The Soul of Susan Yellam — A Reader’s Guide

Yellam had firm faith in the lords of the soil. Master Lionel, in her opinion, had done the real right thing, both in his choice of a wife and of a calling. Perhaps to her the call of the land sounded a more clarion note than any other.

Mr. Hamlin and the choir filed in. The congregation rose. In the days of Mr. Hamlin's predecessor, nobody budged from his comfortable seat when the parson bustled out of the vestry. Mr. Hamlin had changed all that. He put down billing and cooing in the galleries, and the sucking of peppermints. At first he was regarded with hostile eyes as an innovator, but gradually it became known that he had restored forms and ceremonies which presented definite meaning to the instructed. Villagers love forms and ceremonies when they are discreetly led to understand them.

Old Captain Davenant read the lessons, and the new parlourmaid emerged triumphant from the ordeal. Mrs. Yellam noticed, too, that she joined in the responses, and sang the hymns in a modestly restrained, clear, musical voice. Later, she listened attentively to the sermon. So far, so good. At the same time, it became obvious to the mother that her son, even more than herself, was impressed by the deportment and behaviour of this pretty stranger. During the psalms Alfred's eyes strayed too often across the narrow aisle, and at sounds of a soft, beguiling voice he opened his mouth and left it open for a significant space of time.

After church, Mrs. Yellam walked home by herself, exchanging sober greetings with her neighbours. Alfred lingered in the churchyard, as was his custom, because, being a carrier, he captured a little extra trade thereby. Also, although a confirmed bachelor, he liked to bandy pleasantries with the women, young and old, who were indeed his principal customers.

Mrs. Yellam, having curtsied respectfully to the Squire and his lady, moved majestically along the village street. As she passed the baker's a savoury odour of baked meats assailed her nostrils. It is said that smell affects the memory potently. So long as she could remember, Susan Yellam had connected this smell of baked meat with Divine Service. As a child she had fetched her Sunday dinner from the grandfather of the present baker, and, always, as a reward, her mother had given her a large lollipop. After she married, her Sunday dinner was cooked for her in the same oven and carried to her cottage by a small maid, who, then and there, received and consumed an immense bull's-eye. And it seemed to Mrs. Yellam a very fitting and proper thing that on Sunday the flesh should be as adequately nourished as the spirit. Invariably, also, on passing the baker's, she experienced a mournful pleasure in recalling her late husband's remarkable appetite. Alfred, as a trencherman, was no degenerate son of such a sire.

When she reached the bend of the road, which skirts the placid Avon, she saw her cottage and smiled pleasantly. It was thatched, and on that account beloved by elderly spinsters who drew in water-colour, and frowned upon by sanitary inspectors. The thatch, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, surmounted whitewashed walls held together by stout oak beams black as the Ace of Spades. Generations of Yellams had lived and died in this cottage. Some might have lived longer--so said the sanitary inspectors--if the Avon, inconsiderate stream, had never overflowed its banks, making thereby an island of the cottage and its garden.

She entered her house, and walked into the parlour, rarely used. Upon a round table near the window was an immense family Bible. Mrs. Yellam placed her prayer-book beside it, and turned to go into the kitchen, which served as a living-room for herself and her son. Suddenly she paused, went back to the table, and opened the Bible. It had belonged to Alfred's great-grandfather. Upon a fly-leaf were many names and dates--births, marriages and deaths. Her eyes lingered upon Alfred's name.

Alfred Habakkuk Yellam, born November 19th, 1883.

Alfred's father had objected to the name Habakkuk. But Alfred's mother had her way. A favourite brother had been so christened.

She closed the Book. Yes; it was fully time that Alfred should marry. She wondered what name would be inscribed beside his.

At the kitchen door she found waiting a small Hebe carrying a beef-steak pudding in a basin done up in a white napkin. Mrs. Yellam took the pudding from the child, placed it in the oven, after removing the napkin, and said wonderingly:

"Whatever be you waiting for?"