Mr. Balliboy was the Norbury carrier. But the people of that proud village were offended by him; he had insulted their vanity.
He had committed a sad sin. Mr. Balliboy had once permitted a beggar-woman named Mary—who expected, about Christmas-time, her bastard to be born—to ride in his van from Maidenbridge to where she lived, though none knew exactly where that place was. And so Mr. Balliboy’s ordinary customers left him in a rage, and ever after that day they had travelled in Mr. Hawking’s car.
But a tale told in one village with intent to injure a harmless man is not always heeded in another, and Mr. Balliboy would often call at Dodder for a load, and there his kindness to Mary, though it might have been heard of, was not believed.
Upon the Sunday that we have reached in our story, Mr. Balliboy arose from his bed with a liveliness in his heart that betokened a prosperous day. He hoped, too, as he put on his boots that the wish of his heart would soon be fulfilled. He wanted to marry.
But it was no woman that Mr. Balliboy desired to wed; he wished to marry an animal. He had ever respected and admired the brute creation, and especially those that bear burdens willingly. He had once, too, overheard a sermon preached by a young man of Folly Down to a bull, and he agreed with Luke Bird, the preacher, that the beasts of the field were more friendly than men. Having often seen, in the way of his trade, how the best women even behave to their husbands, Mr. Balliboy could never understand why the lawgiver Moses made so strict a rule against a man mating with a beast. The gift of speech had certainly done women very little good, no animal had ever learned to speak so unkindly. Mr. Balliboy had dreamed that very night that he had found a creature who would marry him.
“Such a wedding,” thought Mr. Balliboy, “is common to all fairy stories, so why should it not come to pass in real life?”
Mr. Balliboy intended to take a party from Dodder to Lord Bullman’s gardens. There was nothing he liked better, in the way of revenge for their treatment of him, than to give the Norbury people cause to wonder where he was going and what business he had to do. He rose early, and, in the presence of all who wished to view him, he brushed out and washed his car. And then, after retiring indoors and dressing himself as finely as a bridegroom, with a white flower in his coat, he rattled out of Norbury in a grand manner.
The gardens at West Dodder Hall were to be opened at one o’clock, and Mr. Balliboy waited beside the Dodder Inn, informing all who came near to look at him, that his charge for taking passengers to the great gates was only one shilling, to go and return.
Winnie Huddy was one of the first to come to him, and after informing her of his price, he drew her near to him and inquired in a whisper whether Winnie knew of any creature in Dodder, any friendly beast of burden, that was in need of a good husband.
“’Tain’t no woman I do want to marry, ’tis an animal,” he said.
Such a subject as matrimony, Winnie, who had listened to Mr. Solly’s conversations and to Mr. Hayhoe’s readings, looked upon with extreme seriousness, and she showed the utmost respect for Mr. Balliboy’s inquiry. She did not even smile. Indeed the request seemed to her to be extremely sensible, and she replied readily, “Maybe thee’d fancy a good camel, for I do know of one that do bide in Dodder.”
Mr. Balliboy looked very glad.
“She don’t kick, do she?” he asked timidly.
“No,” answered Winnie, “she do only work.”
“Then ’twill be a wedding,” cried Mr. Balliboy joyfully.
As may easily be expected, there were many who preferred to ride two miles upon a very hot day than to walk. Mr. Hayhoe, always an early man when he went anywhere, was the first to step in. He asked Mr. Balliboy whether he would mind waiting a few moments for Priscilla.
Mr. Hayhoe looked a little troubled, for, no sooner had he come forth from the church after matins than a note was put into his hand by Mr. Pix himself, demanding that he should visit Lord Bullman at once, or else the living of Dodder would go to another.
We are all of us packed into this world—though there ought certainly to be plenty of room—nearly as close together as the occupants of Mr. Balliboy’s car, and we are quite as odd a mixture. The car was soon full, but as the custom is with such a carriage, it could always hold another.
At their first coming together, a company setting out upon a holiday is a silent creature: the women look at one another and the men sit gloomily and feel in their trouser pockets. Mr. Titball sat next to Mr. Dady, and Dillar regarded with a fixed stare old James Dawe and Susie, who were going together to see the flowers.
But quite unexpectedly a match was struck that made all merry. This was done by Winnie, who burst in with the news that Mr. Solly, as well as Mr. and Miss Bridle, were going too, and that they were already in sight. Winnie, who sat next to Mr. Balliboy, touched his arm and whispered into his ear.
“’Tis thik camel who be coming.”
Mr. Balliboy wondered.
“Be she going to ride in car?” he asked anxiously.
“Certainly,” answered Winnie, “for though ’tis a camel, she be grown up like a woman.”
Winnie was in high glee, and no sooner had John Death climbed into the car and sat himself in front of her, than she told all the company how John had attempted to carry her into the churchyard.
“Sister Daisy do say,” cried Winnie, noticing that Death hung his head a little, for no one likes all that he does to be told, “that a man be like a new broom that do want to sweep in all the corners. But a churchyard be only good for the dead to lie in.”
“And what are you?” asked John Death, looking at Winnie angrily.
“One of the living,” answered Winnie boldly.
Once Winnie had started talking it was hard to stop her.
“’Tis Johnnie who be paying for I to go today,” she remarked, “but when I am married to Mr. Solly, I shall be forced to take him wherever I go, for ’tain’t safe to leave a husband alone with the cats.”
Solly blushed. He had walked over from Madder on purpose to go to the gardens with the Bridles.
“But we must not leave our nut-garden, Winnie,” he said.
“Not when the nuts be ripe,” answered Winnie.
Miss Bridle smiled at Mr. Balliboy, who, because the car was not started, regarded her with much curiosity. Miss Bridle liked him to look at her and smiled the more coyly.
