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It was customary to see her barred across with enormous plaids, or stripes going the broad way; and so long had she lived under such insignia that no one would have known her without them. She came in with soft, heavy footfalls, and sat down in the little rocking-chair at Mr. Oldfield's right hand. She smiled at him, somewhat nervously. "Well, father," said she, "you got home!"
Later on Savage was inspired to write that famous poem of his, unsigned though it appeared, on the virtues of the departed: "Oldfield's no more! and can the Muse forbear O'er Oldfield's grave to shed a grateful tear? Shall she, the Glory of the British Stage, Pride of her sex, and wonder of the age; Shall she, who, living, charm'd th' admiring throng, Die undistinguish'd, and not claim a song?
After a while they parted, and the man whom he seemed to recognise was left alone, and turned towards him. But could it really be? Dare he believe his eyes? Yes; there could be no mistake, it was indeed Juniper Graves. That rather reckless character was, however, much more spruce in his appearance, and better dressed, than when in Frank Oldfield's service.
"He's got to write an address, and he wants you to tell him what to say." Then, in the darkness of the room, a slow smile stole over Nicholas Oldfield's face, but his voice remained quite grave. "Does, does he?" he remarked. "Well, he ain't the fust pa'son that's needed a lift; but he's the fust one ever I knew to ask for it. I've got nothin' for 'em, Mary.
"Zounds, madam," cries a beau who is ogling a woman of quality in a stage box, "they say Anne Oldfield will never see forty-two again, but I'll warrant you, madam, she looks not a day older than yourself." And the woman of quality, who is over forty, bows at the compliment, as well she may. Bellchambers records that Lady Townley was universally regarded as Oldfield's ne plus ultra in acting.
His welcoming smile faded as his kindly eyes took in the advancing group. Led by Joseph in a most deferential, not to say deprecating, manner, the two ladies slowly crossed the big room, and came around the great table to the chair set for them near Mr. Oldfield's accepted harbor in the club rooms.
An' there" Nicholas Oldfield's eyes burned like blue flame, and again he told the story of the Flat-Iron Lot. "Indeed!" cried the parson. "What a truly remarkable circumstance! We might halt on that very spot, and offer prayer, before entering the church." "'Pears as if that would be about the rights on 't," said Nicholas quietly. "That is, if anybody wanted to plan it out jest as 't was."
He sat down, and the minister took the floor. He thanked Mr. Oldfield and then went on to say that, although it might be informal, he would suggest that the town, with Mr. Oldfield's permission, place an inscription on the boulder in the Flat-Iron Lot, stating why it, was to be held historically sacred. The town roared and stamped, but meanwhile Nicholas Oldfield was quietly rising.
Oldfield's habit of beginning by admiring his adversaries, together with his knowledge of law and little else, and his secret conviction that Sir Charles was unsound of mind, combined to paralyze him; and, not being a man of invention, he could not see his way out of the wood at all; he could negative Mr.
For weeks Tiverton lay in a state of hushed expectancy; one miracle seemed to promise another. But Nicholas Oldfield's house was really closed; the windows shone blankly at men and women who passed, interrogating it. Young Nick and his Hattie had nothing to say, after Hattie's one unguarded admission that she didn't know what possessed father.
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