<h2> <SPAN name="LIV"> </SPAN> CHAPTER LIV. <br/><br/> <span class="small"> CRIPPS BRINGS HOME THE CROWN. </span> </h2>
<p>Although the solid Cripps might now be supposed by other people to
have baffled all his enemies, in his own mind there was no sense of
triumph, but much of wonder. The first thing he did when all danger
was past, and Dobbin was pedalling his old tune—"three-happence and
tuppence; three-happence and tuppence; a good horse knows what his
shoes are worth"—was to tie up Gracie in a pair of sacks. He thumped
them well on the foot-board first, to shake all the mealiness out of
them; and then, with permission, he spread one over the delicate
shoulders, and the other in front, across the trembling heart and
throat. Then, by some hereditary art, he fastened them together, so
that the night air could not creep between.</p>
<p>"Cripps, you are too good," said Grace; "if I could only tell you half
the times that I have thought of you; and once when I saw a sack of
yours——"</p>
<p>"Lor', miss, the very one as I have missed! Had un got a red cross,
thick to one side—the Lord only knows what a fool I be, to carry on
with such rum-tums now; however I'll have hold of he—and zummat more,
ere I be done with it." Here the Carrier rubbed his mouth on his
sleeve, as he always did to stop himself. He was not going to publish
the family disgrace till he had avenged it. "But now, miss, not
another word you say. Inside of them sacks you go to sleep; the Lord
knows you want it dearly; and fall away you can't nohow. Scratched you
be to that extreme in getting out of Satan's den, that tallow candles
dropped in water is what I must see to. None on 'em knows it, no, not
one on 'em. Man or horse, it cometh all the same. It taketh a man to
do it, though."</p>
<p>"I should like to see a horse do it," said Grace; and her sleepy smile
passed into sleep. Eager as she was to be in her father's arms, the
excitement, and the exertion, and the unwonted shaking, and passage
through the air, began to tell their usual tale.</p>
<p>This was the very thing the crafty Carrier longed to bring about. It
left him time to consider how to meet two difficulties. The first was
to get her through Beckley without any uproar of the natives; the
second, to place her in her father's arms without dangerous emotion.
The former point he compassed well, by taking advantage of the many
ins and outs of the leisurely lanes of Beckley, so that he drew up at
the back door of the Barton, without a single sapient villager being
one bit the wiser.</p>
<p>Now, if he only had his sister with him, the second point might have
been better managed; because he would have sent her on in front, to
treat with Mrs. Hookham, and employ all the feminine skill supplied by
quickness, sympathy, and invention. As it was, he must do the best he
could; and his greatest difficulty was with Grace herself.</p>
<p>The young lady by this time was wide awake, and stirred with such
violent throbbings of heart, at the view of divine and desirable
Beckley sleeping in the moonlight, and at the breath of her own
home-door, and haunt of her darling father's steps, that Cripps had to
hold her down by her sacks, and wished that he could strap her so. "Do
'ee zit still, miss; do 'ee zit still," he kept on saying, till he was
afraid of being rude.</p>
<p>"You are a tyrant, Cripps; a perfect tyrant! Because you have picked
me up, and been so good, have you any right to keep me from my
father?"</p>
<p>"Them rasonings," said Cripps in a decided tone, "is good; but comes
to nothing. Either you do as I begs of you, missy, or I turns Dobbin's
head, and back you go. It is for the Squire's sake I spake so harsh to
'ee. Supposin' you was to kill him, missy, what would you say
arterwards?"</p>
<p>"Oh, is he so dreadfully ill as that? I will do everything exactly as
you tell me."</p>
<p>"Then get down very softly, miss, and run and hide in that old
doorway, quite out of the moonshine, and stay there till I come to
fetch 'ee."</p>
<p>Still covered with the sacks, the maiden did as she was told; while
the Carrier, with ungainly skill, and needless cautions to his horse
(who stood like a rock), descended. Then he walked into the Squire's
kitchen, with whip in hand, as usual, as if he were come to deliver
goods.</p>
<p>The fat cook now was sitting calmly by the fire meditating. To her the
time of year made no difference, except for the time that meat must
hang, and the recollection of what was in its prime, and the
consideration of the draught required, and the shutting of the sun out
when he spoiled the fire. In the fire of young days, when herself
quite raw, this admirable cook had been "done brown" by a handsome
young Methodist preacher. Before she understood what a basting-ladle
is, her head was set spinning by his tongue and eyes; he had three
wives already, but he put her on the list, took all her money out of
her, and went another circuit. The poor girl spent about a year in
crying, and then she returned to the Church of England, buried her
baby, and became a cook. Without being soured by any evil, she now had
