PRISCILLA OF THE GOOD INTENT
PRISCILLA OF THE
GOOD INTENT
A ROMANCE OF THE GREY FELLS
BY
HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE
Author of “Mistress Barbara,” “Benedick in Arcady,” etc.
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1909
Copyright, 1908,
By Halliwell Sutcliffe.
Copyright, 1909,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
PRISCILLA
OF
THE GOOD INTENT
CHAPTER I
THE blacksmith’s forge stood just this side of the villageas you entered it from Shepston, and DavidBlake, the smith, was blowing lustily at his bellows, whilethe sweat dripped down his face. The cool of a springmorning came through the doorway, against which leaneda heavy, slouching lad.
“Te-he, David the Smith! Sparks do go scrambling upchimney,” said Billy the Fool, with a fat and empty laugh.
They called him Billy the Fool, for old affection’s sake,with no sense of reproach; for the old ways of thought hada fast hold on Garth village, and a natural was heldin a certain awe, as being something midway between aprophet and a child.
“Ay, sparks are scrambling up. ’Tis a way they have,Billy,” answered the other cheerily. “What’s yournews?”
Again Billy laughed, but cunningly this time. “Grandnews—all about myself. Was up at sunrise, and beendoing naught ever since. I’m main fond of doing naught,[2]David. Seems to trickle down your body, does idleness,like good ale.”
The blacksmith loosed his hold on the bellows’ handlesand turned about, while he passed a hand across his forehead.
“Is there nought ye like better than idleness?” heasked. “Think now, Billy—just ponder over it.”
“Well, now,” answered the other, after a silence,“there’s playing—what ye might call playing at a rightgood game. Could ye think of some likely pastime,David?”
“Ay, could I. Blowing bellows is the grandest frolicever I came across.”
Billy was wary, after his own fashion, and he lookedat the blacksmith hard, his child’s eyes—blue and uncloudedby the storms of life—showing big beneath theirheavy brows of reddish-brown.
“I doubt ’tis work, David,” he said dispassionately.
“Nay, now! Would I ask thee to work, lad? Fond o’thee as I am, and knowing labour’s harmful to thee?”
“I shouldn’t like to be trapped into work. ’Twouldscare me when I woke o’ nights and thought of it.”
“See ye, then, Billy”—blowing the bellows gently—“isit work to make yon sparks go, blue and green and red,as fast as ever ye like to drive ’em? Play, I call it, andI’ve a mind, now I come to think on’t, just to keep ye outo’ the game, and go on playing it myself.”
Billy drew nearer, with an anxious look. “Ye wouldn’tdo that, or ye’d not be blacksmith David,” he said, withunerring knowledge of the other’s kindliness. “Te-he!’Tis just a bit o’ sporting—I hadn’t thought of it i’ thatlight.”
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