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diff --git a/old/34089.txt b/old/34089.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 023b08b..0000000 --- a/old/34089.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4309 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Celestial Omnibus and other Stories, by E. M. Forster - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Celestial Omnibus and other Stories - -Author: E. M. Forster - -Release Date: October 17, 2010 [EBook #34089] -Last Updated: July 23, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CELESTIAL OMNIBUS AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - - - - -THE CELESTIAL OMNIBUS AND OTHER STORIES - -By - -E.M. FORSTER - - - -London: Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd. -Adam Street, Adelphi, W.C. - -1912. - - -TO THE MEMORY OF THE -INDEPENDENT REVIEW - - - -These stories first appeared in _The Albany Review, The English Review, -The Independent Review, The Pall Mall Magazine_, and _Putnams Magazine_; -thanks are due to the editors for kindly permitting republication. - - -CONTENTS - - -The Story of a Panic -The Other Side of the Hedge -The Celestial Omnibus -Other Kingdom -The Curate's Friend -The Road from Colonus - - - -THE STORY OF A PANIC - - - -I - - -Eustace's career--if career it can be called--certainly dates from that -afternoon in the chestnut woods above Ravello. I confess at once that I -am a plain, simple man, with no pretensions to literary style. Still, I -do flatter myself that I can tell a story without exaggerating, and I -have therefore decided to give an unbiassed account of the extraordinary -events of eight years ago. - -Ravello is a delightful place with a delightful little hotel in which we -met some charming people. There were the two Miss Robinsons, who had -been there for six weeks with Eustace, their nephew, then a boy of about -fourteen. Mr. Sandbach had also been there some time. He had held a -curacy in the north of England, which he had been compelled to resign on -account of ill-health, and while he was recruiting at Ravello he had -taken in hand Eustace's education--which was then sadly deficient--and -was endeavouring to fit him for one of our great public schools. Then -there was Mr. Leyland, a would-be artist, and, finally, there was the -nice landlady, Signora Scafetti, and the nice English-speaking waiter, -Emmanuele--though at the time of which I am speaking Emmanuele was away, -visiting a sick father. - -To this little circle, I, my wife, and my two daughters made, I venture -to think, a not unwelcome addition. But though I liked most of the -company well enough, there were two of them to whom I did not take at -all. They were the artist, Leyland, and the Miss Robinsons' nephew, -Eustace. - -Leyland was simply conceited and odious, and, as those qualities will be -amply illustrated in my narrative, I need not enlarge upon them here. -But Eustace was something besides: he was indescribably repellent. - -I am fond of boys as a rule, and was quite disposed to be friendly. I -and my daughters offered to take him out--'No, walking was such a fag.' -Then I asked him to come and bathe--' No, he could not swim.' - -"Every English boy should be able to swim," I said, "I will teach you -myself." - -"There, Eustace dear," said Miss Robinson; "here is a chance for you." - -But he said he was afraid of the water!--a boy afraid!--and of course I -said no more. - -I would not have minded so much if he had been a really studious boy, -but he neither played hard nor worked hard. His favourite occupations -were lounging on the terrace in an easy chair and loafing along the high -road, with his feet shuffling up the dust and his shoulders stooping -forward. Naturally enough, his features were pale, his chest contracted, -and his muscles undeveloped. His aunts thought him delicate; what he -really needed was discipline. - -That memorable day we all arranged to go for a picnic up in the chestnut -woods--all, that is, except Janet, who stopped behind to finish her -water-colour of the Cathedral--not a very successful attempt, I am -afraid. - -I wander off into these irrelevant details, because in my mind I cannot -separate them from an account of the day; and it is the same with the -conversation during the picnic: all is imprinted on my brain together. -After a couple of hours' ascent, we left the donkeys that had carried -the Miss Robinsons and my wife, and all proceeded on foot to the head of -the valley--Vallone Fontana Caroso is its proper name, I find. - -I have visited a good deal of fine scenery before and since, but have -found little that has pleased me more. The valley ended in a vast -hollow, shaped like a cup, into which radiated ravines from the -precipitous hills around. Both the valley and the ravines and the ribs -of hill that divided the ravines were covered with leafy chestnut, so -that the general appearance was that of a many fingered green hand, palm -upwards, which was clutching, convulsively to keep us in its grasp. Far -down the valley we could see Ravello and the sea, but that was the only -sign of another world. - -"Oh, what a perfectly lovely place," said my daughter Rose. "What a -picture it would make!" - -"Yes," said Mr. Sandbach. "Many a famous European gallery would be proud -to have a landscape a tithe as beautiful as this upon its walls." - -"On the contrary," said Leyland, "it would make a very poor picture. -Indeed, it is not paintable at all." - -"And why is that?" said Rose, with far more deference than he deserved. - -"Look, in the first place," he replied, "how intolerably straight -against the sky is the line of the hill. It would need breaking up and -diversifying. And where we are standing the whole thing is out of -perspective. Besides, all the colouring is monotonous and crude." - -"I do not know anything about pictures," I put in, "and I do not pretend -to know: but I know what is beautiful when I see it, and I am thoroughly -content with this." - -"Indeed, who could help being contented!" said the elder Miss Robinson -and Mr. Sandbach said the same. - -"Ah!" said Leyland, "you all confuse the artistic view of nature with -the photographic." - -Poor Rose had brought her camera with her, so I thought this positively -rude. I did not wish any unpleasantness; so I merely turned away and -assisted my wife and Miss Mary Robinson to put out the lunch--not a very -nice lunch. - -"Eustace, dear," said his aunt, "come and help us here." - -He was in a particularly bad temper that morning. He had, as usual, not -wanted to come, and his aunts had nearly allowed him to stop at the -hotel to vex Janet. But I, with their permission, spoke to him rather -sharply on the subject of exercise; and the result was that he had come, -but was even more taciturn and moody than usual. - -Obedience was not his strong point. He invariably questioned every -command, and only executed it grumbling. I should always insist on -prompt and cheerful obedience, if I had a son. - -"I'm--coming--Aunt--Mary," he at last replied, and dawdled to cut a -piece of wood to make a whistle, taking care not to arrive till we had -finished. - -"Well, well, sir!" said I, "you stroll in at the end and profit by our -labours." He sighed, for he could not endure being chaffed. Miss Mary, -very unwisely, insisted on giving him the wing of the chicken, in spite -of all my attempts to prevent her. I remember that I had a moment's -vexation when I thought that, instead of enjoying the sun, and the air, -and the woods, we were all engaged in wrangling over the diet of a -spoilt boy. - -But, after lunch, he was a little less in evidence. He withdrew to a -tree trunk, and began to loosen the bark from his whistle. I was -thankful to see him employed, for once in a way. We reclined, and took a -_dolce far niente_. - -Those sweet chestnuts of the South are puny striplings compared with our -robust Northerners. But they clothed the contours of the hills and -valleys in a most pleasing way, their veil being only broken by two -clearings, in one of which we were sitting. - -And because these few trees were cut down, Leyland burst into a petty -indictment of the proprietor. - -"All the poetry is going from Nature," he cried, "her lakes and marshes -are drained, her seas banked up, her forests cut down. Everywhere we see -the vulgarity of desolation spreading." - -I have had some experience of estates, and answered that cutting was -very necessary for the health of the larger trees. Besides, it was -unreasonable to expect the proprietor to derive no income from his -lands. - -"If you take the commercial side of landscape, you may feel pleasure in -the owner's activity. But to me the mere thought that a tree is -convertible into cash is disgusting." - -"I see no reason," I observed politely, "to despise the gifts of Nature, -because they are of value." - -It did not stop him. "It is no matter," he went on, "we are all -hopelessly steeped in vulgarity. I do not except myself. It is through -us, and to our shame, that the Nereids have left the waters and the -Oreads the mountains, that the woods no longer give shelter to Pan." - -"Pan!" cried Mr. Sandbach, his mellow voice filling the valley as if it -had been a great green church, "Pan is dead. That is why the woods do -not shelter him." And he began to tell the striking story of the -mariners who were sailing near the coast at the time of the birth of -Christ, and three times heard a loud voice saying: "The great God Pan is -dead." - -"Yes. The great God Pan is dead," said Leyland. And he abandoned himself -to that mock misery in which artistic people are so fond of indulging. -His cigar went out, and he had to ask me for a match. - -"How very interesting," said Rose. "I do wish I knew some ancient -history." - -"It is not worth your notice," said Mr. Sandbach. "Eh, Eustace?" - -Eustace was finishing his whistle. He looked up, with the irritable -frown in which his aunts allowed him to indulge, and made no reply. - -The conversation turned to various topics and then died out. It was a -cloudless afternoon in May, and the pale green of the young chestnut -leaves made a pretty contrast with the dark blue of the sky. We were all -sitting at the edge of the small clearing for the sake of the view, and -the shade of the chestnut saplings behind us was manifestly -insufficient. All sounds died away--at least that is my account: Miss -Robinson says that the clamour of the birds was the first sign of -uneasiness that she discerned. All sounds died away, except that, far in -the distance, I could hear two boughs of a great chestnut grinding -together as the tree swayed. The grinds grew shorter and shorter, and -finally that sound stopped also. As I looked over the green fingers of -the valley, everything was absolutely motionless and still; and that -feeling of suspense which one so often experiences when Nature is in -repose, began to steal over me. - -Suddenly, we were all electrified by the excruciating noise of Eustace's -whistle. I never heard any instrument give forth so ear-splitting and -discordant a sound. - -"Eustace, dear," said Miss Mary Robinson, "you might have thought of -your poor Aunt Julia's head." - -Leyland who had apparently been asleep, sat up. - -"It is astonishing how blind a boy is to anything that is elevating or -beautiful," he observed. "I should not have thought he could have found -the wherewithal out here to spoil our pleasure like this." - -Then the terrible silence fell upon us again. I was now standing up and -watching a catspaw of wind that was running down one of the ridges -opposite, turning the light green to dark as it travelled. A fanciful -feeling of foreboding came over me; so I turned away, to find to my -amazement, that all the others were also on their feet, watching it too. - -It is not possible to describe coherently what happened next: but I, for -one, am not ashamed to confess that, though the fair blue sky was above -me, and the green spring woods beneath me, and the kindest of friends -around me, yet I became terribly frightened, more frightened than I ever -wish to become again, frightened in a way I never have known either -before or after. And in the eyes of the others, too, I saw blank, -expressionless fear, while their mouths strove in vain to speak and -their hands to gesticulate. Yet, all around us were prosperity, beauty, -and peace, and all was motionless, save the catspaw of wind, now -travelling up the ridge on which we stood. - -Who moved first has never been settled. It is enough to say that in one -second we were tearing away along the hillside. Leyland was in front, -then Mr. Sandbach, then my wife. But I only saw for a brief moment; for -I ran across the little clearing and through the woods and over the -undergrowth and the rocks and down the dry torrent beds into the valley -below. The sky might have been black as I ran, and the trees short -grass, and the hillside a level road; for I saw nothing and heard -nothing and felt nothing, since all the channels of sense and reason -were blocked. It was not the spiritual fear that one has known at other -times, but brutal overmastering physical fear, stopping up the ears, and -dropping clouds before the eyes, and filling the mouth with foul tastes. -And it was no ordinary humiliation that survived; for I had been afraid, -not as a man, but as a beast. - - - -II - - -I cannot describe our finish any better than our start; for our fear -passed away as it had come, without cause. Suddenly I was able to see, -and hear, and cough, and clear my mouth. Looking back, I saw that the -others were stopping too; and, in a short time, we were all together, -though it was long before we could speak, and longer before we dared to. - -No one was seriously injured. My poor wife had sprained her ankle, -Leyland had torn one of his nails on a tree trunk, and I myself had -scraped and damaged my ear. I never noticed it till I had stopped. - -We were all silent, searching one another's faces. Suddenly Miss Mary -Robinson gave a terrible shriek. "Oh, merciful heavens! where is -Eustace?" And then she would have fallen, if Mr. Sandbach had not caught -her. - -"We must go back, we must go back at once," said my Rose, who was quite -the most collected of the party. "But I hope--I feel he is safe." - -Such was the cowardice of Leyland, that he objected. But, finding -himself in a minority, and being afraid of being left alone, he gave in. -Rose and I supported my poor wife, Mr. Sandbach and Miss Robinson helped -Miss Mary, and we returned slowly and silently, taking forty minutes to -ascend the path that we had descended in ten. - -Our conversation was naturally disjointed, as no one wished to offer an -opinion on what had happened. Rose was the most talkative: she startled -us all by saying that she had very nearly stopped where she was. - -"Do you mean to say that you weren't--that you didn't feel compelled to -go?" said Mr. Sandbach. - -"Oh, of course, I did feel frightened"--she was the first to use the -word--"but I somehow felt that if I could stop on it would be quite -different, that I shouldn't be frightened at all, so to speak." Rose -never did express herself clearly: still, it is greatly to her credit -that she, the youngest of us, should have held on so long at that -terrible time. - -"I should have stopped, I do believe," she continued, "if I had not seen -mamma go." - -Rose's experience comforted us a little about Eustace. But a feeling of -terrible foreboding was on us all, as we painfully climbed the -chestnut-covered slopes and neared the little clearing. When we reached -it our tongues broke loose. There, at the further side, were the remains -of our lunch, and close to them, lying motionless on his back, was -Eustace. - -With some presence of mind I at once cried out: "Hey, you young monkey! -jump up!" But he made no reply, nor did he answer when his poor aunts -spoke to him. And, to my unspeakable horror, I saw one of those green -lizards dart out from under his shirt-cuff as we approached. - -We stood watching him as he lay there so silently, and my ears began to -tingle in expectation of the outbursts of lamentations and tears. - -Miss Mary fell on her knees beside him and touched his hand, which was -convulsively entwined in the long grass. - -As she did so, he opened his eyes and smiled. - -I have often seen that peculiar smile since, both on the possessor's -face and on the photographs of him that are beginning to get into the -illustrated papers. But, till then, Eustace had always worn a peevish, -discontented frown; and we were all unused to this disquieting smile, -which always seemed to be without adequate reason. - -His aunts showered kisses on him, which he did not reciprocate, and then -there was an awkward pause, Eustace seemed so natural and undisturbed, -yet, if he had not had astonishing experiences himself, he ought to have -been all the more astonished at our extraordinary behaviour. My wife, -with ready tact, endeavoured to behave as if nothing had happened. - -"Well, Mr. Eustace," she said, sitting down as she spoke, to ease her -foot, "how have you been amusing yourself since we have been away?" - -"Thank you, Mrs. Tytler, I have been very happy." - -"And where have you been?" - -"Here." - -"And lying down all the time, you idle boy?" - -"No, not all the time." - -"What were you doing before?" - -"Oh; standing or sitting." - -"Stood and sat doing nothing! Don't you know the poem 'Satan finds some -mischief still for----'" - -"Oh, my dear madam, hush! hush!" Mr. Sandbach's voice broke in; and my -wife, naturally mortified by the interruption, said no more and moved -away. I was surprised to see Rose immediately take her place, and, with -more freedom than she generally displayed, run her fingers through the -boy's tousled hair. - -"Eustace! Eustace!" she said, hurriedly, "tell me everything--every -single thing." - -Slowly he sat up--till then he had lain on his back. - -"Oh, Rose," he whispered, and, my curiosity being aroused, I moved -nearer to hear what he was going to say. As I did so, I caught sight of -some goats' footmarks in the moist earth beneath the trees. - -"Apparently you have had a visit from some goats," I observed. "I had no -idea they fed up here." - -Eustace laboriously got on to his feet and came to see; and when he saw -the footmarks he lay down and rolled on them, as a dog rolls in dirt. - -After that there was a grave silence, broken at length by the solemn -speech of Mr. Sandbach. - -"My dear friends," he said, "it is best to confess the truth bravely. I -know that what I am going to say now is what you are all now feeling. -The Evil One has been very near us in bodily form. Time may yet discover -some injury that he has wrought among us. But, at present, for myself at -all events, I wish to offer up thanks for a merciful deliverance." - -With that he knelt down, and, as the others knelt, I knelt too, though I -do not believe in the Devil being allowed to assail us in visible form, -as I told Mr. Sandbach afterwards. Eustace came too, and knelt quietly -enough between his aunts after they had beckoned to him. But when it was -over he at once got up, and began hunting for something. - -"Why! Someone has cut my whistle in two," he said. (I had seen Leyland -with an open knife in his hand--a superstitious act which I could hardly -approve.) - -"Well, it doesn't matter," he continued. - -"And why doesn't it matter?" said Mr. Sandbach, who has ever since tried -to entrap Eustace into an account of that mysterious hour. - -"Because I don't want it any more." - -"Why?" - -At that he smiled; and, as no one seemed to have anything more to say, I -set off as fast as I could through the wood, and hauled up a donkey to -carry my poor wife home. Nothing occurred in my absence, except that -Rose had again asked Eustace to tell her what had happened; and he, this -time, had turned away his head, and had not answered her a single word. - -As soon as I returned, we all set off. Eustace walked with difficulty, -almost with pain, so that, when we reached the other donkeys, his aunts -wished him to mount one of them and ride all the way home. I make it a -rule never to interfere between relatives, but I put my foot down at -this. As it turned out, I was perfectly right, for the healthy exercise, -I suppose, began to thaw Eustace's sluggish blood and loosen his -stiffened muscles. He stepped out manfully, for the first time in his -life, holding his head up and taking deep draughts of air into his -chest. I observed with satisfaction to Miss Mary Robinson, that Eustace -was at last taking some pride in his personal appearance. - -Mr. Sandbach sighed, and said that Eustace must be carefully watched, -for we none of us understood him yet. Miss Mary Robinson being very -much--over much, I think--guided by him, sighed too. - -"Come, come. Miss Robinson," I said, "there's nothing wrong with -Eustace. Our experiences are mysterious, not his. He was astonished at -our sudden departure, that's why he was so strange when we returned. He's -right enough--improved, if anything." - -"And is the worship of athletics, the cult of insensate activity, to be -counted as an improvement?" put in Leyland, fixing a large, sorrowful -eye on Eustace, who had stopped to scramble on to a rock to pick some -cyclamen. "The passionate desire to rend from Nature the few beauties -that have been still left her--that is to be counted as an improvement -too?" - -It is mere waste of time to reply to such remarks, especially when they -come from an unsuccessful artist, suffering from a damaged finger. I -changed the conversation by asking what we should say at the hotel. -After some discussion, it was agreed that we should say nothing, either -there or in our letters home. Importunate truth-telling, which brings -only bewilderment and discomfort to the hearers, is, in my opinion, a -mistake; and, after a long discussion, I managed to make Mr. Sandbach -acquiesce in my view. - -Eustace did not share in our conversation. He was racing about, like a -real boy, in the wood to the right. A strange feeling of shame; -prevented us from openly mentioning our fright to him. Indeed, it seemed -almost reasonable to conclude that it had made but little impression on -him. So it disconcerted us when he bounded back with an armful of -flowering acanthus, calling out: - -"Do you suppose Gennaro'll be there when we get back?" - -Gennaro was the stop-gap