A man is often hated without knowing why. As one begets a child, so one begets an enemy—unknowingly. The more harmless and docile a nature may be, the more easy to dislike.
James Dawe, as well as Farmer Mere, hated Joe Bridle. Joe never boasted, his ideas were humble, and his crops—with the exception of his one good meadow—were always worse than other people’s. No one would have thought of Joe as being a man who was important enough to be disliked. His bad luck, every one knew; but his cleverness in cutting out of wood so many creatures with a mere knife, no one talked of—and yet James Dawe and Mr. Mere hated him.
Of the two Mr. Mere hated him the most, but perhaps that was because Joe Bridle was always the first to help Mr. Mere. For when one of the farmer’s cows fell into a ditch, Joe would bring a rope to pull it out, and when all Mere’s sheep—with a great clamour of voices—broke pasture in the night, Joseph roused himself, dressed, and drove them safely to the fold.
It was said at Dodder that to curse a man at one spot upon the downs, where a fairy circle always was, would mean his death. In this magic spot, Mr. Mere—as well as James Dawe—had often cursed Bridle, and both hoped to see him buried while they yet lived.
A part of the down belonged to Mr. Mere. He would often go there upon a Sunday afternoon, in order to try and catch the Dodder children, who would sometimes in fine weather run up and down a tumulus. When he caught them, he would beat them with his stick.
When the children were not there, he would hunt the rabbits with his dog. When he caught a rabbit, he would watch his dog gnaw and devour it. Mere was a cunning hunter. He would appear when you least expected to see him. When the children were all happy playing, he would run suddenly upon them, with his fierce dog at his heels. He would have killed the children, as well as the rabbits, had he dared. To hurt was his pleasure, it was an act that he liked. He liked to see a creature in torment.
James Dawe was different. He did not go to the down to hurt, but only to find. He moved like his schemes—a slow, steady pace—always looking for something. If the children were there, he would watch until they ran away, then he would search the grass where they had been—hoping to find a penny. He would also look out for a rabbit in a snare, in order to carry it home under his coat.
Sometimes James Dawe and Mere would be on the down together. They would only pass one another, and rarely spoke. From a distance, they looked like beasts. Mere crawled upon the earth—he always seemed to be stooping in order that he might not be seen. James Dawe grovelled; he moved upon the ground, as if he wished to sink into it.
When Joseph and Mr. Solly passed either of these men, they knew that they cursed them. Had not Mr. Bridle been a very trustful and simple man, he would have feared James Dawe, even more than Mr. Mere.
Nothing was ever hidden from the miser; he was aware of all that went on in Dodder. He had a hawk’s eye for anything of value, and often—for a few pence—purchased what was worth pounds. If one man hates another, nothing that the hated one does escapes notice. His every movement is known. James Dawe knew the exact moment when Joe Bridle first thought of Susie. He also knew when Joe first spoke to her.
To bring Joe Bridle to sorrow was his hope. For a while, he considered how that could be done, and then he knew. He learned from the Bible what it was that brought sorrow into the world. God could set a gin, as well as he. God had given a fine apple as a bait, and Dawe knew a trick worth two of that.
If a woman likes an apple, a man likes a woman. Though Dawe hated Bridle, he spoke to him now and again, in a friendly manner. He hoped that Susie might marry a good man. “Some folk,” he said, “do only think of money, but I bain’t like that.” He saw hope in Joe’s eyes.
Nothing escaped James Dawe. He knew his own cottage, as well as he knew other people’s. He knew the spyhole that, from his own bedroom, looked into his child’s. This hole was behind a large photograph of Susie’s mother, that had no frame—a wedding photograph. The hole, that a nail had torn out, was behind the woman’s eye. And through this hole it was easy to see into Susie’s bedroom.
Mr. Dawe was a father; he was also a man who liked to see.