_How Brave Horatius is Lost and Found again, but Peter Paul Rubens
is Lost Forever._
I have wonders where is Brave Horatius. He comes not at my calling.
Two days he is now gone. For him I go on searches. I go the three
roads that go the three ways from where they have meeting in front
of the ranch house. On and on I go. To the Orne and Rille I go. I
go adown their ways. I call and call. Into the woods beyond the
rivière--into the forêt de Saint-Germain-en-Laye I go. I listen.
The sounds that were in time of summer are not now. Brave Horatius
is not there. I call and call. Then I come back again. I go to the
house of the girl who has no seeing. I go on. I go across the fields
of Auvergne and Picardie. But I have no seeing of my Brave Horatius.
I come back again. The man that wears gray neckties and is kind
to mice--he does keep watch by the mill. But these two days he
has had no seeing of Brave Horatius. I have wonders where can he
be. Every time I see the chore boy he does sing, “There was a
little dog and his name was Rover, and when he died, he died all
over--and--when--he--died--he--died--all--over.” The last part he
does wail in a most long way. I have not listenings to what that
chore boys says. I go on. I pray on. I look and I look for Brave
Horatius. I go four straight ways and I come back four different
ways. When I am come I go back and forth by Jardin des Tuileries
and across Pont Royal and adown the singing creek where the willows
grow. Lonesome feels are everywhere. I call and I do call. And I do
go on and on to where Rhone flows around Camargue.
I turn about and I go in the way that does go to the forêt de
Montmorency. I go to the forêt de Montmorency. No tree here is a
_chataignier_. But anyway I do call it forêt de Montmorency, and
often it is I come here; here I come with Brave Horatius. I went in
through and out through, but no answerings did come when I did call.
I wonder where he is. In the morning of to-day, when I did go that
way, I did meet with the father of Lola. And I did ask if he had
seen my Brave Horatius. He did have no seeing of him, and he did ask
where all I was going on searches. I did tell him to Orne and Yonne
and Rille and to Camargue and Picardie and Auvergne and to the forêt
de Montmorency. And when I did so tell him, he did laugh. Most all
the folks do laugh at the names I do call places hereabout. They
most all do laugh ’cepting Sadie McKibben. She smiles and smoothes
out my curls and says, “Name ’em what ye are a mind to, dearie.”
Sadie McKibben has an understanding soul. She keeps watch out of her
window for seeings of Brave Horatius, and she has promised me she
will ask everybody that she does see go by her house if they have
had seeings of Brave Horatius.
All my friends do feel lonesome feels for Brave Horatius. Lars Porsena
of Clusium hardly has knowing what to do. And Peter Paul Rubens did
have goings with me three times on searches. And when I did have
stops to pray, he did grunt Amen. And he would like to have goings
with me on the afternoon of to-day. But the pig-pen fence--it was
fixed most tight; and I could n’t unfix it with the hammer, so he
might have goings with me. I did start on. He did grunt grunts to
go. I did feel more sad feels. I do so like to have him go with me
on explores and searches. To-day I did go on, and then I did come
back to give him more good-bye pats on the nose until I was come
again. So I did four times. I did tell him when Brave Horatius was
found we would soon come to his pen.
Then I went on. On I went not far, for the mamma did call me to come
tend the baby. And I came again to the house we live in. When sleeps
was upon the baby, I lay me down to sleep, for tired feels was upon
me. Now I feel not so. I have been making prints. The mamma is gone
with the baby to the house of Elsie. I go now again to seek for my
Brave Horatius.
A little way I went. A long way I went. When I was come part way back
again, I climbed upon the old gray fence made of rails. I walked
adown it to the gate-post and there I sat. I sat there until I saw
the shepherd bringing down the sheep from the blue hills. When he was
come in sight, I went up the road to meet him and all the sheeps.
And when I was come near unto them, I did have seeing there by the
shepherd’s side did abide my Brave Horatius. I was happy. I was full
of glad feels. Brave Horatius showed his glad feels in his tail--and
he did look fond looks at the flock of sheep. I so did, too. And
in the flock there was Bede of Jarrow and Alfric of Canterbury and
Albéric de Briançon and Felix of Croyland. And there was Cynewulf
and Alcuin and Orderic and Gwian and Elidor. And in the midst of the
flock there was Guy de Cavaillon and Raoul de Houdenc and Edwin of
Diera and Adamnan of Iona. I did give to each and every one a word
of greeting as I did walk among the flock. And there were others
that I had not yet given names to. And last of them all--last of
all the flock was Dallan Forgaill.
And when we were come a little way, the shepherd did ask me again
what were the names I did call his sheep, and I told him all over
again. And he did say them after me. But the ways he did say them
were not just the ways I say them--some of them. And he did ask me
where I did have gettings of those names. And I did tell him I did
have gettings of those names from my two books that Angel Mother
and Angel Father did write in.
[Photograph: AT THE PASTURE-BARS]
We went on. Pretty soon I did tell him as how it was while he was
gone away to the blue hills I did choose for him another name. I
told him how sometimes I did call him by that other name. He did
have wantings to know what the other name was. I did tell him this
new name I have for him is Aidan of Iona come from Lindisfarne. He
liked it. I told him I did too. We went on. We did have talks. When
we were come near unto the lane I did say, “Good-bye, Aidan of Iona
come from Lindisfarne. I am glad you and the flock are come.” He
gave my curls a smooth back and he said, “Good-bye, little one.”
Then Brave Horatius and I went in a hurry in the way that does go to
the pig-pen. When we were gone part ways I looked a look back, and
in the road there I saw Aidan of Iona come from Lindisfarne still
watching us. Then we went on. And we were full of gladness when we
did reach the pig-pen, for Brave Horatius and Peter Paul Rubens and
I--we are friends. I did say a long thank prayer for that we were
together again. And Peter Paul Rubens did grunt Amen.
* * * * *
I am feeling all queer inside. Yesterday was butchering day. Among
the hogs they butchered was Peter Paul Rubens. The mamma let me go
off to the woods all day, after my morning’s work was done. Brave
Horatius and Lars Porsena of Clusium went with me--a part of the
time he perched on my shoulder, and then he would ride on the back
of Brave Horatius. Felix Mendelssohn rode in my apron pocket and
Elizabeth Barrett Browning followed after.
We had not gone far when we heard an awful squeal--so different
from the way pigs squeal when they want their supper. I felt cold
all over. Then I did have knowings why the mamma had let me start
away to the woods without scolding. And I ran a quick run to save
my dear Peter Paul Rubens; but already he was dying--and he died
with his head in my lap. I sat there feeling dead, too, until my
knees were all wet with blood from the throat of my dear Peter Paul
Rubens. After I changed my clothes and put the bloody ones in the
rain-barrel, I did go to the woods to look for the soul of Peter Paul
Rubens. I did n’t find it, but I think when comes the spring I will
find it among the flowers--probably in the blossom of a _faon_ lily
or in the top of a fir tree. To-day, when Brave Horatius and I went
through the woods, we did feel its presence near. When I was come
back from the woods, they made me grind sausage, and every time I
did turn the handle I could hear that little pain squeal Peter Paul
Rubens always gave when he did want me to come where he was at once.