waiter, a clumsy, impertinent fisher-lad, who -had been had up from Minori in the absence of the nice English-speaking -Emmanuele. It was to him that we owed our scrappy lunch; and I could not -conceive why Eustace desired to see him, unless it was to make mock with -him of our behaviour. - -"Yes, of course he will be there," said Miss Robinson. "Why do you ask, -dear?" - -"Oh, I thought I'd like to see him." - -"And why?" snapped Mr. Sandbach. - -"Because, because I do, I do; because, because I do." He danced away -into the darkening wood to the rhythm of his words. - -"This is very extraordinary," said Mr. Sandbach. "Did he like Gennaro -before?" - -"Gennaro has only been here two days," said Rose, "and I know that they -haven't spoken to each other a dozen times." - -Each time Eustace returned from the wood his spirits were higher. Once -he came whooping down on us as a wild Indian, and another time he made -believe to be a dog. The last time he came back with a poor dazed hare, -too frightened to move, sitting on his arm. He was getting too -uproarious, I thought; and we were all glad to leave the wood, and start -upon the steep staircase path that leads down into Ravello. It was late -and turning dark; and we made all the speed we could, Eustace scurrying -in front of us like a goat. - -Just where the staircase path debouches on the white high road, the next -extraordinary incident of this extraordinary day occurred. Three old -women were standing by the wayside. They, like ourselves, had come down -from the woods, and they were resting their heavy bundles of fuel on the -low parapet of the road. Eustace stopped in front of them, and, after a -moment's deliberation, stepped forward and--kissed the left-hand one on -the cheek! - -"My good fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Sandbach, "are you quite crazy?" - -Eustace said nothing, but offered the old woman some of his flowers, and -then hurried on. I looked back; and the old woman's companions seemed as -much astonished at the proceeding as we were. But she herself had put -the flowers in her bosom, and was murmuring blessings. - -This salutation of the old lady was the first example of Eustace's -strange behaviour, and we were both surprised and alarmed. It was -useless talking to him, for he either made silly replies, or else -bounded away without replying at all. - -He made no reference on the way home to Gennaro, and I hoped that that -was forgotten. But, when we came to the Piazza, in front of the -Cathedral, he screamed out: "Gennaro! Gennaro!" at the top of his voice, -and began running up the little alley that led to the hotel. Sure -enough, there was Gennaro at the end of it, with his arms and legs -sticking out of the nice little English-speaking waiter's dress suit, -and a dirty fisherman's cap on his head--for, as the poor landlady truly -said, however much she superintended his toilette, he always managed to -introduce something incongruous into it before he had done. - -Eustace sprang to meet him, and leapt right up into his arms, and put -his own arms round his neck. And this in the presence, not only of us, -but also of the landlady, the chambermaid, the facchino, and of two -American ladies who were coming for a few days' visit to the little -hotel. - -I always make a point of behaving pleasantly to Italians, however little -they may deserve it; but this habit of promiscuous intimacy was -perfectly intolerable and could only lead to familiarity and -mortification for all. Taking Miss Robinson aside, I asked her -permission to speak seriously to Eustace on the subject of intercourse -with social inferiors. She granted it; but I determined to wait till the -absurd boy had calmed down a little from the excitement of the day. -Meanwhile, Gennaro, instead of attending to the wants of the two new -ladies, carried Eustace into the house, as if it was the most natural -thing in the world. - -"Ho capito," I heard him say as he passed me. 'Ho capito' is the Italian -for 'I have understood'; but, as Eustace had not spoken to him, I could -not see the force of the remark. It served to increase our bewilderment, -and, by the time we sat down at the dinner-table, our imaginations and -our tongues were alike exhausted. - -I omit from this account the various comments that were made, as few of -them seem worthy of being recorded. But, for three or four hours, seven -of us were pouring forth our bewilderment in a stream of appropriate and -inappropriate exclamations. Some traced a connection between our -behaviour in the afternoon and the behaviour of Eustace now. Others saw -no connexion at all. Mr. Sandbach still held to the possibility of -infernal influences, and also said that he ought to have a doctor. -Leyland only saw the development of "that unspeakable Philistine, the -boy." Rose maintained, to my surprise, that everything was excusable; -while I began to see that the young gentleman wanted a sound thrashing. -The poor Miss Robinsons swayed helplessly about between these diverse -opinions; inclining now to careful supervision, now to acquiescence, now -to corporal chastisement, now to Eno's Fruit Salt. - -Dinner passed off fairly well, though Eustace was terribly fidgety, -Gennaro as usual dropping the knives and spoons, and hawking and -clearing his throat. He only knew a few words of English, and we were -all reduced to Italian for making known our wants. Eustace, who had -picked up a little somehow, asked for some oranges. To my annoyance, -Gennaro, in his answer made use of the second person singular--a form -only used when addressing those who are both intimates and equals. -Eustace had brought it on himself; but an impertinence of this kind was -an affront to us all, and I was determined to speak, and to speak at -once. - -When I heard him clearing the table I went in, and, summoning up my -Italian, or rather Neapolitan--the Southern dialects are execrable--I -said, "Gennaro! I heard you address Signor Eustace with 'Tu.'" - -"It is true." - -"You are not right. You must use 'Lei' or 'Voi'--more polite forms. And -remember that, though Signor Eustace is sometimes silly and -foolish--this afternoon for example--yet you must always behave -respectfully to him; for he is a young English gentleman, and you are a -poor Italian fisher-boy." - -I know that speech sounds terribly snobbish, but in Italian one can say -things that one would never dream of saying in English. Besides, it is -no good speaking delicately to persons of that class. Unless you put -things plainly, they take a vicious pleasure in misunderstanding you. - -An honest English fisherman would have landed me one in the eye in a -minute for such a remark, but the wretched down-trodden Italians have no -pride. Gennaro only sighed, and said: "It is true." - -"Quite so," I said, and turned to go. To my indignation I heard him add: -"But sometimes it is not important." - -"What do you mean?" I shouted. - -He came close up to me with horrid gesticulating fingers. - -"Signor Tytler, I wish to say this. If Eustazio asks me to call him -'Voi,' I will call him 'Voi.' Otherwise, no." - -With that he seized up a tray of dinner things, and fled from the room -with them; and I heard two more wine-glasses go on the court-yard floor. - -I was now fairly angry, and strode out to interview Eustace. But he had -gone to bed, and the landlady, to whom I also wished to speak, was -engaged. After more vague wonderings, obscurely expressed owing to the -presence of Janet and the two American ladies, we all went to bed, too, -after a harassing and most extraordinary day. - - - -III - - -But the day was nothing to the night. - -I suppose I had slept for about four hours, when I woke suddenly -thinking I heard a noise in the garden. And, immediately, before my eyes -were open, cold terrible fear seized me--not fear of something that was -happening, like the fear in the wood, but fear of something that might -happen. - -Our room was on the first floor, looking out on to the garden--or -terrace, it was rather: a wedge-shaped block of ground covered with -roses and vines, and intersected with little asphalt paths. It was -bounded on the small side by the house; round the two long sides ran a -wall, only three feet above the terrace level, but with a good twenty -feet drop over it into the olive yards, for the ground fell very -precipitously away. - -Trembling all over I stole to the window. There, pattering up and down -the asphalt, paths, was something white. I was too much alarmed to see -clearly; and in the uncertain light of the stars the thing took all -manner of curious shapes. Now it was a great dog, now an enormous white -bat, now a mass of quickly travelling cloud. It would bounce like a -ball, or take short flights like a bird, or glide slowly; like a wraith. -It gave no sound--save the pattering sound of what, after all, must be -human feet. And at last the obvious explanation forced itself upon my -disordered mind; and I realized that Eustace had got out of bed, and -that we were in for something more. - -I hastily dressed myself, and went down into the dining-room which -opened upon the terrace. The door was already unfastened. My terror had -almost entirely passed away, but for quite five minutes I struggled with -a curious cowardly feeling, which bade me not interfere with the poor -strange boy, but leave him to his ghostly patterings, and merely watch -him from the window, to see he took no harm. - -But better impulses prevailed and, opening the door, I called out: - -"Eustace! what on earth are you doing? Come in at once." - -He stopped his antics, and said: "I hate my bedroom. I could not stop in -it, it is too small." - -"Come! come! I'm tired of affectation. You've never complained of it -before." - -"Besides I can't see anything--no flowers, no leaves, no sky: only a -stone wall." The outlook of Eustace's room certainly was limited; but, -as I told him, he had never complained of it before. - -"Eustace, you talk like a child. Come in! Prompt obedience, if you -please." - -He did not move. - -"Very well: I shall carry you in by force." I added, and made a few -steps towards him. But I was soon convinced of the futility of pursuing -a boy through a tangle of asphalt paths, and went in instead, to call -Mr. Sandbach and Leyland to my aid. - -When I returned with them he was worse than ever. He would not even -answer us when we spoke, but began singing and chattering to himself in -a most alarming way. - -"It's a case for the doctor now," said Mr. Sandbach, gravely tapping his -forehead. - -He had stopped his running and was singing, first low, then -loud--singing five-finger exercises, scales, hymn tunes, scraps of -Wagner--anything that came into his head. His voice--a very untuneful -voice--grew stronger and stronger, and he ended with a tremendous shout -which boomed like a gun among the mountains, and awoke everyone who was -still sleeping in the hotel. My poor wife and the two girls appeared at -their respective windows, and the American ladies were heard violently -ringing their bell. - -"Eustace," we all cried, "stop! stop, dear boy, and come into the -house." - -He shook his head, and started off again--talking this time. Never have -I listened to such an extraordinary speech. At any other time it would -have been ludicrous, for here was a boy, with no sense of beauty and a -puerile command of words, attempting to tackle themes which the greatest -poets have found almost beyond their power. Eustace Robinson, aged -fourteen, was standing in his nightshirt saluting, praising, and -blessing, the great forces and manifestations of Nature. - -He spoke first of night and the stars and planets above his head, of the -swarms of fire-flies below him, of the invisible sea below the -fire-flies, of the great rocks covered with anemones and shells that -were slumbering in the invisible sea. He spoke of the rivers and -water-falls, of the ripening bunches of grapes, of the smoking cone of -Vesuvius and the hidden fire-channels that made the smoke, of the -myriads of lizards who were lying curled up in the crannies of the -sultry earth, of the showers of white rose-leaves that were tangled in -his hair. And then he spoke of the rain and the wind by which all things -are changed, of the air through which all things live, and of the woods -in which all things can be hidden. - -Of course, it was all absurdly high fainting: yet I could have kicked -Leyland for audibly observing that it was 'a diabolical caricature of -all that was most holy and beautiful in life.' - -"And then,"--Eustace was going on in the pitiable conversational -doggerel which was his only mode of expression--"and then there are -men, but I can't make them out so well." He knelt down by the parapet, -and rested his head on his arms. - -"Now's the time," whispered Leyland. I hate stealth, but we darted -forward and endeavoured to catch hold of him from behind. He was away in -a twinkling, but turned round at once to look at us. As far as I could -see in the starlight, he was crying. Leyland rushed at him again, and we -tried to corner him among the asphalt paths, but without the slightest -approach to success. - -We returned, breathless and discomfited, leaving him to his madness in -the further corner of the terrace. But my Rose had an inspiration. - -"Papa," she called from the window, "if you get Gennaro, he might be -able to catch him for you." - -I had no wish to ask a favour of Gennaro, but, as the landlady had by -now appeared on the scene, I begged her to summon him from the -charcoal-bin in which he slept, and make him try what he could do. - -She soon returned, and was shortly followed by Gennaro, attired in a -dress coat, without either waistcoat, shirt, or vest, and a ragged pair -of what had been trousers, cut short above the knees for purposes of -wading. The landlady, who had quite picked up English ways, rebuked him -for the incongruous and even indecent appearance which he presented. - -"I have a coat and I have trousers. What more do you desire?" - -"Never mind, Signora Scafetti," I put in, "As there are no ladies here, -it is not of the slightest consequence." Then, turning to Gennaro, I -said: "The aunts of Signor Eustace wish you to fetch him into the -house." - -He did not answer. - -"Do you hear me? He is not well. I order you to fetch him into the -house." - -"Fetch! fetch!" said Signora Scafetti, and shook him roughly by the arm. - -"Eustazio is well where he is." - -"Fetch! fetch!" Signora Scafetti screamed, and let loose a flood of -Italian, most of which, I am glad to say, I could not follow. I glanced -up nervously at the girls' window, but they hardly know as much as I do, -and I am thankful to say that none of us caught one word of Gennaro's -answer. - -The two yelled and shouted at each other for quite ten minutes, at the -end of which Gennaro rushed back to his charcoal-bin and Signora -Scafetti burst into tears, as well she might, for she greatly valued her -English guests. - -"He says," she sobbed, "that Signer Eustace is well where he is, and -that he will not fetch him. I can do no more." - -But I could, for, in my stupid British way, I have got some insight into -the Italian character. I followed Mr. Gennaro to his place of repose, -and found him wriggling down on to a dirty sack. - -"I wish you to fetch Signor Eustace to me," I began. - -He hurled at me an unintelligible reply. - -"If you fetch him, I will give you this." And out of my pocket I took a -new ten lira note. - -This time he did not answer. - -"This note is equal to ten lire in silver," I continued, for I knew that -the poor-class Italian is unable to conceive of a single large sum. - -"I know it." - -"That is, two hundred soldi." - -"I do not desire them. Eustazio is my friend." - -I put the note into my pocket. - -"Besides, you would not give it me." - -"I am an Englishman. The English always do what they promise." - -"That is true." It is astonishing how the most dishonest of nations -trust us. Indeed they often trust us more than we trust one another. -Gennaro knelt up on his sack. It was too dark to see his face, but I -could feel his warm garlicky breath coming out in gasps, and I knew that -the eternal avarice of the South had laid hold upon him. - -"I could not fetch Eustazio to the house. He might die there." - -"You need not do that," I replied patiently. "You need only bring him to -me; and I will stand outside in the garden." And to this, as if it were -something quite different, the pitiable youth consented. - -"But give me first the ten lire." - -"No,"--for I knew the kind of person with whom I had to deal. Once -faithless, always faithless. - -We returned to the terrace, and Gennaro, without a single word, pattered -off towards the pattering that could be heard at the remoter end. Mr. -Sandbach, Leyland, and myself moved away a little from the house, and -stood in the shadow of the white climbing roses, practically invisible. - -We heard "Eustazio" called, followed by absurd cries of pleasure from -the poor boy. The pattering ceased, and we heard them talking. Their -voices got nearer, and presently I could discern them through the -creepers, the grotesque figure of the young man, and the slim little -white-robed boy. Gennaro had his arm round Eustace's neck, and Eustace -was talking away in his fluent, slip-shod Italian. - -"I understand almost everything," I heard him say. "The trees, hills, -stars, water, I can see all. But isn't it odd! I can't make out men a -bit. Do you know what I mean?" - -"Ho capito," said Gennaro gravely, and took his arm off Eustace's -shoulder. But I made the new note crackle in my pocket; and he heard it. -He stuck his hand out with a jerk; and the unsuspecting Eustace gripped -it in his own. - -"It is odd!" Eustace went on--they were quite close now--"It almost -seems as if--as if----" - -I darted out and caught hold of his arm, and Leyland got hold of the -other arm, and Mr. Sandbach hung on to his feet. He gave shrill -heart-piercing screams; and the white roses, which were falling early -that year, descended in showers on him as we dragged him into the house. - -As soon as we entered the house he stopped shrieking; but floods of -tears silently burst forth, and spread over his upturned face. - -"Not to my room," he pleaded. "It is so small." - -His infinitely dolorous look filled me with strange pity, but what could -I do? Besides, his window was the only one that had bars to it. - -"Never mind, dear boy," said kind Mr. Sandbach. "I will bear you company -till the morning." - -At this his convulsive struggles began again. "Oh, please, not that. -Anything but that. I will promise to lie still and not to cry more than -I can help, if I am left alone." - -So we laid him on the bed, and drew the sheets over him, and left him -sobbing bitterly, and saying: "I nearly saw everything, and now I can -see nothing at all." - -We informed the Miss Robinsons of all that had happened, and returned to -the dining-room, where we found Signora Scafetti and Gennaro whispering -together. Mr. Sandbach got pen and paper, and began writing to the -English doctor at Naples. I at once drew out the note, and flung it down -on the table to Gennaro. - -"Here is your pay," I said sternly, for I was thinking of the Thirty -Pieces of Silver. - -"Thank you very much, sir," said Gennaro, and grabbed it. - -He was going off, when Leyland, whose interest and indifference were -always equally misplaced, asked him what Eustace had meant by saying 'he -could not make out men a bit.' - -"I cannot say. Signor Eustazio--" (I was glad to observe a little -deference at last) "has a subtle brain. He understands many things." - -"But I heard you say you understood," Leyland persisted. - -"I understand, but I cannot explain. I am a poor Italian fisher-lad. -Yet, listen: I will try." I saw to my alarm that his manner was -changing, and tried to stop him. But he sat down on the edge of the -table and started off, with some absolutely incoherent remarks. - -"It is sad," he observed at last. "What has happened is very sad. But -what can I do? I am poor. It is not I." - -I turned away in contempt. Leyland went on asking questions. He wanted -to know who it was that Eustace had in his mind when he spoke. - -"That is easy to say," Gennaro gravely answered. "It is you, it is I. It -is all in this house, and many outside it. If he wishes for mirth, we -discomfort him. If he asks to be alone, we disturb him. He longed for a -friend, and found none for fifteen years. Then he found me, and the -first night I--I who have been in the woods and understood things -too--betray him to you, and send him in to die. But what could I do?" - -"Gently, gently," said I. - -"Oh, assuredly he will die. He will lie in the small room all night, and -in the morning he will be dead. That I know for certain." - -"There, that will do," said Mr. Sandbach. "I shall be sitting with him." - -"Filomena Giusti sat all night with Caterina, but Caterina was dead in -the morning. They would not let her out, though I begged, and prayed, -and cursed, and beat the door, and climbed the wall. They were ignorant -fools, and thought I wished to carry her away. And in the morning she -was dead." - -"What is all this?" I asked Signora Scafetti. - -"All kinds of stories will get about," she replied, "and he, least of -anyone, has reason to repeat them." - -"And I am alive now," he went on, "because I had neither parents nor -relatives nor friends, so that, when the first night came, I could run -through the woods, and climb the rocks, and plunge into the water, until -I had accomplished my desire!" - -We heard a cry from Eustace's room--a faint but steady sound, like the -sound of wind in a distant wood, heard by one standing in tranquillity. - -"That," said Gennaro, "was the last noise of Caterina. I was hanging on -to her window then, and it blew out past me." - -And, lifting up his hand, in which my ten lira note was safely packed, -he solemnly cursed Mr. Sandbach, and Leyland, and myself, and Fate, -because Eustace was dying in the upstairs room. Such is the working of -the Southern mind; and I verily believe that he would not have moved -even then, had not Leyland, that unspeakable idiot, upset the lamp with -his elbow. It was a patent self-extinguishing lamp, bought by Signora -Scafetti, at my special request, to replace the dangerous thing that she -was using. The result was, that it went out; and the mere physical -change from light