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<h2> CHAPTER VI </h2>
<h3> NECESSARY PRACTICE </h3>
<p>About the rest of all that winter I remember very little, being only a
young boy then, and missing my father most out of doors, as when it came
to the bird-catching, or the tracking of hares in the snow, or the
training of a sheep-dog. Oftentimes I looked at his gun, an ancient piece
found in the sea, a little below Glenthorne, and of which he was mighty
proud, although it was only a match-lock; and I thought of the times I had
held the fuse, while he got his aim at a rabbit, and once even at a red
deer rubbing among the hazels. But nothing came of my looking at it, so
far as I remember, save foolish tears of my own perhaps, till John Fry
took it down one day from the hooks where father's hand had laid it; and
it hurt me to see how John handled it, as if he had no memory.</p>
<p>'Bad job for he as her had not got thiccy the naight as her coom acrass
them Doones. Rackon Varmer Jan 'ood a-zhown them the wai to kingdom come,
'stead of gooin' herzel zo aisy. And a maight have been gooin' to market
now, 'stead of laying banked up over yanner. Maister Jan, thee can zee the
grave if thee look alang this here goon-barryel. Buy now, whutt be
blubberin' at? Wish I had never told thee.'</p>
<p>'John Fry, I am not blubbering; you make a great mistake, John. You are
thinking of little Annie. I cough sometimes in the winter-weather, and
father gives me lickerish—I mean—I mean—he used to. Now
let me have the gun, John.'</p>
<p>'Thee have the goon, Jan! Thee isn't fit to putt un to thy zhoulder. What
a weight her be, for sure!'</p>
<p>'Me not hold it, John! That shows how much you know about it. Get out of
the way, John; you are opposite the mouth of it, and likely it is loaded.'</p>
<p>John Fry jumped in a livelier manner than when he was doing day-work; and
I rested the mouth on a cross rack-piece, and felt a warm sort of surety
that I could hit the door over opposite, or, at least, the cobwall
alongside of it, and do no harm in the orchard. But John would not give me
link or fuse, and, on the whole, I was glad of it, though carrying on as
boys do, because I had heard my father say that the Spanish gun kicked
like a horse, and because the load in it came from his hand, and I did not
like to undo it. But I never found it kick very hard, and firmly set to
the shoulder, unless it was badly loaded. In truth, the thickness of the
metal was enough almost to astonish one; and what our people said about it
may have been true enough, although most of them are such liars—at
least, I mean, they make mistakes, as all mankind must do. Perchance it
was no mistake at all to say that this ancient gun had belonged to a noble
Spaniard, the captain of a fine large ship in the 'Invincible Armada,'
which we of England managed to conquer, with God and the weather helping
us, a hundred years ago or more—I can't say to a month or so.</p>
<p>After a little while, when John had fired away at a rat the charge I held
so sacred, it came to me as a natural thing to practise shooting with that
great gun, instead of John Fry's blunderbuss, which looked like a bell
with a stalk to it. Perhaps for a boy there is nothing better than a good
windmill to shoot at, as I have seen them in flat countries; but we have
no windmills upon the great moorland, yet here and there a few barn-doors,
where shelter is, and a way up the hollows. And up those hollows you can
shoot, with the help of the sides to lead your aim, and there is a fair
chance of hitting the door, if you lay your cheek to the barrel, and try
not to be afraid of it.</p>
<p>Gradually I won such skill, that I sent nearly all the lead gutter from
the north porch of our little church through our best barn-door, a thing
which has often repented me since, especially as churchwarden, and made me
pardon many bad boys; but father was not buried on that side of the
church.</p>
<p>But all this time, while I was roving over the hills or about the farm,
and even listening to John Fry, my mother, being so much older and feeling
trouble longer, went about inside the house, or among the maids and fowls,
not caring to talk to the best of them, except when she broke out
sometimes about the good master they had lost, all and every one of us.
But the fowls would take no notice of it, except to cluck for barley; and
the maidens, though they had liked him well, were thinking of their
sweethearts as the spring came on. Mother thought it wrong of them,
selfish and ungrateful; and yet sometimes she was proud that none had such
call as herself to grieve for him. Only Annie seemed to go softly in and
out, and cry, with nobody along of her, chiefly in the corner where the
bees are and the grindstone. But somehow she would never let anybody
behold her; being set, as you may say, to think it over by herself, and
season it with weeping. Many times I caught her, and many times she turned
upon me, and then I could not look at her, but asked how long to
dinner-time.</p>
<p>Now in the depth of the winter month, such as we call December, father
being dead and quiet in his grave a fortnight, it happened me to be out of
powder for practice against his enemies. I had never fired a shot without
thinking, 'This for father's murderer'; and John Fry said that I made such
faces it was a wonder the gun went off. But though I could hardly hold the
gun, unless with my back against a bar, it did me good to hear it go off,
and hope to have hitten his enemies.</p>
<p>'Oh, mother, mother,' I said that day, directly after dinner, while she
was sitting looking at me, and almost ready to say (as now she did seven
times in a week), 'How like your father you are growing! Jack, come here
and kiss me'—'oh, mother, if you only knew how much I want a
shilling!'</p>
<p>'Jack, you shall never want a shilling while I am alive to give thee one.
