These subjects revolved themselves in my mind as I reached the great iron gates which gave entrance to the avenue. Mrs. Hodge, the gatekeeper's wife, ran out all wreathed in smiles to open them, a buxom, good-looking woman of some seven or eight-and-twenty years of age. After her came toddling a chubby lad of some three summers. A second held on by the lodge doorpost, just getting firm on his legs. I looked on well pleased to pause in my solitary walk, to regale my sight with a picture so rural, so natural, so unobtainable. No, money cannot purchase all. These are gifts for which nature refuses such dross, blessings which are sometimes unobtainable for all that wealth may have to offer.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hodge. Why bless me! What fine boys! Are those both your own?"
"Well, yes, my lady. They are mine-and my man's too. This is my eldest. Yonder one's my second. That's all, my lady-all at present, but there's another on the way."
"Ah, Mrs. Hodge, you are a lucky woman to have such splendid children. They are perfect little cupids."
"I don't know about cupids, my lady; this 'un's christened Christopher. The parson gave us the name, which it was a merchant captain which sailed over to America. Christopher Columbus his whole name was. That's Columbus standin' by the door. He's just a year old last week, my lady, and can walk and run till it's all I can do to catch him. But Lor' bless him! He's a good little lad, and happy as the day is long."
"I quite envy you. I fear such happiness is not for all in the world. Have you a good husband, Mrs. Hodge?"
"Lor' bless you, my lady, that I have! My Jock is never so happy as when his work's done and we sit inside together of an evening. He reads a lot then aloud to me, for you see, my lady, he works hard in the woods, cuttin' timber all day on the estate out yonder, and he takes his supper hearty, he does, and then he sits, and smokes, and reads."
"How long have you been married, Mrs. Hodge?"
"Nigh on to four years now, my lady."
"You've not lost any time, I perceive." I laughed. The good woman joined in my merriment.
"Lor', ma'am-your ladyship, I mean-I beg pardon-if you only knew how rampageous my Jock gets! Why, I had all the trouble in life to keep him decently quiet when we were courtin', and since we're married there's no holdin' him. He's like a mad horse, he is!"
"And what age is your husband, Mrs. Hodge?"
"Jock's nigh on a year younger nor me, my lady."
"Younger is he? That is rather unusual in these parts, is it not?"
"I dunno, my lady, but savin' your presence, his parents were both dead and gone. He had no home. I had saved up a bit o' money here in the dairy, and so they gave me the chance of the lodge if we chose to marry and look after it together."
"You're a happy woman, Mrs. Hodge."
Something in my voice seemed to raise all the woman's tender sympathy. She looked at me inquiringly.
"I hope, my lady, you won't think me too bold, but we've all of us on the estate been hopin' as how my lord might have a hare."
I pretended not to understand.
"I always thought hares were unusually plentiful this season about Chitterlings."
Mrs. Hodge looked nonplused.
"I don't mean hares wot run, but thems wot's bred and born."
"Oh, I see! Yes, now I see! It's very kind of you, I'm sure. At present, Mrs. Hodge, we must be content as we are."
The good woman drew closer. There was an air of mystery in her open honest face, a look almost of trouble. She shook her head as she slowly uttered her next remark.
"I shouldn't. No, there's something wrong somewhere. Savin' your presence, my lady-and your ladyship'll excuse me-but a lovely, beautiful, well-grown young lady like your ladyship has no call to be childless. Ye may send me off for my impertinence, or turn us awt of the lodge, but after being brought up on the estate, and its now nigh on twenty-nine year ago I was born on it, I do say as how your ladyship out to have a hare. I shouldn't-no, I shouldn't."
There was something in Mrs. Hodge's kindly meant comments which touched me. There was even a dimness in her eye as her broad, good-humored face looked almost affectionately into mine.
"No, I shouldn't be content. I know there's a main difference in the livin' and ways of great people and the likes of us poor folk, but if I were the lady of the manor without a hare I know that all the village would want to know the reason why. I can keep my mouth shut, my lady. I'm not a woman to go about gossiping about what don't concern me. I keeps to myself, but if your ladyship heard all they said, you would find they knew it wasn't your fault."
The woman looked so kindly sympathetic that I suppressed a natural inclination of resentment. It rose in my throat. What! I, the Countess of Endover, Lady of the Manor of Chitterlings in my own right, to be thus spoken to and pitied by a peasant on my estate! No, but it would not do. I broke down. The position was too strained. The tears rose to my eyes. Mrs. Hodge saw my distress. The kind, good- hearted woman's own sweet natural disposition came up beaming in her sympathetic look as she took my hand and kissed it.
"I know, I know, my lady. My lord takes his shootin'-takes his huntin'. He can do a long day in the covers, perhaps, but he's-he's not to be compared to us poor folk under the sheets."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Hodge? My husband-Lord Endover-is all that is kind; all that is-"
"Ah, no! My lady, you must excuse me-I mean no wrong. I only talk as I feel for your ladyship. It's not your fault. It's his!"
I withdrew my hand. An angry light must have shone in my eyes. My red blood flew to my cheek. I drew myself up. This woman's insolence should not go unpunished. It was bad enough to have been accosted thus, but to be an object of downright pity-no, this was too much! My husband too! The Earl to be thus discussed at my own park gate?"
"You are angry, my lady-and no wonder! I am only a poor ignorant woman. You are a great lady. I hope you will forgive me. I cannot bear that you should be angry with me. I meant all for the best. I could tell you more-that which would show you that I want to serve you truly."
I hesitated. There was an air of reality about the young woman I could not mistake. Her earnestness moved me strongly to listen further. She was quick enough to divine my thoughts.
"Come in here, my lady. I will explain all. I will tell you all I have to tell. The Lor' knows I have no cause to hide it. It's too well known already."
I entered the comfortable dwelling. Mrs. Hodge carefully dusted a chair with her apron. I sat down. She dropped on both knees in front of me, hiding her bonny face in her hands. Suddenly she looked up, her confidence seemed to return-her cheeks were wet with tears, red and mottled by contact with her hot hands.
"I want to tell you all about it. I always said to myself I would. It was not all my fault. I was so young then-only fifteen. He was old enough to have known better than to take advantage of a poor girl without experience. He was eddicated and rich, with ladies all round him ready for his asking. I was taken with his winnin' ways. I was foolishly proud of his noticin' me. He did what he liked with me. More's the pity. He said it was all a bit of fun and nonsense and that he would take care of me. So it was for him, but not for me. Father come to hear of it. Mother was dead then. The village all heard of it. They sneered at Father. It broke his heart. He beat me and turned me out o' doors. An old neighbor took me in out o' charity like. It killed Father. I was left alone. The Countess was kind to me-the last Dowager, I mean. She's dead now, and he-can you guess who he was? Yes, I know you do, my lady."
Down went her head again between the hands. I heard a low sobbing moan. Then she spoke again.