<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I am sure my Uncle will be most happy;” I answered as
if I were not sure about myself.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br/> <small>DE GUSTIBUS.</small></h2>
<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Now</span> my Uncle Cornelius Orchardson (a stout and calm fruit-grower,
called in contumely “Corny the topper” by strangers
who wanted his growth for nothing) professed and even practised
a large contempt for gossip. Nevertheless it was plain
enough that his feelings were hurt, if a thing went on, which
he was bound in politeness to know, and yet was not offered
any tidings of it. With such people it is always wiser, if you
have done anything against their wishes, to let them know all
the particulars at once; and so to have it out and be done with it.
And I was beginning to love him now, which as a boy I had
done but little, inasmuch as he never gave way to me.
Obstinate as he was, and sometimes hot—if one tried to play
tricks with him—I was not much afraid of Uncle Corny,
although so dependent upon him. For I knew him to be a
just man in the main, and one who kept no magnet of his own
to fetch down the balance to his own desires. Yea, rather he
would set the beam against himself, when it trembled in doubt
of its duty.</p>
<p>With the hasty conclusions of youth, I believed that because
he was now an old bachelor, though able to afford a wife many
years ago, he had taken and held to an adverse view of the
fairer and better half of the human race. And his frequent
counsels to me to keep out of their way confirmed my conviction.
The course of time proved that I was wrong in this, as
in many other matters of my judgment; and my rule, if I had
to begin again, would be to think the best of every man, till
he compels me otherwise. But the worst of Uncle Corny was
that he never cared to vindicate himself.</p>
<p>His countenance also was in keeping with this manner, and
the build of his body and the habit of his gait. His figure
was tall, yet wide and thick, and his face very solid and ample.
He had never been comely by line and rule, yet always very
pleasant for an honest man to look at, and likely to win the
good word of a woman. Because there was strength and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</SPAN></span>
decision in his face, and a power of giving full meaning to his
words, which were generally short and to the purpose. And
especially he was gifted with a very solid nose, not of any
Roman or Grecian cast, but broadly English, and expansive,
and expressive, and sometimes even waggish when he told an
ancient tale.</p>
<p>Knowing that he would be quite sure to hear of my adventures
soon, even if he had not heard already—for Sunbury is a
fine place for talk—and trusting to his better feelings (which
were always uppermost after a solid supper, when he stirred
his glass of hot rum and water, and had his long pipe lit for
him), I began upon him that very night with what my mind
was full of. For Tabby Tapscott was now gone home, after
looking at me rather queerly.</p>
<p>“What a knowledge of the world you have, Uncle Corny!”
I exclaimed at the end of his favourite tale concerning Covent
Garden; “your advice must be worth more than the counsel of
the cleverest lawyer in London.”</p>
<p>“More honest at least, and no fee to pay,” he answered
rather testily, for he hated all humbug and compliments.
“What have you been at, young man? Is it my advice, or my
aid, you want?”</p>
<p>“A little of both; or a lot of one, and a little of the other.
I have made the acquaintance of a sweet young lady, the
gentlest, and loveliest, and most graceful, and modest, and
elegant, and accomplished, and lofty-minded, and noble-hearted,
and—and—”</p>
<p>“Angelic, angelic is the word, Kit—don’t begrudge it; it
saves such a lot of the others.”</p>
<p>“Yes, angelic,” I replied with firmness; “and even that is
not half good enough. You know nothing of such matters,
Uncle Corny.”</p>
<p>“Then what is the use of my advice? You had better go
to Tabby Tapscott.”</p>
<p>This threw me out a little; but I would not be brow-beaten.</p>
<p>“If you have no wish to hear any more about her, and compare
her to an old creature like Tabby, all I can say is that I
am sorry for your taste, very sorry for your taste, Uncle Corny.”</p>
<p>“Well, well, go on, Kit. Let us have it all, while we are
about it. Rasp the baker told me something. He has brought
down a girl from London who can make short bread and
maids of honour. No wonder you fell in love with her.”</p>
<p>“You may try to provoke me, but you shall not succeed;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span>
because you know no better. What will you say when I tell
you the young lady is the niece of Miss Coldpepper of Coldpepper
Manor?”</p>
<p>I looked at Uncle Corny with a glance of triumph; and
then stood up, to breathe again, after my own audacity. But
instead of being terrified, he took it very coolly.</p>
<p>“Well, a cat may look at a king,” said he, pursuing his
pipe with his usual discretion; “and I suppose you have only
looked at her; though somebody said you pulled her out of
our watercress brook.”</p>
<p>“Sir, I have had two delightful talks with her; and I mean
to have another to-morrow. Not that I have any hope—of
course, I am well aware—”</p>
<p>“That you are unworthy to worship her shoe-string, and lie
down for her peg-heels to tread on. If she likes you, I don’t
see why you shouldn’t have her. By-and-by, I mean, when
you get a little wiser. But has the girl got any money?”</p>
<p>“I hope not; I hope not, from the bottom of my heart.
