The Scouring of the White Horse. Hughes Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ we went out walking in Combe Wood and Richmond Park one Sunday this last May —

      How beautiful the country do appear

      At this time of the year.

      I know he was laughing, and made them out of his own head, though he declared they were in Chaucer; but they are just as true for all that, whether Jem Fisher or Chaucer made them, though the English isn’t as good as the sense.

      There I found Joe waiting for me, with his trap, as he called it, at the door, and the inn ostler standing by the head of the horse, which was a bright chestnut, and looked very fine. I own I very much enjoyed going off in that dark-green high-wheeled carriage.

      “In with you, Dick,” cried out Joe, as he took hold of the reins, and patted the horse on the neck. “There, shoot your bag in behind; look alive, she don’t stand well. That’ll do,” he shouted to the ostler, who jumped back and touched his hat just as if Joe owned half the parish. If the horse couldn’t stand well, at any rate she could step out, and away we whirled down the white road; Joe red in the face with holding on, his feet well out to the splash-board, his chest thrown forward, and his elbows down at his side, hauling the chestnut’s head right back, till her nose nearly touched the collar. But for all that, away went her legs right straight out in front, shooting along so fast that I began to feel queer, not being used to horses, and took tight hold of the seat with my left hand, so that Joe shouldn’t see; for the cart jumped sometimes enough to pitch you out.

      “Gently there, gently, my beauty,” said Joe, as the chestnut dropped into a little quieter pace. “There, now, ain’t she a pictur’?” said he to me; – “ever see a mare lay down to her work like that? Gently, my beauty! if it wasn’t for the blaze in her face, and the white feet, the Squir’d give me one hundred pounds for her to-morrow. And I won’t sell her under. It’s a mortal shame to drive her. Her mouth’s like a kitten’s.” How Joe could talk so, when he was pulling fit to burst himself at the reins, I don’t know; I thought once or twice where we should go to if one broke, but I didn’t say any thing. I found out afterwards that Joe meant a great white mark, when he talked of the blaze in her face. I suppose men can’t see any faults in their own horses, any more than they can in their children.

      After a bit, the pace got quite steady, and then I began to enjoy myself, and could look at the famous rich fields, and the high hedges full of great heavy masses of clematis, and sniff up all the country smells, as we whirled along, and listen to Joe, who was going grinding on about, ‘how badly the parish roads were kept up; and that he had set his mind to have them well mended with flints instead of chalk, and to have all the thistles at the side kept down, which were sowing the whole country round, because their vestry was so stingy they wouldn’t put any men on the road to set it right,’ and I could see that Joe was in the middle of a good quarrel with all the other farmers about it.

      When he had done his story, I asked him about the White Horse, and he pointed me out the highest of the hills which ran along on our left hand a mile or two away. There, sure enough, I saw the figure quite plain; but he didn’t know much about it. Only, he said, he had always heard tell that it was cut out by King Alfred the Great, who lived in those parts; and ‘there was a main sight of strange old things up there on the hill, besides the White Horse; and though he didn’t know much about how they got there, he was sort of proud of them, and was glad to pay his pound or two, or double that if it was wanted, to keep them as they should be;’ “for, you see,” said Joe, “we’ve lived about here, father and son, pretty nigh ever since King Alfred’s time, which I reckon is a smartish time ago, though I forget how long.” And though I think Joe, and parties in the counties generally, set too much store by such things, and hold their noses much higher than they’ve any need to do, because their families have never cared to move about, and push on in the world, and so they know where their great-grandfathers were born, I couldn’t help feeling there was something in it after all.

      And the more I thought of this strange old White Horse, the more it took hold of me, and I resolved, if I could, while I was down in the country to learn all about it. I knew, you see, that if I could only get people to tell me about it, I should be able to carry it all away; because, besides having a very good memory, I can take down every thing that is said as fast as most people can speak it, and that’s what gives me such an advantage over Jem Fisher and Neddy, who spent all the time it took me to learn shorthand in reading poetry and other rubbish, which will never help to get them on in the world, or do them a bit of good that I can see.

      Presently we came in sight of a house with farm buildings behind, which stood some way back from the road; and Joe pulled up opposite a gate which led into the field before the house.

      “Here we are, then,” said he; “just jump out, and open the gate, Dick; I’d do it, only I can’t trust you with the ribbons.”

      It was a beautiful great green pasture-field which we drove into, with a score of fat sleek cows feeding in it, or lying about chewing the cud; and Joe was very proud of them, and walked the chestnut along slowly while he pointed out his favourites to me, especially one short-horn, whose back he said was like a kitchen-table, though why she should be any the handsomer for that I can’t say. The house was an old brick building, with tall chimneys and latticed windows; in front of it was a nice little flower-garden, with a tall, clipped holly hedge running round it, so thick that you couldn’t see through; and beyond that, a kitchen garden and an orchard. Outside the enclosure stood four such elms as I never saw before, and a walnut-tree nearly as big as they, with queer great branches drooping close to the ground, on which some turkeys were sitting. There was only a little wicket-gate in the holly hedge, and a gravel footpath up to the front door, so we drove into the farm-yard at the back; and while Joe and his man took care of the chestnut, I had time to look about, and think what a snug berth Joe seemed to have fallen upon.

      The yard must be sixty yards across, and was full of straw where the pigs were lying with nothing but their snouts out; lots of poultry were scratching and pecking about before the barn-doors, and pigeons were fluttering down amongst them, and then up again to the tops of the barns and stables, which ran all round the yard. The rick-yard, full of long stacks of hay, and round stacks of corn, was beyond. A terrier and spaniel were sleeping in sunny corners, and a grayhound was stalking about and looking at the pigs; and every thing looked sleepy and happy, and as if life went easily along at Elm Close Farm.

      Presently Joe came out of the stable, carrying his whip, and took me into the house, calling into the kitchen as we passed to send in dinner directly. There was nobody in the parlour at first, but I saw that the table was laid for three; and, before I could look round at the prints and samples on the wall, Joe’s mother and the dinner came in. She was a good-looking old lady, dressed in black, with a very white lawn cap and collar, and was very kind and civil, but a little deaf. Joe bustled about, and got out I don’t know how many bottles of home-made wine, clary, and raisin, and ginger; all of which he made me drink, besides beer, for he said that no one in the vale had such receipts for wine as his mother. And what with the dairy-fed pork, and black puddings, and a chicken almost as big as a turkey, and the cheese-cakes and tarts afterwards, and the hearty welcome and good example which Joe gave me, I don’t remember when I have made so good a dinner.

      The old lady went off directly after dinner, and I could see that Joe wanted to go and see after his men; so I told him not to mind me, for I should enjoy loitering about the place better than any thing. And so I did; first I went into the flower-garden, and watched and listened to the bees working away so busy in the mignonette, and the swallows darting up into their nests under the eaves, and then diving out again, and skimming away over the great pasture; and then round the kitchen-garden, and into the orchard, where the trees were all loaded with apples and pears, and so out into a stubble-field at the back, where there were a lot of young pigs feeding and playing queer tricks, and back through the farm-yard into the great pasture, where I lay down on the grass, under one of the elms, and lighted my pipe; and thought of our hot clerks’ room, and how Jem Fisher and little Neddy were working СКАЧАТЬ