The Pig and Whistle

by George Gissing

　　From The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories (1906).

　　'I possess a capital of thirty thousand pounds. One-third of this isinvested in railway shares, which bear interest at three and a half percent.; another third is in Government stock, and produces two andthree-quarters per cent.; the rest is lent on mortgages, at three per cent.Calculate my income for the present year.'This kind of problem was constantly being given out by Mr. Ruddiman,assistant master at Longmeadows School. Mr. Ruddiman, who had reached theage of five-and-forty, and who never in his life had possessedfive-and-forty pounds, used his arithmetic lesson as an opportunity forflight of imagination. When dictating a sum in which he attributed tohimself enormous wealth, his eyes twinkled, his slender body struck adignified attitude, and he smiled over the class with a certain genialcondescension. When the calculation proposed did not refer to personalincome it generally illustrated the wealth of the nation, in which Mr.Ruddiman had a proud delight. He would bid his youngsters compute theproceeds of some familiar tax, and the vast sum it represented rolled fromhis lips on a note of extraordinary satisfaction, as if he gloried in thisevidence of national prosperity. His salary at Longmeadows just sufficed tokeep him decently clad and to support him during the holidays. He had beena master here for seven years, and earnestly hoped that his services mightbe retained for at least seven more; there was very little chance of hisever obtaining a better position, and the thought of being cast adrift, ofhaving to betake himself to the school agencies and enter upon newengagements, gave Mr. Ruddiman a very unpleasant sensation. In his time hehad gone through hardships such as naturally befall a teacher withoutdiplomas and possessed of no remarkable gifts; that he had never brokendown in health was the result of an admirable constitution and of muchnative cheerfulness. Only at such an establishment as Longmeadows--anold-fashioned commercial 'academy,' recommended to parents by thehealthiness of its rural situation--could he have hoped to hold his groundagainst modern educational tendencies, which aim at obliterating Mr.Ruddiman and all his kind. Every one liked him; impossible not to like aman so abounding in kindliness and good humour; but his knowledge wasanything but extensive, and his methods in instruction had a fine flavourof antiquity. Now and then Mr. Ruddiman asked himself what was to become ofhim when sickness or old age forbade his earning even the modest incomeupon which he could at present count, but his happy temper dismissed thetroublesome reflection. One thing, however, he had decided; in future hewould find some more economical way of spending his holidays. Hitherto hehad been guilty of the extravagance of taking long journeys to see membersof his scattered family, or of going to the seaside, or of amusing himself(oh, how innocently!) in London. This kind of thing must really stop. Inthe coming summer vacation he had determined to save at least fivesovereigns, and he fancied he had discovered a simple way of doing it.On pleasant afternoons, when he was 'off duty,' Mr. Ruddiman liked to havea long ramble by himself about the fields and lanes. In solitude he wasnever dull; had you met him during one of these afternoon walks, morelikely than not you would have seen a gentle smile on his visage as hewalked with head bent. Not that his thoughts were definitely of agreeablethings; consciously he thought perhaps of nothing at all; but he liked thesunshine and country quiet, and the sense of momentary independence. Everyone would have known him for what he was. His dress, his gait, hiscountenance, declared the under-master. Mr. Ruddiman never carried awalking-stick; that would have seemed to him to be arrogating a socialposition to which he had no claim. Generally he held his hands togetherbehind him; if not so, one of them would dip its fingers into a waistcoatpocket and the other grasp the lapel of his coat. If anything he lookedrather less than his age, a result, perhaps, of having always lived withthe young. His features were agreeably insignificant; his body, thoughslight of build, had something of athletic outline, due to long practice atcricket, football, and hockey.If he had rather more time than usual at his disposal