The Merryweathers
Page 17
CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE DOWN
ONE afternoon, when most of the campers were off fishing, Margaretwandered alone up to the top of the great down behind the camp.Thoroughly in love with the camp life as she was, in most of itsaspects, she could not learn to care for fishing. To sit three, four,five hours in a boat, on the chance of killing a harmless and beautifulcreature, did not, she protested, appeal to her; and many a livelyargument had she had on the subject with Bell and Gertrude, who wereardent fisher-maidens.
"But, Margaret, it is the sport!" Bell would cry. "It isn't justkilling, it is sport!"
"But, Bell, if the sport does not amuse me!" Margaret would answer. "IfI want to kill something, I would rather kill spiders, though I amtrying not to be so afraid of them--or mosquitoes."
Then the girls would cry out that she was hopeless, and would gather uptheir reels and rods and leave her to her own peaceful devices, havingeven the generosity not to twit her with inconsistency when she enjoyedher delicately-fried perch at supper.
These solitary afternoons were sure to be pleasant ones for Margaret.She loved the merry companionship of the campers, but she loved, too, towander through the woods, among the great straight-stemmed pines anddark feathery hemlocks, or to track the little clear brook through itswindings, from the great bog to its outlet into the lake; or, as now, tostroll about over the great down, looking down on the blue water below.
It was a perfect afternoon. Little white clouds drifted here and thereover the tops of the wooded hills, but they only made the sky moredeeply and intensely blue. There was just enough breeze to ripple thewater so that it caught every sunbeam, and set it dancing on thetremulous surface. Below her a fish-hawk poised and dipped, seeking hisdinner; far out, two black specks showed where her friends were at their"sport." Margaret drew a long breath of content.
"Oh, pleasant place!" she said. "How glad I am that I am not in thatboat. Oh, pleasant place!"
She looked about her with happy eyes. Before her, the earth fell away inan abrupt descent to the lake, steep enough to be dignified by the nameof precipice; but behind and on either hand it rolled away in billowyslopes of green, crowned here and there with patches of wood, andcrossed by irregular lines of stone wall.
"Oh, pleasant place!" said Margaret a third time. "How many beautifulplaces I know! What a wonderful world of beauty it is!"
Her mind went back to Fernley House, the beloved home where she livedwith her uncle John Montfort: to the rose-garden, where they loved towork together, the sunny lawns, the shady alleys of box and laurel, thearbors of honeysuckle and grape-vine. She could almost see the beloveduncle, pruning-knife in hand, bending over his roses; if only he did notcut back the Ramblers too far! She could almost see her little cousins,her children, as she called them, Basil and Susan D., running about withtheir butterfly-nets, shouting and calling to each other. Did they thinkof her, as she hourly thought of them? Did Uncle John miss her? She mustalways miss him, no matter how happy she might be with other friends. Awave of homesickness ran through her, and brought the quick tears to hereyes; but she brushed them away with an indignant little shake of herhead.
"Goose!" she said. "When will you learn that it is a physicalimpossibility to be in two places at once? You don't want to leave thisbeautiful place and these dear people yet? Of course, you don't! Well,then, don't behave so! But all the same, it would be good to hear UncleJohn's voice!"
At this moment she heard,--not the beloved voice for which shelonged,--but certainly a sound, breaking the stillness of the afternoon;a sound made neither by wind nor water. It did not sound like a bird,either; nor--a beast?
"Oh, to be sure!" thought Margaret. "It may be a sheep. I saw the flockup there this morning. Of course, it is a sheep."
The sound came again, louder this time, and nearer; something between asnorting and a blowing; it must be a very large sheep to make such aloud noise.
Margaret turned to look behind her; but it was not a sheep that shesaw.
Just behind the rock on which she was sitting the land rose in a high,green shoulder, on the farther side of which it sloped gradually down toa little valley. Over this shoulder now appeared--a head! A head fivetimes as big as that of the biggest sheep that ever bore fleece; a headcrowned by long, sharp, dangerous-looking horns. And now, as Margaretsat transfixed with terror, another head appeared, and another, andstill another; till a whole herd of cattle stood on the ridge lookingdown at her.
Jet black, of colossal size, with gleaming eyes and quivering nostrils,they were formidable creatures to any eyes; but to poor Margaret's theywere monsters as terrible as griffin or dragon. All cattle, even themildest old Brindle that ever stood to be milked, were objects of direalarm to her, but she had never seen animals like these. Tales of thewild cattle of Chillingham, of the fierce herds that roam the Westernprairies and the pampas of the South, rushed to her mind. She felt fearstealing over her, a wild, unreasoning panic which neither strength norreason could resist. She dared not move; she dared not cry out for help;indeed, who was there to hear if she did cry? She sat still on her rock,her hands clasped together, her eyes, wide with terror, fixed on theenemy.
The leader of the herd met her gaze with one which to her excited fancyseemed threatening and sinister. For a moment he stood motionless; then,tossing his head with its gleaming horns, and uttering another loudsnort, he took a step toward her; the rest followed. Another step andanother. Margaret glanced wildly around her. On one side was theprecipice, on either hand a wide stretch of open meadow; no hope ofescape. She must meet her death here, then, alone, with no human eye tosee, no human hand to help her in her extremity. She crouched down onthe rock, and covered her eyes with her hands. The cattle drew nearer.Snuffing the air, tossing their horns, with outstretched necks and eagereyes, step by step they advanced. Now they were close about her, theirgiant forms blocking the sunlight, their gleaming eyes fixed upon her.Margaret felt her senses deserting her; but suddenly--hark! anothersound fell on her ear; a sound clear, resonant, jubilant; the sound of ahuman voice, singing:
"I'm an honest lad, though I be poor, And I niver was in love afore--"
"_Gerald!_" cried Margaret. "Gerald, help!" and she dropped quietly offthe rock, under the very feet of the black cattle.
When she came to herself, she was propped against the rock, and Geraldwas fanning her with his cap and gazing at her with eyes of anxiety andtenderness, which yet had a twinkle in their depths.
"Better?" he asked, as he had asked once before under somewhat similarcircumstances. "Do say you are better, please! The house isn't on firethis time, and neither is the Thames."
Margaret struggled into a sitting posture. "Oh! Gerald," she said, "I amso ashamed! You will think I am always fainting, and, indeed, I neverhave in all my life except these two times. But they were soterrible--ah! there they are still."
Indeed, the herd of cattle was standing near, still gazing with gleamingeyes; but, somehow, the look of ferocity was gone. She could evensee--with Gerald beside her--that they were noble-looking creatures.
"Oh, no!" said Gerald. "Don't call them terrible; you will hurt theirpoor old feelings. I know them of old, Horatio; fellows of infinitejest."
"Are they--are they tame?" asked Margaret, in amazement.
"Tame? I should say so. Look at this fellow! I have known him from acalf. Did um want um's nosy rubbed?" he added, addressing the hugeleader, who was snuffing nearer and nearer. "Come along, then, PopolorumTibby, and tell um's prettiest aunt not to be afraid of um any more."
"But--but they came all around me!" said poor Margaret.
"Small blame to them! Showed their good sense, not to say their taste.But to be wholly candid, they came for salt."
"For salt? Those great monsters?"
"To be sure! Ellis, the farmer, makes regular pets of them, and I alwaysput a lump of salt in my pocket when I am coming their way. I never sawthem in this pasture before, though; the fence must be broken. I believe
I have some grains of salt left now. See him take it like a lady!"
He held out his hand, with a little heap of salt in it. The huge ox cameforward, stepping daintily, with neck outstretched and nostrils spread;put out a tongue like a pink sickle, and neatly, with one comprehensivelick, swept off every particle of salt, and looked his appreciation.
Gerald patted the great muzzle affectionately.
"Good old Blunderbore!" he said. "I almost carried you when you were aday old, though you may not believe it. Come, Margaret, give him a pat,and say you bear no malice."
Margaret put out a timid hand and patted the great black head.Blunderbore snuffed and blew, and expressed his friendliness in everyway he could.
"Why, he is a dear, gentle creature!" said the girl. "I shall never beafraid of him again. And yet--oh, Gerald, I am so glad you came!"
"So am I!" said Gerald.
"Because," Margaret went on, "of course, I see how silly and foolish Iwas; but all the same, I was terribly frightened, and I really don'tknow what would have become of me if you had not come, Gerald."
"But I did come, Margaret! I will always come, whenever you want me, ifit is across the world."
"But--you must think me so _very_ silly, Gerald!"
"Do you wish to know what I think of you?" asked Gerald.
Margaret was silent.
"Because, for the insignificant sum of two cents, I would tell you," hewent on.
"I haven't two cents with me," said Margaret. "I think it is time to gohome now, Gerald."
"Generosity is part of my nature," said Gerald; "I'll tell you fornothing. Margaret--sit down, please!"
Margaret had risen to her feet. The words had the old merry ring, but adeep note quivered in his voice. The girl was afraid, she knew not ofwhat; afraid, yet with a fear that was half joy. "I--I must go, Gerald,indeed!" she said, faintly.
"You must not go," said Gerald, gravely. "It is not all play, Margaret,between you and me. My cap and bells are off now, and you must hear whatI have to say."
Margaret, still hesitating, looked up in his face, and saw somethingthere that brought the sweet color flooding over her neck and brow, soswift and hot that instinctively she hid her face in her hands.
But gently, tenderly, Gerald Merryweather drew the slender hands away,and held them close in his own.
"My dearest girl," said the young man, "my dearest love, you are notafraid of me? Sit down by me; sit down, my Margaret, and let me tell youwhat my heart has been saying ever since the day I first saw you."
So dear Margaret sat down, perhaps because she could hardly stand, andlistened. And the black cattle listened, too, and so did the fish-hawkoverhead, and the little birds peeping from their nest in the birch woodclose at hand; but none of them ever told what Gerald said.