to darkness had more power over the ignorant animal -nature of Gennaro than the most obvious dictates of logic and reason. - -I felt, rather than saw, that he had left the room, and shouted out to -Mr. Sandbach: "Have you got the key of Eustace's room in your pocket?" -But Mr. Sandbach and Leyland were both on the floor, having mistaken -each other for Gennaro, and some more precious time was wasted in -finding a match. Mr. Sandbach had only just time to say that he had left -the key in the door, in case the Miss Robinsons wished to pay Eustace a -visit, when we heard a noise on the stairs, and there was Gennaro, -carrying Eustace down. - -We rushed out and blocked up the passage, and they lost heart and -retreated to the upper landing. - -"Now they are caught," cried Signora Scafetti. "There is no other way -out." - -We were cautiously ascending the staircase, when there was a terrific -scream from my wife's room, followed by a heavy thud on the asphalt -path. They had leapt out of her window. - -I reached the terrace just in time to see Eustace jumping over the -parapet of the garden wall. This time I knew for certain he would be -killed. But he alighted in an olive tree, looking like a great white -moth; and from the tree he slid on to the earth. And as soon as his bare -feet touched the clods of earth he uttered a strange loud cry, such as I -should not have thought the human voice could have produced, and -disappeared among the trees below. - -"He has understood and he is saved," cried Gennaro, who was still -sitting on the asphalt path. "Now, instead of dying he will live!" - -"And you, instead of keeping the ten lire, will give them up," I -retorted, for at this theatrical remark I could contain myself no -longer. - -"The ten lire are mine," he hissed back, in a scarcely audible voice. He -clasped his hand over his breast to protect his ill-gotten gains, and, -as he did so, he swayed forward and fell upon his face on the path. He -had not broken any limbs, and a leap like that would never have killed -an Englishman, for the drop was not great. But those miserable Italians -have no stamina. Something had gone wrong inside him, and he was dead. - -The morning was still far off, but the morning breeze had begun, and -more rose leaves fell on us as we carried him in. Signora Scafetti burst -into screams at the sight of the dead body, and, far down the valley -towards the sea, there still resounded the shouts and the laughter of -the escaping boy. - - - - -THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE - - -My pedometer told me that I was twenty-five; and, though it is a -shocking thing to stop walking, I was so tired that I sat down on a -milestone to rest. People outstripped me, jeering as they did so, but I -was too apathetic to feel resentful, and even when Miss Eliza Dimbleby, -the great educationist, swept past, exhorting me to persevere, I only -smiled and raised my hat. - -At first I thought I was going to be like my brother, whom I had had to -leave by the road-side a year or two round the corner. He had wasted his -breath on singing, and his strength on helping others. But I had -travelled more wisely, and now it was only the monotony of the highway -that oppressed me--dust under foot and brown crackling hedges on either -side, ever since I could remember. - -And I had already dropped several things--indeed, the road behind was -strewn with the things we all had dropped; and the white dust was -settling down on them, so that already they looked no better than -stones. My muscles were so weary that I could not even bear the weight -of those things I still carried. I slid off the milestone into the road, -and lay there prostrate, with my face to the great parched hedge, -praying that I might give up. - -A little puff of air revived me. It seemed to come from the hedge; and, -when I opened my eyes, there was a glint of light through the tangle of -boughs and dead leaves. The hedge could not be as thick as usual. In my -weak, morbid state, I longed to force my way in, and see what was on the -other side. No one was in sight, or I should not have dared to try. For -we of the road do not admit in conversation that there is another side -at all. - -I yielded to the temptation, saying to myself that I would come back in -a minute. The thorns scratched my face, and I had to use my arms as a -shield, depending on my feet alone to push me forward. Halfway through I -would have gone back, for in the passage all the things I was carrying -were scraped off me, and my clothes were torn. But I was so wedged that -return was impossible, and I had to wriggle blindly forward, expecting -every moment that my strength would fail me, and that I should perish in -the undergrowth. - -Suddenly cold water closed round my head, and I seemed sinking down for -ever. I had fallen out of the hedge into a deep pool. I rose to the -surface at last, crying for help, and I heard someone on the opposite -bank laugh and say: "Another!" And then I was twitched out and laid -panting on the dry ground. - -Even when the water was out of my eyes, I was still dazed, for I had -never been in so large a space, nor seen such grass and sunshine. The -blue sky was no longer a strip, and beneath it the earth had risen -grandly into hills--clean, bare buttresses, with beech trees in their -folds, and meadows and clear pools at their feet. But the hills were not -high, and there was in the landscape a sense of human occupation--so -that one might have called it a park, or garden, if the words did not -imply a certain triviality and constraint. - -As soon as I got my breath, I turned to my rescuer and said: - -"Where does this place lead to?" - -"Nowhere, thank the Lord!" said he, and laughed. He was a man of fifty -or sixty--just the kind of age we mistrust on the road--but there was no -anxiety in his manner, and his voice was that of a boy of eighteen. - -"But it must lead somewhere!" I cried, too much surprised at his answer -to thank him for saving my life. - -"He wants to know where it leads!" he shouted to some men on the hill -side, and they laughed back, and waved their caps. - -I noticed then that the pool into which I had fallen was really a moat -which bent round to the left and to the right, and that the hedge -followed it continually. The hedge was green on this side--its roots -showed through the clear water, and fish swam about in them--and it was -wreathed over with dog-roses and Traveller's Joy. But it was a barrier, -and in a moment I lost all pleasure in the grass, the sky, the trees, -the happy men and women, and realized that the place was but a prison, -for all its beauty and extent. - -We moved away from the boundary, and then followed a path almost -parallel to it, across the meadows. I found it difficult walking, for I -was always trying to out-distance my companion, and there was no -advantage in doing this if the place led nowhere. I had never kept step -with anyone since I left my brother. - -I amused him by stopping suddenly and saying disconsolately, "This is -perfectly terrible. One cannot advance: one cannot progress. Now we of -the road----" - -"Yes. I know." - -"I was going to say, we advance continually." - -"I know." - -"We are always learning, expanding, developing. Why, even in my short -life I have seen a great deal of advance--the Transvaal War, the Fiscal -Question, Christian Science, Radium. Here for example--" - -I took out my pedometer, but it still marked twenty-five, not a degree -more. - -"Oh, it's stopped! I meant to show you. It should have registered all -the time I was walking with you. But it makes me only twenty-five." - -"Many things don't work in here," he said, "One day a man brought in a -Lee-Metford, and that wouldn't work." - -"The laws of science are universal in their application. It must be the -water in the moat that has injured the machinery. In normal conditions -everything works. Science and the spirit of emulation--those are the -forces that have made us what we are." - -I had to break off and acknowledge the pleasant greetings of people whom -we passed. Some of them were singing, some talking, some engaged in -gardening, hay-making, or other rudimentary industries. They all seemed -happy; and I might have been happy too, if I could have forgotten that -the place led nowhere. - -I was startled by a young man who came sprinting across our path, took a -little fence in fine style, and went tearing over a ploughed field till -he plunged into a lake, across which he began to swim. Here was true -energy, and I exclaimed: "A cross-country race! Where are the others?" - -"There are no others," my companion replied; and, later on, when we -passed some long grass from which came the voice of a girl singing -exquisitely to herself, he said again: "There are no others." I was -bewildered at the waste in production, and murmured to myself, "What -does it all mean?" - -He said: "It means nothing but itself"--and he repeated the words -slowly, as if I were a child. - -"I understand," I said quietly, "but I do not agree. Every achievement -is worthless unless it is a link in the chain of development. And I must -not trespass on your kindness any longer. I must get back somehow to the -road, and have my pedometer mended." - -"First, you must see the gates," he replied, "for we have gates, though -we never use them." - -I yielded politely, and before long we reached the moat again, at a -point where it was spanned by a bridge. Over the bridge was a big gate, -as white as ivory, which was fitted into a gap in the boundary hedge. -The gate opened outwards, and I exclaimed in amazement, for from it ran -a road--just such a road as I had left--dusty under foot, with brown -crackling hedges on either side as far as the eye could reach. - -"That's my road!" I cried. - -He shut the gate and said: "But not your part of the road. It is through -this gate that humanity went out countless ages ago, when it was first -seized with the desire to walk." - -I denied this, observing that the part of the road I myself had left was -not more than two miles off. But with the obstinacy of his years he -repeated: "It is the same road. This is the beginning, and though it -seems to run straight away from us, it doubles so often, that it is -never far from our boundary and sometimes touches it." He stooped down -by the moat, and traced on its moist margin an absurd figure like a -maze. As we walked back through the meadows, I tried to convince him of -his mistake. - -"The road sometimes doubles, to be sure, but that is part of our -discipline. Who can doubt that its general tendency is onward? To what -goal we know not--it may be to some mountain where we shall touch the -sky, it may be over precipices into the sea. But that it goes forward ---who can doubt that? It is the thought of that that makes us strive to -excel, each in his own way, and gives us an impetus which is lacking -with you. Now that man who passed us--it's true that he ran well, and -jumped well, and swam well; but we have men who can run better, and men -who can jump better, and who can swim better. Specialization has -produced results which would surprise you. Similarly, that girl----" - -Here I interrupted myself to exclaim: "Good gracious me! I could have -sworn it was Miss Eliza Dimbleby over there, with her feet in the -fountain!" - -He believed that it was. - -"Impossible! I left her on the road, and she is due to lecture this -evening at Tunbridge Wells. Why, her train leaves Cannon Street in--of -course my watch has stopped like everything else. She is the last person -to be here." - -"People always are astonished at meeting each other. All kinds come -through the hedge, and come at all times--when they are drawing ahead in -the race, when they are lagging behind, when they are left for dead. I -often stand near the boundary listening to the sounds of the road--you -know what they are--and wonder if anyone will turn aside. It is my great -happiness to help someone out of the moat, as I helped you. For our -country fills up slowly, though it was meant for all mankind." - -"Mankind have other aims," I said gently, for I thought him -well-meaning; "and I must join them." I bade him good evening, for the -sun was declining, and I wished to be on the road by nightfall. To my -alarm, he caught hold of me, crying: "You are not to go yet!" I tried to -shake him off, for we had no interests in common, and his civility was -becoming irksome to me. But for all my struggles the tiresome old man -would not let go; and, as wrestling is not my speciality, I was obliged -to follow him. - -It was true that I could have never found alone the place where I came -in, and I hoped that, when I had seen the other sights about which he -was worrying, he would take me back to it. But I was determined not to -sleep in the country, for I mistrusted it, and the people too, for all -their friendliness. Hungry though I was, I would not join them in their -evening meals of milk and fruit, and, when they gave me flowers, I flung -them away as soon as I could do so unobserved. Already they were lying -down for the night like cattle--some out on the bare hillside, others in -groups under the beeches. In the light of an orange sunset I hurried on -with my unwelcome guide, dead tired, faint for want of food, but -murmuring indomitably: "Give me life, with its struggles and victories, -with its failures and hatreds, with its deep moral meaning and its -unknown goal!" - -At last we came to a place where the encircling moat was spanned by -another bridge, and where another gate interrupted the line of the -boundary hedge. It was different from the first gate; for it was half -transparent like horn, and opened inwards. But through it, in the waning -light, I saw again just such a road as I had left--monotonous, dusty, -with brown crackling hedges on either side, as far as the eye could -reach. - -I was strangely disquieted at the sight, which seemed to deprive me of -all self-control. A man was passing us, returning for the night to the -hills, with a scythe over his shoulder and a can of some liquid in his -hand. I forgot the destiny of our race. I forgot the road that lay -before my eyes, and I sprang at him, wrenched the can out of his hand, -and began to drink. - -It was nothing stronger than beer, but in my exhausted state it overcame -me in a moment. As in a dream, I saw the old man shut the gate, and -heard him say: "This is where your road ends, and through this gate -humanity--all that is left of it--will come in to us." - -Though my senses were sinking into oblivion, they seemed to expand ere -they reached it. They perceived the magic song of nightingales, and the -odour of invisible hay, and stars piercing the fading sky. The man whose -beer I had stolen lowered me down gently to sleep off its effects, and, -as he did so, I saw that he was my brother. - - - - -THE CELESTIAL OMNIBUS - - -I - - -The boy who resided at Agathox Lodge, 28, Buckingham Park Road, -Surbiton, had often been puzzled by the old sign-post that stood almost -opposite. He asked his mother about it, and she replied that it was a -joke, and not a very nice one, which had been made many years back by -some naughty young men, and that the police ought to remove it. For -there were two strange things about this sign-post: firstly, it pointed -up a blank alley, and, secondly, it had painted on it in faded -characters, the words, "To Heaven." - -"What kind of young men were they?" he asked. - -"I think your father told me that one of them wrote verses, and was -expelled from the University and came to grief in other ways. Still, it -was a long time ago. You must ask your father about it. He will say the -same as I do, that it was put up as a joke." - -"So it doesn't mean anything at all?" - -She sent him upstairs to put on his best things, for the Bonses were -coming to tea, and he was to hand the cake-stand. - -It struck him, as he wrenched on his tightening trousers, that he might -do worse than ask Mr. Bons about the sign-post. His father, though very -kind, always laughed at him--shrieked with laughter whenever he or any -other child asked a question or spoke. But Mr. Bons was serious as well -as kind. He had a beautiful house and lent one books, he was a -churchwarden, and a candidate for the County Council; he had donated to -the Free Library enormously, he presided over the Literary Society, and -had Members of Parliament to stop with him--in short, he was probably -the wisest person alive. - -Yet even Mr. Bons could only say that the sign-post was a joke--the joke -of a person named Shelley. - -"Off course!" cried the mother; "I told you so, dear. That was the -name." - -"Had you never heard of Shelley?" asked Mr. Bons. - -"No," said the boy, and hung his head. - -"But is there no Shelley in the house?" - -"Why, yes!" exclaimed the lady, in much agitation. "Dear Mr. Bons, we -aren't such Philistines as that. Two at the least. One a wedding -present, and the other, smaller print, in one of the spare rooms." - -"I believe we have seven Shelleys," said Mr. Bons, with a slow smile. -Then he brushed the cake crumbs off his stomach, and, together with his -daughter, rose to go. - -The boy, obeying a wink from his mother, saw them all the way to the -garden gate, and when they had gone he did not at once return to the -house, but gazed for a little up and down Buckingham Park Road. - -His parents lived at the right end of it. After No. 39 the quality of -the houses dropped very suddenly, and 64 had not even a separate -servants' entrance. But at the present moment the whole road looked -rather pretty, for the sun had just set in splendour, and the -inequalities of rent were drowned in a saffron afterglow. Small birds -twittered, and the breadwinners' train shrieked musically down through -the cutting--that wonderful cutting which has drawn to itself the whole -beauty out of Surbiton, and clad itself, like any Alpine valley, with -the glory of the fir and the silver birch and the primrose. It was this -cutting that had first stirred desires within the boy--desires for -something just a little different, he knew not what, desires that would -return whenever things were sunlit, as they were this evening, running -up and down inside him, up and down, up and down, till he would feel -quite unusual all over, and as likely as not would want to cry. This -evening he was even sillier, for he slipped across the road towards the -sign-post and began to run up the blank alley. - -The alley runs between high walls--the walls of the gardens of "Ivanhoe" -and "Belle Vista" respectively. It smells a little all the way, and is -scarcely twenty yards long, including the turn at the end. So not -unnaturally the boy soon came to a standstill. "I'd like to kick that -Shelley," he exclaimed, and glanced idly at a piece of paper which was -pasted on the wall. Rather an odd piece of paper, and he read it -carefully before he turned back. This is what he read: - - S. AND C.R.C.C. - _Alteration in Service._ - -Owing to lack of patronage the Company are regretfully compelled to -suspend the hourly service, and to retain only the - - _Sunrise and Sunset Omnibuses,_ - -which will run as usual. It is to be hoped that the public will -patronize an arrangement which is intended for their convenience. As an -extra inducement, the Company will, for the first time, now issue - - Return Tickets! - -(available one day only), which may be obtained of the driver. -Passengers are again reminded that _no tickets are issued at the other -end_, and that no complaints in this connection will receive -consideration from the Company. Nor will the Company be responsible for -any negligence or stupidity on the part of Passengers, nor for -Hailstorms, Lightning, Loss of Tickets, nor for any Act of God. - - For the Direction. - -Now he had never seen this notice before, nor could he imagine where the -omnibus went to. S. of course was for Surbiton, and R.C.C. meant Road -Car Company. But what was the meaning or the other C.? Coombe and -Maiden, perhaps, of possibly "City." Yet it could not hope to compete -with the South-Western. The whole thing, the boy reflected, was run on -hopelessly unbusiness-like lines. Why no tickets from the other end? And -what an hour to start! Then he realized that unless the notice was a -hoax, an omnibus must have been starting just as he was wishing the -Bonses good-bye. He peered at the ground through the gathering dusk, and -there he saw what might or might not be the marks of wheels. Yet nothing -had come out of the alley. And he had never seen an omnibus at any time -in the Buckingham Park Road. No: it must be a hoax, like the sign-posts, -like the fairy tales, like the dreams upon which he would wake suddenly -in the night. And with a sigh he stepped from the alley--right into the -arms of his father. - -Oh, how his father laughed! "Poor, poor Popsey!" he cried. "Diddums! -Diddums! Diddums think he'd walky-palky up to Evvink!" And his mother, -also convulsed with laughter, appeared on the steps of Agathox Lodge. -"Don't, Bob!" she gasped. "Don't be so naughty! Oh, you'll kill me! Oh, -leave the boy alone!" - -But all that evening the joke was kept up. The father implored to be -taken too. Was it a very tiring walk? Need one wipe one's shoes on the -door-mat? And the boy went to bed feeling faint and sore, and thankful -for only one thing--that he had not said a word about the omnibus. It -was a hoax, yet through his dreams it grew more and more real, and the -streets of Surbiton, through which he saw it driving, seemed instead to -become hoaxes and shadows. And very early in the morning he woke with a -cry, for he had had a glimpse of its destination. - -He struck a match, and its light fell not only on his watch but also on -his calendar, so that he knew it to be half-an-hour to sunrise. It was -pitch dark, for the fog had come down from London in the night, and all -Surbiton was wrapped in its embraces. Yet he sprang out and dressed -himself, for he was determined to settle once for all which was real: -the omnibus or the streets. "I shall be a fool one way or the other," he -thought, "until I know." Soon he was shivering in the road under the gas -lamp that guarded the entrance to the alley. - -To enter the alley itself required some courage. Not only was it -horribly dark, but he now realized that it was an impossible terminus -for an omnibus. If it had not been for a policeman, whom he