he walked as far asthe Pig and Whistle, a picturesque little wayside inn, which stood alone,at more than a mile from the nearest village. To reach the Pig and Whistleone climbed a long, slow ascent, and in warm weather few pedestrians, or,for the matter of that, folks driving or riding, could resist thesuggestion of the ivy-shadowed porch which admitted to the quaint parlour.So long was it since the swinging sign had been painted that neither of Pignor of Whistle was any trace now discoverable; but over the porch one readclearly enough the landlord's name: William Fouracres. Only three years agohad Mr. Fouracres established himself here; Ruddiman remembered hispredecessor, with whom he had often chatted whilst drinking his modestbottle of ginger beer. The present landlord was a very different sort ofman, less affable, not disposed to show himself to every comer. Customerswere generally served by the landlord's daughter, and with her Mr. Ruddimanhad come to be on very pleasant terms.But as this remark may easily convey a false impression, it must be addedthat Miss Fouracres was a very discreet, well-spoken, deliberate person, ofat least two-and-thirty. Mr. Ruddiman had known her for more than a yearbefore anything save brief civilities passed between them. In the secondtwelvemonth of their acquaintance they reached the point of exchangingreminiscences as to the weather, discussing the agricultural prospects ofthe county, and remarking on the advantage to rural innkeepers of thefashion of bicycling. In the third year they were quite intimate; sointimate, indeed, that when Mr. Fouracres chanced to be absent they spokeof his remarkable history. For the landlord of the Pig and Whistle had ahistory worth talking about, and Mr. Ruddiman had learnt it from thelandlord's own lips. Miss Fouracres would never have touched upon thesubject with any one in whom she did not feel confidence; to her it was farfrom agreeable, and Mr. Ruddiman established himself in her esteem bytaking the same view of the matter.Well, one July afternoon, when the summer vacation drew near, theunder-master perspired up the sunny road with another object than that ofrefreshing himself at the familiar little inn. He entered by the iviedporch, and within, as usual, found Miss Fouracres, who sat behind the barsewing. Miss Fouracres wore a long white apron, which protected her dressfrom neck to feet, and gave her an appearance of great neatness andcoolness. She had a fresh complexion, and features which made nodisagreeable impression. At sight of the visitor she rose, and, as herhabit was, stood with one hand touching her chin, whilst she smiled thediscreetest of modest welcomes.'Good day, Miss Fouracres,' said the under-master, after his usual littlecough.'Good day, sir,' was the reply, in a country voice which had a peculiarnote of honesty. Miss Fouracres had never yet learnt her acquaintance'sname.'Splendid weather for the crops. I'll take a ginger-beer, if you please.''Indeed, that it is, sir. Ginger-beer; yes, sir.'Then followed two or three minutes of silence. Miss Fouracres had resumedher sewing, though not her seat. Mr. Ruddiman sipped his beverage moregravely than usual.'How is Mr. Fouracres?' he asked at length.'I'm sorry to say, sir,' was the subdued reply, 'that he's thinking aboutthe Prince.''Oh, dear!' sighed Mr. Ruddiman, as one for whom this mysterious answer haddistressing significance. 'That's a great pity.''Yes, sir. And I'm sorry to say,' went on Miss Fouracres, in the sameconfidential tone, 'that the Prince is coming here. I don't mean here,sir, to the Pig and Whistle, but to Woodbury Manor. Father saw it in thenewspaper, and since then he's had no rest, day or night. He's sitting outin the garden. I don't know whether you'd like to go and speak to him,sir?''I will. Yes, I certainly will. But there's something I should like to askyou about first, Miss Fouracres. I'm thinking of staying in this part ofthe country through the holidays'--long ago he had made known hisposition--'and it has struck me that perhaps I could lodge here. Could youlet me have a room? Just a bedroom would be enough.''Why, yes, sir,' replied the landlord's daughter. 