CHAPTER III.

FARMER BLUFF.

WHILST Dick was making acquaintance with Bill the Kicker, the Squire's bailiff, Farmer Bluff, was sitting in his parlour, with his leg upon a cushion and a pint mug on the table by his side, swearing inwardly—if not aloud—at the fate which had cursed him with the gout.

Now this fate was none other than the blustering old farmer's own stupidity; for time after time the doctor had warned him that as long as he made that mug his boon companion, so long exactly would his enemy pursue him with its twinging pains.

But Farmer Bluff was obstinate as well as blustering—to every one except the Squire, of course, in whose presence he was like the latter end of March—a lion transformed into a lamb. The excuse he made to himself turned upon the mug, of which he was naturally proud, it being solid silver, an heirloom that his grandfather had left to him. He liked to have it on the table by his side; and if upon the table, why, it must have something in it. And that something must of course be beer, and must be drunk. And so the stupid fellow's gout grew angrier year by year, until at length it got so bad that if he did not swear aloud, it was for no better reason than because nobody was by to hear.

As he sat there by the hearth, looking across his shoulder out of the window at the bright March sunshine that used to call him up and abroad at six o'clock, until this gout got hold of him, he heard Grip set up the furious bark that fetched the servant out to look. Then he heard Blazer take up the challenge; and shortly afterwards the voices of the servant and the man fell on his ear.

Now it was a peculiarity of the old bailiff to resent not being able to hear what passed between other people; so after chafing and fretting for some minutes, he reached out for the handbell that stood beside the silver mug, and rang it lustily. Then he took another pull at the mug, and having poked the fire to a roaring blaze, impatiently awaited the answer to his summons.

This happened exactly at the moment when the servant threw up the kitchen window to let in the air.

"Always kicking up a fuss for nothing in the world," said she again, flouncing back to her washing up, with a strong determination to let him ring a second time. After a minute or two, however, she let drop her dish-clout in the tub, and drying her hands on her apron as she went, hurried off to the parlour.

Farmer Bluff was known to be a bit of a miser, and had few near relatives to leave his money to; and Elspeth had her eye upon a handsome legacy.

"He's over sixty-five," she used to tell herself, by way of comfort when he swore at her; "and gout don't make old bones. I can put up with it a bit longer, on the chance of being mentioned in his will."

But, as it happened, just as Elspeth reached the parlour, there was another ring, this time at the outer door; not so lusty as her master's, though, for all that the bell itself was twice the size.

Filling up a waste space in the hall, there was a cunning china closet, with a narrow window looking through into the porch. A step or two aside and one quick glance revealed who stood without. Going swiftly to the door, Elspeth threw it open with a deferential curtsey. It was the Squire who had given that modest ring; and she never kept the Squire waiting, for he always had a civil word, in spite of his high rank. Then having answered his inquiry as to whether her master was up, she stepped briskly back towards the parlour.

Farmer Bluff was in the act of ringing his handbell a second time.

"A man might die in a fit, for all the haste you make!" exclaimed he with an oath, banging down the bell so violently that the clapper uttered a "twang" of protest. "An indolent, slow-footed hussy!" He was going on with a regular string of abuse, but just as he was in the midst of some words that no proper thinking man had any business to lay his tongue to, the door flew open, and to his great dismay, his eyes met those of no less a personage than the Lord of the Manor.

Farmer Bluff's tirade came to an abrupt termination, and Elspeth having announced, "The Squire, sir," withdrew, leaving her master to put the best face on it.

What with beer, and rage, and shame, the old sinner's countenance was nearly as red as the live coals in the grate. He made desperate efforts to rise as the Squire approached, bearing like a man the torture that would have made him swear like a trooper if Elspeth had been by instead.

The Squire, however, hastened to stop him.

"Keep your seat, Mr. Bluff," said he good-naturedly, as the bailiff blurted out an apology. "Pray don't put yourself to any pain on my account. No; not so near the hearth, thank you," as Farmer Bluff tried to reach a chair. "I'll sit here. The air is mild this morning, and I can see you've been serving your fire to the same sort of rousing as you treat your woman servant to."

The old farmer reddened still more, and mumbled something about "your blood being chilly when you had the gout."

"And you find that swearing makes it circulate," remarked the Squire sarcastically. "Dependence upon others is a very unfortunate condition to come to," added he; "and you have apparently a very inattentive attendant too."

The Squire's caustic tone did not escape Farmer Bluff. He blurted out a few words about "not so bad," only she needed "keeping up to the mark."

"You've chosen a somewhat unscriptural way of setting about it," observed the Squire; "and my experience—the experience of fourscore years—is that whatever is unscriptural is unprofitable, and altogether wrong. Therefore, Mr. Bluff, if I were you I should give it up."

Having uttered this straightforward piece of advice, the Squire dropped the subject, and went on to speak of his bailiff's health.

