HOW WE RODE GRAY ROBIN
It was close upon the dawn before Jeanne Falla's party broke up, and as I
jogged soberly down the lane from La Vauroque on Gray Robin, I met the
jovial ones all streaming homewards.
A moment before, the quiet gray lane, with its fern-covered banks and
hedges of roses and honeysuckle all asleep and drenched with dew, was all
in keeping with my spirits, which were gray also, partly with the weariness
of such unaccustomed merriment, and still more at thought of my various
stupidities.
They all gathered round me and broke out into fresh laughter.
"Ma fé, Phil, but you're going to make a day of it! We wondered where you'd
got to."
"Bon dou donc, you're in your pontificals, mon gars!"
"Is it a bank of roses you're riding, then?" and Gray Robin hotched
uncomfortably though still half asleep.
"The early bird gets the nicest worm. Keep ahead of the Frenchman, Phil,
and good luck to you!"
"Good luck to you all!" and their laughing voices died away along the
lanes, and I woke up Gray Robin and went on to Beaumanoir.
I hitched the bridle over the gatepost, and lighted my pipe, and strolled
to and fro with my hands deep in the pockets of my grandfather's best blue
pilot-cloth jacket, for there was a chill in the air as though the night
must die outright before the new day came.
Now, sunrise is small novelty to a sailorman. But there is a mighty
difference between watching it across the welter of tumbling waves from the
sloppy deck of a ship, and watching it from the top of the knoll outside
Beaumanoir, with Carette fast asleep behind the white curtains of the gray
stone house there.
Little matter that it might be hours before she came--since Jeanne Falla
knew that rest was as necessary to a girl as food, if she was to keep her
health and good looks. I could wait all day for Carette if needs be, and
Gray Robin was already fast asleep on three legs, with the fourth crooked
comfortably beneath him.
I can live that morning over again, though the years have passed.
... All the west was dark and dim. The sea was the colour of lead. Brecqhou
was a long black shadow. Herm and Jethou were darker spots on the dimness
beyond, and Guernsey was not to be seen. The sky up above me was thin and
vague. But away in the east over France, behind long banks of soft dark
cloud, it was thinner and rarer still, and seemed to throb with a little
pulse of life. And behind the white curtains in the gray stone house,
Carette lay sleeping.
... At midnight the girls had melted lead in an iron spoon, and dropped it
into buckets of water, amid bubbles of laughter, to see what the
occupations of their future husbands would be. They fished out the results
with eager faces, and twisted them to suit their hopes. Carette's piece
came out a something which Jeanne Falla at once pronounced an anchor, but
which young Torode said was a sword, and made it so by a skilful touch of
the finger.
... The air had been very still, as though asleep like all things else
except the sea. And the sea still lay like lead out there, but I began to
catch the gleam of white teeth along the sides of Brecqhou, and down below
in Havre Gosselin I could hear the long waves growling among the rocks. And
now there came a stir in the air like the waking breaths of a sleeper. The
shadows behind Herm and Jethou thickened and darkened. The little throb of
life behind the banks of cloud in the east quickened and grew. The sky
there looked thin and bright and empty, as if it had been swept bare and
cleansed for that which was to come. Up above me soft little gray clouds
showed suddenly, all touched with pink on their eastern sides, while the
sky behind them warmed with a faint dun glow. A cock in the Beaumanoir yard
woke suddenly and crowed, and the challenge was answered from La Vauroque.
Jeanne Falla's pigs grunted sleepily at the disturbance. The pigeons
rumbled in their cote, and the birds began to twitter in the trees about
the house. And behind the white curtains there, Carette lay sleeping.
... I had asked her, the first chance that offered, after I got back from
seeing George Hamon. We were spinning round in a double quickstep which
tried even Uncle Nico's seasoned arm.
"Carette," I whispered into the little pink shell of an ear, so near my
lips that it was hard to keep from kissing it, "will you ride with me
to-morrow?" and my heart went faster than my feet and set me tumbling over
them. For Midsummer Day is Riding Day in Sercq, and he who asks a maid to
share his horse that day is understood to desire her company on a longer
journey still, and her consent to the one is generally taken to mean that
she agrees to the other as well. So my little question held a mighty
meaning, and no wonder my heart went quicker than my feet and set me
stumbling over them as I waited for her answer.