'We have two bedrooms,you know, and I've no doubt my father would be willing to arrange withyou.''Ah, then I'll mention it to him. Is he in very low spirits?''He's unusual low to-day, sir. I shouldn't wonder if it did him good to seeyou, and talk a bit.'Having finished his ginger-beer, Mr. Ruddiman walked through the house andpassed out into the garden, where he at once became aware of Mr. Fouracres.The landlord, a man of sixty, with grizzled hair and large, heavycountenance, sat in a rustic chair under an apple-tree; beside him was alittle table, on which stood a bottle of whisky and a glass. Approaching,Mr. Ruddiman saw reason to suspect that the landlord had partaken toofreely of the refreshment ready to his hand. Mr. Fouracres' person was in alimp state; his cheeks were very highly coloured, and his head kept noddingas he muttered to himself. At the visitor's greeting he looked up with asudden surprise, as though he resented an intrusion on his privacy.'It's very hot, Mr. Fouracres,' the under-master went on to remark withcordiality.'Hot? I dare say it is,' replied the landlord severely. 'And what else doyou expect at this time of the year, sir?''Just so, Mr. Fouracres, just so!' said the other, as good-humouredly aspossible. 'You don't find it unpleasant?''Why should I, sir? It was a good deal hotter day than this when His RoyalHighness called upon me; a good deal hotter. The Prince didn't complain;not he. He said to me--I'm speaking of His Royal Highness, you understand;I hope you understand that, sir?''Oh, perfectly!''His words were--"Very seasonable weather, Mr. Fouracres." I'm not likelyto forget what he said; so it's no use you or any one else trying to makeout that he didn't say that. I tell you he did! "Very season weather, Mr.Fouracres"--calling me by name, just like that. And it's no good you noranybody else--'The effort of repeating the Prince's utterance with what was meant to be aprincely accent proved so exhausting to Mr. Fouracres that he sank togetherin his chair and lost all power of coherent speech. In a moment he seemedto be sleeping. Having watched him a little while, Mr. Ruddiman spoke hisname, and tried to attract his attention; finding it useless he went backinto the inn.'I'm afraid I shall have to put it off to another day, was his remark tothe landlord's daughter. 'Mr. Four-acres is--rather drowsy.''Ah, sir!' sighed the young woman. 'I'm sorry to say he's often been likethat lately.'Their eyes met, but only for an instant. Mr. Ruddiman looked and feltuncomfortable.'I'll come again very soon, Miss Fouracres,' he said. 'You might just speakto your father about the room.''Thank you, sir. I will, sir.'And, with another uneasy glance, which was not returned, the under-masterwent his way. Descending towards Longmeadows, he thought over theinnkeeper's story, which may be briefly related. Some ten years before thisMr. Fouracres occupied a very comfortable position; he was landlord of aflourishing inn--called an hotel--in a little town of some importance as anagricultural centre, and seemed perfectly content with the life and thesociety natural to a man so circumstanced. His manners were marked by acertain touch of pompousness, and he liked to dwell upon the excellence ofthe entertainment which his house afforded, but these were innocentcharacteristics which did not interfere with his reputation as a sensibleand sound man of business. It happened one day that two gentlemen onhorseback, evidently riding for their pleasure, stopped at the inn door,and, after a few inquiries, announced that they would alight and havelunch. Mr. Fouracres--who himself received these gentlemen--regarded one ofthem with much curiosity, and presently came to the startling conclusionthat he was about to entertain no less a person than the Heir Apparent. Heknew that the Prince was then staying at a great house some ten miles away,and there could be no doubt that one of his guests had a strong resemblanceto the familiar portraits of His Royal Highness. In his excitement at thesupposed discovery, Mr. Fouracres at once communicated it to those abouthim, and in a very few minutes half the town had heard the news. Of coursethe host would allow no one but himself to wait at the royal table--whichwas spread in the inn's best room, guarded against all intrusion. In vain,however, did he listen for a word from either of the gentlemen which mightconfirm his belief; in their conversation no name or title was used, and nomention made of anything significant. They remained for an hour. When theirhorses were brought round for them a considerable crowd had gathered beforethe hotel, and the visitors departed