long experience, and a ripe style of twirling her thumbs upon her
apron.</p>
<p>"Plaize, Mrs. Cook," began Zacchary, entering under official
privilege, and trying to look full of business, "do 'ee know where to
lay hand on Mother Hookham? A vallyble piece of goods I has to
deliver, and must have good recate for un."</p>
<p>"But lor', Master Cripps, now, whatever be about? It ain't one of your
Hoxford days; and us never sends out no washing!"</p>
<p>"You've a-knowed me a long time now, ain't you, Mrs. Cook? Did you
ever know me for to play trickum-trully?"</p>
<p>"Never have you done that to my knowledge," the good woman answered
steadfastly, though pained in her heart by the thought of one who had;
"Master Cripps is known to be the breadth of his own word."</p>
<p>"Then, my good soul, will 'ee fetch down Mother Hookham? It bain't for
the flourishes, the Lord A'mighty knows. I haven't got the governing
of them little scrawls myself nor the seasoning amongst them as
appertains to you. Bootifully you could a' done it, Mrs. Cook; but the
directions here is so particular! For a job of this sort, you are
twenty years too young."</p>
<p>"Oh, Master Cripps," cried the cook, who made a star, like that upon a
pie, for her manual sign; "well you know that the ruin of my days has
been trust in eddication. Standing outside of it, I was a-took in, and
afore there come any pen or pencil, £320 was gone. Not for a moment do
I blame the Word of God, only them as blasphemeth it. But the whole of
my innard parts is turned against a papper, even on a pie-crust."</p>
<p>"Don't 'ee give way now, dear heart alive! Many a time have you told
me, and every time I feels the more for 'ee. Quite a young 'ooman you
be still in a way, and a treasure for a young man with a whame in his
throat, and half-a-guinea every week you might aim for roasting
dinner-parties. But do 'ee now go, and fetch Mother Hookham down."</p>
<p>"The old 'ooman isn't in the house, Master Cripps. She hath so many
things to mind that the wonder is how she can ever go through of them.
A heavy weight she hath taken off my shoulders, ever since here she
come, in virtue of her tongue. But her darter can be had to put a
flour to a'most anything if my signs isn't grand enough to go into
your hat, Master Cripps."</p>
<p>"Now, my dear good soul," replied the Carrier, standing back and
looking at her, "you be taking of everything in a crooked way, you be.
I have a little thing to see to—nort to say of kitchen in it, and
some sort of style pecooliar. Requaireth pecooliar management, I do
assure you, and no harm. Will 'ee plaize to hearken to me now? Such as
I have to say—not much."</p>
<p>The brave cook answered this appeal by running to fetch Mary Hookham;
in everything that now she did, even with such a man as Cripps, the
remembrance of vile deceit made her look out for a witness. Mary came
down with a bounce as if she had never been near her looking-glass,
but was born with her ribbons and colour to match. And her eyes shone
fresh at the sight of Master Cripps.</p>
<p>"How well you be looking, my dear, for sure!" said the Carrier, having
(as a soldier has) his admiration of a pretty girl quickened by the
sound of firearms. "And I be come to make 'ee look still better."</p>
<p>Mary cast a glance at the cook, as if she thought her one too many.
Cripps must be going to declare his mind at last; and Mary had such
faith in him, that she required no witness.</p>
<p>"Who do 'ee think I have brought 'ee back?" asked Zacchary, meaning to
be very quiet, but speaking so loud in his pride, that Mary, with a
pale face, ran and shut the door upon the steps leading to her
master's quarters. Then she came back more at leisure, and put her
elbows to her sides, and looked at Master Cripps, as if she had never
meant to think of him for herself. And this made Cripps, who had been
exulting at her first proceedings, put down his whip and wonder.</p>
<p>"Not Miss Grace!" cried Mary; "surely never our Miss Grace!"</p>
<p>"What a intellect that young woman hath!" said Cripps aloud,
reflecting; "a'most too much, I be verily afeared."</p>
<p>"Oh no, Master Cripps, not at all too much for any one as entereth
into it, with a household feeling. But were I right? Oh, Master
Cripps, were I right?"</p>
<p>"Mary Hookham," said Cripps, coming over, and laying his hand on her
shoulder (as he used to do when she was a little wench, and made him a
curtsy with a glass of ale, even then admiring him), "Mary, you were
right, as I never could believe any would have the quickness. Cripps
hath a-brought home to this old ancient mansion the very most vallyble
case of goods as ever were inside it. Better than the crown as the
young Queen hath, for ten months now, preparing."</p>
<p>"Alive?" asked Mary, shrinking back towards the fire, for his metaphor
might mean coffins.</p>
<p>"Now, there you go down again—there you go down," answered Cripps,
who enjoyed the situation, and desired to make the most of it. "I
thought you was all intellect—but better perhaps without too much.
