"You deserve them all," said George, with more tenderness than usual.

He set off presently, carrying the precious vases wrapped up like twin-babies and, arriving at the market-town, he entered the shop of the princ.i.p.al ironmonger, who dealt also in all kinds of earthenware goods, and had the notice, "Art pottery a Specialty," posted in one of his windows. The proprietor advanced to meet him, and was highly flattered when George remarked he had come to obtain the impartial opinion of a specialist regarding the value of some Chinese vases.

"If I can't give it ye, sir, I don't know who can. I ha' handled cloam all my life, as my father did avore me, and I'll quote ye a fair market price vor anything you like to show me. They are amazing ugly things, sure enough, wi' they old snakes all twisted round 'em," said the honest tradesman when George had undressed his babies.

"They're beautifully glazed," said the owner proudly.

"Yes, they'm nice and shiny. 'Tis done by baking 'em. Now you want me to tell you how much they'm worth?"

"Suppose I asked you to buy them, how much would you offer?"

"I might give ye eighteen pence vor the pair, though I should fancy I wur doing ye a favour. Some folks like these ugly things--I sell a lot o' they china cats wi' the eyes starting out o' their heads--but I would be satisfied if I got a shilling each vor these old vases."

"A gentleman told me the other day they were worth a lot of money--hundreds of pounds in fact," said the astounded George.

"I believe ye, sir. Plenty o' gentlemen, when they see a bit o' cloam that ain't quite the same as ordinary cloam, will tell ye it's worth money. Cloam is wonderful cheap just now, sir. I can show ye some amazing bargains in vases at half a crown the pair, and far better value than these old china things."

"But the gentleman, who told me they were valuable, came from London,"

George protested.

"Well, sir," replied the little provincial, smiling broadly, "ain't that just where all the vules do come from?"

There was another china shop in the town, so George tried his fortune there. This shop was kept by a fat lady, who turned sour when George informed her he had not come to purchase anything; and pa.s.sed into indignation when he had unveiled the vases.

"Take 'em away, sir," she said sternly. "I wouldn't show such vulgar stuff in my window if you paid me for it. My establishment is noted for chaste designs--flowers, and birds, and b.u.t.terflies--little lambs, and shepherdesses--and I deal wi' gentlefolk."

"A thing can be ugly, and yet priceless," said George.

"It's not the ugliness so much as the obscenity," replied the stout lady, who was herself no gracious object. "They were made, I fancy, by poor benighted heathens; though why people ship such stuff into England, when they can buy cheap and beautiful Christian home-made vases from such establishments as mine, I can't tell ye," she declared, handling one of the treasures so recklessly that George darted forward in great terror.

"Oh, you needn't be alarmed," she went on. "If I did break it, I'd give ye another pair, and something to be proud of. I should smash these nasty old things into crocks and put 'em in my flower-pots."

George returned to Highfield, wondering greatly. He knew nothing whatever concerning china, and apparently the local experts were no better informed than himself. Crampy, on the other hand, had valued the vases at a thousand pounds, although he admitted the possibility of their being forgeries; he was, however, prepared to pay the money and take the risk. Before reaching home George had fully decided to secure the thousand pounds before he commenced his pilgrimage.

He was absent from the village about three hours, and during that short period all manner of things had happened. The Yellow Leaf had often noted with regret that a strong leading incident rarely occurred in Highfield; but, when one did take place, it was almost sure to be accompanied by another, to the great confusion of the inhabitants who were compelled to discuss two incidents at the same time.

The first, and by far the most startling, incident took place quite early in the afternoon. Nellie had gone into Miss Yard's bedroom to look up some mending, and presently seated herself beside the window which overlooked the village street. That letter from Sidney worried her, but the knowledge of his loose principles troubled her far more. She remembered the words of his defence, indeed there was nothing much about him she had forgotten, as her memory was much better than Miss Yard's; and still she could not decide whether to answer the letter or to ignore it; whether to meet him once more or to let him go; whether to go on thinking of him--but that she had to do; or to hate him--though she couldn't.

"It's a dreary outlook," she murmured. "Little work and no love makes me a dull maid. I'm alone in the world, and somebody loves me, but he's a bad somebody. And another somebody is willing to marry me, but he's a silly old somebody. And I want the bad somebody."

"Hook it!" shrieked a parrot from the garden, addressing a b.u.mblebee which was threatening to enter its cage.

"Polly gives me advice," she murmured. "Hook it! Hook George, and pour out rivers of tea, and put on his slippers in respectable humility. No, thankye, Poll! I won't hook it. I'll fish for something better, else, when Miss Sophy dies, I must find another job, and go on jobbing it,"

she whispered, looking into the gla.s.s, "until I don't look anything like so saucy as I'm doing now."