heard -approaching through the fog, he would never have made the attempt. The -next moment he had made the attempt and failed. Nothing. Nothing but a -blank alley and a very silly boy gaping at its dirty floor. It _was_ a -hoax. "I'll tell papa and mamma," he decided. "I deserve it. I deserve -that they should know. I am too silly to be alive." And he went back to -the gate of Agathox Lodge. - -There he remembered that his watch was fast. The sun was not risen; it -would not rise for two minutes. "Give the bus every chance," he thought -cynically, and returned into the alley. - -But the omnibus was there. - - - -II - - -It had two horses, whose sides were still smoking from their journey, -and its two great lamps shone through the fog against the alley's walls, -changing their cobwebs and moss into tissues of fairyland. The driver -was huddled up in a cape. He faced the blank wall, and how he had -managed to drive in so neatly and so silently was one of the many things -that the boy never discovered. Nor could he imagine how ever he would -drive out. - -"Please," his voice quavered through the foul brown air, "Please, is -that an omnibus?" - -"Omnibus est," said the driver, without turning round. There was a -moment's silence. The policeman passed, coughing, by the entrance of the -alley. The boy crouched in the shadow, for he did not want to be found -out. He was pretty sure, too, that it was a Pirate; nothing else, he -reasoned, would go from such odd places and at such odd hours. - -"About when do you start?" He tried to sound nonchalant. - -"At sunrise." - -"How far do you go?" - -"The whole way." - -"And can I have a return ticket which will bring me all the way back?" - -"You can." - -"Do you know, I half think I'll come." The driver made no answer. The -sun must have risen, for he unhitched the brake. And scarcely had the -boy jumped in before the omnibus was off. - -How? Did it turn? There was no room. Did it go forward? There was a -blank wall. Yet it was moving--moving at a stately pace through the fog, -which had turned from brown to yellow. The thought of warm bed and -warmer breakfast made the boy feel faint. He wished he had not come. His -parents would not have approved. He would have gone back to them if the -weather had not made it impossible. The solitude was terrible; he was -the only passenger. And the omnibus, though well-built, was cold and -somewhat musty. He drew his coat round him, and in so doing chanced to -feel his pocket. It was empty. He had forgotten his purse. - -"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop!" And then, being of a polite disposition, he -glanced up at the painted notice-board so that he might call the driver -by name. "Mr. Browne! stop; O, do please stop!" - -Mr. Browne did not stop, but he opened a little window and looked in at -the boy. His face was a surprise, so kind it was and modest. - -"Mr. Browne, I've left my purse behind. I've not got a penny. I can't -pay for the ticket. Will you take my watch, please? I am in the most -awful hole." - -"Tickets on this line," said the driver, "whether single or return, can -be purchased by coinage from no terrene mint. And a chronometer, though -it had solaced the vigils of Charlemagne, or measured the slumbers of -Laura, can acquire by no mutation the double-cake that charms the -fangless Cerberus of Heaven!" So saying, he handed in the necessary -ticket, and, while the boy said "Thank you," continued: "Titular -pretensions, I know it well, are vanity. Yet they merit no censure when -uttered on a laughing lip, and in an homonymous world are in some sort -useful, since they do serve to distinguish one Jack from his fellow. -Remember me, therefore, as Sir Thomas Browne." - -"Are you a Sir? Oh, sorry!" He had heard of these gentlemen drivers. "It -_is_ good of you about the ticket. But if you go on at this rate, -however does your bus pay?" - -"It does not pay. It was not intended to pay. Many are the faults of my -equipage; it is compounded too curiously of foreign woods; its cushions -tickle erudition rather than promote repose; and my horses are nourished -not on the evergreen pastures of the moment, but on the dried bents and -clovers of Latinity. But that it pays!--that error at all events was -never intended and never attained." - -"Sorry again," said the boy rather hopelessly. Sir Thomas looked sad, -fearing that, even for a moment, he had been the cause of sadness. He -invited the boy to come up and sit beside him on the box, and together -they journeyed on through the fog, which was now changing from yellow to -white. There were no houses by the road; so it must be either Putney -Heath or Wimbledon Common. - -"Have you been a driver always?" - -"I was a physician once." - -"But why did you stop? Weren't you good?" - -"As a healer of bodies I had scant success, and several score of my -patients preceded me. But as a healer of the spirit I have succeeded -beyond my hopes and my deserts. For though my draughts were not better -nor subtler than those of other men, yet, by reason of the cunning -goblets wherein I offered them, the queasy soul was ofttimes tempted to -sip and be refreshed." - -"The queasy soul," he murmured; "if the sun sets with trees in front of -it, and you suddenly come strange all over, is that a queasy soul?" - -"Have you felt that?" - -"Why yes." - -After a pause he told the boy a little, a very little, about the -journey's end. But they did not chatter much, for the boy, when he liked -a person, would as soon sit silent in his company as speak, and this, he -discovered, was also the mind of Sir Thomas Browne and of many others -with whom he was to be acquainted. He heard, however, about the young -man Shelley, who was now quite a famous person, with a carriage of his -own, and about some of the other drivers who are in the service of the -Company. Meanwhile the light grew stronger, though the fog did not -disperse. It was now more like mist than fog, and at times would travel -quickly across them, as if it was part of a cloud. They had been -ascending, too, in a most puzzling way; for over two hours the horses -had been pulling against the collar, and even if it were Richmond Hill -they ought to have been at the top long ago. Perhaps it was Epsom, or -even the North Downs; yet the air seemed keener than that which blows on -either. And as to the name of their destination, Sir Thomas Browne was -silent. - -Crash! - -"Thunder, by Jove!" said the boy, "and not so far off either. Listen to -the echoes! It's more like mountains." - -He thought, not very vividly, of his father and mother. He saw them -sitting down to sausages and listening to the storm. He saw his own -empty place. Then there would be questions, alarms, theories, jokes, -consolations. They would expect him back at lunch. To lunch he would not -come, nor to tea, but he would be in for dinner, and so his day's -truancy would be over. If he had had his purse he would have bought them -presents--not that he should have known what to get them. - -Crash! - -The peal and the lightning came together. The cloud quivered as if it -were alive, and torn streamers of mist rushed past. "Are you afraid?" -asked Sir Thomas Browne. - -"What is there to be afraid of? Is it much farther?" - -The horses of the omnibus stopped just as a ball of fire burst up and -exploded with a ringing noise that was deafening but clear, like the -noise of a blacksmith's forge. All the cloud was shattered. - -"Oh, listen. Sir Thomas Browne! No, I mean look; we shall get a view at -last. No, I mean listen; that sounds like a rainbow!" - -The noise had died into the faintest murmur, beneath which another -murmur grew, spreading stealthily, steadily, in a curve that widened but -did not vary. And in widening curves a rainbow was spreading from the -horses' feet into the dissolving mists. - -"But how beautiful! What colours! Where will it stop? It is more like -the rainbows you can tread on. More like dreams." - -The colour and the sound grew together. The rainbow spanned an enormous -gulf. Clouds rushed under it and were pierced by it, and still it grew, -reaching forward, conquering the darkness, until it touched something -that seemed more solid than a cloud. - -The boy stood up. "What is that out there?" he called. "What does it -rest on, out at that other end?" - -In the morning sunshine a precipice shone forth beyond the gulf A -precipice--or was it a castle? The horses moved. They set their feet -upon the rainbow. - -"Oh, look!" the boy shouted. "Oh, listen! Those caves--or are they -gateways? Oh, look between those cliffs at those ledges. I see people! I -see trees!" - -"Look also below," whispered Sir Thomas. "Neglect not the diviner -Acheron." - -The boy looked below, past the flames of the rainbow that licked against -their wheels. The gulf also had cleared, and in its depths there flowed -an everlasting river. One sunbeam entered and struck a green pool, and -as they passed over he saw three maidens rise to the surface of the -pool, singing, and playing with something that glistened like a ring. - -"You down in the water----" he called. - -They answered, "You up on the bridge----" There was a burst of music. -"You up on the bridge, good luck to you. Truth in the depth, truth on -the height." - -"You down in the water, what are you doing?" - -Sir Thomas Browne replied: "They sport in the mancipiary possession of -their gold"; and the omnibus arrived. - - - -III - - -The boy was in disgrace. He sat locked up in the nursery of Agathox -Lodge, learning poetry for a punishment. His father had said, "My boy! I -can pardon anything but untruthfulness," and had caned him, saying at -each stroke, "There is _no_ omnibus, _no_ driver, _no_ bridge, _no_ -mountain; you are a _truant_, _guttersnipe_, a _liar_." His father -could be very stern at times. His mother had begged him to say he was -sorry. But he could not say that. It was the greatest day of his life, -in spite of the caning, and the poetry at the end of it. - -He had returned punctually at sunset--driven not by Sir Thomas Browne, -but by a maiden lady who was full of quiet fun. They had talked of -omnibuses and also of barouche landaus. How far away her gentle voice -seemed now! Yet it was scarcely three hours since he had left her up the -alley. - -His mother called through the door. "Dear, you are to come down and to -bring your poetry with you." - -He came down, and found that Mr. Bons was in the smoking-room with his -father. It had been a dinner party. - -"Here is the great traveller!" said his father grimly. "Here is the -young gentleman who drives in an omnibus over rainbows, while young -ladies sing to him." Pleased with his wit, he laughed. - -"After all," said Mr. Bons, smiling, "there is something a little like -it in Wagner. It is odd how, in quite illiterate minds, you will find -glimmers of Artistic Truth. The case interests me. Let me plead for the -culprit. We have all romanced in our time, haven't we?" - -"Hear how kind Mr. Bons is," said his mother, while his father said, -"Very well. Let him say his Poem, and that will do. He is going away to -my sister on Tuesday, and she will cure him of this alley-slopering." -(Laughter.) "Say your Poem." - -The boy began. "'Standing aloof in giant ignorance.'" - -His father laughed again--roared. "One for you, my son! 'Standing aloof -in giant ignorance!' I never knew these poets talked sense. Just -describes you. Here, Bons, you go in for poetry. Put him through it, -will you, while I fetch up the whisky?" - -"Yes, give me the Keats," said Mr. Bons. "Let him say his Keats to me." - -So for a few moments the wise man and the ignorant boy were left alone -in the smoking-room. - -"'Standing aloof in giant ignorance, of thee I dream and of the -Cyclades, as one who sits ashore and longs perchance to visit----'" - -"Quite right. To visit what?" - -"'To visit dolphin coral in deep seas,'" said the boy, and burst into -tears. - -"Come, come! why do you cry?" - -"Because--because all these words that only rhymed before, now that I've -come back they're me." - -Mr. Bons laid the Keats down. The case was more interesting than he had -expected. "_You?_" he exclaimed, "This sonnet, _you_?" - -"Yes--and look further on: 'Aye, on the shores of darkness there is -light, and precipices show untrodden green.' It _is_ so, sir. All these -things are true." - -"I never doubted it," said Mr. Bons, with closed eyes. - -"You--then you believe me? You believe in the omnibus and the driver and -the storm and that return ticket I got for nothing and----" - -"Tut, tut! No more of your yarns, my boy. I meant that I never doubted -the essential truth of Poetry. Some day, when you read more, you will -understand what I mean." - -"But Mr. Bons, it _is_ so. There _is_ light upon the shores of darkness. -I have seen it coming. Light and a wind." - -"Nonsense," said Mr. Bons. - -"If I had stopped! They tempted me. They told me to give up my -ticket--for you cannot come back if you lose your ticket. They called -from the river for it, and indeed I was tempted, for I have never been -so happy as among those precipices. But I thought of my mother and -father, and that I must fetch them. Yet they will not come, though the -road starts opposite our house. It has all happened as the people up -there warned me, and Mr. Bons has disbelieved me like every one else. I -have been caned. I shall never see that mountain again." - -"What's that about me?" said Mr. Bons, sitting up in his chair very -suddenly. - -"I told them about you, and how clever you were, and how many books you -had, and they said, 'Mr. Bons will certainly disbelieve you.'" - -"Stuff and nonsense, my young friend. You grow impertinent. I--well--I -will settle the matter. Not a word to your father. I will cure you. -To-morrow evening I will myself call here to take you for a walk, and at -sunset we will go up this alley opposite and hunt for your omnibus, you -silly little boy." - -His face grew serious, for the boy was not disconcerted, but leapt about -the room singing, "Joy! joy! I told them you would believe me. We will -drive together over the rainbow. I told them that you would come." After -all, could there be anything in the story? Wagner? Keats? Shelley? Sir -Thomas Browne? Certainly the case was interesting. - -And on the morrow evening, though it was pouring with rain, Mr. Bons did -not omit to call at Agathox Lodge. - -The boy was ready, bubbling with excitement, and skipping about in a way -that rather vexed the President of the Literary Society. They took a -turn down Buckingham Park Road, and then--having seen that no one was -watching them--slipped up the alley. Naturally enough (for the sun was -setting) they ran straight against the omnibus. - -"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Bons. "Good gracious heavens!" - -It was not the omnibus in which the boy had driven first, nor yet that -in which he had returned. There were three horses--black, gray, and -white, the gray being the finest. The driver, who turned round at the -mention of goodness and of heaven, was a sallow man with terrifying jaws -and sunken eyes. Mr. Bons, on seeing him, gave a cry as if of -recognition, and began to tremble violently. - -The boy jumped in. - -"Is it possible?" cried Mr. Bons. "Is the impossible possible?" - -"Sir; come in, sir. It is such a fine omnibus. Oh, here is his name--Dan -some one." - -Mr. Bons sprang in too. A blast of wind immediately slammed the omnibus -door, and the shock jerked down all the omnibus blinds, which were very -weak on their springs. - -"Dan.... Show me. Good gracious heavens! we're moving." - -"Hooray!" said the boy. - -Mr. Bons became flustered. He had not intended to be kidnapped. He could -not find the door-handle, nor push up the blinds. The omnibus was quite -dark, and by the time he had struck a match, night had come on outside -also. They were moving rapidly. - -"A strange, a memorable adventure," he said, surveying the interior of -the omnibus, which was large, roomy, and constructed with extreme -regularity, every part exactly answering to every other part. Over the -door (the handle of which was outside) was written, "Lasciate ogni -baldanza voi che entrate"--at least, that was what was written, but Mr. -Bons said that it was Lashy arty something, and that baldanza was a -mistake for speranza. His voice sounded as if he was in church. -Meanwhile, the boy called to the cadaverous driver for two return -tickets. They were handed in without a word. Mr. Bons covered his face -with his hand and again trembled. "Do you know who that is!" he -whispered, when the little window had shut upon them. "It is the -impossible." - -"Well, I don't like him as much as Sir Thomas Browne, though I shouldn't -be surprised if he had even more in him." - -"More in him?" He stamped irritably. "By accident you have made the -greatest discovery of the century, and all you can say is that there is -more in this man. Do you remember those vellum books in my library, -stamped with red lilies? This--sit still, I bring you stupendous -news!--_this is the man who wrote them_." - -The boy sat quite still. "I wonder if we shall see Mrs. Gamp?" he asked, -after a civil pause. - -"Mrs. ----?" - -"Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Harris. I like Mrs. Harris. I came upon them quite -suddenly. Mrs. Gamp's bandboxes have moved over the rainbow so badly. -All the bottoms have fallen out, and two of the pippins off her bedstead -tumbled into the stream." - -"Out there sits the man who wrote my vellum books!" thundered Mr. Bons, -"and you talk to me of Dickens and of Mrs. Gamp?" - -"I know Mrs. Gamp so well," he apologized. "I could not help being glad -to see her. I recognized her voice. She was telling Mrs. Harris about -Mrs. Prig." - -"Did you spend the whole day in her elevating company?" - -"Oh, no. I raced. I met a man who took me out beyond to a race-course. -You run, and there are dolphins out at sea." - -"Indeed. Do you remember the man's name?" - -"Achilles. No; he was later. Tom Jones." - -Mr. Bons sighed heavily. "Well, my lad, you have made a miserable mess -of it. Think of a cultured person with your opportunities! A cultured -person would have known all these characters and known what to have said -to each. He would not have wasted his time with a Mrs. Gamp or a Tom -Jones. The creations of Homer, of Shakespeare, and of Him who drives us -now, would alone have contented him. He would not have raced. He would -have asked intelligent questions." - -"But, Mr. Bons," said the boy humbly, "you will be a cultured person. I -told them so." - -"True, true, and I beg you not to disgrace me when we arrive. No -gossiping. No running. Keep close to my side, and never speak to these -Immortals unless they speak to you. Yes, and give me the return tickets. -You will be losing them." - -The boy surrendered the tickets, but felt a little sore. After all, he -had found the way to this place. It was hard first to be disbelieved and -then to be lectured. Meanwhile, the rain had stopped, and moonlight -crept into the omnibus through the cracks in the blinds. - -"But how is there to be a rainbow?" cried the boy. - -"You distract me," snapped Mr. Bons. "I wish to meditate on beauty. I -wish to goodness I was with a reverent and sympathetic person." - -The lad bit his lip. He made a hundred good resolutions. He would -imitate Mr. Bons all the visit. He would not laugh, or run, or sing, or -do any of the vulgar things that must have disgusted his new friends -last time. He would be very careful to pronounce their names properly, -and to remember who knew whom. Achilles did not know Tom Jones--at -least, so Mr. Bons said. The Duchess of Malfi was older than Mrs. -Gamp--at least, so Mr. Bons said. He would be self-conscious, reticent, -and prim. He would never say he liked any one. Yet when the Wind flew up -at a chance touch of his head, all these good resolutions went to the -winds, for the omnibus had reached the summit of a moonlit hill, and -there was the chasm, and there, across it, stood the old precipices, -dreaming, with their feet in the everlasting river. He exclaimed, "The -mountain! Listen to the new tune in the water! Look at the camp fires in -the ravines," and Mr. Bons, after a hasty glance, retorted, "Water? Camp -fires? Ridiculous rubbish. Hold your tongue. There is nothing at all." - -Yet, under his eyes, a rainbow formed, compounded not of sunlight and -storm, but of moonlight and the spray of the river. The three horses put -their feet upon it. He thought it the finest rainbow he had seen, but -did not dare to say so, since Mr. Bons said that nothing was there. He -leant out--the window had opened--and sang the tune that rose from the -sleeping waters. - -"The prelude to Rhinegold?" said Mr. Bons suddenly. "Who taught you -these _leit motifs_?" He, too, looked out of the window. Then he behaved -very oddly. He gave a choking cry, and fell back on to the omnibus -floor. He writhed and kicked. His face was green. - -"Does the bridge make you dizzy?" the boy asked. - -"Dizzy!" gasped Mr. Bons. "I want to go back. Tell the driver." - -But the driver shook his head. - -"We are nearly there," said the boy, "They are asleep. Shall I call? -They will be so pleased to see you, for I have prepared them." - -Mr. Bons moaned. They moved over the lunar rainbow, which ever and ever -broke away behind their wheels. How still the night was! Who would be -sentry at the Gate? - -"I am coming," he shouted, again forgetting the hundred resolutions. "I -am returning--I, the boy." - -"The boy is returning," cried a voice to other voices, who repeated, -"The boy is returning." - -"I am bringing Mr. Bons with me." - -Silence. - -"I should have said Mr. Bons is bringing me with him." - -Profound silence. - -"Who stands sentry?" - -"Achilles." - -And on the rocky causeway, close to the springing of the rainbow bridge, -he saw a young man who carried a wonderful shield. - -"Mr. Bons, it is Achilles, armed." - -"I want to go back," said Mr. Bons. - -The last fragment of the rainbow melted, the wheels sang upon the living -rock, the door of the omnibus burst open. Out leapt the boy--he could -not resist--and sprang to meet the warrior, who, stooping suddenly, -caught him on his shield. - -"Achilles!" he cried, "let me get down, for I am ignorant and vulgar, -and I must wait for that Mr. Bons of whom I told you yesterday." - -But Achilles raised him aloft. He crouched on the wonderful shield, on -heroes and burning cities, on vineyards graven in gold, on every dear -passion, every joy, on the entire image of the Mountain that he had -discovered, encircled, like it, with an everlasting stream. "No, no," he -protested, "I am not worthy. It is Mr. Bons who must be up here." - -But Mr. Bons was whimpering, and Achilles trumpeted and cried, "Stand -upright upon my shield!" - -"Sir, I did not mean to stand! something made me stand. Sir, why do you -delay? Here is only the great Achilles, whom you knew." - -Mr. Bons screamed, "I see no one. I see nothing. I want to go back." -Then he cried to the driver, "Save me! Let me stop in your chariot. I -have honoured you. I have quoted you. I have bound you in vellum. Take -me back to my world." - -The driver replied, "I am the means and not the end. I am the food and -not the life. Stand by yourself, as that boy has stood. I cannot save -you. For poetry is a spirit; and they that would worship it must worship -in spirit and in truth." - -Mr. Bons--he could not resist--crawled out of the beautiful omnibus. His -face appeared, gaping horribly. His hands followed, one gripping the -step, the other beating the air. Now his shoulders emerged, his chest, -his stomach. With a shriek of "I see London," he fell--fell against the -hard, moonlit rock, fell into it as if it were water, fell through it, -vanished, and was seen by the boy no more. - -"Where have you fallen to, Mr. Bons? Here is a procession arriving to -honour you with music and torches. Here come the men and women whose -names you know. The mountain is awake, the river is awake, over the -race-course the sea is awaking those dolphins, and it is all for you. -They want you----" - -There was the touch of fresh leaves on his forehead. Some one had -crowned him. - - TELOS - - * * * * * - -From the _Kingston Gazette, Surbiton Times,_ and _Paynes Park Observer_. - -The body of Mr. Septimus Bons has been found in a shockingly mutilated -condition in the vicinity of the Bermondsey gas-works. The deceased's -pockets contained a sovereign-purse, a silver cigar-case, a bijou -pronouncing dictionary, and a couple of omnibus tickets. The unfortunate -gentleman had apparently been hurled from a considerable height. Foul -play is suspected, and a thorough investigation is pending by the -authorities. - -THE END - - - - -OTHER KINGDOM - - -I - - -"_Quem_, whom; _fugis_, are you avoiding; _ab demens_, you silly ass; -_habitarunt di quoque_, gods too have lived in; _silvas_, the woods.' Go -ahead!" - -I always brighten the classics--it is part of my system--and therefore I -translated _demens_ by "silly ass." But Miss Beaumont need not have made -a note of the translation, and Ford, who knows better, need not have -echoed after me. "Whom are you avoiding, you silly ass, gods too have -lived in the woods." - -"Ye--es," I replied, with scholarly hesitation. "Ye--es. -_Silvas_--woods, wooded spaces, the country generally. Yes. _Demens_, of -course, is _de--mens_. 