Put it to yourself now, Mary, whether I should look like this, if I
had only brought the remainses."</p>
<p>"Oh, where is her? Where is her? Wherever can her be?" cried Mary,
forgetting all her fine education, in strong vernacular excitement.</p>
<p>"Her be where I knows to find her again," answered Zacchary, with a
steadfast face. It was not for any one to run in and strike a light
betwixt him and his own work. "Her might be to Abingdon, or to
Banbury. Proper time come, I can vetch her forrard."</p>
<p>"Oh, I thought you had got her in the house, Master Cripps. How
disappointing you do grow, to be sure! I suppose it is the way of all
men."</p>
<p>Mary shed a tear, and Master Cripps (having been tried by sundry
women) went closer, to be sure of it. He was pleased at the sign, but
he went on with his business.</p>
<p>"You desarve to know everything. Now, can 'ee shut the doors, without
a chance of anybody breaking in?"</p>
<p>Mary and the cook, with a glance at one another, fastened all the
doors of the large low kitchen, except the one leading to the lane
itself.</p>
<p>"You bide just as you be," said Cripps, "and I'll show 'ee something
worth looking at."</p>
<p>He ran to the place where Grace was hiding, in the chill and the heat
of impatience, and he took the coarse sacks from her shoulders, as if
her sackcloth time was done at last. Then he led her to the warmth and
light, and she hung behind afraid of them. That strange, but not
uncommon shyness of one's own familiar home—when long unseen—came
over her; and she felt, for the moment, almost afraid of her own
beloved father. But Cripps made her come, and both Mary Hookham and
the fat cook cried, "Oh my! My good!" and ran up and kissed her, and
held her hands; while she stood pale and mute, with large blue eyes
brimful of tears, and lips that wavered between smile and sob.</p>
<p>"Does he—does he know about me?" she managed to say to Cripps, while
she glanced at the door leading up to her father's room.</p>
<p>"Not he! Lord bless you, my dear," said Cripps, "it taketh 'em all
half an hour apiece to believe as you ever be alive, miss."</p>
<p>"It would never take my father two minutes," answered Grace; "he will
be a great deal too glad of it to doubt."</p>
<p>"You promised to bide by my diraxions," the Carrier cried
reproachfully; "if 'ee don't, I 'on't answer for nort of it. Now sit
you down, miss, by back-kitchen door, to come or go either way,
according as is ordered. Now, Mary, plaize to go, and say, that Cripps
hath come to see his Worship about a little mistake he hath made."</p>
<p>Mr. Oglander never refused to see any who came to visit him. His
simple, straightforward mind compelled him to go through with
everything as it turned up, whether it were of his own business, or
any other person's. Therefore he said, "Show Cripps in here."</p>
<p>Cripps was in no hurry to be shown in. He felt that he had a ticklish
job to carry through, and he might drop the handles if himself were
touched amiss. And he thought that he could get on much better with a
clever woman there to help him.</p>
<p>"Plaize, your Worship," he began, coming in, with his finger to his
forelock, and his stiff knee sticking out. "Don't 'ee run away now,
Mary, that's a dear; you knows all the way-bills; and his Worship will
allow of you."</p>
<p>"Why, Cripps," Mr. Oglander exclaimed, "you are making a very great
fuss to-night; and you look as if you had been run over. Even if it is
half-a-crown, Cripps, you are come to prove against me—put it down. I
will not dispute it. I know that you would rather wrong yourself than
me." The old gentleman was tired, and he did not want to talk.</p>
<p>"In coorse, in coorse," said Zacchary (as if every man preferred to
wrong himself), "but the point is a different thing; and, Mary, speak
up, and say you know it is."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir, I do assure you now," said Mary, "the point is altogether
quite a different sort of thing."</p>
<p>"Then why can't you come to it?" cried the Squire; "is it that you
want to marry one another?"</p>
<p>Mary's face blushed to a fine young colour; and Cripps made a nod at
her, as if he meant to think of it, but must leave that for another
evening.</p>
<p>"I never could abide such stuff," muttered Mary, "as if all the world
was a-made of wives and husbands!"</p>
<p>The Squire sat calmly with his head upon his hand, and his white hair
glistening in the lamplight, as he gazed from one to the other, with a
smile of melancholy amusement. It would be a great discomfort to him
to lose Mary Hookham's services; and he thought it a little unkind of
her to leave him in this sad loneliness; but he had not lived
threescore years and ten without knowing what the way of the world is.
