The Argosy — page 368: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

354 The Syllabub Feast. his hair had turned much greyer, and he complained of a continual pain in the left leg, which made him stiff and sometimes prevented him from walking. Duffham called it a touch of rheumatism: but Mr. Westerbrook fancied it might be something worse. The Squire began talking of the oats on the N. D. Farm, saying what a famous crop it was. ‘* Good crops no longer bring me the satisfaction they did, Squire,” was the indifferent reply. “I’ve nobody to save for now.—Will you spend a day with me before you go back, young gentlemen?” he went on, turning to us. ‘‘Comeon Friday. It is pretty lonely there. It wants company to enliven it.” And we promised we would. I went with him, to help him over the stile into the lane, on account of his stiffness—for that was the road he meant to take to Church Dykely. In passing the ricks he laid his left hand on my shoulder. “You won’t mind a lonely day with a lonely old man? ” ‘¢'We shall hike it, sir. We will do our best to enliven you.” “Tt is not much that will do that now, Johnny Ludlow,” said he. ‘When a man gets to my age, and feels his health and strength failing, it seems hard to be left all alone.” “ No doubt, sir. I wish you had Fred back!” I boldly added. “Hush, Johnny. Fred is lost to me for good. He made his own bed, you know, and is lying on it. As I have to lie on mine—such as itis. Such as he left to me!” ‘Do you know where Fred is, sir? ” ** Do I know where Fred is!” he repeated, ina tart tone. ‘ How should I be likely to know? How cou/d I know? I have never heard tidings of him, good or bad, since that wretched night.” We had gained the stile. Old Westerbrook rested his arms upon the top bar instead of getting over, tapping the step on the other side with his thick walking-stick. ‘“‘Gisby’s opinion is that Fred threw himself into the first deep pond that lay in his way that night; and so put an end to his career for good,” said he. - “ My late wife thought so too.” “ Don’t you believe anything of the kind, sir,” said I, in hot impulse. ‘“T am quite sure he did not.” “When a man gets the crime of murder on his soul, there’s no answering for what he may be tempted to do in his remorse and terror.” ‘¢Tt was not murder at all, sir. Gisby 1s well again.” ‘‘But it was thought to be murder at the time. Who would have given a brass button for Gisby’s life that might? Don’t quibble, Master Johnny.” I wished I dared tell him all! ‘‘ Shall I walk with you as far as the houses, sir?” ‘No, thank ye, lad. I want to be independent as long as I can. Come you both over in good time on Friday. Perhaps we can get an hour or two’s shooting.” CORnniclooolkks (CO)