'Ah, witless fellow! Gods, I say, even gods have -dwelt in the woods ere now.'" - -"But I thought gods always lived in the sky," said Mrs. Worters, -interrupting our lesson for I think the third-and-twentieth time. - -"Not always," answered Miss Beaumont. As she spoke she inserted "witless -fellow" as an alternative to "silly ass." - -"I always thought they lived in the sky." - -"Oh, no, Mrs. Worters," the girl repeated. "Not always." And finding her -place in the note-book she read as follows: "Gods. Where. Chief -deities--Mount Olympus. Pan--most places, as name implies. -Oreads--mountains. Sirens, Tritons, Nereids--water (salt). Naiads ---water (fresh). Satyrs, Fauns, etc.--woods. Dryads--trees." - -"Well, dear, you have learnt a lot. And will you now tell me what good -it has done you?" - -"It has helped me--" faltered Miss Beaumont. She was very earnest over -her classics. She wished she could have said what good they had done -her. - -Ford came to her rescue, "Of course it's helped you. The classics are -full of tips. They teach you how to dodge things." - -I begged my young friend not to dodge his Virgil lesson. - -"But they do!" he cried. "Suppose that long-haired brute Apollo wants to -give you a music lesson. Well, out you pop into the laurels. Or -Universal Nature comes along. You aren't feeling particularly keen on -Universal Nature so you turn into a reed." - -"Is Jack mad?" asked Mrs. Worters. - -But Miss Beaumont had caught the allusions--which were quite ingenious -I must admit. "And Croesus?" she inquired. "What was it one turned into -to get away from Croesus?" - -I hastened to tidy up her mythology. "Midas, Miss Beaumont, not Croesus. -And he turns you--you don't turn yourself: he turns you into gold." - -"There's no dodging Midas," said Ford. - -"Surely--" said Miss Beaumont. She had been learning Latin not quite a -fortnight, but she would have corrected the Regius Professor. - -He began to tease her. "Oh, there's no dodging Midas! He just comes, he -touches you, and you pay him several thousand per cent, at once. You're -gold--a young golden lady--if he touches you." - -"I won't be touched!" she cried, relapsing into her habitual frivolity. - -"Oh, but he'll touch you." - -"He sha'n't!" - -"He will." - -"He sha'n't!" - -"He will." - -Miss Beaumont took up her Virgil and smacked Ford over the head with it. - -"Evelyn! Evelyn!" said Mrs. Worters. "Now you are forgetting yourself. -And you also forget my question. What good has Latin done you?" - -"Mr. Ford--what good has Latin done you?" - -"Mr. Inskip--what good has Latin done us?" - -So I was let in for the classical controversy. The arguments for the -study of Latin are perfectly sound, but they are difficult to remember, -and the afternoon sun was hot, and I needed my tea. But I had to justify -my existence as a coach, so I took off my eye-glasses and breathed on -them and said, "My dear Ford, what a question!" - -"It's all right for Jack," said Mrs. Worters. "Jack has to pass his -entrance examination. But what's the good of it for Evelyn? None at -all." - -"No, Mrs. Worters," I persisted, pointing my eye-glasses at her. "I -cannot agree. Miss Beaumont is--in a sense--new to our civilization. She -is entering it, and Latin is one of the subjects in her entrance -examination also. No one can grasp modern life without some knowledge of -its origins." - -"But why should she grasp modern life?" said the tiresome woman. - -"Well, there you are!" I retorted, and shut up my eye-glasses with a -snap. - -"Mr. Inskip, I am not there. Kindly tell me what's the good of it all. -Oh, I've been through it myself: Jupiter, Venus, Juno, I know the lot of -them. And many of the stories not at all proper." - -"Classical education," I said drily, "is not entirely confined to -classical mythology. Though even the mythology has its value. Dreams if -you like, but there is value in dreams." - -"I too have dreams," said Mrs. Worters, "but I am not so foolish as to -mention them afterwards." - -Mercifully we were interrupted. A rich virile voice close behind us -said, "Cherish your dreams!" We had been joined by our host, Harcourt -Worters--Mrs. Worters' son, Miss Beaumont's fiance. Ford's guardian, my -employer: I must speak of him as Mr. Worters. - -"Let us cherish our dreams!" he repeated. "All day I've been fighting, -haggling, bargaining. And to come out on to this lawn and see you all -learning Latin, so happy, so passionless, so Arcadian----" - -He did not finish the sentence, but sank into the chair next to Miss -Beaumont, and possessed himself of her hand. As he did so she sang: "Ah -you silly ass gods live in woods!" - -"What have we here?" said Mr. Worters with a slight frown. - -With the other hand she pointed to me. - -"Virgil--" I stammered. "Colloquial translation----" - -"Oh, I see; a colloquial translation of poetry." Then his smile -returned. "Perhaps if gods live in woods, that is why woods are so dear. -I have just bought Other Kingdom Copse!" - -Loud exclamations of joy. Indeed, the beeches in that copse are as fine -as any in Hertfordshire. Moreover, it, and the meadow by which it is -approached, have always made an ugly notch in the rounded contours of -the Worters estate. So we were all very glad that Mr. Worters had -purchased Other Kingdom. Only Ford kept silent, stroking his head where -the Virgil had hit it, and smiling a little to himself as he did so. - -"Judging from the price I paid, I should say there was a god in every -tree. But price, this time was no object." He glanced at Miss Beaumont. - -"You admire beeches, Evelyn, do you not?" - -"I forget always which they are. Like this?" - -She flung her arms up above her head, close together, so that she looked -like a slender column. Then her body swayed and her delicate green dress -quivered over it with the suggestion of countless leaves. - -"My dear child!" exclaimed her lover. - -"No: that is a silver birch," said Ford, - -"Oh, of course. Like this, then." And she twitched up her skirts so that -for a moment they spread out in great horizontal layers, like the layers -of a beech. - -We glanced at the house, but none of the servants were looking. So we -laughed, and said she ought to go on the variety stage. - -"Ah, this is the kind I like!" she cried, and practised the beech-tree -again. - -"I thought so," said Mr. Worters. "I thought so. Other Kingdom Copse is -yours." - -"Mine----?" She had never had such a present in her life. She could not -realize it. - -"The purchase will be drawn up in your name. You will sign the deed. -Receive the wood, with my love. It is a second engagement ring." - -"But is it--is it mine? Can I--do what I like there?" - -"You can," said Mr. Worters, smiling. - -She rushed at him and kissed him. She kissed Mrs. Worters. She would -have kissed myself and Ford if we had not extruded elbows. The joy of -possession had turned her head. - -"It's mine! I can walk there, work there, live there. A wood of my own! -Mine for ever." - -"Yours, at all events, for ninety-nine years." - -"Ninety-nine years?" I regret to say there was a tinge of disappointment -in her voice. - -"My dear child! Do you expect to live longer?" - -"I suppose I can't," she replied, and flushed a little. "I don't know." - -"Ninety-nine seems long enough to most people. I have got this house, -and the very lawn you are standing on, on a lease of ninety-nine years. -Yet I call them my own, and I think I am justified. Am I not?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"Ninety-nine years is practically for ever. Isn't it?" - -"Oh, yes. It must be." - -Ford possesses a most inflammatory note-book. Outside it is labelled -"Private," inside it is headed "Practically a book." I saw him make an -entry in it now, "Eternity: practically ninety-nine years." - -Mr. Worters, as if speaking to himself, now observed: "My goodness! My -goodness! How land has risen! Perfectly astounding." - -I saw that he was in need of a Boswell, so I said: "Has it, indeed?" - -"My dear Inskip. Guess what I could have got that wood for ten years -ago! But I refused. Guess why." - -We could not guess why. - -"Because the transaction would not have been straight." A most becoming -blush spread over his face as he uttered the noble word. "Not straight. -Straight legally. But not morally straight. We were to force the hands -of the man who owned it. I refused. The others--decent fellows in their -way--told me I was squeamish. I said, 'Yes. Perhaps I am. My name is -plain Harcourt Worters--not a well-known name if you go outside the City -and my own country, but a name which, where it is known, carries, I -flatter myself, some weight. And I will not sign my name to this. That -is all. Call me squeamish if you like. But I will not sign. It is just a -fad of mine. Let us call it a fad.'" He blushed again. Ford believes -that his guardian blushes all over--if you could strip him and make him -talk nobly he would look like a boiled lobster. There is a picture of -him in this condition in the note-book. - -"So the man who owned it then didn't own it now?" said Miss Beaumont, -who had followed the narrative with some interest. - -"Oh, no!" said Mr. Worters. - -"Why no!" said Mrs. Worters absently, as she hunted in the grass for her -knitting-needle. "Of course not. It belongs to the widow." - -"Tea!" cried her son, springing vivaciously to his feet. "I see tea and -I want it. Come, mother. Come along, Evelyn. I can tell you it's no -joke, a hard day in the battle of life. For life is practically a -battle. To all intents and purposes a battle. Except for a few lucky -fellows who can read books, and so avoid the realities. But I----" - -His voice died away as he escorted the two ladies over the smooth lawn -and up the stone steps to the terrace, on which the footman was placing -tables and little chairs and a silver kettle-stand. More ladies came out -of the house. We could just hear their shouts of excitement as they also -were told of the purchase of Other Kingdom. - -I like Ford. The boy has the makings of a scholar and--though for some -reason he objects to the word--of a gentleman. It amused me now to see -his lip curl with the vague cynicism of youth. He cannot understand the -footman and the solid silver kettle-stand. They make him cross. For he -has dreams--not exactly spiritual dreams: Mr. Worters is the man for -those--but dreams of the tangible and the actual robust dreams, which -take him, not to heaven, but to another earth. There are no footmen in -this other earth, and the kettle-stands, I suppose, will not be made of -silver, and I know that everything is to be itself, and not practically -something else. But what this means, and, if it means anything, what the -good of it is, I am not prepared to say. For though I have just said -"there is value in dreams," I only said it to silence old Mrs. Worters. - -"Go ahead, man! We can't have tea till we've got through something." - -He turned his chair away from the terrace, so that he could sit looking -at the meadows and at the stream that runs through the meadows, and at -the beech-trees of Other Kingdom that rise beyond the stream. Then, most -gravely and admirably, he began to construe the Eclogues of Virgil. - - - -II - - -Other Kingdom Copse is just like any other beech copse, and I am -therefore spared the fatigue of describing it. And the stream in front -of it, like many other streams, is not crossed by a bridge in the right -place, and you must either walk round a mile or else you must paddle. -Miss Beaumont suggested that we should paddle. - -Mr. Worters accepted the suggestion tumultuously. It only became evident -gradually that he was not going to adopt it. - -"What fun! what fun! We will paddle to your kingdom. If only--if only it -wasn't for the tea-things." - -"But you can carry the tea-things on your back." - -"Why, yes! so I can. Or the servants could," - -"Harcourt--no servants. This is my picnic, and my wood. I'm going to -settle everything. I didn't tell you: I've got all the food. I've been -in the village with Mr. Ford." - -"In the village----?" - -"Yes, We got biscuits and oranges and half a pound of tea. That's all -you'll have. He carried them up. And he'll carry them over the stream. I -want you just to lend me some tea-things--not the best ones. I'll take -care of them. That's all." - -"Dear creature...." - -"Evelyn," said Mrs. Worters, "how much did you and Jack pay for that -tea?" - -"For the half-pound, tenpence." - -Mrs. Worters received the announcement in gloomy silence. - -"Mother!" cried Mr. Worters. "Why, I forgot! How could we go paddling -with mother?" - -"Oh, but, Mrs. Worters, we could carry you over." - -"Thank you, dearest child. I am sure you could." - -"Alas! alas! Evelyn. Mother is laughing at us. She would sooner die than -be carried. And alas! there are my sisters, and Mrs. Osgood: she has a -cold, tiresome woman. No: we shall have to go round by the bridge." - -"But some of us----" began Ford. His guardian cut him short with a quick -look. - -So we went round--a procession of eight. Miss Beaumont led us. She was -full of fun--at least so I thought at the time, but when I reviewed her -speeches afterwards I could not find in them anything amusing. It was -all this kind of thing: "Single file! Pretend you're in church and don't -talk. Mr. Ford, turn out your toes. Harcourt--at the bridge throw to the -Naiad a pinch of tea. She has a headache. She has had a headache for -nineteen hundred years." All that she said was quite stupid. I cannot -think why I liked it at the time. - -As we approached the copse she said, "Mr. Inskip, sing, and we'll sing -after you: Ah you silly ass gods live in woods." I cleared my throat and -gave out the abominable phrase, and we all chanted it as if it were a -litany. There was something attractive about Miss Beaumont. I was not -surprised that Harcourt had picked her out of "Ireland" and had brought -her home, without money, without connections, almost without -antecedents, to be his bride. It was daring of him, but he knew himself -to be a daring fellow. She brought him nothing; but that he could -afford, he had so vast a surplus of spiritual and commercial goods. "In -time," I heard him tell his mother, "in time Evelyn will repay me a -thousandfold." Meanwhile there was something attractive about her. If it -were my place to like people, I could have liked her very much. - -"Stop singing!" she cried. We had entered the wood. "Welcome, all of -you." We bowed. Ford, who had not been laughing, bowed down to the -ground. "And now be seated. Mrs. Worters--will you sit there--against -that tree with a green trunk? It will show up your beautiful dress." - -"Very well, dear, I will," said Mrs. Worters. - -"Anna--there. Mr. Inskip next to her. Then Ruth and Mrs. Osgood. Oh, -Harcourt--do sit a little forward, so that you'll hide the house. I -don't want to see the house at all." - -"I won't!" laughed her lover, "I want my back against a tree, too." - -"Miss Beaumont," asked Ford, "where shall I sit?" He was standing at -attention, like a soldier. - -"Oh, look at all these Worters!" she cried, "and one little Ford in the -middle of them!" For she was at that state of civilization which -appreciates a pun. - -"Shall I stand. Miss Beaumont? Shall I hide the house from you if I -stand?" - -"Sit down. Jack, you baby!" cried his guardian, breaking in with -needless asperity. "Sit down!" - -"He may just as well stand if he will," said she. "Just pull back your -soft hat, Mr. Ford. Like a halo. Now you hide even the smoke from the -chimneys. And it makes you look beautiful." - -"Evelyn! Evelyn! You are too hard on the boy. You'll tire him. He's one -of those bookworms. He's not strong. Let him sit down." - -"Aren't you strong?" she asked. - -"I am strong!" he cried. It is quite true. Ford has no right to be -strong, but he is. He never did his dumb-bells or played in his school -fifteen. But the muscles came. He thinks they came while he was reading -Pindar. - -"Then you may just as well stand, if you will." - -"Evelyn! Evelyn! childish, selfish maiden! If poor Jack gets tired I -will take his place. Why don't you want to see the house? Eh?" - -Mrs. Worters and the Miss Worters moved uneasily. They saw that their -Harcourt was not quite pleased. Theirs not to question why. It was for -Evelyn to remove his displeasure, and they glanced at her. - -"Well, why don't you want to see your future home? I must say--though I -practically planned the house myself--that it looks very well from here. -I like the gables. Miss! Answer me!" - -I felt for Miss Beaumont. A home-made gable is an awful thing, and -Harcourt's mansion looked like a cottage with the dropsy. But what would -she say? - -She said nothing. - -"Well?" - -It was as if he had never spoken. She was as merry, as smiling, as -pretty as ever, and she said nothing. She had not realized that a -question requires an answer. - -For us the situation was intolerable. I had to save it by making a -tactful reference to the view, which, I said, reminded me a little of -the country near Veii. It did not--indeed it could not, for I have never -been near Veii. But it is part of my system to make classical allusions. -And at all events I saved the situation. - -Miss Beaumont was serious and rational at once. She asked me the date of -Veii. I made a suitable answer. - -"I do like the classics," she informed us. "They are so natural. Just -writing down things." - -"Ye--es," said I. "But the classics have their poetry as well as their -prose. They're more than a record of facts." - -"Just writing down things," said Miss Beaumont, and smiled as if the -silly definition pleased her. - -Harcourt had recovered himself. "A very just criticism," said he. "It is -what I always feel about the ancient world. It takes us but a very -little way. It only writes things down." - -"What do you mean?" asked Evelyn. - -"I mean this--though it is presumptuous to speak in the presence of Mr. -Inskip. This is what I mean. The classics are not everything. We owe -them an enormous debt; I am the last to undervalue it; I, too, went -through them at school. They are full of elegance and beauty. But they -are not everything. They were written before men began to really feel." -He coloured crimson. "Hence, the chilliness of classical art--its lack -of--of a something. Whereas later things--Dante--a Madonna of -Raphael--some bars of Mendelssohn----" His voice tailed reverently away. -We sat with our eyes on the ground, not liking to look at Miss Beaumont. -It is a fairly open secret that she also lacks a something. She has not -yet developed her soul. - -The silence was broken by the still small voice of Mrs. Worters saying -that she was faint with hunger. - -The young hostess sprang up. She would let none of us help her: it was -her party. She undid the basket and emptied out the biscuits and oranges -from their bags, and boiled the kettle and poured out the tea, which was -horrible. But we laughed and talked with the frivolity that suits the -open air, and even Mrs. Worters expectorated her flies with a smile. -Over us all there stood the silent, chivalrous figure of Ford, drinking -tea carefully lest it should disturb his outline. His guardian, who is a -wag, chaffed him and tickled his ankles and calves. - -"Well, this is nice!" said Miss Beaumont. "I am happy." - -"Your wood, Evelyn!" said the ladies. - -"Her wood for ever!" cried Mr. Worters. "It is an unsatisfactory -arrangement, a ninety-nine years' lease. There is no