It would be yet another obstacle. She is as high above me,
as the heaven is above the earth, without—without even a
penny in her pockets.”</p>
<p>“Flies all the higher, because her pockets are so light.”
He spoke with a jocosity, which appeared to me most vulgar.
“Don’t look as if you longed to knock me over, Kit. By the
way, I heard that you had floored Sam Henderson. If so, you
deserve the best maid that ever looked into a looking-glass.
What do you want me to do, my lad? I know a little of those
people.”</p>
<p>I wondered what people he meant, but feared to ask him for
the moment, lest I might lose the chance of getting the favour
I had set my heart on. “It is a very simple thing,” I said,
“and need not take your time up. Mrs. Marker is longing to
see your garden; and if she may come to-morrow afternoon,
she will bring the young lady, and I can show them round.
You need not stir a step, or even turn your head.”</p>
<p>“It is quite enough to have one head turned. They may
come, if they choose, but they must not bother me. Hand me
the jar of tobacco, Kit, and be off to the books, instead of
spooning.”</p>
<p>My uncle might easily have taken a more ample and
cordial view of the question; still I was pleased not to find him
worse, and ordered our crock-boy on the Tuesday morning to
fetch a little round while he ate his breakfast, and leave a note<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span>
for Mrs Marker at the lodge of the Coldpepper grounds, near
the dairy, which the housekeeper visited early. And then I
went to gather, and basket a quarter of Keswick codlin and
Quarantines. This occupied all the forenoon, and what with
seeing that they were picked aright, and sorted into firsts
and seconds, and fairly packed, with no rubbish at the bottom, into
bushel-baskets, and yet presented smiling with their eyes
upward to meet the gaze of the purchaser, the day went so fast
that it was dinner-time, before I could sit down, and dwell
upon my heart. Then at a reproachful glance from Selsey Bill,
our orchard foreman, who had heard the church clock strike
one, and felt it to the depths of his capable stomach, I set three
fingers to my teeth, and blew the signal, which is so welcome
to the men who have lived upon nothing but hope, ever since
half-past eight o’clock.</p>
<p>It is not to be denied, however, that I had taken pretty
sharp advantage of being well mounted from time to time on
the upper rungs of a ladder, which gave me command of the
Halliford Road—the higher road, I mean, for the lower now
was stopped and except to carts and carriages—in such a manner
that none could come from that part of the world, without my
knowledge. Seeing only a pedlar and some few women (highly
interesting to themselves no doubt, but not concerning my
state of mind), I went in to dine with Uncle Corny, and took
care to eat none of his onions.</p>
<p>“What cheeks you have got, Kit!” he cried with a laugh;
“and it is not from eating too much dinner. You have stolen
the colour of my Quarantines. Eat, boy, eat; or how will
you pull through it? No more visits from young ladies, if you
are to go off your head like this. You have put the new
mustard-spoon into the salt. A pretty muddle, I’m afraid,
among my apples.”</p>
<p>Being always very dutiful, I let him have his grumble; and
presently he lit his pipe, and made off for the packing-shed,
though the load was not going till to-morrow night. Then I
put myself into a little better trim, feeling that the best I did
could never make me fit to look round the corner of a wall at
somebody. Although I was considered in our village a smart
and tidy and well-built young fellow, and one of the girls at the
linendraper’s had sent me a Valentine last spring, said to be of
her own composition, beginning—“Thou noble and majestic
youth, Thy curls and thy ruddy cheeks proclaim the truth,
That whenever I think of thee, I have a sigh, And if thou<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span>
provest false, I shall jump into the Thames and die!” But it
was in vain for me to think of this at present; it gave me no
support at all worth having; and even a book of poetry, which
I put into my pocket, might just as well have been the list of
pots and pans from Turnham Green.</p>
<p>Before I could get into any real courage, there came a
gentle double knock, as if from the handle of a parasol, at the
green door near the corner of the wall, and then a little laugh;
and then a sweet voice said, “Oh, Jenny, don’t you think we
had better go back? Are you sure that Auntie said that I
might come?” In dread of further doubts, I ran up promptly,
and opened the door, and brought them in, and locked it.</p>
