'He has been kind to her, I feel certain, though you'll never get him to acknowledge it--indeed, he'll tell you fibs to your face without ever a blush--and he has been trying for a long time to persuade her to come and live with him. She has persistently refused, and now he is angry with her. He is an old man and a lonely man, and he feels it perhaps; but, anyhow, it is as much for her good as his that he makes the offer. He says he will look upon her as a daughter, and it would be better for her than her present lot.'
'Tell me all,' I said, 'plainly and without disguise.'
'Well, Mr. Meadow, nothing on earth can induce her to leave Tom Beadle.'
'He is a thief, and the father of her child.'
Mr. Merrywhistle's voice trembled from sadness as he spoke these words. I understood it all now. To my grief, I knew what would be the answer to my next question; but it must be asked and answered.
We were but a few paces from Jimmy Virtue and Blade-o'-Grass, and our conversation had been carried on in a low tone. I turned towards them. Jimmy Virtue, in a heat, was wiping his glass eye. Blade-o'-Grass had not stirred from her crouching attitude. She might have been carved in stone, so motionless had she remained, and to discover any signs of life in her, you would have had to put your head down to her beating heart So she cowered among the wildflowers, with sweet breezes about her, with beautiful clouds above her.
'Now, parson,' said Jimmy Virtue, in a menacing tone, 'per'aps you'll tell that gal whether she's right or wrong!'
'I must first know,' I said, striving to induce gentleness in him by speaking gently myself, 'what it is I am to give an opinion upon.'
'I know that. Mind you, I ain't overfond o' parsons, as a rule, and I ain't overfond o' words, unless there's a reason for 'em. You see that gal there--she's a pretty article to look at, ain't she? Judge for yourself; you can tell pretty well what she is by 'er clothes and 'er babby, though she does 'ide 'er face. She's not so bad as you might make 'er out to be, that I must say; for I ain't a-goin' to take advantage of 'er. But you may make 'er out precious bad, what with one thing and another, and not be far wrong arter all. She's got no 'ome to speak of; she's got no clothes to speak of; she's got no babby that she's got a right to. Well, I orfer that gal a 'ome in my leavin'-shop. I say to 'er, You can come and live along o' me, and I'll look arter you like a daughter; and I would, for I'm a man o' my word, though my word don't amount to much. Now what does she say, that gal, as couldn't lay 'er 'and on a 'arf-a-crown as she's got a right to, if it was to save 'er life--what does she say to my orfer? She says. No, and says as good as I'll see you further fust! Now, tell 'er whether she's right or wrong--tell 'er once and for all. You're a parson, and she'll believe you, per'aps.'