"Not to-morrow, Phil," she whispered, and my heart stood still. Then it
went on its way like a wave out of the west, when she murmured, "It's
to-day we ride, not to-morrow," meaning that we had danced the night out.
"Then you will, Carette? You will?"
"You're late in the day, you know," she said, teasing still, as maids will
when they know a man's heart is under their feet.
"But I only got home this evening--"
"Monsieur Torode asked me hours ago."
"But you haven't promised him, Carette?" and I felt as though all my life
depended on her answer.
"I said I'd see. But--"
"Then you'll come with me, Carette," and I felt like kissing her there
before them all.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Phil. I'll go with one of you and come back
with the other."
"But--Carette!--"
"You should not have left it so late, you see."
And with that I had to be content, though it was not at all to my mind,
since I had looked for more.
... The eastern sky was filled to overflowing with pure thin light. The
edges of the long dark banks of cloud that lay in front of it were rimmed
with crimson fire. And from every quarter where the shadows lay gray clouds
streamed up to greet the sun. They crept up the heavens, slow and gray and
heavy, but as they climbed they lightened. They changed from gray to white.
Their fronts were touched with the crimson fire. They spread wide wings and
set me thinking of angels worshipping, and all the waiting clouds below
threw out long streamers towards the day, like soft white arms in prayer.
And behind the white curtains there, Carette lay sleeping.
... Gray Robin fell suddenly off one leg on to the other in his sleep, and
woke with a discontented snuffle. Down in Havre Gosselin the seagulls were
calling, "Miawk, miawk, miawk, miawk, miawk,--mink, mink, mink,
mink,--kawk, kawk, kawk, kawk,--keo, keo, keo, keo, keo."
... The sky up above was thin and blue. The soft white clouds were like a
mackerel's back, and every scale was rimmed with red gold. The east was all
a-throb. The long bands of cloud were silver above and glowing gold below.
The sun rose in a silence that seemed to me wonderful. If all the world had
broken out into the song that filled my heart it would have seemed but
right. Every cloud in all the sky seemed to bow in homage before him.
I had seen many and many a sunrise, but never before one like this. For
there, behind the curtains, Carette lay sleeping. And I was waiting for
her. And it was Riding Day, and she was going to ride with me on Gray
Robin.
And gay beyond his wont or knowledge was Gray Robin that day, though I
think myself he had his own suspicions of it even in his dreams. For when
he got fully awake, and took to looking at himself, and found out by
degrees how very fine he was, he felt shy and awkward, and shook himself so
vigorously that bits of his finery fell off. For, you see, Uncle George,
knowing what was right and proper under the circumstances, and throwing
himself into the matter because it was for me, had brought all his skill
into play. He had fished out a length of old net from his stores, and
turned it to great account. He had draped it in folds over Gray Robin's
broad flanks, and brought it round his chest, and wherever the threads
would hold a stem he had stuck in red and white and yellow roses, and had
tied bunches of them at his ears and along his bridle, so that the steady
old horse looked like an ancient charger in his armour.
And as I watched him examining into all these things I could see his wonder
grow, and he asked himself what, in the name of Hay, his friends and
acquaintances would think of it all when they saw him, and he snuffled with
disgust.
It was close upon six o'clock when Gray Robin pricked up his ears at sound
of hoofs in the lane between the high hedges, and young Torode rode up on
Black Boy. He drew rein sharply at sight of me, and a curse jerked out of
him. And at sight of Gray Robin in his gay trappings, Black Boy danced on
his hind legs and pretended to be frightened out of his wits.
Torode brought him to reason with a violent hand, and flung himself off
with a black face.
"How then, Carré?" he broke out. "Mademoiselle promised to ride with me
to-day."
"And with me also. So she said she would ride half the day with each of
us."
"But, nom-de-dieu, what is the good of that? There is no sense in it."
"It is her wish."
He flogged a gorse bush angrily with a switch he had cut for Black Boy's
benefit, and looked more than half inclined to fling himself back on to his
horse and ride away, which would have been quite to my taste. Black Boy
watched him viciously, with white gleams in his eyes, and winced at sound
of the switch.
