Dariel: A Romance of SurreyBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
Dariel: A Romance of Surrey
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Surrey (England) -- Fiction
To pass from all this to the things one can see, it was either that very
same day or the next, that I came away out of the harvest-field, just
for a morsel to eat and a pipe, in a snug place under the fringe of a
wood, where a very small brook, fit only for minnows and grigs, made a
lot of loops and tinkles. Two or three times I had been there before,
and in fact was getting fond of it, because I believed, or as good as
believed, without knowing every twist of it, that this little water in
its own modest way never left off running until it reached the
Pebblebourne; and after that it must have gone a little faster, till it
came to the place where Dariel lived.
Possibly if I threw in a pint bottle, after scraping off the red
pyramid, who could say that it might not land at the very feet to which
all the world they ever trod upon must bow?
Encouraging these profound reflections, I sat upon the bank, and pulled
out my pocket-knife, being a little sharp-set for the moment, and aware
of some thrills in a quarter near the heart. There was very little more
to be done that afternoon, the week having ripened into Saturday, when
no man of any self-respect does more than congratulate himself upon his
industry; and on this point few have a stronger sense of duty than the
cultivator of the soil of Surrey. No matter what the weather is, or how
important the job in hand may be, his employer may repose the purest
confidence in him, that he will make off with holy zeal, right early on
a Saturday.
Therefore when I heard a step behind me, I knew that it could be none of
our "enlightened operatives;" not even Bob Slemmick would pull his coat
off at that hour, though he would sometimes stop long enough to put away
his tools. Correct was my reasoning, and with pleasure I beheld the
active figure and expressive countenance of Mr. Jackson Stoneman. Not
that every one would like this man, or care to have very much to do with
him. Universal benevolence was not by any means the polestar of his
existence, neither was it his chief employment to saunter amicably in
the Milky Way. Butter for his bread, and that the very best butter, had
probably been the main quest of his life; until his good stars brought
him down into our county, and toward our Grace. He was even beginning to
relax his mind, while he braced up his body already; and we thought that
a year or two of our fine air would bring a lot of hard gold out of him.
"Glad to see you again. Somebody told us that you were off for the
Mediterranean." In this careless manner did I shake hands with this 70
cubit and 20 carat Colossus of gold. There is humbug in all of us--even
in me.
"Well, I was thinking of it," he replied, as he sat down beside me, and
stretched his long legs, trousered a thousand times better than mine,
though I knew which had most inside the cloth; "but after all, what's
the good of foreign parts?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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