CHAPTER IX
_In which may be found some description of Arcadia, and gooseberries_
Anthea, leaning on her rake in a shady corner of the five-acre field,turned to watch Bellew who, stripped to his shirt-sleeves, bare of neck,and arm, and pitch-fork in hand, was busy tossing up great mounds ofsweet-smelling hay to Adam who stood upon a waggon to receive it, withSmall Porges perched up beside him.
A week had elapsed since Bellew had found his way to Dapplemere, a weekwhich had only served to strengthen the bonds of affection between himand his "nephew," and to win over sharp-eyed, shrewd little MissPriscilla to the extent of declaring him to be: "First a gentleman,Anthea, my dear, and Secondly,--what is much rarer, now-a-days,--a trueman!" A week! and already he was hail-fellow-well-met with everyoneabout the place, for who was proof against his unaffected gaiety, hissimple, easy, good-fellowship? So he laughed, and joked as he swung hispitch-fork, (awkwardly enough, to be sure), and received all hints, anddirections as to its use, in the kindly spirit they were tendered. AndAnthea, watching him from her shady corner, sighed once or twice, andcatching herself, so doing, stamped her foot at herself, and pulled hersunbonnet closer about her face.
"No, Adam," he was saying, "depend upon it, there is nothing likeexercise, and, of all exercise,--give me a pitch-fork."
"Why, as to that, Mr. Belloo, sir," Adam retorted, "I say--so be it, solong as I ain't near the wrong end of it, for the way you do 'ave offlourishin' an' a whirlin' that theer fork, is fair as-tonishin', I dodeclare it be."
"Why you see, Adam, there are some born with a leaning towardspitch-forks, as there are others born to the pen, and the--er--palette,and things, but for me, Adam, the pitch-fork, every time!" said Bellew,mopping his brow.
"If you was to try an' 'andle it more as if it _was_ a pitchfork now,Mr. Belloo, sir--" suggested Adam, and, not waiting for Bellew'slaughing rejoinder, he chirrupped to the horses, and the great waggoncreaked away with its mountainous load, surmounted by Adam's grinningvisage, and Small Porges' golden curls, and followed by the rest of themerry-voiced hay-makers.
Now it was, that turning his head, Bellew espied Anthea watching him,whereupon he shouldered his fork, and coming to where she sat upon athrone of hay, he sank down at her feet with a luxurious sigh. She hadnever seen him without a collar, before, and now she could not butnotice how round, and white, and powerful his neck was, and how themuscles bulged upon arm, and shoulder, and how his hair curled in small,damp rings upon his brow.
"It is good," said he, looking up into the witching face, above him,"yes, it is very good to see you idle--just for once."
"And I was thinking it was good to see you work,--just for once."
"Work!" he exclaimed, "my dear Miss Anthea, I assure you I have become apositive glutton for work. It has become my earnest desire to plantthings, and grow things, and chop things with axes; to mow things withscythes. I dream of pastures, and ploughs, of pails and pitchforks, bynight; and, by day, reaping-hooks, hoes, and rakes, are in my thoughtscontinually,--which all goes to show the effect of this wonderful air ofArcadia. Indeed, I am as full of suppressed energy, these days, as Adamis of the 'Old Adam.' And, talking of Adam reminds me that he hassolemnly pledged himself to initiate me into the mysteries of swinging ascythe to-morrow morning at--five o'clock! Yes indeed, my heart boundsresponsive to the swish of a scythe in thick grass, and my soul sitsenraptured upon a pitch-fork."
"How ridiculous you are!" she laughed.
"And how perfectly content!" he added.
"Is anyone ever quite content?" she sighed, glancing down at him,wistful-eyed.
"Not unless they have found Arcadia," he answered.
"Have you then?"
"Yes," he nodded complacently, "oh yes, I've found it."
"Are you--sure?"
"Quite sure!"
"Arcadia!" she repeated, wrinkling her brows, "what is Arcadiaand--where?"
"Arcadia," answered Bellew, watching the smoke rise up from his pipe,with a dreamy eye, "Arcadia is the--Promised Land,--the Land thateveryone tries to find, sometime or other, and may be--anywhere."
"And how came you to--find it?"
"By the most fortunate chance in the world."