But before Torode had made up his mind, Jeanne Falla's sharp voice called
from the gate, "Now then, you two, the coffee's getting cold. Come in and
eat while you have the chance."
Coffee never tastes so good as just after morning watch, and I turned in at
once, while young Torode proceeded to make sure that Black Boy should not
make off while he was inside.
Aunt Jeanne's brown old face creased up into something like a very large
wink as we went up the path, and she said softly, "First pig in trough gets
first bite. You'll enjoy a cup of coffee at all events, mon gars. Seems to
me there are two Black Boys out there, n'es c' pas?"
And if such coffee as Jeanne Falla made, with milk warm from the cow, could
have been curdled by sour looks, young Torode had surely not found his cup
to his liking.
His ill-humour was not simply ill-concealed, it was barely kept within
bounds, and was, to say the least of it, but poor return for Aunt Jeanne's
double hospitality. But Aunt Jeanne, far from resenting it, seemed
actually to enjoy the sight, and as a matter of fact, I believe she was
hoping eagerly that Carette would come down in time to partake of it also.
She chatted gaily about her party, and plumed herself on its success.
"We did it all our own two selves, the little one and I. Nothing like
washing your own shirt, if you want it well done," brimmed she.
"It couldn't have been better, Aunt Jeanne. And as for the gâche--it was
simply delicious."
"Crais b'en! If there's one thing I can do, it's make gâche. And it's not
all finished yet," and she went to the press and brought out a cake like a
cartwheel, and cut it into spokes.
"There are not many things you can't do, it seems to me, Aunt Jeanne," I
said. "That cider was uncommonly good too."
"Ma fé, when you've learned to make cider for the Guernsey men you can make
it for most folks, I trow.... It's a tired man you'll be to-night, Phil,
mon gars. We were just turning in, the little one and I, when we heard a
horse snuffle outside, and nothing would satisfy her but she must up and
peep out of the window, and she said, 'Why, there's Phil Carré standing on
the knoll. Mon Gyu, what does he want there at this time of day?' And I
said, 'Come away into bed, child, and don't catch your death of cold.
You're half asleep and dreaming. There's no one out there.' 'Yes, there
is,' said she, 'and it's Phil Carré. I know his shape.' But I was sleepy,
and I said, 'Well, he'll keep till morning anyway, and if you don't get
some sleep you'll look like a boiled owl, and there'll be no riding for
you, miss, Phil Carré or no Phil Carré.'" All of which was gall and
wormwood to young Torode, as Jeanne Falla quite well knew and intended.
And presently Carette came down, looking like a half-opened rose after a
stormy night, and with just as much energy in her as might be expected in a
girl who had danced miles of quicksteps but a few hours before, and at a
pace which Uncle Nico's arm had not forgotten yet.
There was to me something almost sacred in the look of her with the maiden
sleep still in her eyes, which set her apart from us and above us, and I
could have sat and looked at her for a long time, and required no more.
She was all in white again, and Aunt Jeanne, when she had given her coffee
and a slice of gâche, and had coaxed her to eat, slipped out into the
garden, and came back presently with an apronful of red roses, all wet with
dew, and proceeded to pin them round her hat, and on her shoulder, and at
her breast, and in her waistband.
"V'là!" said the dear old soul, standing off and eyeing her handiwork with
her head on one side, like a robin. "There's not another in the Island will
come within a mile of you, ma garche!" and it was easy to see the love that
lay deep in the sharp old eyes.
We had hardly spoken a word since Carette came down, beyond wishing her
good-day, and she herself seemed in no humour for talk. And for myself, I
know I felt very common clay beside her, and I would, as I have said, been
well content simply to sit and watch her.
Aunt Jeanne continued to talk of the party, a subject that would not fail
her for many a week to come, for those sharp eyes of hers saw more than
most people's, and she never forgot what they told her.
It was only when Carette had finished her pretence of eating, and it was
time to be starting, that young Torode asked politely, "With whom do you
ride first, mademoiselle,--since we are two?"
And Carette said sweetly, "Since Phil was here first I will ride first with
him, monsieur, and afterwards with you."
"Do you cross the Coupée?" asked Aunt Jeanne anxiously.
"But, of course!" said Torode. "That is where the fun comes in."
