CHAPTER IX
A PRIEST OF WONDER
He was a grey and nameless creature of shadowy outline and vagueappearance. The eye focused him with difficulty. He had an air of abroken tombstone about him, with moss and lichen in wayward patches,for his face was split and cracked, and his beard seemed a continuationof his hair; but he had soft blue eyes that had got lost in the generaltangle and seemed to stray about the place and peep out unexpectedlylike flowers hiding in a thick-set hedge. The face might be anywhere;he might move suddenly in any direction; he was prepared, as it were,to move forward, sideways, or backwards according as the wind decidedor the road appeared--a sort of universal scarecrow of a beingaltogether.
Yet, for all his forlorn and scattered attitude, there hung about hisrags an air of something noble and protective, something strangelyinviting that welcomed without criticism all the day might bring.Homeless himself, and with no place to lay his extraordinary body, thebirds might have built their nests in him without alarm, or the furrycreatures of fields and woods have burrowed among his voluminousmisfit-clothing to shelter themselves from rain and cold. He wouldgladly have carried them all with him, safely hidden from guns or trapsor policemen, glad to be useful, and careless of himself. That, at anyrate, was the mixed impression that he gave.
"Thank you," he said in a comfortable sort of voice that sounded likewind among telegraph wires on a high road: then added "kindly all."
And instantly the children felt delighted with him; their sympathy wasgained; fear vanished; the Policeman, like a scape-goat, took all theirsins away. They did not actually move closer to the Tramp but theireyes went nestling in and out among his tattered figure. Judy, however,it was noticeable, looked at him as though spell-bound. To her he was,perhaps, as her Uncle said, the Great Adventurer, the type of romanticWanderer for ever on the quest of perilous things--a Knight.
It was Uncle Felix who first broke the pause.
"You've come a long way," he suggested.
"Oh, about the same as usual," replied the Tramp, as though alldistances and localities were one to him.
"Which means--?"
"From nowhere, and from everywhere."
"And you are going on to--?"
"Always the same place."
"Which is--?"
"The end." He said it in a rumbling voice that seemed to issue from apocket of the torn old coat rather than from his bearded mouth.
"Oh, dear," sighed Judy, "that is a _very_ long way indeed. But, ofcourse, you never get tired out?" Her eyes were brimmed with admiration.
He shrugged his great loose shoulders. It was odd how there seemed tobe another thing within all that baggy clothing and behind the hair.The shaggy exterior covered a slimmer thing that was happy, laughing,dancing to break out. "Not tired out," he said, "a bit sleepysometimes, p'r'aps." He glanced round him carelessly, his strange eyesresting finally on Judy's face. "But there's lots of beds about," heexplained to her, "once you know how to make 'em."
"Yes," the child murmured, with a kind of soft applause, "of coursethere must be."
"And those wot sleeps in ditches dreams the sweetest--that _I_ know."
"They must," agreed Judy, as though grass and dock leaves were familiarto her. "And you get up when you're ready, don't you?"
"That's it," replied the wanderer. "Only you always _are_ ready."
"But how do you know the time?" asked Tim.
The Tramp turned round slowly and looked at his questioner.
"Time!" he snorted. And he exchanged a mysterious glance of sympathywith Maria, who lifted her eyes in return, but otherwise made no signwhatever. "Sit quiet like," he added, "and everything worth 'avingcomes of itself. That's living that is. The 'ole world belongs to you."
"I've got a watch," said Tim, as though challenged. "I've got an alarumclock too. Only you have to wind them up, of course."
"There you are!" the Tramp exclaimed, "you've got to wind 'em up. Theydon't go of theirselves, do they?"
"Oh, no."
"I never knew 'appiness until I chucked my watch away," continued theother.
"_Your_ watch!" exclaimed Tim.
"Well, not igsackly," laughed the Tramp.
"Oh, he didn't mean _that_," Judy put in quickly.
"I was usin' it at the time, any'ow," chuckled their guest, "and wotyou're usin' at the time belongs to you. I never knew 'appiness while Ikep' it. Watches and clocks only mean 'urry. It's an endless job,tryin' to keep up with 'em. You've got to go so fast for one thing--Inever was a sprinter--bah!" he snorted--"there's nothing in it. Lifeisn't a 'undred yards race. You miss all the flowers on the way at thatpace. And what's the prize?" He glanced down contemptuously at hisfeet. "Worn-out boots. Yer boots wear out--that's all."
He looked round at the children, smiling wonderfully. Maria seemed tounderstand him best, perhaps. She looked up innocently into his tangledface. "That's it," he said, with another chuckle. "YOU know wot I mean,don't yer, missie?" But Maria made no reply. She merely beamed back athim till her face seemed nothing but a pair of wide blue eyes.