amid a demonstration of exuberantloyalty. On the following day, one or two persons who had been present atthis scene declared that the two gentlemen showed surprise, and that,though both raised their hats in acknowledgment of the attention theyreceived, they rode away laughing.For the morrow brought doubts. People began to say that the Prince hadnever been near the town at all, and that evidence could be produced of hishaving passed the whole day at the house where he was a visitor. Mr.Fouracres smiled disdainfully; no assertion or argument availed to shakehis proud assurance that he had entertained the Heir to the Throne. Fromthat day he knew no peace. Fired with an extraordinary arrogance, he viewedas his enemy every one who refused to believe in the Prince's visit; hequarrelled violently with many of his best friends; he brought insultingaccusations against all manner of persons. Before long the man was honestlyconvinced that there existed a conspiracy to rob him of a distinction thatwas his due. Political animus had, perhaps, something to do with it, forthe Liberal newspaper (Mr. Fouracres was a stout Conservative) made morethan one malicious joke on the subject. A few townsmen stood by thelandlord's side and used their ingenuity in discovering plausible reasonswhy the Prince did not care to have it publicly proclaimed that he hadvisited the town and lunched at the hotel. These partisans scorned thesuggestion that Mr. Fouracres had made a mistake, but they were unable todeny that a letter, addressed to the Prince himself, with a view to puttingan end to the debate, had elicited (in a secretarial hand) a brief denialof the landlord's story. Evidently something very mysterious underlay thewhole affair, and there was much shaking of heads for a long time.To Mr. Fouracres the result of the honour he so strenuously vindicated wasserious indeed. By way of defiance to all mockers he wished to change thetime-honoured sign of the inn, and to substitute for it the Prince ofWales's Feathers. On this point he came into conflict with the owner of theproperty, and, having behaved very violently, received notice that hislease, just expiring, would not be renewed. Whereupon what should Mr.Fouracres do but purchase land and begin to build for himself an hoteltwice as large as that he must shortly quit. On this venture he used all,and more than all, his means, and, as every one had prophesied, he was soona ruined man. In less than three years from the fatal day he turned hisback upon the town where he had known respect and prosperity, and wentforth to earn his living as best he could. After troublous wanderings, onwhich he was accompanied by his daughter, faithful and devoted, though shehad her doubts on a certain subject, the decayed publican at length found aplace of rest. A small legacy from a relative had put it in his power tomake a new, though humble, beginning in business; he established himself atthe Pig and Whistle.The condition in which he had to-day been discovered by Mr. Ruddiman wasnot habitual with him. Once a month, perhaps, his melancholy thoughts drovehim to the bottle; for the most part he led a sullen, brooding life,indifferent to the state of his affairs, and only animated when he found anew and appreciative listener to the story of his wrongs. That he had beengrievously wronged was Mr. Fouracres' immutable conviction. Not by HisRoyal Highness; the Prince knew nothing of the strange conspiracy which hadresulted in Fouracres' ruin; letters addressed to His Royal Highness wereevidently intercepted by underlings, and never came before the royal eyes.Again and again had Mr. Fouracres written long statements of his case, andpetitioned for an audience. He was now resolved to adopt other methods; hewould use the first opportunity of approaching the Prince's person, andlifting up his voice where he could not but be heard. He sought no vulgargain; his only desire was to have this fact recognised, that he had,indeed, entertained the Prince, and so put to shame all his scornfulenemies. And now the desired occasion offered itself. In the month ofSeptember His Royal Highness would be a guest at Woodbury Manor, distantonly some couple of miles from the Pig and Whistle. It was the excitementof such a prospect which had led Mr. Fouracres to undue indulgence underthe apple-tree this afternoon.A week later Mr. Ruddiman again ascended the hill, and, after