Peregrine's Progress Part 60

"I confess it. But always your pal, I trust, notwithstanding--"

"Why, then you own Wyvelstoke Park?"

"I do."

"And--this wood?"

"Yes, Diana."

"An' horses an' carriages an' houses, I suppose?"

"Yes, child."

"Why, then, you're rich! And you let me give you a guinea!"

"A treasure dearer to me than all the rest!" he answered gently; and taking out the coin he looked down at it, smiling wistfully.

"And I thought you were such a poor, lonely old soul--"

"So I was, Diana, and so I should be without your friends.h.i.+p."

"I s'pose you don't want any liver an' bacon, do you, lord?"

"Why not, G.o.ddess?"

"Because lords an' earls don't eat liver an' bacon off tin plates, do they?"

"You behold one who would if you will so far honour him," answered the Earl with one of his stately obeisances.

"You might have told me, all the same!" said Diana, pouting a little.

"Dear child, had I done so would you have called me your old pal? It is a t.i.tle dearer to me than any other." Hereupon she brought him the three-legged stool which, despite his protestations, she forced him to take. And so we began dinner, though often the Tinker would pause, food-laden jackknife in mid-air, to steal amazed and surrept.i.tious glances at his lords.h.i.+p, sitting serenely, the tin plate balanced on his knees, eating with remarkable appet.i.te and gusto.

"D'ye like it, old pal?" questioned Diana suddenly.

"Diana," answered the Ancient Person with his whimsical look, "words are sometimes poor and inadequate--I like it beyond expression."

"That's because it's strange to you an' in the open air--"

"Nay, child, I have eaten strange meals amid strange people in strange, wild places of the earth, but never such a meal as this."

"D'ye mean foreign places--across the sea?" questioned Diana eagerly.

"Yes, I have seen much of the wonders and glories of the world, vasty deserts, trackless forests, stupendous mountains, mighty rivers, and yet--and yet what more wonderful than this little island of ours, what more tenderly beautiful than our green, English countryside? The thunderous roar of plunging cataracts, the cloud-capped pinnacles of mighty mountains may fill the soul with awed and speechless wonder, but for pure joy give me an English coppice of a summer evening when blackbird and thrush are calling, or to sit and hearken to the immemorial music of a brook--Friend Jarvis, you write verses, I believe?"

"Lord, sir--my lord," answered Jeremy, his bronzed cheek flus.h.i.+ng, "how should you know that?"

"I learned the fact from Peregrine who spoke of them in such high praise that I should much like to read some of them if you would suffer me--"

"Why, sir," stammered Jeremy, "they're wrote on such sc.r.a.ps an' bits o' paper, I only write 'em to please myself an'--an'--"

"Because he must!" added Diana. "You see, old pal, Jerry writes poetry like the birds sing and brooks flow, just because 't is his nature. I know lots of his verses by heart an' I love all of 'em, but I like this about the Silent Places best; listen:

"'He that the great, good thing would know Must to the Silent Places go, Leaving wealth and state behind Who the great good thing would find.

Glories, honours, these will fade, Life itself's a phantom shade; But the soul of man--who knoweth Whence it came and where it goeth.

So, G.o.d of Life, I pray of Thee Ears to hear and eyes to see.

In bubbling brooks, in whispering wind He who hath ears shall voices find, Telling the wonder of the earth: The awful miracle of birth; Of love and joy, of Life and Death, Of things that were ere we had breath; Of man's soul through the ages growing, Whence it comes or whither going, That soul of G.o.d, a deathless spark Unquenched through ages wild and dark, Up-struggling through the age-long night Through glooms and sorrows, to the light.

The soul that marches, age to age, On slow and painful pilgrimage Till man through tears and strife and pain Shall thus his G.o.dhead find again.

Of such, the wind in lonely tree The murmurous brook, doth tell to me.

These are the wonders ye may know Who to the Silent Places go; Who these with reverent foot hath trod May meet his soul and walk with G.o.d.'"

"Friend Jarvis," said the Ancient Person, setting down his empty platter and beginning to fill his pipe, "Peregrine was exactly right; you are a most astonis.h.i.+ng tinker. You, sir, are a poet as I am a musician,--by a natural predisposition; and your poetry is true as is my music because it is simple; for what is Truth but Simplicity, that which touches the soul, the heart, the emotions rather than the cold, reasoning intellect, since poetry, but more especially music, is a direct appeal to and expression of, the emotion? Do you agree?"

"Why, sir," answered the Tinker, shaking his head a little sadly, "I don't know aught about music, d'ye see--"

"Fiddlestick, man! You are full of music. Who has not heard leaves rustle in the wind, or listened to the babble of a brook; yet to the majority they are no more than what they seem--rustling leaves, a babbling brook--but to you and me these are an inspiration, voices of Nature, of G.o.d, of the Infinite, urging us to an attempt to express the inexpressible--is it not so?"

"Why, my lord," quoth the Tinker, chafing blue chin with knife-handle, "since you put it that way I--I fancy--"

"Of course you do!" nodded his lords.h.i.+p. "Take yonder stream: to you it finds a voice to speak of the immemorial past; to me it is the elemental music of G.o.d. As it sings to-day so has it sung to countless generations and mayhap, in earth's dim days, taught some wild man-monster to echo something of its melody and thus perchance came our first music. What do you think?"

