CHAPTER VII.
The cloud has its silver lining.
Thus turning his back on the good fortune which he had so carefully
cautioned Mrs. Saunders against favouring on his behalf, the vagrant was
now on his way to the ancient municipal town of Gatesboro', which, being
the nearest place of fitting opulence and population, Mr. Waife had
resolved to honour with the debut of Sir Isaac as soon as he had
appropriated to himself the services of that promising quadruped.
He had consulted a map of the county before quitting Mr. Merle's roof,
and ascertained that he could reach Gatesboro' by a short cut for foot-
travellers along fields and lanes. He was always glad to avoid the high
road: doubtless for such avoidance he had good reasons. But prudential
reasons were in this instance supported by vagrant inclinations. High
roads are for the prosperous. By-paths and ill-luck go together. But
by-paths have their charm, and ill-luck its pleasant moments.
They passed then from the high road into a long succession of green
pastures, through which a straight public path conducted them into one of
those charming lanes never seen out of this bowery England,--a lane deep
sunk amidst high banks with overhanging oaks, and quivering ash, gnarled
wych-elm, vivid holly and shaggy brambles, with wild convolvulus and
creeping woodbine forcing sweet life through all. Sometimes the banks
opened abruptly, leaving patches of green sward, and peeps through still
sequestered gates, or over moss-grown pales, into the park or paddock of
some rural thane. New villas or old manor-houses on lawny uplands,
knitting, as it were, together England's feudal memories with England's
freeborn hopes,--the old land with its young people; for England is so
old, and the English are so young! And the gray cripple and the bright-
haired child often paused, and gazed upon the demesnes and homes of
owners whose lots were cast in such pleasant places. But there was no
grudging envy in their gaze; perhaps because their life was too remote
from those grand belongings. And therefore they could enjoy and possess
every banquet of the eye. For at least the beauty of what we see is ours
for the moment, on the simple condition that we do not covet the thing
which gives to our eyes that beauty. As the measureless sky and the
unnumbered stars are equally granted to king and to beggar; and in our
wildest ambition we do not sigh for a monopoly of the empyrean, or the
fee-simple of the planets: so the earth too, with all its fenced gardens
and embattled walls, all its landmarks of stern property and churlish
ownership, is ours too by right of eye. Ours to gaze on the fair
possessions with such delight as the gaze can give; grudging to the
unseen owner his other, and, it may be, more troubled rights, as little
as we grudge an astral proprietor his acres of light in Capricorn.
Benignant is the law that saith, "Thou shalt not covet."
When the sun was at the highest our wayfarers found a shadowy nook for
their rest and repast. Before them ran a shallow limpid trout-stream;
on the other side its margin, low grassy meadows, a farmhouse in the
distance, backed by a still grove, from which rose a still church tower
and its still spire. Behind them, a close-shaven sloping lawn terminated
the hedgerow of the lane; seen clearly above it, with parterres of
flowers on the sward, drooping lilacs and laburnums farther back, and a
pervading fragrance from the brief-lived and rich syringas. The cripple
had climbed over a wooden rail that separated the lane from the rill, and
seated himself under the shade of a fantastic hollow thorn-tree. Sophy,
reclined beside him, was gathering some pale scentless violets from a
mound which the brambles had guarded from the sun. The dog had descended
to the waters to quench his thirst, but still stood knee-deep in the
shallow stream, and appeared lost in philosophical contemplation of a
swarm of minnows, which his immersion had disturbed, but which now made
itself again visible on the farther side of the glassy brook, undulating
round and round a tiny rocklet which interrupted the glide of the waves,
and caused them to break into a low melodious murmur. "For these and all
thy mercies, O Lord, make us thankful," said the victim of ill-luck, in
the tritest words of a pious custom. But never, perhaps, at aldermanic
feasts was the grace more sincerely said.
And then he untied the bundle, which the dog, who had hitherto carried it
by the way, had now carefully deposited at his side. "As I live,"
ejaculated Waife, "Mrs. Saunders is a woman in ten thousand. See, Sophy,
not contented with the bread and cheese to which I bade her stint her
beneficence, a whole chicken,--a little cake too for you, Sophy; she has
not even forgotten the salt. Sophy, that woman deserves the handsomest
token of our gratitude; and we will present her with a silver teapot the
first moment we can afford it."
His spirits exhilarated by the unexpected good cheer, the Comedian gave
way to his naturally blithe humour; and between every mouthful he rattled
or rather drolled on, now infant-like, now sage-like. He cast out the
rays of his liberal humour, careless where they fell,--on the child, on
the dog, on the fishes that played beneath the wave, on the cricket that
chirped amidst the grass; the woodpecker tapped the tree, and the
cripple's merry voice answered it in bird-like mimicry. To this riot of
genial babble there was a listener, of whom neither grandfather nor
grandchild was aware. Concealed by thick brushwood a few paces farther
on, a young angler, who might be five or six and twenty, had seated
himself, just before the arrival of our vagrant to those banks and
waters, for the purpose of changing an unsuccessful fly. At the sound of
voices, perhaps suspecting an unlicensed rival, for that part of the
stream was preserved,--he had suspended his task, and noiselessly put
aside the clustering leaves to reconnoitre. The piety of Waife's simple
grace seemed to surprise him pleasingly, for a sweet approving smile
crossed his lips. He continued to look and to listen. He forgot the
fly, and a trout sailed him by unheeded. But Sir Isaac, having probably
satisfied his speculative mind as to the natural attributes of minnows,
now slowly reascended the bank, and after a brief halt and a sniff,
walked majestically towards the hidden observer, looked at him with great
solemnity, and uttered an inquisitive bark,--a bark not hostile, not
menacing; purely and dryly interrogative. Thus detected, the angler
rose; and Waife, whose attention was directed that way by the bark, saw
him, called to Sir Isaac, and said politely, "There is no harm in my dog,
sir."
The young man muttered some inaudible reply, and, lifting up his rod as
in sign of his occupation or excuse for his vicinity, came out from the
intervening foliage, and stepped quietly to Waife's side. Sir Isaac
followed him, sniffed again, seemed satisfied; and seating himself on his
haunches, fixed his attention upon the remains of the chicken which lay
defenceless on the grass. The new comer was evidently of the rank of
gentleman; his figure was slim and graceful, his face pale, meditative,
refined. He would have impressed you at once with the idea of what he
really was,--an Oxford scholar; and you would perhaps have guessed him
designed for the ministry of the Church, if not actually in orders.