"Tell me," said Anthea, taking a wisp of hay, and beginning to plait itin dexterous, brown fingers, "tell me how you found it."
"Why then you must know, in the first place," he began in his slow, evenvoice, "that it is a place I have sought for in all my wanderings, and Ihave been pretty far afield,--but I sought it so long, and so vainly,that I began to think it was like the El Dorado of the old Adventurers,and had never existed at all."
"Yes?" said Anthea, busy with her plaiting.
"But, one day,--Fate, or Chance, or Destiny,--or their benevolentspirit, sent a certain square-shouldered Waggoner to show me the way,and, after him, a very small Porges,--bless him!--to lead me into thiswonderful Arcadia."
"Oh, I see!" nodded Anthea, very intent upon her plaiting.
"But there is something more," said Bellew.
"Oh?" said Anthea.
"Shall I tell you?"
"If--it is--very interesting."
"Well then, in this delightful land there is a castle, grim, embattled,and very strong."
"A castle?" said Anthea, glancing up suddenly.
"The Castle of Heart's Desire."
"Oh!" said she, and gave all her attention to her plaiting again.
"And so," continued Bellew, "I am waiting, very patiently, until, in herown good time, she who rules within, shall open the gate to me, or--bidme go away."
Into Bellew's voice had crept a thrill no one had ever heard therebefore; he leaned nearer to her, and his dreamy eyes were keen now, andeager. And she, though she saw nothing of all this, yet, being a woman,knew it was there, of course, and, for that very reason, lookedresolutely away. Wherefore, once again, Bellew heartily wished thatsunbonnets had never been invented.
So there was silence while Anthea stared away across the goldencorn-fields, yet saw nothing of them, and Bellew looked upon thoseslender, capable fingers, that had faltered in their plaiting andstopped. And thus, upon the silence there broke a sudden voice shrillwith interest:
"Go on, Uncle Porges,--what about the dragons? Oh, please goon!--there's always dragons in 'chanted castles, you know, to guard thelovely Princess,--aren't you going to have any dragons that hiss, youknow, an' spit out smoke, an' flames? Oh!--do please have a dragon." AndSmall Porges appeared from the other side of the hay-mow, flushed,and eager.
"Certainly, my Porges," nodded Bellew, drawing the small figure downbeside him, "I was forgetting the dragons, but there they are, withscaly backs, and iron claws, spitting out sparks and flames, just asself-respecting dragons should, and roaring away like thunder."
"Ah!" exclaimed Small Porges, nestling closer to Bellew, and reachingout a hand to Auntie Anthea, "that's fine! let's have plentyof dragons."
"Do you think a--er--dozen would be enough, my Porges?"
"Oh yes! But s'pose the beautiful Princess didn't open the door,--whatwould you do if you were really a wandering knight who was waitingpatiently for it to open,--what would you do then?"
"Shin up a tree, my Porges."
"Oh but that wouldn't be a bit right--would it, Auntie?"
"Of course not!" laughed Anthea, "it would be most un-knight-like, andvery undignified."
"'Sides," added Small Porges, "you couldn't climb up a tree in yourarmour, you know."
"Then I'd make an awful' good try at it!" nodded Bellew.
"No," said Small Porges, shaking his head, "shall I tell you what youought to do? Well then, you'd draw your two-edged sword, an' dress yourshield,--like Gareth, the Kitchen Knave did,--he was always dressing hisshield, an' so was Lancelot,--an' you'd fight all those dragons, an'kill them, an' cut their heads off."
"And then what would happen?" enquired Bellew.
"Why then the lovely Princess would open the gate, an' marry you ofcourse, an' live happy ever aft
er, an' all would be revelry an' joy."
"Ah!" sighed Bellew, "if she'd do that, I think I'd fight all thedragons that ever roared,--and kill them too. But supposingshe--er--wouldn't open the gate."
"Why then," said Small Porges, wrinkling his brow, "why then--you'd haveto storm the castle, of course, an' break open the gate an' run off withthe Princess on your charger,--if she was very beautiful, you know."
"A most excellent idea, my Porges! If I should happen to find myself inlike circumstances, I'll surely take your advice."
Now, as he spoke, Bellew glanced at Anthea, and she at him. Andstraightway she blushed, and then she laughed, and then she blushedagain, and, still blushing, rose to her feet, and turned to find Mr.Cassilis within a yard of them.