Mr. Mere had not come, for a man of his situation in life never travels in such a mean manner, and, besides, he had many preparations to make for his wedding upon the next day.
And now all was ready, and yet Mr. Balliboy did not start his van. No one knew why, but presently the mystery was explained. Mr. Balliboy shook his head, nodded, shrugged his shoulders, and turned suddenly to face Sarah Bridle.
“Thee be a camel, bain’t ’ee?” he asked her.
Miss Bridle blushed and observed that she had always supposed so, though since she had known Mr. Death she had not been quite so sure of herself. Mr. Balliboy looked at her with large admiration.
“Thee be a camel,” he cried, “a camel who be going to be married.”
“To whom?” asked Mrs. Moggs excitedly.
“To me ownself,” replied Mr. Balliboy, and started the car in a hurry.
Now that the car was started, Death became more at his ease, and he ventured to explain to Mrs. Moggs that he had never known any one before who had dared to mock him as Winnie Huddy had done.
“In my habitation, to which I take the young girls that I fancy,” observed Death, “none ever dare to prick me with sharp pins.”
“You wait till I visit you!” cried Winnie, who had heard what he said.
Death changed the subject, and, realizing that Winnie had the best of him, he began to boast, like another Mr. Card.
“There is no corner of the world,” he cried, “no, nor of the firmament either, where I am not feared and honoured. The first principle in every religion is the fear of me. Kings, princes, and popes all bow before me. A mouse is afraid of me, and so is Lord Bullman. I possess a fine weapon with which, as every generation comes, I conquer the world.”
“’Tis only thik wold scythe ’e do boast of,” whispered Winnie, in a tone of supreme contempt, to Mrs. Moggs.
They were now beside the great gates, and Mr. Hayhoe, with a pleasing formality, gave Priscilla into the care of Mr. Solly, who promised to show the lady all that there was to be seen, and to conduct her safely back to the Dodder Vicarage, in case Mr. Hayhoe returned home by another road.
Mr. Hayhoe was the first to hurry away. The remainder of Mr. Balliboy’s load alighted more slowly. For a while no one was brave enough to approach the gatekeeper, who, dressed for the occasion, showed by her grand manner that she was the head-gardener’s wife, to whom the shilling fee was to be given, and from whom permission must be asked to enter the garden.
Mr. Balliboy, still seated in his car, regarded the waiting group with compassion, and in all kindliness informed them of the time when he would return to Dodder. But they still lingered by the car—their ark of safety—wishing perhaps to return home at once rather than to advance into those spacious lawns where noble feet were wont to tread.
But Mr. Balliboy was obdurate; he turned his car, and the company were compelled to separate. Then seeing that Miss Bridle still lingered, he told her, with many winks that showed his happiness, that he meant to marry her in a month.
“And mind thee be still a camel,” he shouted.
Sarah bowed.
Seeing the car depart, the visitors to the gardens were forced to be more bold. Mr. Huddy and his daughter Daisy were the first to enter, Daisy paying the fee for admission with two shillings that Mr. Titball had just given to her as a proper payment for washing six pairs of sheets. The Bridles came next, followed by Susie Dawe and her father. And, after them, the rest—with the exception of John Death and Winnie—all came to the gate at once, and received a proper rebuke for their crowding from the lady-keeper, who bid them one and all learn better manners when they visited society.
John Death and Winnie Huddy came last of all, and John gave a coin to the woman that she looked at suspiciously, though she allowed them to pass.
John Death frowned. He walked silently for a few moments, and then, turning more gaily to Winnie, he promised to show her, before the day was out, a tame bear, that he assured her he would make dance a little to amuse them both.
“And now,” he said, “I mean to walk for a while in the gardens—alone.”
“Don’t ’ee go getting off wi’ no young woman,” said Winnie, “for ’tis I thee be come with.”
“I have only to speak a word or two to Susie Dawe,” replied Death, “so run after Daisy; we shall soon meet again.”
All who came now began to behold the wonders of these enchanted grounds, gazing silently, holily, as if they moved in the nave of a great cathedral, under the very eyes of the Dean. To see the great house so nearly, and even to take a peep through the drawing-room window, where the grand lady might be sitting, with her hands—that could hardly be seen because of her gold and jewelled rings—lying still in her lap. A sight to make any village-dweller gape with awe and wonder.
“’Twas hardly possible, indeed,” considered Mr. Titball, who looked upon his old home with the greatest reverence, “that any mortal man could possess such a palace, or keep so many dogs and fine servants. Who indeed—save a God—could be sheltered by so many box-hedges when he walks in his grounds, and possess so many great trees to shade him, and so many peacocks for his family to admire?” Mr. Titball almost knelt down to worship his lord.
Mrs. Moggs, too, held up her hands in wonder at all she saw there, and even gazed with awe at a crow who happened, being in no immediate hurry to go anywhere else, to rest a while upon a telephone post. Mrs. Moggs supposed Jim Crow to be a Phoenix.
The others, too, wandered here and there with wide-open eyes, and tongues prepared at any moment to cry “miracle!” The glasshouses amazed every one, except Winnie Huddy, who was chid by Mrs. Dady for unseemly chatter.
“You ought not to talk here,” said Mrs. Dady. “These wonderful plants, that be only plucked by lords and ladies, do not like to hear you.”
“Oh!” cried Miss Winnie, “they flowers bain’t nothing to what Mr. Hayhoe do tell of that be at Pemberton Manor. And there,” observed Winnie, with a toss of her head, “a pretty young maiden mid go in free.”
And, laughing louder than ever, Winnie snipped off, when no one was looking, a bloom of hydrangea.