CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of the
succeeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had
prophesied that he would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest
of the Lindsay people, took it for granted that he was a poor
college student working his way through as Larry West had been
doing. Eric did not disturb this belief, although he said
nothing to contribute to it.
The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in.
Mrs. Williamson was the "saint in spectacles and calico" which
Larry West had termed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a
slight, gray-haired woman, with a thin, sweet, high-bred face,
deeply lined with the records of outlived pain. She talked
little as a rule; but, in the pungent country phrase she never
spoke but she said something. The one thing that constantly
puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to marry Robert
Williamson.
She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on
the white-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside
of the window behind him was a birch grove which, in the
westering sun, was a tremulous splendour, with a sea of
undergrowth wavered into golden billows by every passing wind.
Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a
small, lean old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far
too large for him. When he spoke his voice was as thin and
squeaky as he appeared to be himself.
The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and
complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert
had taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who
ate it daintily and purred resonant gratitude.
"You see we're busy waiting for you, Master," said old Robert.
"You're late this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in?
That's a foolish was of punishing them, as hard on yourself as on
them. One teacher we had four years ago used to lock them in and
go home. Then he'd go back in an hour and let them out--if they
were there. They weren't always. Tom Ferguson kicked the panels
out of the old door once and got out that way. We put a new door
of double plank in that they couldn't kick out."
"I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work," said Eric briefly.
"Well, you've missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if
you could play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left
word for you to go up and have a game some evening soon. Don't
beat him too often, even if you can. You'll need to stand in
with him, I tell you, Master, for he's got a son that may brew
trouble for you when he starts in to go to school. Seth Tracy's
a young imp, and he'd far sooner be in mischief than eat. He
tries to run on every new teacher and he's run two clean out of
the school. But he met his match in Mr. West. William Tracy's
boys now--you won't have a scrap of bother with THEM. They're
always good because their mother tells them every Sunday that
they'll go straight to hell if they don't behave in school. It's
effective. Take some preserve, Master. You know we don't help
things here the way Mrs. Adam Scott does when she has boarders,
'I s'pose you don't want any of this--nor you--nor you?' Mother,
Aleck says old George Wright is having the time of his life. His
wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit her sister and he is his
own boss for the first time since he was married, forty years
ago. He's on a regular orgy, Aleck says. He smokes in the
parlour and sits up till eleven o'clock reading dime novels."
"Perhaps I met Mr. Tracy," said Eric. "Is he a tall man, with
gray hair and a dark, stern face?"
"No, he's a round, jolly fellow, is Aleck, and he stopped growing
pretty much before he'd ever begun. I reckon the man you mean is
Thomas Gordon. I seen him driving down the road too. HE won't
be troubling you with invitations up, small fear of it. The
Gordons ain't sociable, to say the least of it. No, sir!
Mother, pass the biscuits to the Master."
"Who was the young fellow he had with him?" asked Eric curiously.
"Neil--Neil Gordon."
"That is a Scotchy name for such a face and eyes. I should
rather have expected Guiseppe or Angelo. The boy looks like an
Italian."
"Well, now, you know, Master, I reckon it's likely he does,
seeing that that's exactly what he is. You've hit the nail
square on the head. Italyun, yes, sir! Rather too much so, I'm
thinking, for decent folks' taste."
"How has it happened that an Italian boy with a Scotch name is
living in a place like Lindsay?"
"Well, Master, it was this way. About twenty-two years ago--WAS
it twenty-two, Mother or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two--
'twas the same year our Jim was born and he'd have been
twenty-two if he'd lived, poor little fellow. Well, Master,
twenty-two years ago a couple of Italian pack peddlers came along
and called at the Gordon place. The country was swarming with
them then. I useter set the dog on one every day on an average.
"Well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick
up there at the Gordon place, and Janet Gordon took her in and
nursed her. A baby was born the next day, and the woman died.