"Stop yer clocks, go slow," the man murmured, half to himself, "andyou'll see what I mean. There's twice as much time as before. You cando anything, everything,"--he spread his arms out--"because there'snever any 'urry. You'd be surprised."
"You're very hungry, aren't you?" inquired Tim, resenting the man'sundue notice of Maria.
The Tramp stared hard into the boy's unwavering eyes. "Always," he saidbriefly, "but, then, there's always folks to give."
"Rather," exclaimed Judy with enthusiasm, and Tim added eagerly, "Ishould think so."
They seemed to know all about him, then. Something had entered with himthat made common stock of the five of them. It was wonderful of UncleFelix to have known all this beforehand.
"We're all alive together," murmured the Tramp below his breath, andthen Uncle Felix showed another stroke of genius. "We'll make tea outhere to-day," he said, "instead of having it indoors. Tim, you run andfetch a tea-pot, a bottle of milk, and some cups and a kettle full ofwater; put some sugar in your pockets and bring a loaf and butter and apot of jam. A basket will hold the lot. And while you're gone we'll getthe fire going."
"A big knife and some spoons too," Judy cried after his disappearingfigure, "and don't let Aunt Emily see you, mind."
The Tramp looked up sharply. "I had an Aunt Emily once," he said behindhis hedged-in face. Expecting more to follow, the others waited; butnothing came. There was a little pause.
"Once?" asked Maria, wondering perhaps if there were two such beings inthe world at the same time.
The man of journeys nodded.
"Did she mend your clothes and things--and love to care for you?" Judywished to know.
He shook his tangled head. "She visited the poor," he told them, "andhad no time for the likes of me. And one day I fell out of a big holein my second suit and took to tramping." He rubbed his hands vigorouslytogether in the air. "And here I am."
"Yes," said Maria kindly. "I'm glad."
Meanwhile, Judy having decided to go and help her brother with thetea-things, the others set to work and made a fire. Maria helped withher eyes, picking up an occasional stick as well, but it was the Trampwho really did the difficult part. Only the way he did it made itappear quite easy somehow. He began with the tiniest fire in the world,and the next minute it seemed ready for the kettle, with a cross-bararranged adroitly over it and a supply of fresh wood in a pile besideit.
"What do _you_ think about it?" asked Tim of his sister, as theystruggled back with the laden basket. Apparently a deep question ofsome kind asked for explanation in his mind.
"It's awful that he has no one to care about him," was the girl'sreply. "I think he's a very nice man. He looks magnificent and awfullybrown."
"That's dirt," said her brother.
"It's travel," she replied indignantly.
The Tramp, when they got back, looked tidier somehow, as though theeffect of refined society had already done him
good. His appearance wasless uncouth, his hair and beard a shade less hay-fieldy. It waspossible to imagine what he looked like when he was young--sure sign ofbeing tidy; just as to be very untidy gives an odd hint of what old agewill do eventually to face and figure. The Tramp looked younger.
They all made friends in the simple, unaffected way of birds andanimals, for at the End of the World there was no such thing as emptyformality. The children, supported by the presence of their importantuncle, asked questions, this being their natural prerogative; it cameto them as instinctively as tapping the lawn for worms comes to birds,or scratching the earth for holes is a sign of health with rabbits. Atfirst shyly--then in a ceaseless, yet not too inquisitive torrent.Questions are the sincerest form of flattery, and the Tramp, accustomedprobably to severer questions from people in uniform, was quitedelighted. He smiled quietly behind the scenery of his curious greatface, but he answered all: where he lived, how he travelled, whatfriends he had, where he spent Christmas, what barns and ditches andhaystacks felt like, anything and everything, even where he meant to beburied when he died. "'ere, where I've lived so 'appily," and he made awide gesture with one tattered arm to include the earth and sky. He hadno secrets apparently; he was glad they should know all. The childrenhad never known such a delightful creature in their lives before.
"And you eat anything?" inquired Tim, "anything you can, I mean?"
"Anything you can _get_, he means," corrected Judy softly.
He gave an unexpected answer. "I swallow sunsets, and I bite the moon;I nibble stars. I never need a spoon."
He said it as naturally as a duchess describing her latest diet at asmart dinner-party, with an air, too, as of some great personagedisguised on purpose so that he might enjoy the simple life.
"That rhymes," stated Maria.
"So does this," he replied; "I live on open hair and bits of bread; thesunlight clothes me, and I lay me 'ead--"
The hissing of the kettle interrupted him. "Water's boiling," criedUncle Felix; "hand round the cups and cut the loaf." A cup was given toeach. The tea was made.
"Do you take sugar, please?" asked Judy of the guest. The quietness ofher voice made it almost tender. Such a man, moreover, might despisesweet things. But he said he did.