But what is it for, dear heart, dear heart?'</p>
<p>'To buy something over at Porlock, mother. Perhaps I will tell you
afterwards. If I tell not it will be for your good, and for the sake of
the children.'</p>
<p>'Bless the boy, one would think he was threescore years of age at least.
Give me a little kiss, you Jack, and you shall have the shilling.'</p>
<p>For I hated to kiss or be kissed in those days: and so all honest boys
must do, when God puts any strength in them. But now I wanted the powder
so much that I went and kissed mother very shyly, looking round the corner
first, for Betty not to see me.</p>
<p>But mother gave me half a dozen, and only one shilling for all of them;
and I could not find it in my heart to ask her for another, although I
would have taken it. In very quick time I ran away with the shilling in my
pocket, and got Peggy out on the Porlock road without my mother knowing
it. For mother was frightened of that road now, as if all the trees were
murderers, and would never let me go alone so much as a hundred yards on
it. And, to tell the truth, I was touched with fear for many years about
it; and even now, when I ride at dark there, a man by a peat-rick makes me
shiver, until I go and collar him. But this time I was very bold, having
John Fry's blunderbuss, and keeping a sharp look-out wherever any lurking
place was. However, I saw only sheep and small red cattle, and the common
deer of the forest, until I was nigh to Porlock town, and then rode
straight to Mr. Pooke's, at the sign of the Spit and Gridiron.</p>
<p>Mr. Pooke was asleep, as it happened, not having much to do that day; and
so I fastened Peggy by the handle of a warming-pan, at which she had no
better manners than to snort and blow her breath; and in I walked with a
manful style, bearing John Fry's blunderbuss. Now Timothy Pooke was a
peaceful man, glad to live without any enjoyment of mind at danger, and I
was tall and large already as most lads of a riper age. Mr. Pooke, as soon
as he opened his eyes, dropped suddenly under the counting-board, and drew
a great frying-pan over his head, as if the Doones were come to rob him,
as their custom was, mostly after the fair-time. It made me feel rather
hot and queer to be taken for a robber; and yet methinks I was proud of
it.</p>
<p>'Gadzooks, Master Pooke,' said I, having learned fine words at Tiverton;
'do you suppose that I know not then the way to carry firearms? An it were
the old Spanish match-lock in the lieu of this good flint-engine, which
may be borne ten miles or more and never once go off, scarcely couldst
thou seem more scared. I might point at thee muzzle on—just so as I
do now—even for an hour or more, and like enough it would never
shoot thee, unless I pulled the trigger hard, with a crock upon my finger;
so you see; just so, Master Pooke, only a trifle harder.'</p>
<p>'God sake, John Ridd, God sake, dear boy,' cried Pooke, knowing me by this
time; 'don't 'e, for good love now, don't 'e show it to me, boy, as if I
was to suck it. Put 'un down, for good, now; and thee shall have the very
best of all is in the shop.'</p>
<p>'Ho!' I replied with much contempt, and swinging round the gun so that it
fetched his hoop of candles down, all unkindled as they were: 'Ho! as if I
had not attained to the handling of a gun yet! My hands are cold coming
over the moors, else would I go bail to point the mouth at you for an
hour, sir, and no cause for uneasiness.'</p>
<p>But in spite of all assurances, he showed himself desirous only to see the
last of my gun and me. I dare say 'villainous saltpetre,' as the great
playwright calls it, was never so cheap before nor since. For my shilling
Master Pooke afforded me two great packages over-large to go into my
pockets, as well as a mighty chunk of lead, which I bound upon Peggy's
withers. And as if all this had not been enough, he presented me with a
roll of comfits for my sister Annie, whose gentle face and pretty manners
won the love of everybody.</p>
<p>There was still some daylight here and there as I rose the hill above
Porlock, wondering whether my mother would be in a fright, or would not
know it. The two great packages of powder, slung behind my back, knocked
so hard against one another that I feared they must either spill or blow
up, and hurry me over Peggy's ears from the woollen cloth I rode upon. For
father always liked a horse to have some wool upon his loins whenever he
went far from home, and had to stand about, where one pleased, hot, and
wet, and panting. And father always said that saddles were meant for men
full-grown and heavy, and losing their activity; and no boy or young man
on our farm durst ever get into a saddle, because they all knew that the
master would chuck them out pretty quickly. As for me, I had tried it
once, from a kind of curiosity; and I could not walk for two or three
days, the leather galled my knees so. But now, as Peggy bore me bravely,
snorting every now and then into a cloud of air, for the night was growing
frosty, presently the moon arose over the shoulder of a hill, and the pony
and I were half glad to see her, and half afraid of the shadows she threw,
and the images all around us. I was ready at any moment to shoot at
anybody, having great faith in my blunderbuss, but hoping not to prove it.
