And As We Sat There, Gazing And Listening, A Human Voice
Came Out Of The Night - A Call Prolonged And
Modulated like
the coo-ee of the Australian bush, far off and faint; but
the children in the kitchen heard
It at the same time, for
they too had been listening, and instantly went mad with
excitement.
"Father!" they all screamed together. "Father's coming!" and
out they rushed and away they fled down the darkening road,
exerting their full voices in shrill answering cries.
We were anxious to see this unfortunate man, who was yet happy
in a loving family. He had gone early in the morning in his
donkey-cart to the little market town, fourteen miles away, to
get the few necessaries they could afford to buy. Doubtless
they would be very few. We had not long to wait, as the white
donkey that drew the cart had put on a tremendous spurt at the
end, notwithstanding that the four youngsters had climbed in
to add to his burden. But what was our surprise to behold in
the charioteer a tall, gaunt, grey-faced old man with long
white hair and beard! He must have been seventy, that old man
with a young wife and four happy bright-eyed little children!
We could understand it better when he finally settled down in
his corner in the kitchen and began to relate the events of
the day, addressing his poor little wife, now busy darning
or patching an old garment, while the children, clustered
at his knee, listened as to a fairy tale. Certainly this
white-haired man had not grown old in mind; he was keenly
interested in all he saw and heard, and he had seen and heard
much in the little market town that day. Cattle and pigs and
sheep and shepherds and sheepdogs; farmers, shopkeepers,
dealers, publicans, tramps, and gentlefolks in carriages and
on horseback; shops, too, with beautiful new things in the
windows; millinery, agricultural implements, flowers and fruit
and vegetables; toys and books and sweeties of all colours.
And the people he had met on the road and at market, and what
they had said to him about the weather and their business and
the prospects of the year, how their wives and children were,
and the clever jokes they had made, and his own jokes, which
were the cleverest of all. If he had just returned from
Central Africa or from Thibet he could not have had more to
tell them nor told it with greater zest.
We went to our room, but until the small hours the wind of the
old traveller's talk could still be heard at intervals from
the kitchen, mingled with occasional shrill explosions of
laughter from the listening children.
It happened that on the following day, spent in idling in the
forest and about the hamlet, conversing with the cottagers, we
were told that our old man was a bit of a humbug; that he was
a great talker, with a hundred schemes for the improvement
of his fortunes, and, incidently, for the benefit of his
neighbours and the world at large; but nothing came of it all
and he was now fast sinking into the lowest depths of poverty.
Yet who would blame him? 'Tis the nature of the gorse to be
"unprofitably gay." All that, however, is a question for the
moralist; the point now is that in walking, even in that poor
way, when, on account of physical weakness, it was often a
pain and weariness, there are alleviations which may be more
to us than positive pleasures, and scenes to delight the eye
that are missed by the wheelman in his haste, or but dimly
seen or vaguely surmised in passing - green refreshing nooks
and crystal streamlets, and shadowy woodland depths with
glimpses of a blue sky beyond - all in the wilderness of the
human heart.
Chapter Four: Seeking a Shelter
The "walks" already spoken of, at a time when life had
little or no other pleasure for us on account of poverty and
ill-health, were taken at pretty regular intervals two or
three times a year. It all depended on our means; in very
lean years there was but one outing. It was impossible to
escape altogether from the immense unfriendly wilderness of
London simply because, albeit "unfriendly," it yet appeared to
be the only place in the wide world where our poor little
talents could earn us a few shillings a week to live on.
Music and literature! but I fancy the nearest crossing-sweeper
did better, and could afford to give himself a more generous
dinner every day. It occasionally happened that an article
sent to some magazine was not returned, and always after so
many rejections to have one accepted and paid for with a
cheque worth several pounds was a cause of astonishment, and
was as truly a miracle as if the angel of the sun had
compassionately thrown us down a handful of gold. And out of
these little handfuls enough was sometimes saved for the
country rambles at Easter and Whitsuntide and in the autumn.
It was during one of these Easter walks, when seeking for a
resting-place for the night, that we met with another
adventure worth telling.
We had got to that best part of Surrey not yet colonized by
wealthy men from the City, but where all things are as they
were of old, when, late in the day, we came to a pleasant
straggling village with one street a mile long. Here we
resolved to stay, and walked the length of the street making
inquiries, but were told by every person we spoke to that the
only place we could stay at was the inn - the "White Hart."
When we said we preferred to stay at a cottage they smiled a
pitying smile. No, there was no such place. But we were
determined not to go to the inn, although it had a very
inviting look, and was well placed with no other house near
it, looking on the wide village green with ancient trees
shading the road on either side.
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