"'Tis a wonderful thought, sir, but I should think birds would be easier to imitate than a brook--"

"Possibly, yes. But man's first lyrical music was undoubtedly an imitation of the voices of nature. And what is music after all but an infinite speech unbounded by fettering words, an auricular presentment of the otherwise indescribable, for what words may fully reveal all the wonder of Life, the awful majesty of Death? But music can and does. By music we may hold converse with the Infinite. Out of the dust came man, out of suffering his soul and from his soul--music. You apprehend me, friend Jarvis?"

"Here an' there, my lord. I--I mean," stammered the Tinker, a little at a loss, "I understand enough to wish I could hear some real music--but music ain't much in a tinker's line--"

"You shall!" exclaimed his lords.h.i.+p, rising suddenly. "I will play to you, and after, Diana shall bless us with the glory of her voice if she will. Your arm, Tinker. Leave your irons and hammers awhile and come with me--let us go. Your arm, friend Jarvis!"

"But, sir--my clothes, my lord!" gasped Jeremy. "I ain't fit--"

"A fiddlestick!" quoth his lords.h.i.+p. "Give me your arm, pray." So limping thus beside the Tinker, the Earl of Wyvelstoke led us along beside the brook until we presently reached a gra.s.sy ride. Here he paused and, taking a small gold whistle that hung about his neck, blew a shrill blast, whereupon ensued the sound of wheels and creaking harness, and a phaeton appeared driven by a man in handsome livery who, touching smart hat to his shabby master, brought the vehicle to a halt, into which we mounted forthwith and away we drove. Soon before us rose stately parapet, battlement and turret above the green of trees ancient like itself, a mighty structure, its frowning grimness softened by years. Diana viewed ma.s.sive wall and tower with eyes of delighted wonder, then suddenly turned to clasp the hand of the slender, shabby figure beside her.

"Poor old soul, no wonder you were lonely!" she sighed, whereupon the Earl smiled a little wistfully and stooped to kiss her sunburnt fingers in his stately fas.h.i.+on.

The carriage stopping, behold the sedate Atkinson (who manifested not the least surprise at our incongruous appearance) a square-shouldered, square-faced person he, whose features wore an air of resolution, notwithstanding his soft voice and deferential ways.

At a word from the Earl he ushered us in by a side entrance, through a long and n.o.ble gallery, where stood many effigies in bright armour, backed by pictures of bewigged gentlemen who smirked or scowled upon us, and fair dames in ruff and farthingale who smiled, or ladies bare-bosomed who ogled through artful ringlets; across panelled rooms and arras-hung chambers, to lofty and s.p.a.cious hall, with a great, many-piped organ at one end. Here his lords.h.i.+p made us welcome with a simple and easy courtesy, himself setting chairs for Diana and the Tinker.

"Sit ye, friend Jarvis," said he, "and if you care to smoke, pray do so, you will find tobacco in the jar on the cabinet yonder. As for you, my G.o.ddess of the Silent Places, yonder comes my admirable valet with fruit and sweetmeats for your delectation; you, Peregrine, have Diana beside you. Listen now, and you shall hear the joy of Life and Youth and Self-sacrifice. Blow, Atkinson!" So saying, he crossed the wide hall and seated himself at the great instrument.

I saw his white fingers busy among the many stops, then his slim hands fell upon the keys and forth gushed a torrent of sweet sound, a peal of triumphant joy that thrilled me; great, rolling chords beneath and through which rippled an ecstasy of silvery notes, whose magic conjured to my imagination a dew-spangled morning joyous with sun and thrilling with the glad song of birds new-waked,--a green and golden world wherein one sped to meet me, white arms outstretched in love, one herself as fresh and sweet as the morning.

But now the organ notes changed, the pealing rapture sank into a sighing melody inexpressibly sweet and softly tender, my vision's smiling lips quivered to drooping sadness, the bright eyes grew dimmed with tears; and hearkening to the tender pa.s.sion of this melody, full of poignant yearning and fond regret, I knew that here was parting and farewell. And lo! She, my Spirit of Love, was gone, and I alone in a desolate wilderness to grieve and wait, to strive and hope through weary length of days. And listening to these soft, plaintive notes, I bowed my head with eyes brimful of burning tears and heart full of sudden, chilling dread of the future, and glancing furtively towards Diana's beautiful, enraptured face, I clenched my fists and prayed desperate, wordless supplications against any such parting or farewell. And then, in this moment, grief and fear and heart-break were lost, forgotten, swept utterly away as the wailing, tender notes were 'whelmed in the triumphant melody that pealed forth, louder, more sublimely joyous than ever. She was back, within my arms, upon my heart, but a greater, n.o.bler She, mine for ever and the world all glorious about us.

The rapture ended suddenly on a note of triumph, and Diana, leaning to me, was looking at me through glistening tears, our hands met and clung and never a word between us; then we glanced up to meet the Ancient Person's keen, smiling glance and his voice was gentle when he spoke.

"G.o.d bless you, children! Then hearing, you saw and understood? No true love can be that knows nothing of pain, for pain enn.o.bles love and teaches self-sacrifice and this surely is the n.o.blest good of all.