"Two lumps?" she asked, "or one?"
"Five, please," he said.
She was far too polite to show surprise at this, nor at the fact thathe stirred his tea with a little bit of stick instead of with a spoon.She remembered his remark that he had no use for spoons. Tim, sayingnothing, imitated all he did as naturally as though he had never doneotherwise in his life before. They enjoyed their picnic tea immenselyin this way, seated in a row upon the comfortable elm tree, gobbling,munching, drinking, chattering. The Tramp, for all his outwardroughness, had the manners of a king. He said what he thought, butwithout offence; he knew what he wanted, yet without greed orselfishness. He had that politeness which is due to alert perception ofevery one near him, their rights and claims, their likes and dislikes;for true politeness is practically an expansion of consciousness whichinvolves seeing the point of view of every one else--at once. A tramp,accustomed to long journeys, big spaces, obliged ever to consider thedemands of impetuous little winds, the tastes of flowers, the habitsand natural preferences of animals, birds, and insects, develops thisbigger sense of politeness that crowds in streets and drawing-roomscannot learn. Unless a tramp takes note of _all_, he remains out oftouch with all, and therefore is uncomfortable.
"Is everything all right?" asked Uncle Felix presently, anxious to seethat he was well provided for.
"Everything, thank you," the wanderer replied, "and, if you don't mind,I'll 'ave my supper here later too. I've brought it with me." And outof one capacious pocket he produced--a bird. "It's a chickin," heinformed them, as they stared with wide-opened eyes. Maria was thefirst to go on eating her slice of bread and jam. Unordinary thingsseemed to disturb her less than ordinary ones. Somehow it seemed quitenatural that he should go about with a bird for supper in his pocket.
"However did you get it--in there?" asked Tim, modifying his sentencejust in time to avoid inquisitive rudeness.
"It gave itself to me," he replied. "That kind of things 'appenssometimes when you're tramping. _They_ know," he added significantly."You see, it's my birthday to-day, and something like this always'appens on my birthday. Last time it was a fish. I fell into the streamand went right under. When I got out on to the bank again I found atrout in my pocket. The time before I slept beside a haystack, and whenI awoke at sunrise I felt something warm and soft against my face likefeathers. It _was_ feathers. There was a 'en's nest two inches from mynose, and six nice eggs in it all ready for my birthday breakfast. Ionly ate four of them. You should never take all the heggs out of anest." He looked round at the group and smiled. "But I think thechickin's best of all," he told them, "and next year I expect a turkey,or a bit of bacon maybe."
"You never, never grow old, do you?" Judy asked. Her admiration was nolonger concealed. It seemed she saw him differently a little from theothers.
"Oh, jest a nice age," he said.
"You seem to know so much," she explained her question, "everything."
He laughed behind his tea-cup as he fingered the chicken on his lap.
"As to that," he murmured, "there's only a few things worth knowing. Ifyou can just forget the rest, you're all right."
"I see," she replied beneath her breath. "But--but it's got to beplucked and cleaned and cooked first, hasn't it?"
"The chickin?" he laughed. "Oh, dear me, no! Cooked, yes, but notplucked or cleaned in the sense you mean. That's what they do in'ouses. Out here we have a better way. We just wrap it up in clay anddig a 'ole and light a fire on top, and in a 'arf hour it's ready toeat, tender, juicy, and sweet as a bit of 'oneycomb. Break open theball of clay, and the feathers all come away wiv it." And then heproduced from another pocket a fat, thick roll of yellow butter,freshly made apparently, for it was wrapped in a clean white cloth.
They stared at that for a long time without a word.
"They go together," he explained, and the explanation seemed sufficientas well as final. "And they come together too," he added with a smile.
"Did the butter give itself to you as well as the chicken?" inquiredJudy. The Tramp nodded in the affirmative as he placed it beside him onthe trunk ready for use later. And everybody felt in the middle of adelightful mystery. All were the same age together. Bird and butter,sun and wind, flowers and children, tramp and animals--all seemedmerged in a jolly company that shared one another's wants and couldsupply them. The wallflowers wagged their orange-bonneted heads, thewind slipped sighing with delicious perfumes from the trees, the beeswere going home in single file, and the sun was sinking level with thepaling top--when suddenly there came a disturbing element into thescene that made their hearts beat faster with one accord. It was asound.
A muffled, ominous beat was audible far away, but slowly coming nearer.As it approached it changed its character. It became sharper and moredistinct. Something about the measured intervals between its tappingrepetitions brought a threatening message of alarm. Every one felt thelittle warning and looked up. There was anxiety. The sound jarredunpleasantly upon the peace of the happy company. They listened. It wasfootsteps on the road outside.
The Extra Day Page 9