MR. POSKITT'S NIGHTCAPS

INTRODUCTION

Everyone who has had the pleasure of Mr. Poskitt's acquaintance knows that that estimable Yorkshireman is not only the cheeriest of hosts, but the best of companions. Those of us who have known the Poskitt High Tea (a much more enjoyable meal than a late dinner) know what follows the consumption of Mrs. Poskitt's tender chickens and her home-fed hams. The parlour fire is stirred into a blaze; the hearth is swept clean; the curtains are drawn; the decanters, the cigars, and the quaint old leaden tobacco-box appear beneath the shaded lamp, and Mr. Poskitt bids his guests to cheer up, to help themselves, and to feel heartily welcome. And when those guests have their glasses at their elbows, their cigars and pipes between their lips, and their legs stretched in comfort, Mr. Poskitt has his story to tell. Few men know the countryside and its people, with their joys, their sorrows, their humours better than he; few people there can surely be who would not enjoy hearing him tell of the big and little dramas of life which he has watched, with a shrewd and sympathetic eye, during his seventy years of work and play, of cloud and sunshine. In some of these Nightcap stories (so termed by their hearers because Mr. Poskitt insists on telling them as preparatory to his own early retirement, which is never later than ten o'clock) he is sometimes humorous and sometimes tragic. I trust the re-telling of them may give some pleasure to folk who must imagine for themselves the cheery glow of Mr. Poskitt's hearth.

J. S. FLETCHER.

London, May 1910.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

INTRODUCTION

I THE GUARDIAN OF HIGH ELMS FARM
II A STRANGER IN ARCADY
III THE MAN WHO WAS NOBODY
IV LITTLE MISS PARTRIDGE
V THE MARRIAGE OF MR. JARVIS
VI BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS
VII WILLIAM HENRY AND THE DAIRYMAID
VIII THE SPOILS TO THE VICTOR
IX AN ARCADIAN COURTSHIP
X THE WAY OF THE COMET
XI BROTHERS IN AFFLICTION
XII A MAN OR A MOUSE
XIII A DEAL IN ODD VOLUMES
XIV THE CHIEF MAGISTRATE

MR. POSKITT'S NIGHTCAPS

CHAPTER I

THE GUARDIAN OF HIGH ELMS FARM

In the cold dreariness of that February morning the whole glace looked chilly and repellent in the extreme. There, on a little knoll, which by comparison assumed almost hill-like proportions amongst the low level of the meadows and corn-lands at its feet, stood the farmstead—a rambling mass of rough grey walls and red roofs; house, barns, stables, granary, and byres occurring here and there without evident plan or arrangement. Two or three great elm-trees, now leafless, and black with winter moisture, rose high above the chimneys and gables like sentinels inclined to sleep at their posts; above their topmost branches half-a-score of rooks flapped lazy wings against the dull grey of the sky; their occasional disconsolate notes added to the melancholy of the scene. And yet to an experienced eye, versed in the craft of the land, there was everything to promise well in the outward aspect of High Elms Farm. The house, if very old, was in good repair, and so were the buildings; the land was of excellent quality. But it only needed one glance to see that the house had not been tenanted for some time; its windows gave an instant impression that neither lamp-light nor fire-light had gleamed through them of late, and to enter the great stone-paved kitchen was to experience the feeling of stepping into a vault. That feeling of dead emptiness was in all the outbuildings, too—the stables, the granary, the byres were lifeless, void; ghostliness of a strange sort seemed to abide in their silence. And beneath the curling mists which lay over the good acres of corn-land, weeds were flourishing instead of growing crops.

On that February