“Well, I mun be going. I’m off to prentice myself for ten months to
learn the coloured weaving in London Town. Then I can do piecework at
home, and care nothing for Grimble and his gang. Coloured weaving brings
in a tidy bit, and I’ll send it by coach every few months.”
“When’ll you be raught back!” I said, as if I was drowning.
“I’ll be back for next August fair, and I’ll come and talk with you a
bit then, Prue Sarn.”
“Maybe you’ll forget.”
“I dunna think so.”
“Well, God bless ye,” I says.
“And you.”
He turned to go. Then he turned back.
“But it’s foolish in you not to dance,” he says. “A wench with a figure
like an apple-blow fairy!”
He gi’d a little laugh and went.
So he knew about Venus! Oh, I was shamed and dumbfounded! I was angry
with Jancis too, for she must have told him, though she never would
confess it, but giggled and said he must have noticed my nice shape
through my clo’es, so that I was more shamed and vexed than ever.
Mother was tired and wanted me to help her to bed. After, I looked from
her window on to the rickyard, that had been void, but for one big
haystack, all peopled now with dark shapes. As I stood there, Gideon and
Jancis suddenly came round the corner of the house, and as they went by,
slow and seeing nought but each other, I plainly heard Gideon say, “Nay,
Jancis, I’ll make sure of what’s mine. To-morrow night when your
father’s gone, come down and let me in.”
I didna hear her answer, for they were past the window then, and
besides, I drew back, for I canna abide an eavesdropper. So that was in
his mind! He couldna trust his dear love even for a sennight. I thought,
well, maybe it was no harm, for they would be wed so soon. And indeed,
whether it was agen the church or no, I was bound to be glad that Gideon
should show any human feeling. Times, he seemed like a frozen man. When
all were gone, and the chattels fetched in out of the dew, it was
getting on towards dawn. So I went up to the attic and wrote in my book.
But first I took a sheet of paper and put down in very neat writing—
“A figure like an apple-blow fairy.”
“’Twas me he meant,” I said over and over, “poor Prue Sarn!”
And a glow began in my heart, warm and pleasant as a gledy fire. For
what is there in this earth, or in heaven, if it comes to that, like the
knowledge that you’ve found favour in the eyes of him that is your dear
acquaintance, and the Maister? I left off wondering what he thought of
my hare-shotten lip, for indeed it seemed he thought of it not at all. I
called to mind a thing he’d said while we watched the dragon-flies,
about sin. He said if you thought of it rightly it just wunna there. It
was gone like the shrouds of the dragon-flies when they’d wrostled free.
What did you want to go hunting about after the shroud for, when you
could look at the bright fly? Maybe that was how he thought of me. My
poor hideous lip was, as it were, my sin, though a kind of innicent
wickedness. It was my sin, and all the rest of me was my righteousness,
and my glory, and the way I made him glad. I cried a long while for very
joy, and such a rushing happiness went through me as seemed to make all
the blood in my veins new, and I felt as if it was so pure and strong it
might even cure me of my ill. There was some truth in it, too, for my
lip did never look quite so bad from that day.
Morning came fresh and sweet, and the rooks went streaming out across
the windy sky, to our stubble, with sleepy, contented caws falling
scattered here and there. On the way to milk I stopped by the rickyard
to give thanks for the corn. Why then in that hour did I think of those
words, “The precious bane”? Why did I think of that which men will
garner with their harvest, and treasure, though it is as fire-grass in a
haystack? Why did a cold boding horror stir in my heart, where all was
gay and warm, as a catch of frost will strike in your garden plot of an
autumn evening, when the dahlias are at their proudest—wine-colour and
clear gold, every quill in place, blooming high above the wall, with
bees about them—so that in the morning all is winter-sad?