The nearest farm to Aunt Joannas cottage was occupied by the Hockins. One day Elizabeth, the farmers wife, saw the old woman outside the cottage as she was herself returning from market; and, noticing how bent and feeble Joanna was, she halted, and talked to her, and gave her good advice.
See you now, auntie, youm gettin old and crimmed wi rheumatics. How can you get about? An theres no knowin but you might be took bad in the night. You ought to have some little lass wi you to mind you.
I dont want nobody, thank the Lord.
Not just now, auntie, but suppose any chance ill-luck were to come on you. And then, in the bad weather, youm not fit to go abroad after the turves, and you cant get all you want tay and sugar and milk for yourself now. It would be handy to have a little maid by you.
Who should I have? asked Joanna. Well, now, you couldnt do better than take little Mary, Rose Hexts eldest girl. Shes a handy maid, and bright and pleasant to speak to.
No, answered the old woman, Ill have none o they Hexts, not I. The Lord is agin Rose and all her family, I know it. Ill have none of them.
But, auntie, you must be nigh on ninety.
I be ower that. But what o that? Didnt Sarah, the wife of Abraham, live to an hundred and seven and twenty years, and that in spite of him worritin of her wi that owdacious maid of hem, Hagar? If it hadnt been for their goings on, of Abraham and Hagar, its my belief that shed ha held on to a hundred and fifty-seven. I thank the Lord Ive never had no man to worrit me. So why I shouldnt equal Sarahs life I dont see.
Then she went indoors and shut the door.
After that a week elapsed without Mrs. Hockin seeing the old woman. She passed the cottage, but no Joanna was about. The door was not open, and usually it was. Elizabeth spoke about this to her husband. Jabez, said she, I dont like the looks o this; Ive kept my eye open, and there be no Auntie Joanna hoppin about. Whativer can be up? Its my opinion us ought to go and see.
Well, Ive naught on my hands now, said the farmer, so I reckon we will go. The two walked together to the cottage. No smoke issued from the chimney, and the door was shut. Jabez knocked, but there came no answer; so he entered, followed by his wife.
There was in the cottage but the kitchen, with one bedroom at the side. The hearth was cold. Theres someut up, said Mrs. Hockin.
I reckon its the old lady be down, replied her husband, and, throwing open the bedroom door, he said: Sure enough, and no mistake there her be, dead as a dried pilchard.
And in fact Auntie Joanna had died in the night, after having so confidently affirmed her conviction that she would live to the age of a hundred and twenty-seven.
Whativer shall we do? asked Mrs. Hockin. I reckon, said her husband, us had better take an inventory of what is here, lest wicked rascals come in and steal anything and everything.
Folks baint so bad as that, and a corpse in the house, observed Mrs. Hockin. Dont be sure o that these be terrible wicked times, said the husband. And I sez, sez I, no harm is done in seein what the old creetur had got.
Well, surely, acquiesced Elizabeth, there is no harm in that. In the bedroom was an old oak chest, and this the farmer and his wife opened. To their surprise they found in it a silver teapot, and half a dozen silver spoons.
Well, now, exclaimed Elizabeth Hockin, fancy her havin these and me only Britannia metal.
I reckon she came of a good family, said Jabez. Leastwise, Ive heard as how she were once well off.
And look here! exclaimed Elizabeth, theres fine and beautiful linen underneath sheets and pillow-cases.
But look here! cried Jabez, blessed if the taypot baint chock-full o money! Whereiver did she get it from?
Hers been in the way of showing folk the Zennor Quoit, visitors from St. Ives and Penzance, and shes had scores o shillings that way.
Lord! exclaimed Jabez. I wish shed left it to me, and I could buy a cow; I want another cruel bad.
Ay, we do, terrible, said Elizabeth. But just look to her bed, what torn and wretched linen be on that and here these fine bedclothes all in the chest.
Wholl get the silver taypot and spoons, and the money? inquired Jabez.
Her had no kin none but Rose Hext, and her couldnt abide her. Last words her said to me was that shed have never naught to do wi the Hexts, they and all their belongings.
That was her last words?
The very last words her spoke to me or to anyone.
Then, said Jabez, Ill tell ye what, Elizabeth, its our moral dooty to abide by the wishes of Aunt Joanna. It never does to go agin what is might. And as hem expressed herself that strong, why us, as honest folks, must carry out her wishes, and see that none of all her savings go to them darned and dratted Hexts.
But who be they to go to, then?