listeningpatiently to the narrative which he had heard fifty times, came to anarrangement with Mr. Fouracres about the room he wished to rent for theholidays. The terms were very moderate, and the under-master congratulatedhimself on this prudent step. He felt sure that a couple of months at thePig and Whistle would be anything but disagreeable. The situation was highand healthy; the surroundings were picturesque. And for society, well,there was Miss Fouracres, whom Mr. Ruddiman regarded as a very sensible andpleasant person.Of course, no one at Longmeadows had an inkling of the under-master'sintention. On the day of 'breaking up' he sent his luggage, as usual, tothe nearest railway station, and that same evening had it conveyed bycarrier to the little wayside inn, where, much at ease in mind and body, hepassed his first night.He had a few books with him, but Mr. Ruddiman was not much of a reader. Inthe garden of the inn, or somewhere near by, he found a spot of shade, andthere, pipe in mouth, was content to fleet the hours as they did in thegolden age. Now and then he tried to awaken his host's interest inquestions of national finance. It was one of Mr. Ruddiman's favouriteamusements to sketch Budgets in anticipation of that to be presented by theChancellor of the Exchequer, and he always convinced himself that his ownfinancial expedients were much superior to those laid before Parliament.All sorts of ingenious little imposts were constantly occurring to him, andhis mouth watered with delight at the sound of millions which might thus beadded to the national wealth. But to Mr. Fouracres such matters seemedtrivial. A churchwarden between his lips, he appeared to listen, sometimesgiving a nod or a grunt; in reality his thoughts were wandering amid bygoneglories, or picturing a day of brilliant revenge.Much more satisfactory were the conversations between Mr. Ruddiman and hishost's daughter; they were generally concerned with the budget, not of thenation, but of the Pig and Whistle. Miss Fouracres was a woman of muchdomestic ability; she knew how to get the maximum of comfort out of smallresources. But for her the inn would have been a wretched little place--as,indeed, it was before her time. Miss Fouracres worked hard and prudently.She had no help; the garden, the poultry, all the cares of house and innwere looked after by her alone--except, indeed, a few tasks beyond herphysical strength, which were disdainfully performed by the landlord. Apony and cart served chiefly to give Mr. Fouracres an airing when his lifeof sedentary dignity grew burdensome. One afternoon, when he had driven tothe market town, his daughter and her guest were in the garden together,gathering broad beans and gossiping with much contentment.'I wish I could always live here!' exclaimed Mr. Ruddiman, after standingfor a moment with eyes fixed meditatively upon a very large pod which hehad just picked.Miss Fouracres looked at him as if in surprise, her left hand clasping herchin.'Ah, you'd soon get tired of it, sir.''I shouldn't! No, I'm sure I shouldn't. I like this life. It suits me. Ilike it a thousand times better than teaching in a school.''That's your fancy, sir.'As Miss Fouracres spoke a sound from the house drew her attention; some onehad entered the inn.'A customer?' said Mr. Ruddiman. 'Let me go and serve him--do let me!''But you wouldn't know how, sir.''If it's beer, and that's most likely, I know well enough. I've watched youso often. I'll go and see.'With the face of a schoolboy he ran into the house, and was absent aboutten minutes. Then he reappeared, chinking coppers in his hand and laughinggleefully.'A cyclist! Pint of half-and-half! I served him as if I'd done nothing elseall my life.'Miss Fouracres looked at him with wonder and admiration. She did not laugh;demonstrative mirth was not one of her characteristics; but for a long timethere dwelt upon her good, plain countenance a half-smile of placidcontentment. When they went in together, Mr. Ruddiman begged her to teachhim all the mysteries of the bar, and his request was willingly granted. Inthis way they amused themselves until the return of the landlord, who, assoon as he had stabled his pony, called Mr. Ruddiman aside, and said in ahoarse whisper--'The Prince comes to-morrow!''Ha! does he?' was the answer, in a tone of feigned interest.'I shall see him. It's all settled. I've made friends with one of thegardeners at