Then the first thing anybody knew the father skipped clean out,
pack and all, and was never seen or heard tell of afterwards.
The Gordons were left with the fine youngster to their hands.
Folks advised them to send him to the Orphan Asylum, and 'twould
have been the wisest plan, but the Gordons were never fond of
taking advice. Old James Gordon was living then, Thomas and
Janet's father, and he said he would never turn a child out of
his door. He was a masterful old man and liked to be boss.
Folks used to say he had a grudge against the sun 'cause it rose
and set without his say so. Anyhow, they kept the baby. They
called him Neil and had him baptized same as any Christian child.
He's always lived there. They did well enough by him. He was
sent to school and taken to church and treated like one of
themselves. Some folks think they made too much of him. It
doesn't always do with that kind, for 'what's bred in bone is
mighty apt to come out in flesh,' if 'taint kept down pretty
well. Neil's smart and a great worker, they tell me. But folks
hereabouts don't like him. They say he ain't to be trusted
further'n you can see him, if as far. It's certain he's awful
hot tempered, and one time when he was going to school he near
about killed a boy he'd took a spite to--choked him till he was
black in the face and Neil had to be dragged off."
"Well now, father, you know they teased him terrible," protested
Mrs. Williamson. "The poor boy had a real hard time when he went
to school, Master. The other children were always casting things
up to him and calling him names."
"Oh, I daresay they tormented him a lot," admitted her husband.
"He's a great hand at the fiddle and likes company. He goes to
the harbour a good deal. But they say he takes sulky spells when
he hasn't a word to throw to a dog. 'Twouldn't be any wonder,
living with the Gordons. They're all as queer as Dick's
hat-band."
"Father, you shouldn't talk so about your neighbours," said his
wife rebukingly.
"Well now, Mother, you know they are, if you'd only speak up
honest. But you're like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say
anything uncharitable except in the way of business. You know
the Gordons ain't like other people and never were and never will
be. They're about the only queer folks we have in Lindsay,
Master, except old Peter Cook, who keeps twenty-five cats. Lord,
Master, think of it! What chanct would a poor mouse have? None
of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hain't found it out if
we are. But, then, we're mighty uninteresting, I'm bound to
admit that."
"Where do the Gordons live?" asked Eric, who had grown used to
holding fast to a given point of inquiry through all the
bewildering mazes of old Robert's conversation.
"Away up yander, half a mile in from Radnor road, with a thick
spruce wood atween them and all the rest of the world. They
never go away anywheres, except to church--they never miss
that--and nobody goes there. There's just old Thomas, and his
sister Janet, and a niece of theirs, and this here Neil we've
been talking about. They're a queer, dour, cranky lot, and I
WILL say it, Mother. There, give your old man a cup of tea and
never mind the way his tongue runs on. Speaking of tea, do you
know Mrs. Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin took tea together at
Foster Reid's last Wednesday afternoon?"
"No, why, I thought they were on bad terms," said Mrs.
Williamson, betraying a little feminine curiosity.
"So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit Mrs.
Foster the same afternoon and neither would leave because that
would be knuckling down to the other. So they stuck it out, on
opposite sides of the parlour. Mrs. Foster says she never spent
such an uncomfortable afternoon in all her life before. She
would talk a spell to one and then t'other. And they kept
talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs. Foster says she
really thought she'd have to keep them all night, for neither
would start to go home afore the other. Finally Jim Martin came
in to look for his wife, 'cause he thought she must have got
stuck in the marsh, and that solved the problem. Master, you
ain't eating anything. Don't mind my stopping; I was at it half
an hour afore you come, and anyway I'm in a hurry. My hired boy
went home to-day. He heard the rooster crow at twelve last night
and he's gone home to see which of his family is dead. He knows
one of 'em is. He heard a rooster crow in the middle of the
night onct afore and the next day he got word that his second
cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if the Master don't want
any more tea, ain't there some cream for Timothy?"