And as I passed the narrow place where the Doones had killed my father,
such a fear broke out upon me that I leaned upon the neck of Peggy, and
shut my eyes, and was cold all over. However, there was not a soul to be
seen, until we came home to the old farmyard, and there was my mother
crying sadly, and Betty Muxworthy scolding.</p>
<p>'Come along, now,' I whispered to Annie, the moment supper was over; 'and
if you can hold your tongue, Annie, I will show you something.'</p>
<p>She lifted herself on the bench so quickly, and flushed so rich with
pleasure, that I was obliged to stare hard away, and make Betty look
beyond us. Betty thought I had something hid in the closet beyond the
clock-case, and she was the more convinced of it by reason of my denial.
Not that Betty Muxworthy, or any one else, for that matter, ever found me
in a falsehood, because I never told one, not even to my mother—or,
which is still a stronger thing, not even to my sweetheart (when I grew up
to have one)—but that Betty being wronged in the matter of marriage,
a generation or two agone, by a man who came hedging and ditching, had now
no mercy, except to believe that men from cradle to grave are liars, and
women fools to look at them.</p>
<p>When Betty could find no crime of mine, she knocked me out of the way in a
minute, as if I had been nobody; and then she began to coax 'Mistress
Annie,' as she always called her, and draw the soft hair down her hands,
and whisper into the little ears. Meanwhile, dear mother was falling
asleep, having been troubled so much about me; and Watch, my father's pet
dog, was nodding closer and closer up into her lap.</p>
<p>'Now, Annie, will you come?' I said, for I wanted her to hold the ladle
for melting of the lead; 'will you come at once, Annie? or must I go for
Lizzie, and let her see the whole of it?'</p>
<p>'Indeed, then, you won't do that,' said Annie; 'Lizzie to come before me,
John; and she can't stir a pot of brewis, and scarce knows a tongue from a
ham, John, and says it makes no difference, because both are good to eat!
Oh, Betty, what do you think of that to come of all her book-learning?'</p>
<p>'Thank God he can't say that of me,' Betty answered shortly, for she never
cared about argument, except on her own side; 'thank he, I says, every
marning a'most, never to lead me astray so. Men is desaving and so is
galanies; but the most desaving of all is books, with their heads and
tails, and the speckots in 'em, lik a peg as have taken the maisles. Some
folk purtends to laugh and cry over them. God forgive them for liars!'</p>
<p>It was part of Betty's obstinacy that she never would believe in reading
or the possibility of it, but stoutly maintained to the very last that
people first learned things by heart, and then pretended to make them out
from patterns done upon paper, for the sake of astonishing honest folk
just as do the conjurers. And even to see the parson and clerk was not
enough to convince her; all she said was, 'It made no odds, they were all
the same as the rest of us.' And now that she had been on the farm nigh
upon forty years, and had nursed my father, and made his clothes, and all
that he had to eat, and then put him in his coffin, she was come to such
authority, that it was not worth the wages of the best man on the place to
say a word in answer to Betty, even if he would face the risk to have ten
for one, or twenty.</p>
<p>Annie was her love and joy. For Annie she would do anything, even so far
as to try to smile, when the little maid laughed and danced to her. And in
truth I know not how it was, but every one was taken with Annie at the
very first time of seeing her. She had such pretty ways and manners, and
such a look of kindness, and a sweet soft light in her long blue eyes full
of trustful gladness. Everybody who looked at her seemed to grow the
better for it, because she knew no evil. And then the turn she had for
cooking, you never would have expected it; and how it was her richest
mirth to see that she had pleased you. I have been out on the world a vast
deal as you will own hereafter, and yet have I never seen Annie's equal
for making a weary man comfortable.</p>
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