Woodbury Manor, and he's promised to put me in the way ofmeeting His Royal Highness. I shall have to go over there for a day or two,and stay in Woodbury, to be on the spot when the chance offers.'Mr. Fouracres had evidently been making his compact with the aid of strongliquor; he walked unsteadily, and in other ways betrayed imperfect commandof himself. Presently, at the tea-table, he revealed to his daughter thegreat opportunity which lay before him, and spoke of the absence from homeit would necessitate.'Of course you'll do as you like, father,' replied Miss Fouracres, with herusual deliberation, and quite good-humouredly, 'but I think you're going ona fool's errand, and that I tell you plain. If you'd just forget all aboutthe Prince, and settle down quiet at the Pig and Whistle, it 'ud be a gooddeal better for you.'The landlord regarded her with surprise and scorn. It was the first timethat his daughter had ventured to express herself so unmistakably.'The Pig and Whistle!' he exclaimed. 'A pothouse! I who have kept an hoteland entertained His Royal Highness. You speak like an ignorant woman. Holdyour tongue, and don't dare to let me hear your voice again until to-morrowmorning!'Miss Fouracres obeyed him. She was absolutely mute for the rest of theevening, save when obliged to exchange a word or two with rustic company orin the taproom. Her features expressed uneasiness rather thanmortification.The next day, after an early breakfast, Mr. Fouracres set forth to the townof Woodbury. He had the face of a man with a fixed idea, and looked moreobstinate, more unintelligent than ever. To his daughter he had spoken onlya few cold words, and his last bidding to her was 'Take care of thepothouse!' This treatment gave Miss Fouracres much pain, for she was asofthearted woman, and had never been anything but loyal and affectionateto her father all through his disastrous years. Moreover, she liked the Pigand Whistle, and could not bear to hear it spoken of disdainfully. Beforethe sound of the cart had died away she had to wipe moisture from her eyes,and at the moment when she was doing so Mr. Ruddiman came into the parlour.'Has Mr. Fouracres gone?' asked the guest, with embarrassment.'Just gone, sir,' replied the young woman, half turned away, and nervouslyfingering her chin.'I shouldn't trouble about it if I were you, Miss Fouracres,' said Mr.Ruddiman in a tone of friendly encouragement. 'He'll soon be back, he'llsoon be back, and you may depend upon it there'll be no harm done.''I hope so, sir, but I've an uneasy sort of feeling; I have indeed.''Don't you worry, Miss Fouracres. When the Prince has gone away he'll bebetter.'Miss Fouracres stood for a moment with eyes cast down, then, lookinggravely at Mr. Ruddiman, said in a sorrowful voice--'He calls the Pig and Whistle a pothouse.''Ah, that was wrong of him!' protested the other, no less earnestly. 'Apothouse, indeed! Why, it's one of the nicest little inns you could findanywhere. I'm getting fond of the Pig and Whistle. A pothouse, indeed! No,I call that shameful.'The listener's eyes shone with gratification.'Of course we've got to remember,' she said more softly, 'that father hasknown very different things.''I don't care what he has known!' cried Mr. Ruddiman. 'I hope I may neverhave a worse home than the Pig and Whistle. And I only wish I could livehere all the rest of my life, instead of going back to that beastlyschool!''Don't you like the school, Mr. Ruddiman?''Oh, I can't say I dislike it. But since I've been living here--well,it's no use thinking of impossibilities.'Towards midday the pony and trap came back, driven by a lad from Woodbury,who had business in this direction. Miss Fouracres asked him to unharnessand stable the pony, and whilst this was being done Mr. Ruddiman stood by,studiously observant. He had pleasure in every detail of the inn life.To-day he several times waited upon passing guests, and laughed exultantlyat the perfection he was attaining. Miss Fouracres seemed hardly lesspleased, but when alone she still wore an anxious look, and occasionallyheaved a sigh of trouble.Mr. Ruddiman, as usual, took an early supper, and soon after went up to hisroom. By ten o'clock the house was closed, and all through the night nosound disturbed the peace of the Pig and Whistle.The morrow passed without news of Mr. Fouracres. On the morning after, justas Mr. Ruddiman was finishing his breakfast, alone in the parlour, he hearda loud cry of distress from the front part of the inn. Rushing out to seewhat was the matter, he found Miss Fouracres in agitated talk with a man onhorseback.'Ah, what did I say!' she cried at sight of the guest. 