Well well see. Fust us will have her removed, and provide that her be daycent buried. Them Hexts be in a poor way, and couldnt afford the expense, and it do seem to me, Elizabeth, as it would be a liberal and a kindly act in us to take all the charges on ourselves. Us is the closest neighbours.
Ay and her have had milk of me these ten or twelve years, and Ive never charged her a penny, thinking her couldnt afford it. But her could, her were a-hoardin of hem money and not paying me. That were not honest, and what I say is, that I have a right to some of her savins, to pay the milk bill and its butter Ive let her have now and then in a liberal way.
Very well, Elizabeth. Fust of all, well take the silver taypot and the spoons wi us, to get em out of harms way.
And Ill carry the linen sheets and pillow-cases. My word I why didnt she use em, instead of them rags?
All Zennor declared that the Hockins were a most neighbourly and generous couple, when it was known that they took upon themselves to defray the funeral expenses.
Mrs. Hext came to the farm, and said that she was willing to do what she could, but Mrs. Hockin replied:
My good Rose, its no good. I seed your aunt when her was ailin, and nigh on death, and her laid it on me solemn as could be that we was to bury her, and that shed have nothin to do wi the Hexts at no price.
Rose sighed, and went away.
Rose had not expected to receive anything from her aunt. She had never been allowed to look at the treasures in the oak chest. As far as she had been aware, Aunt Joanna had been extremely poor. But she remembered that the old woman had at one time befriended her, and she was ready to forgive the harsh treatment to which she had finally been subjected. In fact, she had repeatedly made overtures to her great-aunt to be reconciled, but these overtures had been always rejected. She was, accordingly, not surprised to learn from Mrs. Hockin that the old womans last words had been as reported.
Rose had not expected to receive anything from her aunt. She had never been allowed to look at the treasures in the oak chest. As far as she had been aware, Aunt Joanna had been extremely poor. But she remembered that the old woman had at one time befriended her, and she was ready to forgive the harsh treatment to which she had finally been subjected. In fact, she had repeatedly made overtures to her great-aunt to be reconciled, but these overtures had been always rejected. She was, accordingly, not surprised to learn from Mrs. Hockin that the old womans last words had been as reported.
But, although disowned and disinherited, Rose, her husband, and children dressed in black, and were chief mourners at the funeral. Now it had so happened that when it came to the laying out of Aunt Joanna, Mrs. Hockin had looked at the beautiful linen sheets she had found in the oak chest, with the object of furnishing the corpse with one as a winding-sheet. But she said to herself it would really be a shame to spoil a pair, and where else could she get such fine and beautiful old linen as was this? So she put the sheets away and furnished for the purpose a clean but coarse and ragged sheet such as Aunt Joanna had in common use. That was good enough to moulder in the grave. It would be positively sinful, because wasteful, to give up to corruption and the worm such fine white linen as Aunt Joanna had hoarded. The funeral was conducted, otherwise, liberally. Aunt Joanna was given an elm, and not a mean deal board coffin, such as is provided for paupers; and a handsome escutcheon of white metal was put on the lid.
Moreover, plenty of gin was drunk, and cake and cheese eaten at the house, all at the expense of the Hockins. And the conversation among those who attended, and ate and drank, and wiped their eyes, was rather anent the generosity of the Hockins than of the virtues of the departed.
Mr. and Mrs. Hockin heard this, and their hearts swelled within them. Nothing so swells the heart as the consciousness of virtue being recognised. Jabez in an undertone informed a neighbour that he werent goin to stick at the funeral expenses, not he; hed have a neat stone erected above the grave with work on it, at twopence a letter. The name and the date of departure of Aunt Joanna, and her age, and two lines of a favourite hymn of his, all about earth being no dwelling-place, heaven being properly her home.
It was not often that Elizabeth Hockin cried, but she did this day; she wept tears of sympathy with the deceased, and happiness at the ovation accorded to herself and her husband. At length, as the short winter day closed in, the last of those who had attended the funeral, and had returned to the farm to recruit and regale after it, departed, and the Hockins were left to themselves.
It were a beautiful day, said Jabez. Ay, responded Elizabeth, and what a sight o people came here.
This here buryin of Aunt Joanna have set us up tremendous in the estimation of the neighbours.
Id like to know who else would ha done it for a poor old creetur as is no relation; ay and one as owed a purty long bill to me for milk and butter through ten or twelve years.
Well, said Jabez, Ive allus heard say that a good deed brings its own reward wi it and its a fine proverb. I feels it in my insides.
Praps its the gin, Jabez.