feeling of -permanency. I reopened negotiations. I have bought her the wood for -ever--all right, dear, all right: don't make a fuss." - -"But I must!" she cried. "For everything's perfect! Every one so -kind--and I didn't know most of you a year ago. Oh, it is so -wonderful--and now a wood--a wood of my own--a wood for ever. All of you -coming to tea with me here! Dear Harcourt--dear people--and just where -the house would come and spoil things, there is Mr. Ford!" - -"Ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Worters, and slipped his hand up round the boy's -ankle. What happened I do not know, but Ford collapsed on to the ground -with a sharp cry. To an outsider it might have sounded like a cry of -anger or pain. We, who knew better, laughed uproariously. - -"Down he goes! Down he goes!" And they struggled playfully, kicking up -the mould and the dry leaves. - -"Don't hurt my wood!" cried Miss Beaumont. - -Ford gave another sharp cry. Mr. Worters withdrew his hand. "Victory!" -he exclaimed. "Evelyn! behold the family seat!" But Miss Beaumont, in -her butterfly fashion, had left us, and was strolling away into her -wood. - -We packed up the tea-things and then split into groups. Ford went with -the ladies. Mr. Worters did me the honour to stop by me. - -"Well!" he said, in accordance with his usual formula, "and how go the -classics?" - -"Fairly well." - -"Does Miss Beaumont show any ability?" - -"I should say that she does. At all events she has enthusiasm." - -"You do not think it is the enthusiasm of a child? I will be frank with -you, Mr. Inskip. In many ways Miss Beaumont's practically a child. She -has everything to learn: she acknowledges as much herself. Her new life -is so different--so strange. Our habits--our thoughts--she has to be -initiated into them all." - -I saw what he was driving at, but I am not a fool, and I replied: "And -how can she be initiated better than through the classics?" - -"Exactly, exactly," said Mr. Worters. In the distance we heard her -voice. She was counting the beech-trees. "The only question is--this -Latin and Greek--what will she do with it? Can she make anything of it? -Can she--well, it's not as if she will ever have to teach it to -others." - -"That is true." And my features might have been observed to become -undecided. - -"Whether, since she knows so little--I grant you she has enthusiasm. But -ought one not to divert her enthusiasm--say to English literature? She -scarcely knows her Tennyson at all. Last night in the conservatory I -read her that wonderful scene between Arthur and Guinevere. Greek and -Latin are all very well, but I sometimes feel we ought to begin at the -beginning." - -"You feel," said I, "that for Miss Beaumont the classics are something -of a luxury." - -"A luxury. That is the exact word, Mr. Inskip. A luxury. A whim. It is -all very well for Jack Ford. And here we come to another point. Surely -she keeps Jack back? Her knowledge must be elementary." - -"Well, her knowledge _is_ elementary: and I must say that it's -difficult to teach them together. Jack has read a good deal, one way and -another, whereas Miss Beaumont, though diligent and enthusiastic----" - -"So I have been feeling. The arrangement is scarcely fair on Jack?" - -"Well, I must admit----" - -"Quite so. I ought never to have suggested it. It must come to an end. -Of course, Mr. Inskip, it shall make no difference to you, this -withdrawal of a pupil." - -"The lessons shall cease at once, Mr. Worters." - -Here she came up to us. "Harcourt, there are seventy-eight trees. I have -had such a count." - -He smiled down at her. Let me remember to say that he is tall and -handsome, with a strong chin and liquid brown eyes, and a high forehead -and hair not at all gray. Few things are more striking than a photograph -of Mr. Harcourt Worters. - -"Seventy-eight trees?" - -"Seventy-eight." - -"Are you pleased?" - -"Oh, Harcourt----!" - -I began to pack up the tea-things. They both saw and heard me. It was -their own fault if they did not go further. - -"I'm looking forward to the bridge," said he. "A rustic bridge at the -bottom, and then, perhaps, an asphalt path from the house over the -meadow, so that in all weathers we can walk here dry-shod. The boys come -into the wood--look at all these initials--and I thought of putting a -simple fence, to prevent any one but ourselves----" - -"Harcourt!" - -"A simple fence," he continued, "just like what I have put round my -garden and the fields. Then at the other side of the copse, away from -the house, I would put a gate, and have keys--two keys, I think--one for -me and one for you--not more; and I would bring the asphalt path----" - -"But Harcourt-----" - -"But Evelyn!" - -"I--I--I----" - -"You--you--you----?" - -"I--I don't want an asphalt path." - -"No? Perhaps you are right. Cinders perhaps. Yes. Or even gravel." - -"But Harcourt--I don't want a path at all. I--I--can't afford a path." - -He gave a roar of triumphant laughter. "Dearest! As if you were going to -be bothered? The path's part of my present." - -"The wood is your present," said Miss Beaumont. "Do you know--I don't -care for the path. I'd rather always come as we came to-day. And I don't -want a bridge. No--nor a fence either. I don't mind the boys and their -initials. They and the girls have always come up to Other Kingdom and -cut their names together in the bark. It's called the Fourth Time of -Asking. I don't want it to stop." - -"Ugh!" He pointed to a large heart transfixed by an arrow. "Ugh! Ugh!" I -suspect that he was gaining time. - -"They cut their names and go away, and when the first child is born they -come again and deepen the cuts. So for each child. That's how you know: -the initials that go right through to the wood are the fathers and -mothers of large families, and the scratches in the bark that soon close -up are boys and girls who were never married at all." - -"You wonderful person! I've lived here all my life and never heard a -word of this. Fancy folk-lore in Hertfordshire! I must tell the -Archdeacon: he will be delighted----" - -"And Harcourt, I don't want this to stop." - -"My dear girl, the villagers will find other trees! There's nothing -particular in Other Kingdom." - -"But----" - -"Other Kingdom shall be for us. You and I alone. Our initials only." His -voice sank to a whisper. - -"I don't want it fenced in." Her face was turned to me; I saw that it -was puzzled and frightened. "I hate fences. And bridges. And all paths. -It is my wood. Please: you gave me the wood." - -"Why, yes!" he replied, soothing her. But I could see that he was angry. -"Of course. But aha! Evelyn, the meadow's mine; I have a right to fence -there--between my domain and yours!" - -"Oh, fence me out if you like! Fence me out as much as you like! But -never in. Oh Harcourt, never in. I must be on the outside, I must be -where any one can reach me. Year by year--while the initials deepen--the -only thing worth feeling--and at last they close up--but one has felt -them." - -"Our initials!" he murmured, seizing upon the one word which he had -understood and which was useful to him. "Let us carve our initials now. -You and I--a heart if you like it, and an arrow and everything. -H.W.--E.B." - -"H.W.," she repeated, "and E.B." - -He took out his penknife and drew her away in search of an unsullied -tree. "E.B., Eternal Blessing. Mine! Mine! My haven from the world! My -temple of purity. Oh the spiritual exaltation--you cannot understand it, -but you will! Oh, the seclusion of Paradise. Year after year alone -together, all in all to each other--year after year, soul to soul, E.B., -Everlasting Bliss!" - -He stretched out his hand to cut the initials. As he did so she seemed -to awake from a dream. "Harcourt!" she cried, "Harcourt! What's that? -What's that red stuff on your finger and thumb?" - - - -III - - -Oh, my goodness! Oh, all ye goddesses and gods! Here's a mess. Mr. -Worters has been reading Ford's inflammatory note-book. - -"This my own fault," said Ford. "I should have labelled it 'Practically -Private.' How could he know he was not meant to look inside?" - -I spoke out severely, as an _employe_ should. "My dear boy, none of -that. The label came unstuck. That was why Mr. Worters opened the book. -He never suspected it was private. See--the label's off." - -"Scratched off," Ford retorted grimly, and glanced at his ankle. - -I affect not to understand. "The point is this. Mr. Worters is thinking -the matter over for four-and-twenty hours. If you take my advice you -will apologize before that time elapses." - -"And if I don't?" - -"You know your own affairs of course. But don't forget that you are -young and practically ignorant of life, and that you have scarcely any -money of your own. As far as I can see, your career practically depends -on the favour of Mr. Worters. You have laughed at him. He does not like -being laughed at. It seems to me that your course is obvious." - -"Apology?" - -"Complete." - -"And if I don't?" - -"Departure." - -He sat down on the stone steps and rested his head on his knees. On the -lawn below us was Miss Beaumont, draggling about with some croquet -balls. Her lover was out in the meadow, superintending the course of the -asphalt path. For the path is to be made, and so is the bridge, and the -fence is to be built round Other Kingdom after all. In time Miss -Beaumont saw how unreasonable were her objections. Of her own accord, -one evening in the drawing-room, she gave her Harcourt permission to do -what he liked. "That wood looks nearer," said Ford. - -"The inside fences have gone: that brings it nearer. But my dear -boy--you must settle what you're going to do." - -"How much has he read?" - -"Naturally he only opened the book. From what you showed me of it, one -glance would be enough." - -"Did he open at the poems?" - -"Poems?" - -"Did he speak of the poems?" - -"No. Were they about him?" - -"They were not about him." - -"Then it wouldn't matter if he saw them." - -"It is sometimes a compliment to be mentioned," said Ford, looking up at -me. The remark had a stinging fragrance about it--such a fragrance as -clings to the mouth after admirable wine. It did not taste like the -remark of a boy. I was sorry that my pupil was likely to wreck his -career; and I told him again that he had better apologize. - -"I won't speak of Mr. Worters' claim for an apology. That's an aspect -on which I prefer not to touch. The point is, if you don't apologize, -you go--where?" - -"To an aunt at Peckham." - -I pointed to the pleasant, comfortable land-scape, full of cows and -carriage-horses out at grass, and civil retainers. In the midst of it -stood Mr. Worters, radiating energy and wealth, like a terrestrial sun. -"My dear Ford--don't be heroic! Apologize." - -Unfortunately I raised my voice a little, and Miss Beaumont heard me, -down on the lawn. - -"Apologize?" she cried. "What about?" And as she was not interested in -the game, she came up the steps towards us, trailing her croquet mallet -behind her. Her walk was rather listless. She was toning down at last. - -"Come indoors!" I whispered. "We must get out of this." - -"Not a bit of it!" said Ford. - -"What is it?" she asked, standing beside him on the step. - -He swallowed something as he looked up at her. Suddenly I understood. I -knew the nature and the subject of his poems. I was not so sure now that -he had better apologize. The sooner he was kicked out of the place the -better. - -In spite of my remonstrances, he told her about the book, and her first -remark was: "Oh, do let me see it!" She had no "proper feeling" of any -kind. Then she said: "But why do you both look so sad?" - -"We are awaiting Mr. Worters' decision," said I. - -"Mr. Inskip! What nonsense! Do you suppose Harcourt'll be angry?" - -"Of course he is angry, and rightly so." - -"But why?" - -"Ford has laughed at him." - -"But what's that!" And for the first time there was anger in her voice. -"Do you mean to say he'll punish some one who laughs at him? Why, for -what else--for whatever reason are we all here? Not to laugh at each -other! I laugh at people all day. At Mr. Ford. At you. And so does -Harcourt. Oh, you've misjudged him! He won't--he couldn't be angry with -people who laughed." - -"Mine is not nice laughter," said Ford. "He could not well forgive me." - -"You're a silly boy." She sneered at him. "You don't know Harcourt. So -generous in every way. Why, he'd be as furious as I should be if you -apologized. Mr. Inskip, isn't that so?" - -"He has every right to an apology, I think." - -"Right? What's a right? You use too many new words. -'Rights'--'apologies'--'society'--'position'--I don't follow it. What -are we all here for, anyhow?" - -Her discourse was full of trembling lights and shadows--frivolous one -moment, the next moment asking why Humanity is here. I did not take the -Moral Science Tripos, so I could not tell her. - -"One thing I know--and that is that Harcourt isn't as stupid as you two. -He soars above conventions. He doesn't care about 'rights' and -'apologies.' He knows that all laughter is nice, and that the other nice -things are money and the soul and so on." - -The soul and so on! I wonder that Harcourt out in the meadows did not -have an apoplectic fit. - -"Why, what a poor business your life would be," she continued, "if you -all kept taking offence and apologizing! Forty million people in England -and all of them touchy! How one would laugh if it was true! Just -imagine!" And she did laugh. "Look at Harcourt though. He knows better. -He isn't petty like that. Mr. Ford! He isn't petty like that. Why, what -'s wrong with your eyes?" - -He rested his head on his knees again, and we could see his eyes no -longer. In dispassionate tones she informed me that she thought he was -crying. Then she tapped him on the hair with her mallet and said: -"Cry-baby! Cry-cry-baby! Crying about nothing!" and ran laughing down -the steps. "All right!" she shouted from the lawn. "Tell the cry-baby to -stop. I'm going to speak to Harcourt!" - -We watched her go in silence. Ford had scarcely been crying. His eyes -had only become large and angry. He used such swear-words as he knew, -and then got up abruptly, and went into the house. I think he could not -bear to see her disillusioned. I had no such tenderness, and it was with -considerable interest that I watched Miss Beaumont approach her lord. - -She walked confidently across the meadow, bowing to the workmen as they -raised their hats. Her languor had passed, and with it her suggestion of -"tone." She was the same crude, unsophisticated person that Harcourt had -picked out of Ireland--beautiful and ludicrous in the extreme, and:--if -you go in for pathos--extremely pathetic. - -I saw them meet, and soon she was hanging on his arm. The motion of his -hand explained to her the construction of bridges. Twice she interrupted -him: he had to explain everything again. Then she got in her word, and -what followed was a good deal better than a play. Their two little -figures parted and met and parted again, she gesticulating, he most -pompous and calm. She pleaded, she argued and--if satire can carry half -a mile--she tried to be satirical. To enforce one of her childish points -she made two steps back. Splash! She was floundering in the little -stream. - -That was the _denouement_ of the comedy. Harcourt rescued her, while the -workmen crowded round in an agitated chorus. She was wet quite as far as -her knees, and muddy over her ankles. In this state she was conduced -towards me, and in time I began to hear words; "Influenza--a slight -immersion--clothes are of no consequence beside health--pray, dearest, -don't worry--yes, it must have been a shock--bed! bed! I insist on bed! -Promise? Good girl. Up the steps to bed then." - -They parted on the lawn, and she came obediently up the steps. Her face -was full of terror and bewilderment. - -"So you've had a wetting, Miss Beaumont!" - -"Wetting? Oh, yes. But, Mr. Inskip--I don't understand: I've failed." - -I expressed surprise. - -"Mr. Ford is to go--at once. I've failed." - -"I'm sorry." - -"I've failed with Harcourt. He's offended. He won't laugh. He won't let -me do what I want. Latin and Greek began it: I wanted to know about gods -and heroes and he wouldn't let me: then I wanted no fence round Other -Kingdom and no bridge and no path--and look! Now I ask that Mr. Ford, -who has done nothing, sha'n't be punished for it--and he is to go away -for ever." - -"Impertinence is not 'nothing,' Miss Beaumont." For I must keep in with -Harcourt. - -"Impertinence is nothing!" she cried. "It doesn't exist. It's a sham, -like 'claims' and 'position' and 'rights.' It's part of the great -dream." - -"What 'great dream'?" I asked, trying not to smile. - -"Tell Mr. Ford--here comes Harcourt; I must go to bed. Give my love to -Mr. Ford, and tell him 'to guess.' I shall never see him again, and I -won't stand it. Tell him to guess. I am sorry I called him a cry-baby. -He was not crying like a baby. He was crying like a grown-up person, and -now I have grown up too." - -I judged it right to repeat this conversation to my employer. - - - -IV - - -The bridge is built, the fence finished, and Other Kingdom lies tethered -by a ribbon of asphalt to our front door. The seventy-eight trees -therein certainly seem nearer, and during the windy nights that followed -Ford's departure we could hear their branches sighing, and would find in -the morning that beech-leaves had been blown right up against the house. -Miss Beaumont made no attempt to go out, much to the relief of the -ladies, for Harcourt had given the word that she was not to go out -unattended, and the boisterous weather deranged their petticoats. She -remained indoors, neither reading nor laughing, and dressing no longer -in green, but in brown. - -Not noticing her presence, Mr. Worters looked in one day and said with a -sigh of relief: "That's all right. The circle's completed." - -"Is it indeed!" she replied. - -"You there, you quiet little mouse? I only meant that our lords, the -British workmen, have at last condescended to complete their labours, -and have rounded us off from the world. I--in the end I was a naughty, -domineering tyrant, and disobeyed you. I didn't have the gate out at the -further side of the copse. Will you forgive me?" - -"Anything, Harcourt, that pleases you, is certain to please me." - -The ladies smiled at each other, and Mr. Worters said: "That's right, -and as soon as the wind goes down we'll all progress together to your -wood; and take possession of it formally, for it didn't really count -that last time." - -"No, it didn't really count that last time," Miss Beaumont echoed. - -"Evelyn says this wind never will go down," remarked Mrs. Worters. "I -don't know how she knows." - -"It will never go down, as long as I am in the house." - -"Really?" he said gaily. "Then come out now, and send it down with me." - -They took a few turns up and down the terrace. The wind lulled for a -moment, but blew fiercer than ever during lunch. As we ate, it roared -and whistled down the chimney at us, and the trees of Other Kingdom -frothed like the sea. Leaves and twigs flew from them, and a bough, a -good-sized bough, was blown on to the smooth asphalt path, and actually -switchbacked over the bridge, up the meadow, and across our very lawn. -(I venture to say "our," as I am now staying on as Harcourt's -secretary.) Only the stone steps prevented it from reaching the terrace -and perhaps breaking the dining-room window. Miss Beaumont sprang up -and, napkin in hand, ran out and touched it. - -"Oh, Evelyn----" the ladies cried. - -"Let her go," said Mr. Worters tolerantly. "It certainly is a remarkable -incident, remarkable. We must remember to tell the Archdeacon about it." - -"Harcourt," she cried, with the first hint of returning colour in her -cheeks, "mightn't we go up to the copse after lunch, you and I?" - -Mr. Worters considered. - -"Of course, not if you don't think best." - -"Inskip, what's your opinion?" - -I saw what his own was, and cried, "Oh, let's go!" though I detest the -wind as much as any one. - -"Very well. Mother, Anna, Ruth, Mrs. Osgood--we'll all go." - -And go we did, a lugubrious procession; but the gods were good to us for -once, for as soon as we were started, the tempest dropped, and there -ensued an extraordinary calm. After all, Miss Beaumont was something of -a weather prophet. Her spirits improved every minute. She tripped in -front of us along the asphalt path, and ever and anon turned round to -say to her lover some gracious or alluring thing. I admired her for it. -I admire people who know on which side their bread's buttered. - -"Evelyn, come here!" - -"Come here yourself." - -"Give me a kiss." - -"Come and take it then." - -He ran after her, and she ran away, while all our party laughed -melodiously. - -"Oh, I am so happy!" she cried. "I think I've everything I want in all -the world. Oh dear, those last few days indoors! But oh, I am so happy -now!" She had changed her brown dress for the old flowing green one, and -she began to do her skirt dance in the open meadow, lit by sudden gleams -of the sunshine. It was really a beautiful sight, and Mr. Worters did -not correct her, glad perhaps that she should recover her spirits, even -if she lost her tone. Her feet scarcely moved, but her body so swayed -and her dress spread so gloriously around her, that we were transported -with joy. She danced to the song of a bird that sang passionately in -Other Kingdom, and the river held back its waves to watch her (one might -have supposed), and the winds lay spell-bound in their cavern, and the -great clouds spell-bound in the sky. She danced away from our society -and our life, back, back through the centuries till houses and fences -fell and the earth lay wild to the sun. Her garment was as foliage upon -her, the strength of her limbs as boughs, her throat the smooth upper -branch that salutes the morning or glistens to the rain. Leaves move, -leaves hide it as hers was hidden by the motion of her hair. Leaves move -again and it is ours, as her throat was ours again when, parting the -tangle, she faced us crying, "Oh!" crying, "Oh Harcourt! I never was so -happy. I have all that there is in the world." - -But he, entrammelled in love's ecstasy, forgetting certain Madonnas of -Raphael, forgetting, I fancy, his soul, sprang to inarm her with, -"Evelyn! Eternal Bliss! Mine to eternity! Mine!" and she sprang away. -Music was