"Ah, Miss Anthea," said he, lifting his hat, "I sent Georgy to find you,but it seems he forgot to mention that I was waiting."
"I'm awful' sorry, Mr. Cassilis,--but Uncle Porges was telling us 'boutdragons, you know," Small Porges hastened to explain.
"Dragons!" repeated Mr. Cassilis, with his supercilious smile, "ah,indeed! dragons should be interesting, especially in such a very quiet,shady nook as this,--quite an idyllic place for story-telling, it's apositive shame to disturb you," and his sharp, white teeth gleamedbeneath his moustache, as he spoke, and he tapped his riding-bootlightly with his hunting-crop as he fronted Bellew, who had risen, andstood bare-armed, leaning upon his pitch-fork. And, as in their firstmeeting, there was a mute antagonism in their look.
"Let me introduce you to each other," said Anthea, conscious of thisattitude,--"Mr. Cassilis, of Brampton Court,--Mr. Bellew!"
"Of nowhere in particular, sir!" added Bellew.
"And pray," said Mr. Cassilis perfunctorily as they strolled on acrossthe meadow, "how do you like Dapplemere, Mr. Bellew?"
"Immensely, sir,--beyond all expression!"
"Yes, it is considered rather pretty, I believe."
"Lovely, sir!" nodded Bellew, "though it is not so much the beauty ofthe place itself, that appeals to me so much as what it--contains."
"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Cassilis, with a sudden, sharp glance, "to whatdo you refer?"
"Goose-berries, sir!"
"I--ah--beg your pardon?"
"Sir," said Bellew gravely, "all my life I have fostered a secretpassion for goose-berries--raw, or cooked,--in pie, pudding or jam, theyare equally alluring. Unhappily the American goose-berry is but a hollowmockery, at best--"
"Ha?" said Mr. Cassilis, dubiously.
"Now, in goose-berries, as in everything else, sir, there is to be foundthe superlative, the quintessence,--the ideal. Consequently I haveroamed East and West, and North and South, in quest of it."
"Really?" said Mr. Cassilis, stifling a yawn, and turning towards MissAnthea with the very slightest shrug of his shoulders.
"And, in Dapplemere," concluded Bellew, solemnly, "I have, at last,found my ideal--"
"Goose-berry!" added Anthea with a laugh in her eyes.
"Arcadia being a land of ideals!" nodded Bellew.
"Ideals," said Mr. Cassilis, caressing his moustache, "idealsand--ah--goose-berries,--though probably excellent things in themselves,are apt to pall upon one, in time; personally, I find them equallyinsipid,--"
"Of course it is all a matter of taste!" sighed Bellew.
"But," Mr. Cassilis went on, fairly turning his back upon him, "thesubject I wished to discuss with you, Miss Anthea, was the--er--approaching sale."
"The sale!" she repeated, all the brightness dying out of her face.
"I wished," said Cassilis, leaning nearer to her, and lowering his voiceconfidentially, "to try to convince you how--unnecessary it wouldbe--if--" and he paused, significantly.
Anthea turned quickly aside, as though to hide her mortification fromBellew's keen eyes; whereupon he, seeing it all, became, straightway,more dreamy than ever, and, laying a hand upon Small Porges' shoulder,pointed with his pitch-fork to where at the other end of the "Five-acre"the hay-makers worked away as merrily as ever:
"Come, my Porges," said he, "let us away and join yon happy throng,and--er--
'With Daphnis, and Clo, and Blowsabel We'll list to the--er--cuckoo in the dell.'"
So, hand in hand, the two Porges set off together. But when they hadgone some distance, Bellew looked back, and then he saw that Antheawalked with her head averted, yet Cassilis walked close beside her, andstooped, now and then, until the black moustache came very near thecurl--that curl of wanton witchery that peeped above her ear.
"Uncle Porges--why do you frown so?"
"Frown, my Porges,--did I? Well, I was thinking."
"Well, I'm thinking too, only I don't frown, you know, but I'm thinkingjust the same."
"And what might you be thinking, nephew?"
"Why I was thinking that although you're so awful fond of goose-berries,an' though there's lots of ripe ones on the bushes I've never seen youeat a single one."