COWPER.
HERE were, of course, the proper scenery and furniture of a fair-green — tents and booths, merry-go-rounds, “Aunt Sally,” wheels of fortune, Rocks of Scilly, thimblerig and stacks of gingerbread, and horses and other quadrupeds. The “Step in, ladies and gentlemen!” of the polite showman resounded, and the milder invitation to the peep-show, and the jokes of Mr. Merryman; the big drum and trumpet thundered, the merry squeak of the fiddle was heard, and the stentorian “saucy Arethusa” of the two British sailors, in the usual mutilated condition of that gallant service, mingling now and then with the screaming of a refractory pig. All these sights and sounds failed to divert William from his purpose. He carried about with him two remarkable and very distinct pictures. He was looking about sharply for the originals, and was so absorbed in his search as to lose much of Dick Hoggen’s agreeable conversation.
His scrutiny was not rewarded. It was now twelve o’clock. I don’t know how it is now, but in those days there was a toll collected at the entrance to the fair-green. To the man who received this money William put some questions.
To the best of his recollection he had seen no such men that day; and certainly no such person as the tall young man whom William described had brought a gray and a chestnut horse into the fair.
William was disappointed. He and his friend Dick strolled up again to the “Goat in Boots,” and had some luncheon. On a sudden a direful thought dawned on the young Squire’s mind.
What if these two miscreants had been spying out his plans, and in his absence had made a descent upon Haworth Hall, and carried off his ladylove — to be immured, perhaps, in a convent? Who could say where Clinton might be, with the farm to look after? Possibly two miles away at the forge! What an awful fool he (William Haworth) was! He had left her, in fact, to the protection of an old woman and a simple girl, with two wily kidnappers on her track. If they happened to have found a clue to her present refuge, how frightful might prove the consequences of his blunder!
It was now one; he told the people to saddle his horse forthwith, but, on second thoughts, he resolved to visit the fair-green once more, in quest of the villains whom he had come in pursuit of.
And now, it was past one o’clock. Dick Hoggen — who had played at most of the games on the green, had his fling at Aunt Sally, and peeped into the shows — was now for mounting and overtaking the sheep he had bought, which were already some way on their march to Crink Farm.
“Come down once more to the green, Dick; and if there’s still no news of my rogues, we’ll say good-by.”
So — down they went, and at the gate the man told William: “There has been a gray and a chestnut in since, and a tall greyhoundy chap, gypsy-like, w’ ‘em.”
“Thank you,” said William, with a pleasant nod; “I’m looking for a gray. Which way did he go?”
“Right in — right fomit — right atort the middle o’ the green. I’ve no kennin noo, though — there’s such a jummlement here.”
“Thanks,” William smiled, and nodded again.
He nodded and smiled, but there was the sudden thrill and suspense of coming battle at his heart — he had resolved on an exploit. His eye, as it searched the crowd, was brighter, his face paler and sterner, his step more resolute, and in a sudden silence his talk with honest Dick came untimely to an end.
On reaching a part of the green a little less crowded, he saw a figure — the most barbarous, perhaps, he had ever seen before on English ground; he thought he recognized the outline which his guest had given him — he had found his game.
This was an old square man, with the swarthiest face he had ever seen, broad-furrowed and forbidding, with long soot-black hair, a thick lock of which was brought straight down at each side before his ears. He had jet-black large eyes, the fire of which was sinister in sockets so lined and wrinkled. He wore a high-crowned broad-brimmed felt hat, such as Germans sometimes affect; he had a short chocolate-colored coat, and a sky-blue waistcoat — both faded and worn at the seams — and a pair of trousers, the lower parts of which were thrust into a pair of old topboots, which, in deep brown wrinkles, hung lower than the calves of his legs.
This strange figure, pacing up and down a short bit of sward, was totally alone, and twisting an oak cudgel, of about a yard long, by the middle — seemed without object or occupation.
A stranger or more savage figure he had never seen. It might have been taken for a Zamiel, or the smoked idol of some infernal worship, or a child’s ideal of an ogre.
“Keep beside me now,” said William Haworth to his friend; “I may want to borrow your cudgel.”
“I say, Cowper!” cried William.
The swarthy old man turned on his heel, and, stopping short, confronted the young Squire, fixing on him his glare from under his savage brows. At the same time he shifted his hold of his cudgel, and planted the end of it on the ground.
“Ho! who wants me? — I’m Cowper,” said he, in a hard loud voice.
“Where’s the young fellow that came with you?” said William. “I’m told he has horses to sell, and his gray might answer me.”
“You’ll see ’em there,” said the old man, indicating the direction with a prod of his cudgel.
“Where? — in a booth?”
“Ye can see a gray horse in daylight, I — expect.”
William laughed. “I’ll try,” said he.
“On this ground a man and his nag won’t be far apart,” growled the man with the cudgel. “The lad will be having a pot o’ swipes, mayhap.”
And the old fellow turned again, swaggered up and down his beat once more, twirling his cudgel in the same singular fashion.