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Stickles sniffed contemptuously as her needles whirled and rattled between her nimble fingers. "Yes," Mrs. Larkins replied, "he carries his meanness into everything. If he even imagines that it was the parson's fault that the house burned down, and the will was destroyed, his anger will burn like fire. He's very revengeful, too, and has an old grudge to pay back.
The sky had got clear, and the nimble air was so inviting that we rose as one body to stroll in groups about the garden and wander down to the river. The brave old river was rushing hoarsely along, clear and full, between his ruined temple-columns of basalt, as of old. "What a grand salmon-river this would be, Major!" said I; "what pools and stickles are here!
Stare not at me so, thou fool; thou art big enough to eat me; read, read, read." "If you please, sir, what is your name?" I asked; though why I asked him I know not, except from fear of witchcraft. "Jeremy Stickles is my name, lad, nothing more than a poor apparitor of the worshipful Court of King's Bench. And at this moment a starving one, and no supper for me unless thou wilt read."
But let a man stay at hum in a parish like Glendow, an' no one hears of his doin's, cause they don't want to." "My! ye didn't say all that?" exclaimed Mrs. McKrigger, "an' to a rale live missionary, too." "Them's the exact words I said, an' them ain't all," rattled on Mrs. Stickles. "I had me tongue on 'im then, an' it did me good to see his face.
At this my breath was quite taken away; for we think so much of our horses. By this time I could see our troopers, waiting in the shadow of the house, round the corner from where the Doones were, and expecting the order to fire. But Jeremy Stickles very wisely kept them in readiness, until the enemy should advance upon them.
He looked so full of momentous tidings, that Colonel Kirke made a sign to his men not to shoot me till further orders; and then he went aside with Stickles, so that in spite of all my anxiety I could not catch what passed between them. But I fancied that the name of the Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys was spoken more than once, and with emphasis and deference.
"This is a miserable tale," said Jeremy Stickles brightly; "hand me over the schnapps, my boy. What fools we are to spoil our eyes for other people's troubles! Enough of our own to keep them clean, although we all were chimney-sweeps. There is nothing like good hollands, when a man becomes too sensitive. Restore the action of the glands; that is my rule, after weeping.
"An' do ye mean to tell me," she exclaimed, when the parson had finished, "that Tim Fraser is dead?" "Yes, it's only too true, Mrs. Stickles. Poor man poor man!" "Ye may well call 'im poor, Parson, fer I'm thinkin' that's jist what he is at this blessed minute. He's in a bad way now, I reckon." "Hush, hush, Marthy," her husband remonstrated. "We must not judge too harshly."
Without waiting for any warrant, only saying something about "captus in flagrante delicto," if that be the way to spell it Stickles sent our prisoners off, bound and looking miserable, to the jail at Taunton. I was desirous to let them go free, if they would promise amendment; but although I had taken them, and surely therefore had every right to let them go again, Master Stickles said, "Not so."
"My poor lamb! My darlin' baby! are ye kilt, are ye kilt?" wailed Mrs. Stickles, kneeling down by her side. "Speak to me, my lamb, my little baby! Oh, speak to yer mammy!" But no sign of recognition came from the prostrate child. Seeing this the mother sprang to her feet and wrung her hands in agony of despair. "What will we do? Oh, what kin we do? My baby is kilt my poor darlin'! Oh oh oh!"
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