"Nellie, where be to?" called the equally saucy parrot.

"Here she be!" answered the girl from the window. "Her's going to write to the bad somebody, and her's going to meet him, and her's going to be a soft dafty little vule and believe his nonsense."

While she spoke a rumbling of wheels heralded the approach of the incident, which had already occurred with disastrous results along the more important reaches of the street. Nellie remained at the open window out of curiosity until the incident, which was of no importance to her at the moment, became revealed in the form of a young and pretty girl, gazing about in a highly interested fashion as she swept past in an open wagonette; a beautifully dressed young lady, certainly no more than eighteen, who looked quite capable of travelling round the world without an escort.

"Whoever can she be?" Nellie murmured, as she went towards her own room, to get that letter written before she changed her mind again.

She could hear voices buzzing in the kitchen, where Kezia and Bessie were discussing the incident; presently she opened the door and listened, for the air was thrilling with unpleasant sounds of proper nouns and most improper adjectives; finally she went downstairs and presented herself at the kitchen door.

"Oh, Miss Nellie!" cried Kezia. "Did you see the person driving past?"

"I did see her," replied Nellie. "Who is she?"

"Ah, that's what every one's asking. I shouldn't like to say who she be.

See how bold she stared as she drove along!" said Bessie.

"She warn't so bold looking as that other one," remarked Kezia.

"She wur just a bit o' painted bra.s.s," said Bessie. "This gal's terrible young. Oh, ain't it awful to see 'em all so wicked! Folks are saying they won't ha' much more of it."

"Where was she going?" asked Nellie impatiently.

"To Black Anchor Farm. Where else would she be going? The driver stopped by the green and asked the way to Black Anchor."

"'Tis three o'clock. She can't get away tonight," Kezia whispered.

"She brought a bag--she's going to stay a long while," muttered Bessie, covering her face for shame.

"Policeman ought to get hold of her and lock her up," cried Kezia wrathfully.

"Ah, that he ought," agreed Bessie. "If me and Robert wur to have a few words, he'd be round quick enough and tell us to keep our mouths shut.

Pity I b'ain't an actress! I could do what I liked then. The folks won't stand much more of it. I wish Captain Drake wur back again; he'd have they Brocks out of the country in no time."

Nellie crept back to her room and destroyed the unfinished letter. Then she drew down the blind.

The second incident commenced about an hour later, when another conveyance reached Highfield and proceeded at once to Windward House. A gentleman stepped out and inquired for Mr. Drake. Having learnt from Kezia that George was absent, but expected home at any time, the gentleman said he would take a stroll round the village and await his coming.

This incident would have pa.s.sed almost unnoticed, so far as the general public were concerned, had the stranger been of the usual speechless type of tourist, content to stare deferentially at the local antiquities and to wander aimlessly round the churchyard. But he was not, as he himself admitted, within measurable distance of an ordinary man; for he joined a group of villagers, who were discussing the latest tragedy in whispers, and insisted upon introducing himself and asking questions about themselves.

In the first place he came from America, and he lost no time in informing his listeners that an American gentleman was the only perfect specimen of humanity to be found upon the face of the globe. In the second place he was a millionaire, and had no bashfulness about advertising the fact. Finally, he enjoyed use of the name Josiah P.

Jenkins, and his business premises, or at least some of them, were situated in Philadelphia, which, he explained, was the city of brotherly love, where Irish toasted English, whites embraced negroes, Jews dined with Christians, and sharp practice was unknown.

By this time the poor little actress, driving in solitary state towards Black Anchor, was almost forgotten. Actresses had occurred before, unhappily, but this was the first occasion during the entire history of the universe upon which a millionaire had walked and talked in Highfield. Mr. Jenkins was bestowing a new tradition upon the village; he was quite the equal of Queen Elizabeth, who had slept, and very much superior to King Charles, who had hidden, somewhere in the neighbourhood. Here was an individual who reckoned the weekly wage, not by a few shillings, according to local custom, but by innumerable dollars every moment. The people gazed upon him with reverence, while children approached to touch him, and discover what metal he was made of, while some of the more intelligent made remarks concerning copper which the great man did not seem to understand. The Yellow Leaf admitted afterwards he was thankful he had lived to see it, although he would have respected millionaires far more had he never set eyes upon the corporeal presence of Mr. Jenkins. It was wonderful, he added, how quickly these Americans acquired a superficial knowledge of the English language.

"What might be your occupation, sir?" asked the Dumpy Philosopher.

"Railways, my friend, with patent medicines as a side-line," replied Mr.

Jenkins.

"I hope you ain't come here to build none, nor make none," said the Yellow Leaf.

"I have come here in my private capacity as art lover, collector, connoisseur. I am awaiting the arrival of one of your leading citizens, Mr. Drake of Windward House."