"Bon Gyu, but that kind of fun does not please me! Some of you will find
yourselves at the bottom some day, and that will end the riding in Sercq."
"It's safe enough if you have a firm hand--that is, if you know how to ride
at all,"--a shot aimed at me, but which failed to wound.
"I don't like it," said Aunt Jeanne again, with a foreboding shake of the
head and a meaning look at me.
"Well, we won't be the first to cross," I said, to satisfy her. "We'll see
how the others get on, and no harm shall come to Carette, I promise you."
Gray Robin was dozing again, but I woke him up with a poke, and climbed up
on to his broad back with as little damage to his rose-armour as I could
manage, and Aunt Jeanne carried out a chair, so that Carette could get up
behind me without disarranging herself.
And a happy man was I when the soft arms clasped me firmly round the waist,
although I knew well enough that it was the correct thing for them to do,
and that there was nothing more in it than a strong desire on the rear
rider's part not to fall off. But for that troublesome young Torode, and
all that was implied in the fact that Carette's arms would be round him on
the homeward journey, I would have been the happiest man in Sercq that day.
As it was, it was in my mind to make the most of my half of it.
Young Torode sprang on Black Boy with a leap that put our more cautious
methods very much, into the shade, and also stirred up all Black Boy's
never-too-well-concealed evil temper. A horse of spirit ever objects to the
double burden of man and man's master, and, through thigh and heel and
hand, he can tell in the most wonderful fashion if the devil's aboard as
well.
We left them settling their little differences and jogged away down the
lane, and the last we saw of Aunt Jeanne she was leaning over the gate,
looking hopefully at the fight before her. But presently we heard the quick
beat of hoofs behind, and they went past us with a rush--Black Boy's chin
drawn tight to his chest, which was splashed with white foam flecks, his
neck like a bow, and the wicked white of his port eye glaring back at us
like a danger signal.
"Monsieur Torode has got his hands full, I think," I said.
"And Monsieur Black Boy carries more than he likes."
"I'm glad you're not on board there, Carette."
"I think I am too--just now," she laughed quietly.
We took the north road at La Vauroque, where we came on George Hamon,
gazing gloomily after Black Boy and his rider, who were flying along the
road to Colinette, and judging from his face there was a curse on his lips
as he turned to us, which was very unusual with him. He brightened,
however, when he saw us.
"B'en! That's all right," he said very heartily. "Gray Robin is a proud
horse this day, ma'm'zelle, with the prettiest maid in the Island on his
back--and the best man," he added meaningly. "I'm just hoping that crazy
Frenchman will bring my Black Boy back all safe and sound. He's got more
than a bit of the devil in him at times--the horse, I mean. The other, too,
maybe. And he's more used to harness than the saddle. However--luck to
you!"
He waved his hand, and we jogged on past the Cemetery, and so by La
Rondellerie and La Moinerie, where the holy Maglorius once lived--as you
may see by the ruins of his house and the cells of his disciples--to
Belfontaine, where my mother came out with full eyes to give us greeting.
And to prevent any mistake which might put Carette to confusion, I did my
clumsy best to make a joke of the matter.
"Your stupid was nearly too late, mother, and so Carette rides out with me
and back with Monsieur Torode."
"Under the circumstances it was good of Carette to give you a share, mon
gars."
"Oh, I'm grateful. One's sheaf is never quite as one would have it, and one
takes the good that comes."
"How glad you must have been to see him back, Mrs. Carré!" said Carette.
"You never gave him up, I know."
"No, I never gave him up," said my mother quietly.
"I think he ought to have stopped with you all day to-day," said Carette.
"I feel as if I were stealing him."
"Only borrowing," smiled my mother. "It is good to be young, and the young
have their rights as well as the old. Good luck to you and a fine ride!"
and I shook up Gray Robin, and we went on.
"Be very careful if you cross the Coupée, Phil," she called after us.
"There was a fall there the other day, your grandfather was saying, and the
path has not been mended yet."
I waved my hand, and we went on. From a distant field, where they were busy
with their hay, my grandfather and Krok saw us passing along the road, and
straightened up and shaded their eyes with their hands, and then waved us
heaps of good luck, and we jogged on along the road to the Eperquerie.