Spruce heard, and at once gave a lucid statement.
"By Mr. Leach's orders, Miss," he said, addressing Maryllia; "The five old beech-trees on the knoll, which the village folk call the 'Five Sisters,' are to be felled to-morrow marnin'. They've stood, so I'm told, an' so I b'lieve, two or three hundred years--"
"And they're going to be cut down!" exclaimed Maryllia. "I never heard of such wickedness! How disgraceful!"
Spruce saw by the movement of her lips that she was speaking, and therefore at once himself subsided into silence. Bainton again took up the parable.
"He's nigh stone-deaf, Miss, so you'll 'scuse him if he don't open his mouth no more till we shouts at him--but what he sez is true enough. At six o'clock to-morrow marnin'--"
Here Primmins entered with the port wine.
"Primmins, where does the agent, Leach, live?" enquired Maryllia.
"I really couldn't say, Miss. I'll ask--"
"'Tain't no use askin'," said Bainton; "He lives a mile out of the village; but he ain't at 'ome nohow this evenin' bein' gone to Riversford town for a bit o' gamblin' at cards. Lor', Miss, beggin' yer pardon, gamblin' with the cards do get rid o' timber--it do reely now!"
Maryllia took a glass of port wine from the tray which Primmins handed to her, and gave it herself to old Josey. Her mind had entirely grasped the situation, despite the prolix nature of Bainton's discourse. A group of historic old trees were to be felled by the agent's orders at six o'clock the next morning unless she prevented it. That was the sum total of the argument. And here was something for her to do, and she resolved to do it.
"Now, Josey," she said with a smile, "you must drink a glass of wine to my health. And you also--and you!" and she nodded encouragingly to Spruce and Bainton; "And be quite satisfied about the trees--they shall not be touched."
"God bless ye!" said Josey, drinking off his wine at a gulp; "And long life t'ye and 'appiness to enjoy it!"
Bainton, with a connoisseur's due appreciation of a good old brand, sipped at his glass slowly, while Spruce, hastily swallowing his measure of the cordial, wiped his mouth furtively with the back of his hand, murmuring: "Your good 'elth, an' many of 'em!"
"Wishin' ye long days o' peace an' plenty," said Bainton, between his appreciative sips; "But as fur as the trees is consarned, you'll'scuse me, Miss, for sayin' it, but the time bein' short, I don't see 'ow it's goin' to be 'elped, Oliver Leach bein' away, and no post delivered at his 'ouse till eight o'clock--"