Therefore, if Cripps had made up his mind—as the women had long been
declaring that he as a man was bound to do—Mr. Oglander would be the
last to complain, or say a word to damp them. The Carrier himself had
some idea that such was the working of the Squire's mind.</p>
<p>"Now, your Worship," he said, putting Mary away to a place where she
could use her handkerchief, "will 'ee plaize to hearken, without your
own opinion before hast heard what there be to say? Nayther of us
drameth of doing you the wrong to take away Mary, while you be wanting
of her. You ought to have knowed us better, Squire. And as for poor
Mary, I ain't said a word to back up her hopes of a-having me yet.
Now, Miss Mary, have I?"</p>
<p>"No, that you never haven't, Master Cripps! And it may come too late;
if it ever do come."</p>
<p>"Well, well," continued Mr. Cripps, without much terror at the way she
turned her back; "railly, your Worship, it was you who throwed us out.
Reckoning of my times is a hard thing for me; and a hundred and four
times a year is too much for the discretion of a horse a'most."</p>
<p>"Very well, Cripps," said the Squire in despair; "every one knows that
you must have your time. Not a word will I speak again, until I have
your leave."</p>
<p>"I calls it onhandsome of your Worship to say that; being so contrary
of my best karaksteristicks. Your Worship maneth all things for the
best, I am persuaded; but speaking thus you drives me into such a
prespiration, the same as used to be a sweat when I was young and
forced to it. Now, doth your Worship know that all things cometh in a
round, like a sound cart-wheel, to all such folks as trusts the Lord?"</p>
<p>"I know that you have such a theory, Cripps. You beat the whole
village in theology."</p>
<p>"And the learned scholar in Oxford, your Worship; he were quite
doubled up about the tribe of Levi. But for all of their stuff, the
Lord still goeth on, making His rounds to His own right time; and now
His time hath come for you, Squire."</p>
<p>"Do try to speak out, Cripps; and tell me what excites you so."</p>
<p>"Mary, his Worship is beginning to look white. Fetch in the
pepper-castor, and the gallon of vinegar as I delivered last
Wednesday."</p>
<p>"No, Mary, no. I want nothing of the kind. Tell him—beg him—just to
speak out what he means."</p>
<p>"Cripps—Master Cripps, now," cried Mary in a tremble; "you be going
too far, and then stopping of a heap like. His Worship ought to be let
into the whole of it gradooal—gradooal—gradooal."</p>
<p>"Can 'ee trust in the word of the Lord, your Worship?" asked Cripps,
advancing bravely. "Can 'ee do that now, without no disrespect to
'ee?"</p>
<p>"In two minutes more you'll drive me mad, between you!" the old Squire
shouted, as he rose and spread his arms. "In the name of God, what is
it? Is it of my daughter?"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, father dearest! who else could it be in the whole of the
world?" a clear voice cried, as a timid form grew clear. "They would
go on all the night; but I could not wait a moment. Daddy, I am sure
that you won't be frightened. You can't have too much of your own
Grace, can you? Don't let it go to your heart, my darling. Grace will
rub it for you. There, let me put my head just as I used, and then you
will be certain, won't you?"</p>
<p>She laid her head upon her father's breast, while Mary caught hold of
the Carrier's sleeve, and led him away to the passage. Then the old
man's weak and trembling fingers strayed among his daughter's hair,
and he could not speak, or smile, or weep.</p>
<p>"There, you will be better directly, darling," she whispered, looking
up with streaming eyes, as she felt him tremble exceedingly, and her
quick hands eased him of the little brooch (containing her mother's
hair and her own), which fastened his quivering shirt-frill; "you
wanted me to come back, didn't you? But not in such a hurry,
darling—not in such a hurry. Father dear, why ever don't you kiss
me?"</p>
<p>"If you did not run away, dear—say you did not run away."</p>
<p>"Daddy, you cannot be so ill-minded; so very wicked to your only
child."</p>
<p>The old man took his child's hand in his own, and soothed her down,
and drew her down, until they were kneeling at the table side by side;
then they put up their hands to thank God for one another, and did it
not with lips, but with heart and soul.</p>
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