added and she sang, "Oh Ford! oh Ford, among all these -Worters, I am coming through you to my Kingdom. Oh Ford, my lover while -I was a woman, I will never forget you, never, as long as I have -branches to shade you from the sun," and, singing, crossed the stream. - -Why he followed her so passionately, I do not know. It was play, she was -in his own domain which a fence surrounds, and she could not possibly -escape him. But he dashed round by the bridge as if all their love was -at stake, and pursued her with fierceness up the hill. She ran well, but -the end was a foregone conclusion, and we only speculated whether he -would catch her outside or inside the copse. He gained on her inch by -inch; now they were in the shadow of the trees; he had practically -grasped her, he had missed; she had disappeared into the trees -themselves, he following. - -"Harcourt is in high spirits," said Mrs. Osgood, Anna, and Ruth. - -"Evelyn!" we heard him shouting within. - -We proceeded up the asphalt path. - -"Evelyn! Evelyn!" - -"He's not caught her yet, evidently." - -"Where are you, Evelyn?" - -"Miss Beaumont must have hidden herself rather cleverly." - -"Look here," cried Harcourt, emerging, "have you seen Evelyn?" - -"Oh, no, she's certainly inside." - -"So I thought." - -"Evelyn must be dodging round one of the trunks. You go this way, I -that. We'll soon find her." - -We searched, gaily at first, and always with a feeling that Miss -Beaumont was close by, that the delicate limbs were just behind this -bole, the hair and the drapery quivering among those leaves. She was -beside us, above us; here was her footstep on the purple-brown -earth--her bosom, her neck--she was everywhere and nowhere. Gaiety -turned to irritation, irritation to anger and fear. Miss Beaumont was -apparently lost. "Evelyn! Evelyn!" we continued to cry. "Oh, really, it -is beyond a joke." - -Then the wind arose, the more violent for its lull, and we were driven -into the house by a terrific storm. We said, "At all events she will -come back now." But she did not come, and the rain hissed and rose up -from the dry meadows like incense smoke, and smote the quivering leaves -to applause. Then it lightened. Ladies screamed, and we saw Other -Kingdom as one who claps the handsy and heard it as one who roars with -laughter in the thunder. Not even the Archdeacon can remember such a -storm. All Harcourt's seedlings were ruined, and the tiles flew off his -gables right and left. He came to me presently with a white, drawn face, -saying: "Inskip, can I trust you?" - -"You can, indeed." - -"I have long suspected it; she has eloped with Ford." - -"But how----" I gasped. - -"The carriage is ready--we'll talk as we drive." Then, against the rain -he shouted: "No gate in the fence, I know, but what about a ladder? -While I blunder, she's over the fence, and he----" - -"But you were so close. There was not the time." - -"There is time for anything," he said venomously, "where a treacherous -woman is concerned. I found her no better than a savage, I trained her, -I educated her. But I'll break them both. I can do that; I'll break them -soul and body." - -No one can break Ford now. The task is impossible. But I trembled for -Miss Beaumont. - -We missed the train. Young couples had gone by it, several young -couples, and we heard of more young couples in London, as if all the -world were mocking Harcourt's solitude. In desperation we sought the -squalid suburb that is now Ford's home. We swept past the dirty maid and -the terrified aunt, swept upstairs, to catch him if we could red-handed. -He was seated at the table, reading the _Oedipus Coloneus_ of Sophocles. - -"That won't take in me!" shouted Harcourt. "You've got Miss Beaumont -with you, and I know it." - -"No such luck," said Ford. - -He stammered with rage. "Inskip--you hear that? 'No such luck'! Quote -the evidence against him. I can't speak." - -So I quoted her song. "'Oh Ford! Oh Ford, among all these Worters, I am -coming through you to my Kingdom! Oh Ford, my lover while I was a woman, -I will never forget you, never, as long as I have branches to shade you -from the sun.' Soon after that, we lost her." - -"And--and on another occasion she sent a message of similar effect. -Inskip, bear witness. He was to 'guess' something." - -"I have guessed it," said Ford. - -"So you practically----" - -"Oh, no, Mr. Worters, you mistake me. I have not practically guessed. I -have guessed. I could tell you if I chose, but it would be no good, for -she has not practically escaped you. She has escaped you absolutely, for -ever and ever, as long as there are branches to shade men from the sun." - - - - -THE CURATE'S FRIEND - - -It is uncertain how the Faun came to be in Wiltshire. Perhaps he came -over with the Roman legionaries to live with his friends in camp, -talking to them of Lucretius, or Garganus or of the slopes of Etna; they -in the joy of their recall forgot to take him on board, and he wept in -exile; but at last he found that our hills also understood his sorrows, -and rejoiced when he was happy. Or, perhaps he came to be there because -he had been there always. There is nothing particularly classical about -a faun: it is only that the Greeks and Italians have ever had the -sharpest eyes. You will find him in the "Tempest" and the "Benedicite;" -and any country which has beech clumps and sloping grass and very clear -streams may reasonably produce him. - -How I came to see him is a more difficult question. For to see him there -is required a certain quality, for which truthfulness is too cold a name -and animal spirits too coarse a one, and he alone knows how this quality -came to be in me. No man has the right to call himself a fool, but I may -say that I then presented the perfect semblance of one. I was facetious -without humour and serious without conviction. Every Sunday I would -speak to my rural parishioners about the other world in the tone of one -who has been behind the scenes, or I would explain to them the errors of -the Pelagians, or I would warn them against hurrying from one -dissipation to another. Every Tuesday I gave what I called "straight -talks to my lads"--talks which led straight past anything awkward. And -every Thursday I addressed the Mothers' Union on the duties of wives or -widows, and gave them practical hints on the management of a family of -ten. - -I took myself in, and for a time I certainly took in Emily. I have never -known a girl attend so carefully to my sermons, or laugh so heartily at -my jokes. It is no wonder that I became engaged. She has made an -excellent wife, freely correcting her husband's absurdities, but -allowing no one else to breathe a word against them; able to talk about -the sub-conscious self in the drawing-room, and yet have an ear for the -children crying in the nursery, or the plates breaking in the scullery. -An excellent wife--better than I ever imagined. But she has not married -me. - -Had we stopped indoors that afternoon nothing thing would have happened. -It was all owing to Emily's mother, who insisted on our tea-ing out. -Opposite the village, across the stream, was a small chalk down, crowned -by a beech copse, and a few Roman earth-works. (I lectured very vividly -on those earthworks: they have since proved to be Saxon). Hither did I -drag up a tea-basket and a heavy rug for Emily's mother, while Emily and -a little friend went on in front. The little friend--who has played all -through a much less important part than he supposes--was a pleasant -youth, full of intelligence and poetry, especially of what he called the -poetry of earth. He longed to wrest earth's secret from her, and I have -seen him press his face passionately into the grass, even when he has -believed himself to be alone. Emily was at that time full of vague -aspirations, and, though I should have preferred them all to centre in -me, yet it seemed unreasonable to deny her such other opportunities for -self-culture as the neighbourhood provided. - -It was then my habit, on reaching the top of any eminence, to exclaim -facetiously "And who will stand on either hand and keep the bridge with -me?" at the same moment violently agitating my arms or casting my -wide-awake eyes at an imaginary foe. Emily and the friend received my -sally as usual, nor could I detect any insincerity in their mirth. Yet I -was convinced that some one was present who did not think I had been -funny, and any public speaker will understand my growing uneasiness. - -I was somewhat cheered by Emily's mother, who puffed up exclaiming, -"Kind Harry, to carry the things! What should we do without you, even -now! Oh, what a view! Can you see the dear Cathedral? No. Too hazy. Now -_I'm_ going to sit _right_ on the rug." She smiled mysteriously. "The -downs in September, you know." - -We gave some perfunctory admiration to the landscape, which is indeed -only beautiful to those who admire land, and to them perhaps the most -beautiful in England. For here is the body of the great chalk spider who -straddles over our island--whose legs are the south downs and the north -downs and the Chilterns, and the tips of whose toes poke out at Cromer -and Dover. He is a clean creature, who grows as few trees as he can, and -those few in tidy clumps, and he loves to be tickled by quickly flowing -streams. He is pimpled all over with earth-works, for from the beginning -of time men have fought for the privilege of standing on him, and the -oldest of our temples is built upon his back. - -But in those days I liked my country snug and pretty, full of -gentlemen's residences and shady bowers and people who touch their hats. -The great sombre expanses on which one may walk for miles and hardly -shift a landmark or meet a genteel person were still intolerable to me. -I turned away as soon as propriety allowed and said "And may I now -prepare the cup that cheers?" - -Emily's mother replied: "Kind man, to help me. I always do say that tea -out is worth the extra effort. I wish we led simpler lives." We agreed -with her. I spread out the food. "Won't the kettle stand? Oh, but _make_ -it stand." I did so. There was a little cry, faint but distinct, as of -something in pain. - -"How silent it all is up here!" said Emily. - -I dropped a lighted match on the grass, and again I heard the little -cry. - -"What is that?" I asked. - -"I only said it was so silent," said Emily. - -"Silent, indeed," echoed the little friend. - -Silent! the place was full of noises. If the match had fallen in a -drawing-room it could not have been worse, and the loudest noise came -from beside Emily herself. I had exactly the sensation of going to a -great party, of waiting to be announced in the echoing hall, where I -could hear the voices of the guests, but could not yet see their faces. -It is a nervous moment for a self-conscious man, especially if all the -voices should be strange to him, and he has never met his host. - -"My dear Harry!" said the elder lady, "never mind about that match. -That'll smoulder away and harm no one. Tea-ee-ee! I always say--and you -will find Emily the same--that as the magic hour of five approaches, no -matter how good a lunch, one begins to feel a sort of----" - -Now the Faun is of the kind who capers upon the Neo-Attic reliefs, and -if you do not notice his ears or see his tail, you take him for a man -and are horrified. - -"Bathing!" I cried wildly. "Such a thing for our village lads, but I -quite agree--more supervision--I blame myself. Go away, bad boy, go -away!" - -"What will he think of next!" said Emily, while the creature beside her -stood up and beckoned to me. I advanced struggling and gesticulating -with tiny steps and horrified cries, exorcising the apparition with my -hat. Not otherwise had I advanced the day before, when Emily's nieces -showed me their guinea pigs. And by no less hearty laughter was I -greeted now. Until the strange fingers closed upon me, I still thought -that here was one of my parishioners and did not cease to exclaim, "Let -me go, naughty boy, let go!" And Emily's mother, believing herself to -have detected the joke, replied, "Well I must confess they are naughty -boys and reach one even on the rug: the downs in September, as I said -before." - -Here I caught sight of the tail, uttered a wild shriek and fled into the -beech copse behind. - -"Harry would have been a born actor," said Emily's mother as I left -them. - -I realized that a great crisis in my life was approaching, and that if I -failed in it I might permanently lose my self-esteem. Already in the -wood I was troubled by a multitude of voices--the voices of the hill -beneath me, of the trees over my head, of the very insects in the bark -of the tree. I could even hear the stream licking little pieces out of -the meadows, and the meadows dreamily protesting. Above the din--which -is no louder than the flight of a bee--rose the Faun's voice saying, -"Dear priest, be placid, be placid: why are you frightened?" - -"I am not frightened," said I--and indeed I was not. "But I am grieved: -you have disgraced me in the presence of ladies." - -"No one else has seen me," he said, smiling idly. "The women have tight -boots and the man has long hair. Those kinds never see. For years I have -only spoken to children, and they lose sight of me as soon as they grow -up. But you will not be able to lose sight of me, and until you die you -will be my friend. Now I begin to make you happy: lie upon your back or -run races, or climb trees, or shall I get you blackberries, or -harebells, or wives----" - -In a terrible voice I said to him, "Get thee behind me!" He got behind -me. "Once for all," I continued, "let me tell you that it is vain to -tempt one whose happiness consists in giving happiness to others." - -"I cannot understand you," he said ruefully. "What is to tempt?" - -"Poor woodland creature!" said I, turning round. "How could you -understand? It was idle of me to chide you. It is not in your little -nature to comprehend a life of self-denial. Ah! if only I could reach -you!" - -"You have reached him," said the hill. - -"If only I could touch you!" - -"You have touched him," said the hill. - -"But I will never leave you," burst out the Faun. "I will sweep out your -shrine for you, I will accompany you to the meetings of matrons. I will -enrich you at the bazaars." - -I shook my head. "For these things I care not at all. And indeed I was -minded to reject your offer of service altogether. There I was wrong. -You shall help me--you shall help me to make others happy." - -"Dear priest, what a curious life! People whom I have never -seen--people who cannot see me--why should I make them happy?" - -"My poor lad--perhaps in time you will learn why. Now begone: commence. -On this very hill sits a young lady for whom I have a high regard. -Commence with her. Aha! your face falls. I thought as much. You _cannot_ -do anything. Here is the conclusion of the whole matter!" - -"I can make her happy," he replied, "if you order me; and when I have -done so, perhaps you will trust me more." - -Emily's mother had started home, but Emily and the little friend still -sat beside the tea-things--she in her white pique dress and biscuit -straw, he in his rough but well-cut summer suit. The great pagan figure -of the Faun towered insolently above them. - -The friend was saying, "And have you never felt the appalling loneliness -of a crowd?" - -"All that," replied Emily, "have I felt, and very much more--" - -Then the Faun laid his hands upon them. They, who had only intended a -little cultured flirtation, resisted him as long as they could, but were -gradually urged into each other's arms, and embraced with passion. - -"Miscreant!" I shouted, bursting from the wood. "You have betrayed me." - -"I know it: I care not," cried the little friend. "Stand aside. You are -in the presence of that which you do not understand. In the great -solitude we have found ourselves at last." - -"Remove your accursed hands!" I shrieked to the Faun. - -He obeyed and the little friend continued more calmly: "It is idle to -chide. What should you know, poor clerical creature, of the mystery of -love of the eternal man and the eternal woman, of the self-effectuation -of a soul?" - -"That is true," said Emily angrily. "Harry, you would never have made me -happy. I shall treat you as a friend, but how could I give myself to a -man who makes such silly jokes? When you played the buffoon at tea, your -hour was sealed. I must be treated seriously: I must see infinities -broadening around me as I rise. You may not approve of it, but so I am. -In the great solitude I have found myself at last." - -"Wretched girl!" I cried. "Great solitude! O pair of helpless -puppets----" - -The little friend began to lead Emily away, but I heard her whisper to -him: "Dear, we can't possibly leave the basket for Harry after this: and -mother's rug; do you mind having that in the other hand?" - -So they departed and I flung myself upon the ground with every -appearance of despair. - -"Does he cry?" said the Faun. - -"He does not cry," answered the hill. "His eyes are as dry as pebbles." - -My tormentor made me look at him. "I see happiness at the bottom of your -heart," said he. - -"I trust I have my secret springs," I answered stiffly. And then I -prepared a scathing denunciation, but of all the words I might have -said, I only said one and it began with "D." - -He gave a joyful cry, "Oh, now you really belong to us. To the end of -your life you will swear when you are cross and laugh when you are -happy. Now laugh!" - -There was a great silence. All nature stood waiting, while a curate -tried to conceal his thoughts not only from nature but from himself. I -thought of my injured pride, of my baffled unselfishness, of Emily, whom -I was losing through no fault of her own, of the little friend, who just -then slipped beneath the heavy tea basket, and that decided me, and I -laughed. - -That evening, for the first time, I heard the chalk downs singing to -each other across the valleys, as they often do when the air is quiet -and they have had a comfortable day. From my study window I could see -the sunlit figure of the Faun, sitting before the beech copse as a man -sits before his house. And as night came on I knew for certain that not -only was he asleep, but that the hills and woods were asleep also. The -stream, of course, never slept, any more than it ever freezes. Indeed, -the hour of darkness is really the hour of water, which has been -somewhat stifled all day by the great pulsings of the land. That is why -you can feel it and hear it from a greater distance in the night, and -why a bath after sundown is most wonderful. - -The joy of that first evening is still clear in my memory, in spite of -all the happy years that have followed. I remember it when I ascend my -pulpit--I have a living now--and look down upon the best people sitting -beneath me pew after pew, generous and contented, upon the worse people, -crowded in the aisles, upon the whiskered tenors of the choir, and the -high-browed curates and the church-wardens fingering their bags, and the -supercilious vergers who turn late comers from the door. I remember it -also when I sit in my comfortable bachelor reftory, amidst the carpet -slippers that good young ladies have worked for me, and the oak brackets -that have been carved for me by good young men; amidst my phalanx of -presentation teapots and my illuminated testimonials and all the other -offerings of people who believe that I have given them a helping hand, -and who really have helped me out of the mire themselves. And though I -try to communicate that joy to others--as I try to communicate anything -else that seems good--and though I sometimes succeed, yet I can tell no -one exactly how it came to me. For if I breathed one word of that, my -present life, so agreeable and profitable, would come to an end, my -congregation would depart, and so should I, and instead of being an -asset to my parish, I might find myself an expense to the nation. -Therefore in the place of the lyrical and rhetorical treatment, so -suitable to the subject, so congenial to my profession, I have been -forced to use the unworthy medium of a narrative, and to delude you by -declaring that this is a short story, suitable for reading in the train. - - - - -THE ROAD FROM COLONUS - - -I - - -For no very intelligible reason, Mr. Lucas had hurried ahead of his -party. He was perhaps reaching the age at which independence becomes -valuable, because it is so soon to be lost. Tired of attention and -consideration, he liked breaking away from the younger members, to ride -by himself, and to dismount unassisted. Perhaps he also relished that -more subtle pleasure of being kept waiting for lunch, and of telling the -others on their arrival that it was of no consequence. - -So, with childish impatience, he battered the animal's sides with his -heels, and made the muleteer bang it with a thick stick and prick it -with a sharp one, and jolted down the hill sides through clumps of -flowering shrubs and stretches of anemones and asphodel, till he heard -the sound of running water, and came in sight of the group of plane -trees where they were to have their meal. - -Even in England those trees would have been remarkable, so huge were -they, so interlaced, so magnificently clothed in quivering green. And -here in Greece they were unique, the one cool spot in that hard -brilliant landscape, already scorched by the heat of an April sun. In -their midst was hidden a tiny Khan or country inn, a frail mud building -with a broad wooden balcony in which sat an old woman spinning, while a -small brown pig, eating orange peel, stood beside her. On the wet earth -below squatted two children, playing some primaeval game with their -fingers; and their mother, none too clean either, was messing with some -rice inside. As Mrs. Forman would have said, it was all very Greek, and -the fastidious Mr. Lucas felt thankful that they were bringing their own -food with them, and should eat it in the open air. - -Still, he was glad to be there--the muleteer had helped him off--and -glad that Mrs. Forman was not there to forestall his opinions--glad even -that he should not see Ethel for quite half an hour. Ethel was his -youngest daughter, still unmarried. She was unselfish and affectionate, -and it was generally understood that she was to devote her life to her -father, and be the comfort of his old age. Mrs. Forman always referred -to