<p>“This young lady,” began Mrs. Marker, as if they were
come for her sake only, “has never seen any fruit-garden,
fruit-orchard, fruit-establishment, or whatever the proper name
is. And I thought perhaps before she goes back to London,
this would enlarge her store of knowledge; and her father, who is
a very learned man, might like to hear her account of it. Now
keep your eyes open, Miss Kitty, and see all. You would
fancy that she noticed nothing, Mr. Orchardson, by the way
she goes on, and her quietness. And yet when you come to
talk afterwards, it turns out that nothing has escaped her blue
eyes; and she can tell ten times as much as I can, and I am
considered pretty accurate too. But we must pay our respects
to your Uncle, Mr. Cornelius Orchardson. I always like to do
the proper thing. Business first, and pleasure afterwards.”</p>
<p>“He will smile, when he hears how you have put it. He
is very busy now at the packing-shed. But he told me to take
you wherever you liked; and he will come down, when he
has made out his list. On the left you have the peach-wall, and
on the right the plums; and the figs are getting very ripe down
this alley. We very seldom eat much fruit ourselves, because
we have such a lot of it. But we always long to get ladies’
opinions, because of the delicacy of their taste.”</p>
<p>“It is a perfect shame,” said Mrs. Marker, while making
up her mind what to begin with, “that, in such a Paradise, there
should be no lady, to give you the knowledge of good and evil.
I brought a silver knife with me, in case of being tempted.
Not that I mean to taste anything of course, unless my opinion
should be absolutely required. My constitution is not strong,
Mr. Kit; and I am compelled to be very careful.”</p>
<p>I knew what was meant by that, having heard it often.
“You shall have nothing, madam, but the very best,” I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span>
answered; “for we never throw away an opportunity like this.
What shall we offer first for your judgment?”</p>
<p>“Kitty, what do you say?” She turned as if in doubt.
“You know, my dear, how careful we must be. This young
lady, Mr. Kit, allows me to call her ‘Kitty,’ in our private
moments. Kit and Kitty—what a very strange coincidence!”</p>
<p>I could not help looking at the beautiful Miss Fairthorn;
and to my eyes she became more beautiful than ever. For a
deep blush spread upon her lovely cheeks, and she turned
away, and said, “I leave it quite to you.”</p>
<p>If Mrs. Marker had been planning all the morning how to
get the best of the tasting to herself, and to render her
judgment supreme, she could hardly have hit upon a better
device than this. For her young companion became so nervous
and so much confused, and I myself so diffident and deeply
occupied, that our only object was to fill the lady housekeeper’s
mouth, and keep it running over with nothing worse than
fruit. Now and then I ventured to steal a glance at the one
with whom my heart was filled, as if to ask whether she would
ever forgive me for my sad name of Kit. But her eyes were
afraid to encounter mine; or if by any chance they did so, the
light that was in them wavered like a timid gleam pursued by
cloud. To relieve this trouble, I began to chatter vague
nonsense to the other visitor, who was falling to in earnest.</p>
<p>“Everything is out of time this year, and nothing up to
character. There has been no sunshine on this wall, until you
ladies shone upon it; and what amazes me most is to find that anything
has any colour at all. Here is a Grosse Mignonne now, a
week ago as green as a leek, and covered now with downy crimson,
except just where a leaf has made a pale curve across it, like the
pressure of a finger on your cheek. Taste it, Mrs. Marker; you
are not getting on at all.”</p>
<p>“Let me see, that makes seven, I think. I shall have lost
my taste before we get among the gages. Thank you, I am
sure. Oh, how lovely, and delicious! Luscious perhaps is the
better expression. There goes ever so much more juice on my
dress. I ought to have brought a bib, Mr. Kit; and I will, if
I ever come again. But would not you say it was just the least
thought woolly?” She had never heard of such a thing before,
but I had taught her, and she was growing critical. “Kitty
dear, you are tasting nothing. Don’t you consider that just an
atom woolly?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Very likely it is. I don’t know enough to say. But I
never remember tasting wool, with so fine a flavour in it.”</p>
<p>Perhaps I was not in a proper mood to judge; but verily
this appeared to me to show an inborn aptitude for taking the
management of the fruit, and the government of the grower.