'Didn't I knowsomething was going to happen? I must go at once--I must put in the pony--''I'll do that for you,' said Mr. Ruddiman. 'But what has happened?'The horseman, a messenger from Woodbury, told a strange tale. Very earlythis morning, a gardener walking through the grounds at Woodbury Manor, andpassing by a little lake or fishpond, saw the body of a man lying in thewater, which at this point was not three feet in depth. He drew the corpseto the bank, and, in so doing, recognised his acquaintance, Mr. Fouracres,with whom he had spent an hour or two at a public-house in Woodbury on theevening before. How the landlord of the Pig and Whistle had come to thistragic end neither the gardener nor any one else in the neighbourhood couldconjecture.Mr. Ruddiman set to work at once on harnessing the pony, while MissFouracres, now quietly weeping, went to prepare herself for the journey. Ina very few minutes the vehicle was ready at the door. The messenger hadalready ridden away.'Can you drive yourself, Miss Fouracres?' asked Ruddiman, looking andspeaking with genuine sympathy.'Oh yes, sir. But I don't know what to do about the house. I may be awayall day. And what about you, sir?''Leave me to look after myself, Miss Fouracres. And trust me to look afterthe house too, will you? You know I can do it. Will you trust me?''It's only that I'm ashamed, sir--''Not a bit of it. I'm very glad, indeed, to be useful; I assure you I am.''But your dinner, sir?''Why, there's cold meat. Don't you worry, Miss Fouracres. I'll look aftermyself, and the house too; see if I don't. Go at once, and keep your mindat ease on my account, pray do!''It's very good of you, sir, I'm sure it is. Oh, I knew something wasgoing to happen! Didn't I say so?'Mr. Ruddiman helped her into the trap; they shook hands silently, and MissFouracres drove away. Before the turn of the road she looked back. Ruddimanwas still watching her; he waved his hand, and the young woman waved to himin reply.Left alone, the under-master took off his coat and put on an apron, thenaddressed himself to the task of washing up his breakfast things.Afterwards he put his bedroom in order. About ten o'clock the firstcustomer came in, and, as luck had it, the day proved a busier one thanusual. No less than four cyclists stopped to make a meal. Mr. Ruddiman wasable to supply them with cold beef and ham; moreover, he cooked eggs, hemade tea--and all this with a skill and expedition which could hardly havebeen expected of him. None the less did he think constantly of MissFouracres. About five in the afternoon wheels sounded; aproned and in hisshirt-sleeves, he ran to the door--as he had already done several times atthe sound of a vehicle--and with great satisfaction saw the face of hishostess. She, too, though her eyes showed she had been weeping long, smiledwith gladness; the next moment she exclaimed distressfully.'Oh, sir! To think you've been here alone all day! And in an apron!''Don't think about me, Miss Fouracres. You look worn out, and no wonder.I'll get you some tea at once. Let the pony stand here a little; he's notso tired as you are. Come in and have some tea, Miss Fouracres.'Mr. Ruddiman would not be denied; he waited upon his hostess, got her avery comfortable tea, and sat near her whilst she was enjoying it. MissFouracres' story of the day's events still left her father's death mostmysterious. All that could be certainly known was that the landlord of thePig and Whistle had drunk rather freely with his friend the gardener at aninn at Woodbury, and towards nine o'clock in the evening had gone out, ashe said, for a stroll before bedtime. Why he entered the grounds ofWoodbury Manor, and how he got into the pond there, no one could say.People talked of suicide, but Miss Fouracres would not entertain thatsuggestion. Of course there was to be an inquest, and one could only awaitthe result of such evidence as might be forthcoming. During the day MissFouracres had telegraphed to the only relatives of whom she knew anything,two sisters of her father, who kept a shop in London. Possibly one of themmight come to the funeral.'Well,' said Mr. Ruddiman, in a comforting tone, 'all you have to do is tokeep quiet. Don't trouble about anything. I'll look after the business.'Miss Fouracres smiled at him through her tears.'It's very good of you, sir, but you make me feel ashamed. What sort of aday have you had?''Splendid! Look here!'He exhibited the day's receipts, a handful of cash, and, with delightdecently subdued, gave an account of all that had happened.'I like this business!' he exclaimed. 