her as Antigone, and Mr. Lucas tried to settle down to the role of -Oedipus, which seemed the only one that public opinion allowed him. - -He had this in common with Oedipus, that he was growing old. Even to -himself it had become obvious. He had lost interest in other people's -affairs, and seldom attended when they spoke to him. He was fond of -talking himself but often forgot what he was going to say, and even when -he succeeded, it seldom seemed worth the effort. His phrases and -gestures had become stiff and set, his anecdotes, once so successful, -fell flat, his silence was as meaningless as his speech. Yet he had led -a healthy, active life, had worked steadily, made money, educated his -children. There was nothing and no one to blame: he was simply growing -old. - -At the present moment, here he was in Greece, and one of the dreams of -his life was realized. Forty years ago he had caught the fever of -Hellenism, and all his life he had felt that could he but visit that -land, he would not have lived in vain. But Athens had been dusty, Delphi -wet, Thermopylae flat, and he had listened with amazement and cynicism -to the rapturous exclamations of his companions. Greece was like -England: it was a man who was growing old, and it made no difference -whether that man looked at the Thames or the Eurotas. It was his last -hope of contradicting that logic of experience, and it was failing. - -Yet Greece had done something for him, though he did not know it. It had -made him discontented, and there are stirrings of life in discontent. He -knew that he was not the victim of continual ill-luck. Something great -was wrong, and he was pitted against no mediocre or accidental enemy. -For the last month a strange desire had possessed him to die fighting. - -"Greece is the land for young people," he said to himself as he stood -under the plane trees, "but I will enter into it, I will possess it. -Leaves shall be green again, water shall be sweet, the sky shall be -blue. They were so forty years ago, and I will win them back. I do mind -being old, and I will pretend no longer." - -He took two steps forward, and immediately cold waters were gurgling -over his ankle. - -"Where does the water come from?" he asked himself. "I do not even know -that." He remembered that all the hill sides were dry; yet here the road -was suddenly covered with flowing streams. - -He stopped still in amazement, saying: "Water out of a tree--out of a -hollow tree? I never saw nor thought of that before." - -For the enormous plane that leant towards the Khan was hollow--it had -been burnt out for charcoal--and from its living trunk there gushed an -impetuous spring, coating the bark! with fern and moss, and flowing over -the mule track to create fertile meadows beyond. The simple country folk -had paid to beauty and mystery such tribute as they could, for in the -rind of the tree a shrine was cut, holding a lamp and a little picture -of the Virgin, inheritor of the Naiad's and Dryad's joint abode. - -"I never saw anything so marvellous before," said Mr. Lucas. "I could -even step inside the trunk and see where the water comes from." - -For a moment he hesitated to violate the shrine. Then he remembered with -a smile his own thought--"the place shall be mine; I will enter it and -possess it"--and leapt almost aggressively on to a stone within. - -The water pressed up steadily and noiselessly from the hollow roots and -hidden crevices of the plane, forming a wonderful amber pool ere it -spilt over the lip of bark on to the earth outside. Mr. Lucas tasted it -and it was sweet, and when he looked up the black funnel of the trunk he -saw sky which was blue, and some leaves which were green; and he -remembered, without smiling, another of his thoughts. - -Others had been before him--indeed he had a curious sense of -companionship. Little votive offerings to the presiding Power were -fastened on to the bark--tiny arms and legs and eyes in tin, grotesque -models of the brain or the heart--all tokens of some recovery of -strength or wisdom or love. There was no such thing as the solitude of -nature for the sorrows and joys of humanity had pressed even into the -bosom of a tree. He spread out his arms and steadied himself against the -soft charred wood, and then slowly leant back, till his body was resting -on the trunk behind. His eyes closed, and he had the strange feeling of -one who is moving, yet at peace--the feeling of the swimmer, who, after -long struggling with chopping seas, finds that after all the tide will -sweep him to his goal. - -So he lay motionless, conscious only of the stream below his feet, and -that all things were a stream, in which he was moving. - -He was aroused at last by a shock--the shock of an arrival perhaps, for -when he opened his eyes, something unimagined, indefinable, had passed -over all things, and made them intelligible and good. - -There was meaning in the stoop of the old woman over her work, and in -the quick motions of the little pig, and in her diminishing globe of -wool. A young man came singing over the streams on a mule, and there was -beauty in his pose and sincerity in his greeting. The sun made no -accidental patterns upon the spreading roots of the trees, and there was -intention in the nodding clumps of asphodel, and in the music of the -water. To Mr. Lucas, who, in a brief space of time, had discovered not -only Greece, but England and all the world and life, there seemed -nothing ludicrous in the desire to hang within the tree another votive -offering--a little model of an entire man. - -"Why, here's papa, playing at being Merlin." - -All unnoticed they had arrived--Ethel, Mrs. Forman, Mr. Graham, and the -English-speaking dragoman. Mr. Lucas peered out at them suspiciously. -They had suddenly become unfamiliar, and all that they did seemed -strained and coarse. - -"Allow me to give you a hand," said Mr. Graham, a young man who was -always polite to his elders. - -Mr. Lucas felt annoyed. "Thank you, I can manage perfectly well by -myself," he replied. His foot slipped as he stepped out of the tree, and -went into the spring. - -"Oh papa, my papa!" said Ethel, "what are you doing? Thank goodness I -have got a change for you on the mule." - -She tended him carefully, giving him clean socks and dry boots, and then -sat him down on the rug beside the lunch basket, while she went with the -others to explore the grove. - -They came back in ecstasies, in which Mr. Lucas tried to join. But he -found them intolerable. Their enthusiasm was superficial, commonplace, -and spasmodic. They had no perception of the coherent beauty was -flowering around them. He tried at least to explain his feelings, and -what he said was: - -"I am altogether pleased with the appearance of this place. It impresses -me very favourably. The trees are fine, remarkably fine for Greece, and -there is something very poetic in the spring of clear running water. The -people too seem kindly and civil. It is decidedly an attractive place." - -Mrs. Forman upbraided him for his tepid praise. - -"Oh, it is a place in a thousand!" she cried "I could live and die here! -I really would stop if I had not to be back at Athens! It reminds me of -the Colonus of Sophocles." - -"Well, I must stop," said Ethel. "I positively must." - -"Yes, do! You and your father! Antigone and Oedipus. Of course you must -stop at Colonus!" - -Mr. Lucas was almost breathless with excitement. When he stood within -the tree, he had believed that his happiness would be independent of -locality. But these few minutes' conversation had undeceived him. He no -longer trusted himself to journey through the world, for old thoughts, -old wearinesses might be waiting to rejoin him as soon as he left the -shade of the planes, and the music of the virgin water. To sleep in the -Khan with the gracious, kind-eyed country people, to watch the bats flit -about within the globe of shade, and see the moon turn the golden -patterns into silver--one such night would place him beyond relapse, and -confirm him for ever in the kingdom he had regained. But all his lips -could say was: "I should be willing to put in a night here." - -"You mean a week, papa! It would be sacrilege to put in less." - -"A week then, a week," said his lips, irritated at being corrected, -while his heart was leaping with joy. All through lunch he spoke to them -no more, but watched the place he should know so well, and the people -who would so soon be his companions and friends. The inmates of the Khan -only consisted of an old woman, a middle-aged woman, a young man and two -children, and to none of them had he spoken, yet he loved them as he -loved everything that moved or breathed or existed beneath the -benedictory shade of the planes. - -"_En route!_" said the shrill voice of Mrs. Forman. "Ethel! Mr. Graham! -The best of things must end." - -"To-night," thought Mr. Lucas, "they will light the little lamp by the -shrine. And when we all sit together on the balcony, perhaps they will -tell me which offerings they put up." - -"I beg your pardon, Mr. Lucas," said Graham, "but they want to fold up -the rug you are sitting on." - -Mr. Lucas got up, saying to himself: "Ethel shall go to bed first, and -then I will try to tell them about my offering too--for it is a thing I -must do. I think they will understand if I am left with them alone." - -Ethel touched him on the cheek. "Papa! I've called you three times. All -the mules are here." - -"Mules? What mules?" - -"Our mules. We're all waiting. Oh, Mr. Graham, do help my father on." - -"I don't know what you're talking about, Ethel." - -"My dearest papa, we must start. You know we have to get to Olympia -to-night." - -Mr. Lucas in pompous, confident tones replied: "I always did wish, -Ethel, that you had a better head for plans. You know perfectly well -that we are putting in a week here. It is your own suggestion." - -Ethel was startled into impoliteness. "What a perfectly ridiculous idea. -You must have known I was joking. Of course I meant I wished we could." - -"Ah! if we could only do what we wished!" sighed Mrs. Forman, already -seated on her mule. - -"Surely," Ethel continued in calmer tones, "you didn't think I meant -it." - -"Most certainly I did. I have made all my plans on the supposition that -we are stopping here, and it will be extremely inconvenient, indeed, -impossible for me to start." - -He delivered this remark with an air of great conviction, and Mrs. -Forman and Mr. Graham had to turn away to hide their smiles. - -"I am sorry I spoke so carelessly; it was wrong of me. But, you know, we -can't break up our party, and even one night here would make us miss the -boat at Patras." - -Mrs. Forman, in an aside, called Mr. Graham's attention to the excellent -way in which Ethel managed her father. - -"I don't mind about the Patras boat. You said that we should stop here, -and we are stopping." - -It seemed as if the inhabitants of the Khan had divined in some -mysterious way that the altercation touched them. The old woman stopped -her spinning, while the young man and the two children stood behind Mr. -Lucas, as if supporting him. - -Neither arguments nor entreaties moved him. He said little, but he was -absolutely determined, because for the first time he saw his daily life -aright. What need had he to return to England? Who would miss him? His -friends were dead or cold. Ethel loved him in a way, but, as was right, -she had other interests. His other children he seldom saw. He had only -one other relative, his sister Julia, whom he both feared and hated. It -was no effort to struggle. He would be a fool as well as a coward if he -stirred from the place which brought him happiness and peace. - -At last Ethel, to humour him, and not disinclined to air her modern -Greek, went into the Khan with the astonished dragoman to look at the -rooms. The woman inside received them with loud welcomes, and the young -man, when no one was looking, began to lead Mr. Lucas' mule to the -stable. - -"Drop it, you brigand!" shouted Graham, who always declared that -foreigners could understand English if they chose. He was right, for the -man obeyed, and they all stood waiting for Ethel's return. - -She emerged at last, with close-gathered skirts, followed by the -dragoman bearing the little pig, which he had bought at a bargain. - -"My dear papa, I will do all I can for you, but stop in that Khan--no." - -"Are there--fleas?" asked Mrs. Forman. - -Ethel intimated that "fleas" was not the word. - -"Well, I am afraid that settles it," said Mrs. Forman, "I know how -particular Mr. Lucas is." - -"It does not settle it," said Mr. Lucas. "Ethel, you go on. I do not -want you. I don't know why I ever consulted you. I shall stop here -alone." - -"That is absolute nonsense," said Ethel, losing her temper. "How can you -be left alone at your age? How would you get your meals or your bath? -All your letters are waiting for you at Patras. You'll miss the boat. -That means missing the London operas, and upsetting all your engagements -for the month. And as if you could travel by yourself!" - -"They might knife you," was Mr. Graham's contribution. - -The Greeks said nothing; but whenever Mr. Lucas looked their way, they -beckoned him towards the Khan. The children would even have drawn him by -the coat, and the old woman on the balcony stopped her almost completed -spinning, and fixed him with mysterious appealing eyes. As he fought, -the issue assumed gigantic proportions, and he believed that he was not -merely stopping because he had regained youth or seen beauty or found -happiness, but because in, that place and with those people a supreme -event was awaiting him which would transfigure the face of the world. -The moment was so tremendous that he abandoned words and arguments as -useless, and rested on the strength of his mighty unrevealed allies: -silent men, murmuring water, and whispering trees. For the whole place -called with one voice, articulate to him, and his garrulous opponents -became every minute more meaningless and absurd. Soon they would be -tired and go chattering away into the sun, leaving him to the cool grove -and the moonlight and the destiny he foresaw. - -Mrs. Forman and the dragoman had indeed already started, amid the -piercing screams of the little pig, and the struggle might have gone on -indefinitely if Ethel had not called in Mr. Graham. - -"Can you help me?" she whispered. "He is absolutely unmanageable." - -"I'm no good at arguing--but if I could help you in any other way----" -and he looked down complacently at his well-made figure. - -Ethel hesitated. Then she said: "Help me in any way you can. After all, -it is for his good that we do it." - -"Then have his mule led up behind him." - -So when Mr. Lucas thought he had gained the day, he suddenly felt -himself lifted off the ground, and sat sideways on the saddle, and at -the same time the mule started off at a trot. He said nothing, for he -had nothing to say, and even his face showed little emotion as he felt -the shade pass and heard the sound of the water cease. Mr. Graham was -running at his side, hat in hand, apologizing. - -"I know I had no business to do it, and I do beg your pardon awfully. -But I do hope that some day you too will feel that I was--damn!" - -A stone had caught him in the middle of the back. It was thrown by the -little boy, who was pursuing them along the mule track. He was followed -by his sister, also throwing stones. - -Ethel screamed to the dragoman, who was some way ahead with Mrs. Forman, -but before he could rejoin them, another adversary appeared. It was the -young Greek, who had cut them off in front, and now dashed down at Mr. -Lucas' bridle. Fortunately Graham was an expert boxer, and it did not -take him a moment to beat down the youth's feeble defence, and to send -him sprawling with a bleeding mouth into the asphodel. By this time the -dragoman had arrived, the children, alarmed at the fate of their -brother, had desisted, and the rescue party, if such it is to be -considered, retired in disorder to the trees. - -"Little devils!" said Graham, laughing; with triumph. "That's the modern -Greek all over. Your father meant money if he stopped, and they consider -we were taking it out of their pocket." - -"Oh, they are terrible--simple savages! I don't know how I shall ever -thank you. You've saved my father." - -"I only hope you didn't think me brutal." - -"No," replied Ethel with a little sigh. "I admire strength." - -Meanwhile the cavalcade reformed, and Mr. Lucas, who, as Mrs. Forman -said, bore his disappointment wonderfully well, was put comfortably on -to his mule. They hurried up the opposite hillside, fearful of another -attack, and it was not until they had left the eventful place far behind -that Ethel found an opportunity to speak to her father and ask his -pardon for the way she had treated him. - -"You seemed so different, dear father, and you quite frightened me. Now -I feel that you are your old self again." - -He did not answer, and she concluded that he was not unnaturally -offended at her behaviour. - -By one of those curious tricks of mountain scenery, the place they had -left an hour before suddenly reappeared far below them. The Khan was -hidden under the green dome, but in the open there still stood three -figures, and through the pure air rose up a faint cry of defiance or -farewell. - -Mr. Lucas stopped irresolutely, and let the reins fall from his hand. - -"Come, father dear," said Ethel gently. - -He obeyed, and in another moment a spur of the hill hid the dangerous -scene for ever. - - - -II - - -It was breakfast time, but the gas was alight, owing to the fog. Mr. -Lucas was in the middle of an account of a bad night he had spent, -Ethel, who was to be married in a few weeks, had her arms on the table, -listening. - -"First the door bell rang, then you came back from the theatre. Then the -dog started, and after the dog the cat. And at three in the morning a -young hooligan passed by singing. Oh yes: then there was the water -gurgling in the pipe above my head." - -"I think that was only the bath water running away," said Ethel, looking -rather worn. - -"Well, there's nothing I dislike more than running water. It's -perfectly impossible to sleep in the house. I shall give it up. I shall -give notice next quarter. I shall tell the landlord plainly, 'The reason -I am giving up the house is this: it is perfectly impossible to sleep in -it.' If he says--says--well, what has he got to say?" - -"Some more toast, father?" - -"Thank you, my dear." He took it, and there was an interval of peace. - -But he soon recommenced. "I'm not going to submit to the practising next -door as tamely as they think. I wrote and told them so--didn't I?" - -"Yes," said Ethel, who had taken care that the letter should not reach. -"I have seen the governess, and she has promised to arrange it -differently. And Aunt Julia hates noise. It will sure to be all right." - -Her aunt, being the only unattached member of the family, was coming to -keep house for her father when she left him. The reference was not a -happy one, and Mr. Lucas commenced a series of half articulate sighs, -which was only stopped by the arrival of the post. - -"Oh, what a parcel!" cried Ethel. "For me! What can it be! Greek stamps. -This is most exciting!" - -It proved to be some asphodel bulbs, sent by Mrs. Forman from Athens for -planting in the conservatory. - -"Doesn't it bring it all back! You remember the asphodels, father. And -all wrapped up in Greek newspapers. I wonder if I can read them still. I -used to be able to, you know." - -She rattled on, hoping to conceal the laughter of the children next -door--a favourite source of querulousness at breakfast time. - -"Listen to me! 'A rural disaster.' Oh, I've hit on something sad. But -never mind. 'Last Tuesday at Plataniste, in the province of messenia, a -shocking tragedy occurred. A large tree'--aren't I getting on -well?--'blew down in the night and'--wait a minute--oh, dear! 'crushed -to death the five occupants of the little Khan there, who had apparently -been sitting in the balcony. The bodies of Maria Rhomaides, the aged -proprietress, and of her daughter, aged forty-six, were easily -recognizable, whereas that of her grandson'--oh, the rest is really too -horrid; I wish I had never tried it, and what's more I feel to have -heard the name Plataniste before. We didn't stop there, did we, in the -spring?" - -"We had lunch," said Mr. Lucas, with a faint expression of trouble on -his vacant face. "Perhaps it was where the dragoman bought the pig." - -"Of course," said Ethel in a nervous voice. "Where the dragoman bought -the little pig. How terrible!" - -"Very terrible!" said her father, whose attention was wandering to the -noisy children next door. Ethel suddenly started to her feet with -genuine interest. - -"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "This is an old paper. It happened not -lately but in April--the night of Tuesday the eighteenth--and we--we -must have been there in the afternoon." - -"So we were," said Mr. Lucas. She put her hand to her heart, scarcely -able to speak. - -"Father, dear father, I must say it: you wanted to stop there. All those -people, those poor half savage people, tried, to keep you, and they're -dead. The whole place, it says, is in ruins, and even the stream has -changed its course. Father, dear, if it had not been for me, and if -Arthur had not helped me, you must have been killed." - -Mr. Lucas waved his hand irritably. "It is not a bit of good speaking to -the governess, I shall write to the landlord and say, 'The reason I am -giving up the house is this: the dog barks, the children next door are -intolerable, and I cannot stand the noise of running water.'" - -Ethel did not check his babbling. She was aghast at the narrowness of -the escape, and for a long time kept silence. At last she said: "Such a -marvellous deliverance does make one believe in Providence." - -Mr. Lucas, who was still composing his letter to the landlord, did not -reply. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Celestial Omnibus and other Stories, by -E. M. Forster - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CELESTIAL OMNIBUS AND OTHER STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 34089.txt or 34089.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/0/8/34089/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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