It was wonderful the contrast there was between the two men. The Squire, brought up all his lifetime in the midst of luxury—had he chosen to live softly—had as elastic a tread as many a man of forty, and looked as hale and hearty as if he had been accustomed to weather wind and storm out in the fields with his own shepherds. His bailiff, nearly twenty years his junior, looked bloated and unhealthy, in spite of his invigorating out-door life about the farm and woods; and half his days, at least, were spent in this arm-chair, with one foot or the other upon a cushion.

There was good reason for the difference; there is for most things, if men only had the sense to find it out. The Squire, from his youth up, had been temperate, using the good gifts of God wisely, not abusing them. His bailiff had never got beyond regarding these gifts as the wages which it was his good fortune to earn from the Squire; and he had gone to work with the intention of getting the greatest possible amount of enjoyment out of this little bite off the great man's luxury. Thus, grasping all, he had come pretty near losing all; for, ask anybody who has made close acquaintance with gout, and they will tell you that there is next to no enjoyment in life for those who have made it their companion.

The moral is,—avoid intemperance, remembering always that beer is not the only thing that may be abused, and that gout is not the only punishment; for, sad to say, there are as many sins as there are weeds in this fair world, and a punishment to each. As the Bible has it—in a form that no one need forget—"Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

Sow sins, and you shall reap punishment as surely as did Farmer Bluff.

This was the sum and substance of the Squire's thoughts as he sat down on the window-seat. "I'm thankful I shall go down to my grave without gout," said he to himself, as he watched the contortions of his bailiff's features; for it was vain for Farmer Bluff to think of not making faces. He had put his foot to unusual inconvenience in his attempts to show respect; and it cost effort enough to refrain from bellowing aloud at the pain.

"I hoped to find you better than this, Mr. Bluff," began the Squire after a pause, putting his gold-headed cane between his knees, and crossing his hands over it. "This has been a long attack."

"It has, sir; a—very long attack."

Farmer Bluff usually hesitated a good deal in talking to the Squire; otherwise he might have let slip unsuitable expressions, such as he was in the habit of using to Elspeth.

"The longest you ever had, eh?"

The Squire did not want to be unkind, but he had called in with the intention of saying something rather disagreeable; and it had got to be said, in spite of his natural inclination to say pleasant things.

"By far the longest," repeated he.

Farmer Bluff declared himself heartily tired of it, adding in an injured way that no one knew what suffering was until they had tried gout.

The Squire shook his head. A man has no right to feel hardly done by when he deliberately chooses to bring pain upon himself. "I'm heartily tired of it, too," said he; "and the fact is, Bluff, I'm getting too far into years to be my own bailiff—and that's what it comes to nowadays. For these keepers and labourers of yours—well! I've no doubt you give your orders. A man might give his orders in the other hemisphere by telegram. But if I didn't go round and see to things for myself, they would be in a pretty muddle. Why! I was in the saddle at half-past six this morning to do your work. A glorious morning it was too; as glorious as God ever made. Time Was when I'd as soon have been out myself as trouble you—except for the sense that a man with abundance of this world's goods is bound to broadcast some of his money amongst dependants. But an octogenarian begins to need a little indulgence, or he will do very shortly, for the time must come to all of us, Mr. Bluff."

"Ay, that it must, sir," acquiesced the bailiff meekly, feeling rather as if his time had come; for he could see pretty plainly what the Squire was driving at.

"I should not like," continued the old gentleman after a pause, "to leave the estate out of working gear when I go. It is not as if I left a grown man in my place. My grandson is such a mere child that I can hardly hope even to see him attain his majority; and that is what I came to speak to you about. You have served me many years, Bluff; but the fact is, you are not what you were, and I feel that I ought to see a competent man in your place, whilst I myself am still competent."

Farmer Bluff began to whine. Long service deserved indulgence, he hinted. "A man must take what the Lord sends him," said he.

But the Squire stopped him. "Men often make mistakes about the source of their misfortunes, Bluff," said he. "I don't believe that your complaint is often of the Lord's sending."

The bailiff's eyes reverted uncomfortably to the silver mug. He knew very well what his patron referred to.

"I might very easily have put myself in the way of it," continued the Squire. "My father left me a well-stocked cellar, and I have had to dispense hospitality; but I have mostly contented myself with listening to other people's praises of my wines, remembering an old saying that those who constantly seek their own reflections at the bottom of their tankards are likely oftenest to see an ass. The saying certainly holds good of a man who, in immediate opposition to his doctor's orders, feeds his gout on beer. No, Bluff: if the Almighty were responsible for your gout, I should feel very differently about the matter. As it is, although I shall consider myself bound to see that your old age does not come to want, you must certainly understand that you will have to make way, within due notice, for a man who can put his beer mug on one side in favour of duty."

Farmer Bluff tried hard to obtain a commutation of this sentence.

But the Squire was a man who knew his own mind, once it was made up, and who did not make it up hastily either. He had for some years past been much disgusted with his bailiff conduct; and the experience of the last few months had finally decided him. He was determined to leave upon the estate a thoroughly efficient bailiff. To this intent, having given due notice to the gouty old rascal who at present held the office, he now rose and took his leave, Farmer Bluff ringing his handbell— though not so roughly as before—for Elspeth to show the Squire out.

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