The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📖

Almost before daylight we were afoot, and the first ray of cold sunshine found us stepping from the woods into the plain, where now the snow was vanished and a glistening coat of rime spread over all things. Down here the pines gave way to bare elms and poplars, thickly dotted, and among them the twisting smoke of farmstead and cottage, here and there, and the morning stir of kitchen and stable very musical in the crisp air.

Delia stepped along beside me, humming an air or breaking off to chatter. Meeting us, you would have said we had never a care. The road went stretching away to the northwest and the hills against the sky there; whither beyond, we neither knew nor (being both young, and one, by this time, pretty deep in love) did greatly care. Yet meeting with a waggoner and his team, we drew up to enquire.

The waggoner had a shock of whitish hair and a face purple-red above, by reason of the cold, and purple-black below, for lack of a barber. He purs'd up his mouth and look'd us slowly up and down.

“Come,” said I, “you are not deaf, I hope, nor dumb.”

“Send I may niver!” the fellow ejaculated, slowly and with contemplation: “'tis an unseemly sight, yet tickling to the mirthfully minded. Haw—haw!” He check'd his laughter suddenly and stood like a stone image beside his horses.

“Good sir,” said Delia, laying a hand on my arm (for I was growing nettled), “your mirth is a riddle: but tell us our way and you are free to laugh.”

“Oh, Scarlet—Scarlet!” answer'd he: “and to me, that am a man o' blushes from my cradle!”

Convinced by this that the fellow must be an idiot, I told him so, and left him staring after us; nor heard the sound of his horses moving on again for many minutes.

After this we met about a dozen on the road, and all paus'd to stare. But from one—an old woman—we learn'd we were walking toward Marlboro', and about noon were over the hills and looking into the valley beyond.

'Twas very like the other vale; only a pleasant stream wound along the bottom, by the banks of which the road took us. Here, by a bridge, we came to an inn bearing the sign of “The Broad Face,” and entered: for Captain Settle's stock of victuals was now done. A sour-fac'd woman met us at the door.

“Do you stay here,” Delia advis'd me, “and drink a mug of beer while I bargain with the hostess for fresh food.” She follow'd the sour-fac'd woman into the house.

But out she comes presently with her cheeks flaming and a pair of bright eyes. “Come!” she commanded, “come at once!” Setting down my half emptied mug, I went after her across the bridge and up the road, wondering. In this way we must have walk'd for a mile or more before she turn'd and stamp'd her little foot—

“Horrible!” she cried. “Horrible—wicked—shameful! Ugh!” There were tears in her eyes.

“What is shameful?”

She made no reply, but walk'd on again quickly.

“I am getting hungry, for my part,” sigh'd I, after a little.

“Then you must starve!”

“Oh!”

She wheel'd round again.

“Jack, this will never do. If you are to have a comrade, let it be a boy.”

“Now, I am very passably content as things are.”

“Nonsense: at Marlboro', I mean, you must buy me a suit of boy's clothes. What are you hearkening to?”

“I thought I heard the noise of guns—or is it thunder?”

“Dear Jack, don't say 'tis thunder! I do mortally fear thunder—and mice.”

“'Twouldn't be thunder at this time of year. No, 'tis guns firing.”

“Where?—not that I mind guns.”

“Ahead of us.”

On the far side of the valley we enter'd a wood, thinking by this to shorten our way: for the road here took a long