That's the
nature o' things. A dear--dear land.' He dropped his chin on his chest.
'There's your Father at the Forge. What's he talking to old Hobden
about?' said Puck, opening his hand with three leaves in it.
Dan looked towards the cottage.
'Oh, I know. It's that old oak lying across the brook. Pater always
wants it grubbed.'
In the still valley they could hear old Hobden's deep tones.
'Have it _as_ you've a mind to,' he was saying. 'But the vivers of her
roots they hold the bank together. If you grub her out, the bank she'll
all come tearin' down, an' next floods the brook'll swarve up. But have
it as you've a mind. The Mistuss she sets a heap by the ferns on her
trunk.
'Oh! I'll think it over,' said the Pater.
Una laughed a little bubbling chuckle.
'What Devil's in _that_ belfry?' said Hal, with a lazy laugh. 'That
should be a Hobden by his voice.'
'Why, the oak is the regular bridge for all the rabbits between the
Three Acre and our meadow. The best place for wires on the farm, Hobden
says. He's got two there now,' Una answered. '_He_ won't ever let it be
grubbed!'
'Ah, Sussex! Sillly Sussex for everlastin',' murmured Hal; and the next
moment their Father's voice calling across to Little Lindens broke the
spell as little St Barnabas' clock struck five.
A SMUGGLERS' SONG
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