'Don't you trouble about anything.Leave it all to me, Miss Fouracres.'One of the London aunts came down, and passed several days at the Pig andWhistle. She was a dry, keen, elderly woman, chiefly interested in thequestion of her deceased brother's property, which proved to beinsignificant enough. Meanwhile the inquest was held, and all thecountryside talked of Mr. Fouracres, whose story, of course, was publishedin full detail by the newspapers. Once more opinions were divided as towhether the hapless landlord really had or had not entertained His RoyalHighness. Plainly, Mr. Fouracres' presence in the grounds of Woodbury Manorwas due to the fact that the Prince happened to be staying there. In astate of irresponsibility, partly to be explained by intoxication, partlyby the impulse of his fixed idea, he must have gone rambling in the darkround the Manor, and there, by accident, have fallen into the water. Noclearer hypothesis resulted from the legal inquiry, and with this allconcerned had perforce to be satisfied. Mr. Fouracres was buried, and, onthe day after the funeral, his sister returned to London. She showed nointerest whatever in her niece, who, equally independent, asked neithercounsel nor help.Mr. Ruddiman and his hostess were alone together at the Pig and Whistle.The situation had a certain awkwardness. Familiars of the inn--country-folkof the immediate neighbourhood--of course began to comment on the state ofthings, joking among themselves about Mr. Ruddiman's activity behind thebar. The under-master himself was in an uneasy frame of mind. When MissFouracres' aunt had gone, he paced for an hour or two about the garden; thehostess was serving cyclists. At length the familiar voice called to him.'Will you have your dinner, Mr. Ruddiman?'He went in, and, before entering the parlour, stood looking at a cask ofale which had been tilted forward.'We must tap the new cask,' he remarked.'Yes, sir, I suppose we must,' replied his hostess, half absently.'I'll do it at once. Some more cyclists might come.'For the rest of the day they saw very little of each other. Mr. Ruddimanrambled musing. When he came at the usual hour to supper, guests wereoccupying the hostess. Having eaten, he went out to smoke his pipe in thegarden, and lingered there--it being a fine, warm night--till after teno'clock. Miss Fouracres' voice aroused him from a fit of abstraction.'I've just locked up, sir.''Ah! Yes. It's late.'They stood a few paces apart. Mr. Ruddiman had one hand in his waistcoatpocket, the other behind his back; Miss Fouracres was fingering her chin.'I've been wondering,' said the under-master in a diffident voice, 'howyou'll manage all alone, Miss Fouracres.''Well, sir,' was the equally diffident reply, 'I've been wondering too.''It won't be easy to manage the Pig and Whistle all alone.''I'm afraid not, sir.''Besides, you couldn't live here in absolute solitude. It wouldn't besafe.''I shouldn't quite like it, sir.''But I'm sure you wouldn't like to leave the Pig and Whistle, MissFouracres?''I'd much rather stay, sir, if I could any way manage it.'Mr. Ruddiman drew a step nearer.'Do you know, Miss Fouracres, I've been thinking just the same. The factis, I don't like the thought of leaving the Pig and Whistle; I don't likeit at all. This life suits me. Could you'--he gave a little laugh--'engageme as your assistant, Miss Fouracres?''Oh, sir!''You couldn't?''How can you think of such a thing, sir.''Well, then, there's only one way out of the difficulty that I can see. Doyou think--'Had it not been dark Mr. Ruddiman would hardly have ventured to make thesuggestion which fell from him in a whisper. Had it not been dark MissFouracres would assuredly have hesitated much longer before giving herdefinite reply. As it was, five minutes of conversation solved what hadseemed a harder problem than any the under-master set to his class atLongmeadows, and when these two turned to enter the Pig and Whistle, theywent hand in hand.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *