Sometimes they could see a trout come up and look at this fly and shakehis head, and go down again; but once or twice they had seen a big troutrise and swallow it just as if it had been a real one. Then the trouthad found himself caught, and they had seen the fisherman's rod bentalmost double as the trout dashed to and fro; and at last they had seenthe fisherman slip a net into the water, and lift the trout on to thebank, all curved and shining. But very often there would be no fishermenat all, and they would see nobody for hours and hours, and hear nothingbut the cries of the river-birds and the suck, suck, of the feedingtrout.
The man that they saw most often was a man called Beardy Ned, because,though he was only a youngish man, he had a sandy-coloured beard; andthey were always very sorry for him, because he had lost his wife in aterrible railway accident soon after he had married her. She had lefthim with a little girl only ten months old, and that was why Ned had lethis beard grow. He hadn't time, he said, to look after the little girland shave his face every day as well. When he had married, Ned had beena postman, but after his wife had been killed he had given that up; andhe had wandered about ever since, doing all sorts of odd jobs.
Sometimes he helped the farmers get their hay in, or the gamekeeperstrap stoats, and sometimes he would chop wood, and sometimes he would gofar away and not come back for weeks and weeks. But wherever he went hewould take his little girl, whom he had called Liz after her mother; andsooner or later he would always come back to this river, because thatwas where he had first met his dead wife. He had lived so much in theopen air that his skin was as dark as a Red Indian's, and when helaughed his teeth were like snow, and his eyes like the sea on a sunnyday. People like clergymen and large employers often used to tell himthat he ought to settle down. But why should he settle down, he asked,so long as there was only Liz, and she could sleep in his arms as snugas snug?
Liz was four years old now, and as brown as her father, and her hair wasshort and curly like a boy's; and Cuthbert and Marian and Doris andGwendolen loved her almost as much as they loved Beardy Ned. For BeardyNed, in spite of his great trouble, was always full of a secrethappiness, and he had made this little song out of his own head that heused to sing every two or three hours:
The wickedest girl there was, The wickedest girl there is, The wickedest girl there ever will be Is my young daughter Liz.
He only meant it in fun, of course, and when Liz was running about hewould shout it at the top of his voice, but when she was sleepy he wouldonly croon it until her eyelids began to drop.
Of course Cuthbert couldn't always be bothered to go up the river withthe girls, and on the same evening that Uncle Joe told Marian about theapples he went by himself to have a bathe in a big pool calledKingfisher Pool. It was still only May, so that the water was cold, butthe air above it was warm and still, and he was lying on the bankwithout anything on, when he suddenly heard a splash and a gurgling cry.He sat bolt upright, and then, looking across the pool, he saw a littleform struggling in the deep water, and rolling over in it, headdownward, and then beginning to slip out of sight. It was Liz, with allher clothes on. She had evidently slipped down the steep bank, and ifCuthbert couldn't save her she would be sure to drown, because BeardyNed was nowhere in sight.
It was so awful to see her that at first Cuthbert couldn't move; but amoment later he was in the water and swimming across the pool as fast ashe could, and faster than he had ever swum before. He prayed to God thathe might be in time. The pool had never looked so wide. But at last hehad swum across it and made a grab at a piece of Liz's frock just underthe surface. He pulled this hard, and tried to go on swimming with hisother arm and both legs; and then it was only a second or two before histoes touched the bottom of the river, and he was able to stand up andlift her out of the pool.
She was quite pale, and the water was pouring from her mouth, and hereyes were staring as if they couldn't see anything. He scrambled up thebank, grazing his knees, and then she began to choke and take deepbreaths. Just then, too, Beardy Ned came crashing through the reeds withgreat strides, for Cuthbert had shouted as loud as he could just beforehe plunged into the pool. Ned's face had turned grey, and there was alook in his eyes that made Cuthbert feel almost frightened. But when hesaw Liz sitting up and crying he gave a shout and caught her in hisarms. Then he gripped Cuthbert by the wrist, and Cuthbert could feelthat he was shaking all over; and then Beardy Ned began to cry too, sothat Cuthbert had to look the other way. But next moment both he and Lizwere laughing, and Cuthbert swam back again to put on his clothes; andthen he crossed the river upon a plank lower down, where he found BeardyNed and Liz waiting for him.
Beardy Ned took him by the shoulder.
"Come along," he said, "and have supper with us."
He was carrying Liz, and sticking out of one of his pockets Cuthbertcould see the tails of a brace of trout; and presently they came to abend of the stream, where the bank was high and there was a littlebeach. From the top of the bank a great tree had fallen, with its rootssticking up in the air, and under the trunk there was just room enoughfor Beardy Ned and Liz to sleep. He had put a couple of blankets thereand an old waterproof, and standing on the beach were a cup and kettle;and soon he had made a fire with some dry sticks, and was showingCuthbert how to cook trout.
It was beginning to get dark now, and the stars were shining, and theflames of the fire made the river look like ink. But they were sosheltered under the high bank that they might almost have been at home.They had trout for supper, and drank tea, and Liz, who was almostasleep, had a cup of milk; and then they ate biscuits, and jam out of apot, and Beardy Ned filled his pipe. He had made Liz take off her wetclothes, of course, and these were hanging from sticks on either side ofthe fire, and he had wrapped her in a blanket, and soon she was fastasleep, lying on his knees as he sat and smoked.
He seemed to be thinking a lot, but at last he looked at Cuthbert.
"You've saved my little girl's life," he said, "and I can never pay youback. But I'll show you a secret that no one else in the whole worldknows."
Cuthbert liked secrets, so he was rather pleased. But Beardy Ned changedthe subject.
"It was just here," he said, "just where we're sitting, that I first sawmy Liz--I mean her mother. Perhaps, in a manner of speaking, it waswhere I first saw this one too, but that's neither here nor there. Shewas just nineteen. She'd been paddling in the stream. I called out toher, and she turned and looked at me. She was in an old frock, but shelooked quite the lady. Her eyes was dark, and she was smiling."
He moved his head a little.
"There goes a fox," he said.
He sucked his pipe for a moment in silence. The sound of the fire waslike somebody talking to them. But the sound of the river was likesomething talking to itself.
Then Beardy Ned felt in his pocket and pulled out the end of a candle.It looked like an ordinary candle, with an ordinary wick, and it wasjust about an inch long.
"This was give me," he said, "by an old feller--James Parkins, that washis name--and there's not another like it in the whole world, and therenever won't be again."
Beardy Ned held it in the palm of his hand, as though he were weighingit, while he looked at Cuthbert.
"Have you ever wondered," he said, "where candles goes to--where theygoes to when they goes out?"
"No, I don't think so," said Cuthbert. "Where _do_ they go to?"
Liz stirred a little, and Beardy Ned bent over her.
"Well, I'll tell you," he said. "They goes into the In-between Land--theplace as is in between everything you can see. How do I know? BecauseI've been there. Because James Parkins showed me how."
"That's very interesting," said Cuthbert politely, but Beardy Ned didn'tseem to hear.
"The trouble is, you see," Beardy Ned continued, "that candles, whenthey goes out, can't take people with them. But James Parkins, he'dfound a candle that could take a person with it, and this is the candle.When he first gave it me, two year ago, it was about eight inches long.But
I've used it a lot, and after you've blowed it out, and it's takenyou with it, it goes on burning. When you come back, it's an inchshorter--an inch shorter every time. And this here bit is the last bitas'll ever take anyone to In-between Land."
He gave it to Cuthbert.
"Do you want to go there?" he said. "You've saved my little girl's life,and you've only to say the word."
"But it's the last bit," said Cuthbert.
"Never mind. I know what's there. That's the chief thing."
"Is it quite safe?" asked Cuthbert. "It seems rather queer."
"I'll tell you what it's like," said Beardy Ned. "It's like a dream. Orrather it's not like a dream so much as waking up from a dream. You seesthe trees and things, all kind of misty, and the houses in the towns,and the people in the houses. And you sees 'em quarrelling and the like,and grieving, and you wants to tell 'em as it's only a dream. You wantsto tell 'em they're just going to wake up. That's what it seems like inIn-between Land."
Liz stirred again, and he shifted her on his knees a little.
"You see, in a manner of speaking," he went on, "there ain't no timethere, not as we reckons time. But once you've been there--well, you'llsee for yourself if you'd like to go."
Cuthbert held out the candle.
"Yes, I'd like to," he said. "It would be rather exciting."
Beardy Ned bent forward and took a stick from the fire. He lit the endof the candle between Cuthbert's fingers.
"Now blow it out," he said, "and you'll go out with it. It'll be allright. You'll be back in a tick."
Cuthbert's hand was shaking a little, but he blew out the candle, andthen, for a moment, he saw nothing at all. But he felt something. Hefelt as if he'd been asleep for ever and ever and had suddenly openedhis eyes. He felt as if he could do anything, he was so strong. He feltas if he could jump over the highest star. Toothache, and school, andtaking medicine--they all seemed too stupid even to bother about. Hefelt like a prisoner just set free. He knew that he was really free, andthat nothing could ever hurt him. Then he began to see things--the fireof sticks, the stream beyond, and the dusky meadows. But they lookedjust like dream-sticks, and a dream-fire, and there were real thingsbeyond them whose names he didn't know. Then he looked round and sawBeardy Ned with little Liz upon his knees; and it was just then that hesaw something else that was perhaps the most wonderful thing of all. Forbeside Beardy Ned stood a girl of nineteen, who had been paddling in thestream. She was in an old frock, but she looked quite the lady, and hereyes were dark, and she was smiling.
Then she was gone. The candle had burnt away. Cuthbert was back again inthe ordinary world. He saw Beardy Ned looking at him gravely.
"Now you know," he said, "why I'm happy."
Cuthbert rose to his feet.
"I must be going home," he said. "They'll be wondering where I've been."
Beardy Ned nodded.
"Well, good night," he said.
"Good night," said Cuthbert.
He climbed the bank.
But on the top of the bank he turned round for a moment and looked downagain at Beardy Ned. He was still sitting there with Liz on his knees,and Cuthbert saw him stoop and give her a kiss. Then he began to singvery softly the queer song that he had made up:
The wickedest girl there was, The wickedest girl there is, The wickedest girl there ever will be Is my young daughter Liz.
In between the things we know, Touch and handle, taste and see, Lies the land where lovers go At their life's end quietly.
There, in that untroubled place, There, with eyes amused, they scan, Cradled still in time and space, This, the infant world of man.
THE MAGIC SONG
The Magic Song]
VI
THE MAGIC SONG
About a month after Cuthbert had been lucky enough to save Beardy Ned'slittle girl, the weather grew so hot that all the people in the townbecame rather discontented. It is always easier for people in towns tobecome discontented than it is for other people, because instead offields to walk on they have only pavements; and instead of hills to lookat they have only chimneys; and instead of bean-flowers to smell theyhave only dust-bins and the stale air that trickles down the streets. Sothe men in the ironworks were discontented because they thought that themen who owned the ironworks didn't give them enough money; and the menin the cotton-mills were discontented because they thought that the menwho owned the cotton-mills made them work too hard; and the girls in MrJoseph's refreshment shops thought him a cruel old beast; and thepolicemen thought that nobody loved them.
Also, the men who owned the ironworks thought that their men weregreedy; and the men who owned the cotton-mills were afraid of becomingpoor; and Mr Joseph was feeling depressed; and the policemen stillthought that nobody loved them. Even dear Miss Plum, the head of theschool, had a frown on her forehead, and the French mistress slappedDoris so hard that she left a red mark on Doris's cheek. Of course Doriswas very angry about it, and her little brothers wanted to know exactlywhere the mark was. But it had faded away by the time she arrived home,and her mother only said that it had probably served her right. Doriswas rather fond, you see, of cheeking the French mistress, and askingher silly questions to make the other girls laugh; and since she had hadher hair bobbed the week before, she was even cheekier than usual.
Doris, as you may remember, lived in John Street, which was the nextstreet to Peter Street, where Marian and Cuthbert lived. But the housesin it were smaller than the houses in Peter Street, and most of thepeople in them were rather poor. Doris's mother was poor, becauseDoris's daddy was dead, and Doris had five little brothers--Teddy andGeorge, who were the twins, and Jimmy and Jocko and Christopher Mark.They were much too poor to be able to have a maid, and so Doris's motherhad to do most of the work. She had to be cook and housemaid and nurseand governess and Mummy darling all in one. Now that Doris was ten shewas able to help her mother sometimes, and she used to take ChristopherMark out in his push-cart; and since she had been to the Arctic Circlewith Cuthbert and Captain Jeremy her mother had begun to lean upon her alittle more.
But oh, it was hot! The people in the streets lagged along with palefaces. They talked about the trouble in the ironworks, and the troublein the cotton-mills, and what would Mr Joseph do if his girls went onstrike, and didn't the policemen look ill-tempered? And Miss Plumcouldn't make her accounts come right; and the French mistress went hometo her boarding-house; and there she told everybody that she was goingto be ill, and that the ham was tepid and the milk-pudding sour.
Even in John Street it was almost as bad, though it was a quiet streetwith a field at the other end of it. For the sun poured right into it,so that there wasn't any shade, and the stones of the pavement shonelike martyrs, and the drains at Number Fifteen were out of order, andthere was half a haddock lying in the middle of the road. So Doris wentinto the garden when they had all finished tea, but it was as hot in thegarden as it was anywhere else; and the lady next door was grumbling tothe lady beyond about one of her husband's collars that had been spoiltin the wash. Doris played about a bit and made Jocko cry, because he wassilly and wanted to read a book; and then she went round to Peter Streetto see Cuthbert and Marian, and found that they had gone into thecountry to see their Uncle Joe.
So she came back and teased the twins, and at last it was time to go tobed; and it was almost as hot after the sun had gone down as it had beenin the middle of the day. She slept in the same room with Jimmy andJocko, and they all turned and twisted and kicked off their bedclothes;and as the daylight faded the moonlight grew, so that it was past tenbefore they fell asleep. That was when their mother came and kissedthem, and she was so tired that she could hardly stand; and then shewent to bed and fell asleep too, and the church clock struck eleventimes. Happy was Beardy Ned then, sleeping by the stream, with littleLiz and his beautiful secret; and happy was Gwendolen in her farmhousebedroom smelling of lavender and last year's apples. But sorrowful andsticky were the people of the town, and troubl
ed were their slumbers.
Then Doris sat up suddenly, for out in the street was the biggest dinthat she had ever heard. She jumped from her bed and ran to the window,and there she saw nine of the strangest-looking people. There was a bigsailor with a concertina, and a stout lady with a tambourine, and asoldier with a pair of cymbals, and an elderly greengrocer, who was verythin. They were standing in a row, and sitting on the ground behind themwere five men, each with a drum. Doris leaned out, and when they saw herthey all sang louder than ever; but the funny thing was that nobody elsein the whole street seemed to hear them. The blinds were all down, themoonlight lay on the road, and there wasn't a head at anybody's window.
When Doris first listened they had been singing about the lady, but nowthey began to sing about the sailor, and the sailor stepped forward,playing his concertina, and singing the loudest of them all. He had atenor voice with a great smack in it, like the smack of a wave against ajetty, and when he sang softly without taking a breath it was like waterrunning through seaweed. The soldier sang bass, like a motor-lorry in ahurry to get home over a rough road, and the stout lady sang soprano,and the elderly greengrocer only squeaked. This is what they sang:
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