SETTING THEM THINKING
Old Doby, sitting at his open window, with his pipe and illustrated papers on the table by his side, began to find life a series of thrills.The advantage of a window giving upon the village street unspeakably increased.For many years he had preferred the chimney corner greatly, and had rejoiced at the drawing in of winter days when a fire must be well kept up, and a man might bend over it, and rub his hands slowly gazing into the red coals or little pointed flames which seemed the only things alive and worthy the watching.The flames were blue at the base and yellow at the top, and jumped looking merry, and caught at bits of black coal, and set them crackling and throwing off splinters till they were ablaze and as much alive as the rest.A man could get comfort and entertainment therefrom.There was naught else so good to live with.Nothing happened in the street, and every dull face that passed was an old story, and told an old tale of stupefying hard labour and hard days.
But now the window was a better place to sit near.Carts went by with men whistling as they walked by the horses heads.Loads of things wanted for work at the Court.New faces passed faces of workmen--sometimes grinning, "impident youngsters," who larked with the young women, and called out to them as they passed their cottages, if a good-looking one was loitering about her garden gate.Old Doby chuckled at their love-****** chaff, remembering dimly that seventy years ago he had been just as proper a young chap, and had made love in the same way.Lord, Lord, yes! He had been a bold young chap as ever winked an eye.Then, too, there were the vans, heavy-loaded and closed, and coming along slowly.Every few days, at first, there had come a van from "Lunnon." Going to the Court, of course.And to sit there, and hear the women talk about what might be in them, and to try to guess one's self, that was a rare pastime.Fine things going to the Court these days--furniture and grandeur filling up the shabby or empty old rooms, and ****** them look like other big houses--same as Westerbridge even, so the women said.The women were always talking and getting bits of news somehow, and were beginning to be worth listening to, because they had something more interesting to talk about than children's worn-out shoes, and whooping cough.
Doby heard everything first from them."Dang the women, they always knowed things fust." It was them as knowed about the smart carriages as began to roll through the one village street.They were gentry's carriages, with fine, stamping horses, and jingling silver harness, and big coachmen, and tall footmen, and such like had long ago dropped off showing themselves at Stornham.
"But now the gentry has heard about Miss Vanderpoel, and what's being done at the Court, and they know what it means," said young Mrs.Doby."And they want to see her, and find out what she's like.It's her brings them."Old Doby chuckled and rubbed his hands.He knew what she was like.That straight, slim back of hers, and the thick twist of black hair, and the way she had of laughing at you, as cheery as if a bell was ringing.Aye, he knew all about that.
"When they see her once, they'll come agen, for sure,"he quavered shrilly, and day by day he watched for the grand carriages with vivid eagerness.If a day or two passed without his seeing one, he grew fretful, and was injured, feeling that his beauty was being neglected! "None to-day, nor yet yest'day,"he would cackle."What be they folk a-doin'?"Old Mrs.Welden, having heard of the pipe, and come to see it, had struck up an acquaintance with him, and dropped in almost every day to talk and sit at his window.She was a young thing, by comparison, and could bring him lively news, and, indeed, so stir him up with her gossip that he was in danger of becoming a young thing himself.Her groceries and his tobacco were subjects whose interest was undying.
A great curiosity had been awakened in the county, and visitors came from distances greater than such as ordinarily include usual calls.Naturally, one was curious about the daughter of the Vanderpoel who was a sort of national institution in his own country.His name had not been so much heard of in England when Lady Anstruthers had arrived but there had, at first, been felt an interest in her.But she had been a failure--a childish-looking girl--whose thin, fair, prettiness had no distinction, and who was obviously overwhelmed by her surroundings.She had evidently had no influence over Sir Nigel, and had not been able to prevent his ****** ducks and drakes of her money, which of course ought to have been spent on the estate.Besides which a married woman represented fewer potentialities than a handsome unmarried girl entitled to expectations from huge American wealth.
So the carriages came and came again, and, stately or unstately far-off neighbours sat at tea upon the lawn under the trees, and it was observed that the methods and appointments of the Court had entirely changed.Nothing looked new and American.The silently moving men-servants could not have been improved upon, there was plainly an excellent chef somewhere, and the massive silver was old and wonderful.Upon everybody's word, the change was such as it was worth a long drive merely to see!
The most wonderful thing, however, was Lady Anstruthers herself.She had begun to grow delicately plump, her once drawn and haggard face had rounded out, her skin had smoothed, and was actually becoming pink and fair, a nimbus of pale fine hair puffed airily over her forehead, and she wore the most charming little clothes, all of which made her look fifteen years younger than she had seemed when, on the grounds of ill-health, she had retired into seclusion.The renewed relations with her family, the atmosphere by which she was surrounded, had evidently given her a fresh lease of life, and awakened in her a new courage.