To exaggerate is altogether out of my nature, and I find it a
great mistake to be ecstatic; but in spite of all that, I would
have given every sixpence allowed me by my Uncle Corny—who
was always afraid of allowing me too much—if only I could
have conveyed to this exquisite judge my opinion of her sentence.
But that blessed discovery of Mrs. Marker’s about the
everlasting fitness of our names,—upon which I had been dwelling
in my heart, long before her stupid slowness blurted it—this,
I say, had acted in a very awkward manner upon a mind
infinitely higher than hers; and yet I hoped humbly that it
might suggest something, which might be for the best, if let
alone.</p>
<p>Things being so, it was not at all amiss that a loud voice
reached us from the clipped yew-hedge, which was set across to
break the north winds here—“Kit, where the deuce are you
gone mooning? I thought you would have come up with the
ladies, long ago.”</p>
<p>“Here we are, looking from a distance at your peaches. Oh,
Mr. Orchardson, how lovely they do seem!” Mrs. Marker lost
her dignity by giving me a wink, believing as she did—and
many others thought the same—that I was next to nobody in
these gardens, and my Uncle a tiger over every fruit he grew.</p>
<p>“We have had as many peaches as we can eat, sir,” I said,
without any wish to contradict her, but simply to show the
position I held.</p>
<p>“Ladies will excuse my present plight;” he had no coat on,
and his sleeves were tucked up, showing a pair of thick brown
arms. “My peaches are very poor this year, and many have
split their stones, and rot instead of ripening. We have not
had such a season since 1852. I hope you will not judge us by
the wretched things you see. But come on a little further, and
try something else. All fruit is water, such a year as we have
had. But possibly I may find a plum or two worth eating.”</p>
<p>“Allow me the pleasure, sir,” said Mrs. Marker, who always
insisted on proper forms, “of introducing you to Miss Fairthorn,
the only daughter of Captain, or as he now is considered,
Professor Fairthorn—a gentleman of the highest scientific
tendencies.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“To be sure,” said Uncle Corny, as he took his hat off, and
smiled with surprise at her beauty; “I knew Captain Fairthorn,
years ago, and a very noble man he is. I have very good
cause to remember him—but I will not trouble you with that
now. Mrs. Marker, if you would just turn this corner—take
care of your most becoming bonnet, young lady”—this pleased
the good housekeeper more than twenty plums,—“our trees are
not as sensitive as we are.”</p>
<p>His urbanity amazed me, for I never could have thought
a good man could be so inconsistent; and I said to myself that
after all there is something irresistible in women. So I ventured
to sidle up to Miss Fairthorn, as he led the way with his
convoy, and asked her what she thought of him.</p>
<p>“Oh, I think he is so nice,” she replied smiling at me, as if
she was pleased with my question; “so upright, and manly,
and such a fine countenance. No wonder, I’m sure, that his
fruit is good.”</p>
<p>“Did you notice how much he was surprised at you, at your
very pretty dress, and exceedingly sweet smile, and most ladylike
appearance, and silvery voice, and lovely—lovely way of
holding your parasol?”</p>
<p>“How can you talk such nonsense, Mr. Orchardson? And
your Uncle appears such a sensible man! Dear me, we are losing
all the wise things he can say. Let us hurry on—it was this
way, I think.”</p>
<p>“No, no! Don’t you hear their voices down this path? Not
twenty yards off, if it were not for these trees. Oh, do let me
carry your parasol. You will want both hands to get along.
Before you know where we are, we shall be in the broad road.
Oh, I am so sorry—it was all my fault. You must let me undo
the mischief I have done. May I show you how well I understand
all roses?”</p>
<p>By good luck, combined with some little skill of mine, her
simple yet wholly adorable frock was captured in three places
by gooseberries whom I envied. I expected great delight from
this. But she showed at once the sweetness of her temper, and
her height above me. Instead of blushing stupidly, she smiled,
and said—“Thank you, I will do it for myself. You can hardly
be expected to understand such things.”</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />