STUDIES AND ESSAYS

By John Galsworthy

 "Je vous dirai que l'exces est toujours un mal. " --ANATOLE FRANCE

 CONCERNING LIFE

TABLE OF CONTENTS: INN OF TRANQUILITY MAGPIE OVER THE HILL SHEEP-SHEARING EVOLUTION RIDING IN THE MIST THE PROCESSION A CHRISTIAN WIND IN THE ROCKS MY DISTANT RELATIVE THE BLACK GODMOTHER

THE INN OF TRANQUILLITY

Under a burning blue sky, among the pine-trees and junipers, thecypresses and olives of that Odyssean coast, we came one afternoon on apink house bearing the legend: "Osteria di Tranquillita, "; and, partlybecause of the name, and partly because we did not expect to find a houseat all in those goat-haunted groves above the waves, we tarried forcontemplation. To the familiar simplicity of that Italian building therewere not lacking signs of a certain spiritual change, for out of theolive-grove which grew to its very doors a skittle-alley had been formed, and two baby cypress-trees were cut into the effigies of a cock and hen. The song of a gramophone, too, was breaking forth into the air, as itwere the presiding voice of a high and cosmopolitan mind. And, lost inadmiration, we became conscious of the odour of a full-flavoured cigar. Yes--in the skittle-alley a gentleman was standing who wore a bowler hat, a bright brown suit, pink tie, and very yellow boots. His head wasround, his cheeks fat and well-coloured, his lips red and full under ablack moustache, and he was regarding us through very thick andhalf-closed eyelids. 

Perceiving him to be the proprietor of the high and cosmopolitan mind, weaccosted him. 

"Good-day!" he replied: "I spik English. Been in Amurrica yes. "

"You have a lovely place here. "

Sweeping a glance over the skittle-alley, he sent forth a long puff ofsmoke; then, turning to my companion (of the politer sex) with the air ofone who has made himself perfect master of a foreign tongue, he smiled, and spoke. 

"Too-quiet!"

"Precisely; the name of your inn, perhaps, suggests----"

"I change all that--soon I call it Anglo-American hotel. "

"Ah! yes; you are very up-to-date already. "

He closed one eye and smiled. 

Having passed a few more compliments, we saluted and walked on; and, coming presently to the edge of the cliff, lay down on the thyme and thecrumbled leaf-dust. All the small singing birds had long been shot andeaten; there came to us no sound but that of the waves swimming in on agentle south wind. The wanton creatures seemed stretching out white armsto the land, flying desperately from a sea of such stupendous serenity;and over their bare shoulders their hair floated back, pale in thesunshine. If the air was void of sound, it was full of scent--thatdelicious and enlivening perfume of mingled gum, and herbs, and sweetwood being burned somewhere a long way off; and a silky, golden warmthslanted on to us through the olives and umbrella pines. Large wine-redviolets were growing near. On such a cliff might Theocritus have lain, spinning his songs; on that divine sea Odysseus should have passed. Andwe felt that presently the goat-god must put his head forth from behind arock. 

It seemed a little queer that our friend in the bowler hat should moveand breathe within one short flight of a cuckoo from this home of Pan. One could not but at first feelingly remember the old Boer saying: "OGod, what things man sees when he goes out without a gun!" But soon theinfinite incongruity of this juxtaposition began to produce within one acurious eagerness, a sort of half-philosophical delight. It began to seemtoo good, almost too romantic, to be true. To think of the gramophonewedded to the thin sweet singing of the olive leaves in the evening wind;to remember the scent of his rank cigar marrying with this wild incense;to read that enchanted name, "Inn of Tranquillity, " and hear the blandand affable remark of the gentleman who owned it--such were, indeed, phenomena to stimulate souls to speculation. And all unconsciously onebegan to justify them by thoughts of the other incongruities ofexistence--the strange, the passionate incongruities of youth and age, wealth and poverty, life and death; the wonderful odd bedfellows of thisworld; all those lurid contrasts which haunt a man's spirit tillsometimes he is ready to cry out: "Rather than live where such things canbe, let me die!"

Like a wild bird tracking through the air, one's meditation wandered on, following that trail of thought, till the chance encounter becamespiritually luminous. That Italian gentleman of the world, with hisbowler hat, his skittle-alley, his gramophone, who had planted himselfdown in this temple of wild harmony, was he not Progress itself--theblind figure with the stomach full of new meats and the brain of rawnotions? Was he not the very embodiment of the wonderful child, Civilisation, so possessed by a new toy each day that she has no time tomaster its use--naive creature lost amid her own discoveries! Was he notthe very symbol of that which was making economists thin, thinkers pale, artists haggard, statesmen bald--the symbol of Indigestion Incarnate!Did he not, delicious, gross, unconscious man, personify beneath hisAmerico-Italian polish all those rank and primitive instincts, whosesatisfaction necessitated the million miseries of his fellows; all thosethick rapacities which stir the hatred of the humane and thin-skinned!And yet, one's meditation could not stop there--it was not convenient tothe heart!

A little above us, among the olive-trees, two blue-clothed peasants, manand woman, were gathering the fruit--from some such couple, no doubt, ourfriend in the bowler hat had sprung; more "virile" and adventurous thanhis brothers, he had not stayed in the home groves, but had gone forth todrink the waters of hustle and commerce, and come back--what he was. Andhe, in turn, would beget children, and having made his pile out of his'Anglo-American hotel' would place those children beyond the coarserinfluences of life, till they became, perhaps, even as our selves, thesalt of the earth, and despised him. And I thought: "I do not despisethose peasants--far from it. I do not despise myself--no more thanreason; why, then, despise my friend in the bowler hat, who is, afterall, but the necessary link between them and me?" I did not despise theolive-trees, the warm sun, the pine scent, all those material thingswhich had made him so thick and strong; I did not despise the golden, tenuous imaginings which the trees and rocks and sea were starting in myown spirit. Why, then, despise the skittle-alley, the gramophone, thoseexpressions of the spirit of my friend in the billy-cock hat? To despisethem was ridiculous!

And suddenly I was visited by a sensation only to be described as a sortof smiling certainty, emanating from, and, as it were, still tinglingwithin every nerve of myself, but yet vibrating harmoniously with theworld around. It was as if I had suddenly seen what was the truth ofthings; not perhaps to anybody else, but at all events to me. And I feltat once tranquil and elated, as when something is met with which rousesand fascinates in a man all his faculties. 

"For, " I thought, "if it is ridiculous in me to despise my friend--thatperfect marvel of disharmony--it is ridiculous in me to despise anything. If he is a little bit of continuity, as perfectly logical an expressionof a necessary phase or mood of existence as I myself am, then, surely, there is nothing in all the world that is not a little bit of continuity, the expression of a little necessary mood. Yes, " I thought, "he and I, and those olive-trees, and this spider on my hand, and everything in theUniverse which has an individual shape, are all fit expressions of theseparate moods of a great underlying Mood or Principle, which must beperfectly adjusted, volving and revolving on itself. For if It did notvolve and revolve on Itself, It would peter out at one end or the other, and the image of this petering out no man with his mental apparatus canconceive. Therefore, one must conclude It to be perfectly adjusted andeverlasting. But if It is perfectly adjusted and everlasting, we are alllittle bits of continuity, and if we are all little bits of continuity itis ridiculous for one of us to despise another. So, " I thought, "I havenow proved it from my friend in the billy-cock hat up to the Universe, and from the Universe down, back again to my friend. "

And I lay on my back and looked at the sky. It seemed friendly to mythought with its smile, and few white clouds, saffron-tinged like theplumes of a white duck in sunlight. "And yet, " I wondered, "though myfriend and I may be equally necessary, I am certainly irritated by him, and shall as certainly continue to be irritated, not only by him, but bya thousand other men and so, with a light heart, you may go on beingirritated with your friend in the bowler hat, you may go on loving thosepeasants and this sky and sea. But, since you have this theory of life, you may not despise any one or any thing, not even a skittle-alley, forthey are all threaded to you, and to despise them would be to blasphemeagainst continuity, and to blaspheme against continuity would be to denyEternity. Love you cannot help, and hate you cannot help; but contemptis--for you--the sovereign idiocy, the irreligious fancy!"

There was a bee weighing down a blossom of thyme close by, and underneaththe stalk a very ugly little centipede. The wild bee, with his littledark body and his busy bear's legs, was lovely to me, and the creepycentipede gave me shudderings; but it was a pleasant thing to feel sosure that he, no less than the bee, was a little mood expressing himselfout in harmony with Designs tiny thread on the miraculous quilt. And Ilooked at him with a sudden zest and curiosity; it seemed to me that inthe mystery of his queer little creepings I was enjoying the SupremeMystery; and I thought: "If I knew all about that wriggling beast, then, indeed, I might despise him; but, truly, if I knew all about him I shouldknow all about everything--Mystery would be gone, and I could not bear tolive!"

So I stirred him with my finger and he went away. 

"But how"--I thought "about such as do not feel it ridiculous to despise;how about those whose temperaments and religions show them all things soplainly that they know they are right and others wrong? They must be in abad way!" And for some seconds I felt sorry for them, and wasdiscouraged. But then I thought: "Not at all--obviously not! For ifthey do not find it ridiculous to feel contempt, they are perfectly rightto feel contempt, it being natural to them; and you have no business tobe sorry for them, for that is, after all, only your euphemism forcontempt. They are all right, being the expressions of contemptuousmoods, having religions and so forth, suitable to these moods; and thereligion of your mood would be Greek to them, and probably a matter forcontempt. But this only makes it the more interesting. For though toyou, for instance, it may seem impossible to worship Mystery with onelobe of the brain, and with the other to explain it, the thought thatthis may not seem impossible to others should not discourage you; it isbut another little piece of that Mystery which makes life so wonderfuland sweet. "

The sun, fallen now almost to the level of the cliff, was slanting upwardon to the burnt-red pine boughs, which had taken to themselves a quaintresemblance to the great brown limbs of the wild men Titian drew in hispagan pictures, and down below us the sea-nymphs, still swimming toshore, seemed eager to embrace them in the enchanted groves. All wasfused in that golden glow of the sun going down-sea and land gatheredinto one transcendent mood of light and colour, as if Mystery desired tobless us by showing how perfect was that worshipful adjustment, whosesecret we could never know. And I said to myself: "None of thosethoughts of yours are new, and in a vague way even you have thought thembefore; but all the same, they have given you some little feeling oftranquillity. "

And at that word of fear I rose and invited my companion to return towardthe town. But as we stealthy crept by the "Osteria di Tranquillita, " ourfriend in the bowler hat came out with a gun over his shoulder and wavedhis hand toward the Inn. 

"You come again in two week--I change all that! And now, " he added, "Igo to shoot little bird or two, " and he disappeared into the golden hazeunder the olive-trees. 

A minute later we heard his gun go off, and returned homeward with aprayer. 

1910. 

MAGPIE OVER THE HILL

I lay often that summer on a slope of sand and coarse grass, close to theCornish sea, trying to catch thoughts; and I was trying very hard when Isaw them coming hand in hand. 

She was dressed in blue linen, and a little cloud of honey-coloured hair;her small face had serious eyes the colour of the chicory flowers she washolding up to sniff at--a clean sober little maid, with a very touchingupward look of trust. Her companion was a strong, active boy of perhapsfourteen, and he, too, was serious--his deep-set, blacklashed eyes lookeddown at her with a queer protective wonder; the while he explained in asoft voice broken up between two ages, that exact process which beesadopt to draw honey out of flowers. Once or twice this hoarse butcharming voice became quite fervent, when she had evidently failed tofollow; it was as if he would have been impatient, only he knew he mustnot, because she was a lady and younger than himself, and he loved her. 

They sat down just below my nook, and began to count the petals of achicory flower, and slowly she nestled in to him, and he put his armround her. Never did I see such sedate, sweet lovering, so trusting onher part, so guardianlike on his. They were like, in miniature---thoughmore dewy, --those sober couples who have long lived together, yet whomone still catches looking at each other with confidential tenderness, andin whom, one feels, passion is atrophied from never having been in use. 

Long I sat watching them in their cool communion, half-embraced, talkinga little, smiling a little, never once kissing. They did not seem shy ofthat; it was rather as if they were too much each other's to think ofsuch a thing. And then her head slid lower and lower down his shoulder, and sleep buttoned the lids over those chicory-blue eyes. How careful hewas, then, not to wake her, though I could see his arm was getting stiff!He still sat, good as gold, holding her, till it began quite to hurt meto see his shoulder thus in chancery. But presently I saw him draw hisarm away ever so carefully, lay her head down on the grass, and leanforward to stare at something. Straight in front of them was a magpie, balancing itself on a stripped twig of thorn-tree. The agitating bird, painted of night and day, was making a queer noise and flirting one wing, as if trying to attract attention. Rising from the twig, it circled, vivid and stealthy, twice round the tree, and flew to another a dozenpaces off. The boy rose; he looked at his little mate, looked at thebird, and began quietly to move toward it; but uttering again its queercall, the bird glided on to a third thorn-tree. The boy hesitatedthen--but once more the bird flew on, and suddenly dipped over the hill. I saw the boy break into a run; and getting up quickly, I ran too. 

When I reached the crest there was the black and white bird flying lowinto a dell, and there the boy, with hair streaming back, was rushinghelter-skelter down the hill. He reached the bottom and vanished intothe dell. I, too, ran down the hill. For all that I was prying and mustnot be seen by bird or boy, I crept warily in among the trees to the edgeof a pool that could know but little sunlight, so thickly arched was itby willows, birch-trees, and wild hazel. There, in a swing of boughsabove the water, was perched no pied bird, but a young, dark-haired girlwith, dangling, bare, brown legs. And on the brink of the black watergoldened, with fallen leaves, the boy was crouching, gazing up at herwith all his soul. She swung just out of reach and looked down at himacross the pool. How old was she, with her brown limbs, and her gleaming, slanting eyes? Or was she only the spirit of the dell, this elf-thingswinging there, entwined with boughs and the dark water, and covered witha shift of wet birch leaves. So strange a face she had, wild, almostwicked, yet so tender; a face that I could not take my eyes from. Herbare toes just touched the pool, and flicked up drops of water that fellon the boy's face. 

From him all the sober steadfastness was gone; already he looked as wildas she, and his arms were stretched out trying to reach her feet. Iwanted to cry to him: "Go back, boy, go back!" but could not; her elfeyes held me dumb-they looked so lost in their tender wildness. 

And then my heart stood still, for he had slipped and was struggling indeep water beneath her feet. What a gaze was that he was turning up toher--not frightened, but so longing, so desperate; and hers howtriumphant, and how happy!

And then he clutched her foot, and clung, and climbed; and bending down, she drew him up to her, all wet, and clasped him in the swing of boughs. 

I took a long breath then. An orange gleam of sunlight had flamed inamong the shadows and fell round those two where they swung over the darkwater, with lips close together and spirits lost in one another's, and intheir eyes such drowning ecstasy! And then they kissed! All round mepool, and leaves, and air seemed suddenly to swirl and melt--I could seenothing plain! . . . What time passed--I do not know--before theirfaces slowly again became visible! His face the sober boy's--was turnedaway from her, and he was listening; for above the whispering of leaves asound of weeping came from over the hill. It was to that he listened. 

And even as I looked he slid down from out of her arms; back into thepool, and began struggling to gain the edge. What grief and longing inher wild face then! But she did not wail. She did not try to pull himback; that elfish heart of dignity could reach out to what was coming, itcould not drag at what was gone. Unmoving as the boughs and water, shewatched him abandon her. 

Slowly the struggling boy gained land, and lay there, breathless. Andstill that sound of lonely weeping came from over the hill. 

Listening, but looking at those wild, mourning eyes that never moved fromhim, he lay. Once he turned back toward the water, but fire had diedwithin him; his hands dropped, nerveless--his young face was allbewilderment. 

And the quiet darkness of the pool waited, and the trees, and those losteyes of hers, and my heart. And ever from over the hill came the littlefair maiden's lonely weeping. 

Then, slowly dragging his feet, stumbling, half-blinded, turning andturning to look back, the boy groped his way out through the trees towardthat sound; and, as he went, that dark spirit-elf, abandoned, claspingher own lithe body with her arms, never moved her gaze from him. 

I, too, crept away, and when I was safe outside in the pale eveningsunlight, peered back into the dell. There under the dark trees she wasno longer, but round and round that cage of passion, fluttering andwailing through the leaves, over the black water, was the magpie, flighting on its twilight wings. 

I turned and ran and ran till I came over the hill and saw the boy andthe little fair, sober maiden sitting together once more on the openslope, under the high blue heaven. She was nestling her tear-stainedface against his shoulder and speaking already of indifferent things. And he--he was holding her with his arm and watching over her with eyesthat seemed to see something else. 

And so I lay, hearing their sober talk and gazing at their sober littlefigures, till I awoke and knew I had dreamed all that little allegory ofsacred and profane love, and from it had returned to reason, knowing nomore than ever which was which. 1912. 

SHEEP-SHEARING

From early morning there had been bleating of sheep in the yard, so thatone knew the creatures were being sheared, and toward evening I wentalong to see. Thirty or forty naked-looking ghosts of sheep were pennedagainst the barn, and perhaps a dozen still inhabiting their coats. Intothe wool of one of these bulky ewes the farmer's small, yellow-haireddaughter was twisting her fist, hustling it toward Fate; though pulledalmost off her feet by the frightened, stubborn creature, she never letgo, till, with a despairing cough, the ewe had passed over the thresholdand was fast in the hands of a shearer. At the far end of the barn, close by the doors, I stood a minute or two before shifting up to watchthe shearing. Into that dim, beautiful home of age, with its greatrafters and mellow stone archways, the June sunlight shone throughloopholes and chinks, in thin glamour, powdering with its verystrangeness the dark cathedraled air, where, high up, clung a fog of oldgrey cobwebs so thick as ever were the stalactites of a huge cave. Atthis end the scent of sheep and wool and men had not yet routed that homeessence of the barn, like the savour of acorns and withering beechleaves. 

They were shearing by hand this year, nine of them, counting the postman, who, though farm-bred, "did'n putt much to the shearin', " but had come toround the sheep up and give general aid. 

Sitting on the creatures, or with a leg firmly crooked over their heads, each shearer, even the two boys, had an air of going at it in his ownway. In their white canvas shearing suits they worked very steadily, almost in silence, as if drowsed by the "click-clip, click-clip" of theshears. And the sheep, but for an occasional wriggle of legs or head, lay quiet enough, having an inborn sense perhaps of the fitness ofthings, even when, once in a way, they lost more than wool; glad too, mayhap, to be rid of their matted vestments. From time to time thelittle damsel offered each shearer a jug and glass, but no man drank tillhe had finished his sheep; then he would get up, stretch his crampedmuscles, drink deep, and almost instantly sit down again on a freshbeast. And always there was the buzz of flies swarming in the sunlightof the open doorway, the dry rustle of the pollarded lime-trees in thesharp wind outside, the bleating of some released ewe, upset at her ownnakedness, the scrape and shuffle of heels and sheep's limbs on thefloor, together with the "click-clip, click-clip" of the shears. 

As each ewe, finished with, struggled up, helped by a friendly shove, andbolted out dazedly into the pen, I could not help wondering what waspassing in her head--in the heads of all those unceremoniously treatedcreatures; and, moving nearer to the postman, I said:

"They're really very good, on the whole. "

He looked at me, I thought, queerly. 

"Yaas, " he answered; "Mr. Molton's the best of them. "

I looked askance at Mr. Molton; but, with his knee crooked round a youngewe, he was shearing calmly. 

"Yes, " I admitted, "he is certainly good. "

"Yaas, " replied the postman. 

Edging back into the darkness, away from that uncomprehending youth, Iescaped into the air, and passing the remains of last year's stacks underthe tall, toppling elms, sat down in a field under the bank. It seemed tome that I had food for thought. In that little misunderstanding betweenme and the postman was all the essence of the difference between thatstate of civilisation in which sheep could prompt a sentiment, and thatstate in which sheep could not. 

The heat from the dropping sun, not far now above the moorline, struckfull into the ferns and long grass of the bank where I was sitting, andthe midges rioted on me in this last warmth. The wind was barred out, sothat one had the full sweetness of the clover, fast becoming hay, overwhich the swallows were wheeling and swooping after flies. And far up, as it were the crown of Nature's beautiful devouring circle, a buzzardhawk, almost stationary on the air, floated, intent on something pleasantbelow him. A number of little hens crept through the gate one by one, and came round me. It seemed to them that I was there to feed them; andthey held their neat red or yellow heads to one side and the other, inquiring with their beady eyes, surprised at my stillness. They werepretty with their speckled feathers, and as it seemed to me, plump andyoung, so that I wondered how many of them would in time feed me. Finding, however, that I gave them nothing to eat, they went away, andthere arose, in place of their clucking, the thin singing of air passingthrough some long tube. I knew it for the whining of my dog, who hadnosed me out, but could not get through the padlocked gate. And as Ilifted him over, I was glad the postman could not see me--for I felt thatto lift a dog over a gate would be against the principles of one for whomthe connection of sheep with good behaviour had been too strange athought. And it suddenly rushed into my mind that the time would no doubtcome when the conduct of apples, being plucked from the mother tree, would inspire us, and we should say: "They're really very good!" And Iwondered, were those future watchers of apple-gathering farther from methan I, watching sheep-shearing, from the postman? I thought, too, of thepretty dreams being dreamt about the land, and of the people who dreamedthem. And I looked at that land, covered with the sweet pinkish-green ofthe clover, and considered how much of it, through the medium of sheep, would find its way into me, to enable me to come out here and be eaten bymidges, and speculate about things, and conceive the sentiment of howgood the sheep were. And it all seemed queer. I thought, too, of a worldentirely composed of people who could see the sheen rippling on thatclover, and feel a sort of sweet elation at the scent of it, and Iwondered how much clover would be sown then? Many things I thought of, sitting there, till the sun sank below the moor line, the wind died offthe clover, and the midges slept. Here and there in the iris-colouredsky a star crept out; the soft-hooting owls awoke. But still I lingered, watching how, one after another, shapes and colours died into twilight;and I wondered what the postman thought of twilight, that inconvenientstate, when things were neither dark nor light; and I wondered what thesheep were thinking this first night without their coats. Then, slinkingalong the hedge, noiseless, unheard by my sleeping spaniel, I saw a tawnydog stealing by. He passed without seeing us, licking his lean chops. 

"Yes, friend, " I thought, "you have been after something very unholy; youhave been digging up buried lamb, or some desirable person of that kind!"

Sneaking past, in this sweet night, which stirred in one such sentiment, that ghoulish cur was like the omnivorousness of Nature. And it came tome, how wonderful and queer was a world which embraced within it, notonly this red gloating dog, fresh from his feast on the decaying flesh oflamb, but all those hundreds of beings in whom the sight of a fly withone leg shortened produced a quiver of compassion. For in this savage, slinking shadow, I knew that I had beheld a manifestation of divinity noless than in the smile of the sky, each minute growing more starry. Withwhat Harmony--I thought--can these two be enwrapped in this round worldso fast that it cannot be moved! What secret, marvellous, all-pervadingPrinciple can harmonise these things! And the old words 'good' and'evil' seemed to me more than ever quaint. 

It was almost dark, and the dew falling fast; I roused my spaniel to goin. 

Over the high-walled yard, the barns, the moon-white porch, dusk hadbrushed its velvet. Through an open window came a roaring sound. Mr. Molton was singing "The Happy Warrior, " to celebrate the finish of theshearing. The big doors into the garden, passed through, cut off thefull sweetness of that song; for there the owls were already masters ofnight with their music. 

On the dew-whitened grass of the lawn, we came on a little dark beast. My spaniel, liking its savour, stood with his nose at point; but, beingcalled off, I could feel him obedient, still quivering, under my hand. 

In the field, a wan huddle in the blackness, the dismantled sheep layunder a holly hedge. The wind had died; it was mist-warm. 1910

EVOLUTION

Coming out of the theatre, we found it utterly impossible to get ataxicab; and, though it was raining slightly, walked through LeicesterSquare in the hope of picking one up as it returned down Piccadilly. Numbers of hansoms and four-wheelers passed, or stood by the curb, hailing us feebly, or not even attempting to attract our attention, butevery taxi seemed to have its load. At Piccadilly Circus, losingpatience, we beckoned to a four-wheeler and resigned ourselves to a long, slow journey. A sou'-westerly air blew through the open windows, andthere was in it the scent of change, that wet scent which visits even thehearts of towns and inspires the watcher of their myriad activities withthought of the restless Force that forever cries: "On, on!" Butgradually the steady patter of the horse's hoofs, the rattling of thewindows, the slow thudding of the wheels, pressed on us so drowsily thatwhen, at last, we reached home we were more than half asleep. The farewas two shillings, and, standing in the lamplight to make sure the coinwas a half-crown before handing it to the driver, we happened to look up. This cabman appeared to be a man of about sixty, with a long, thin face, whose chin and drooping grey moustaches seemed in permanent repose on theup-turned collar of his old blue overcoat. But the remarkable featuresof his face were the two furrows down his cheeks, so deep and hollow thatit seemed as though that face were a collection of bones without coherentflesh, among which the eyes were sunk back so far that they had losttheir lustre. He sat quite motionless, gazing at the tail of his horse. And, almost unconsciously, one added the rest of one's silver to thathalf-crown. He took the coins without speaking; but, as we were turninginto the garden gate, we heard him say:

"Thank you; you've saved my life. "

Not knowing, either of us, what to reply to such a curious speech, weclosed the gate again and came back to the cab. 

"Are things so very bad?"

"They are, " replied the cabman. "It's done with--is this job. We're notwanted now. " And, taking up his whip, he prepared to drive away. 

"How long have they been as bad as this?"

The cabman dropped his hand again, as though glad to rest it, andanswered incoherently:

"Thirty-five year I've been drivin' a cab. "

And, sunk again in contemplation of his horse's tail, he could only beroused by many questions to express himself, having, as it seemed, noknowledge of the habit. 

"I don't blame the taxis, I don't blame nobody. It's come on us, that'swhat it has. I left the wife this morning with nothing in the house. She was saying to me only yesterday: 'What have you brought home the lastfour months?' 'Put it at six shillings a week, ' I said. 'No, ' she said, 'seven. ' Well, that's right--she enters it all down in her book. "

"You are really going short of food?"

The cabman smiled; and that smile between those two deep hollows wassurely as strange as ever shone on a human face. 

"You may say that, " he said. "Well, what does it amount to? Before Ipicked you up, I had one eighteen-penny fare to-day; and yesterday I tookfive shillings. And I've got seven bob a day to pay for the cab, andthat's low, too. There's many and many a proprietor that's broke andgone--every bit as bad as us. They let us down as easy as ever they can;you can't get blood from a stone, can you?" Once again he smiled. "I'msorry for them, too, and I'm sorry for the horses, though they come outbest of the three of us, I do believe. "

One of us muttered something about the Public. 

The cabman turned his face and stared down through the darkness. 

"The Public?" he said, and his voice had in it a faint surprise. "Well, they all want the taxis. It's natural. They get about faster in them, and time's money. I was seven hours before I picked you up. And then youwas lookin' for a taxi. Them as take us because they can't get better, they're not in a good temper, as a rule. And there's a few old ladiesthat's frightened of the motors, but old ladies aren't never very freewith their money--can't afford to be, the most of them, I expect. "

"Everybody's sorry for you; one would have thought that----"

He interrupted quietly: "Sorrow don't buy bread . . . . I never hadnobody ask me about things before. " And, slowly moving his long facefrom side to side, he added: "Besides, what could people do? They can'tbe expected to support you; and if they started askin' you questionsthey'd feel it very awkward. They know that, I suspect. Of course, there's such a lot of us; the hansoms are pretty nigh as bad off as weare. Well, we're gettin' fewer every day, that's one thing. "

Not knowing whether or no to manifest sympathy with this extinction, weapproached the horse. It was a horse that "stood over" a good deal atthe knee, and in the darkness seemed to have innumerable ribs. Andsuddenly one of us said: "Many people want to see nothing but taxis onthe streets, if only for the sake of the horses. "

The cabman nodded. 

"This old fellow, " he said, "never carried a deal of flesh. His grubdon't put spirit into him nowadays; it's not up to much in quality, buthe gets enough of it. "

"And you don't?"

The cabman again took up his whip. 

"I don't suppose, " he said without emotion, "any one could ever findanother job for me now. I've been at this too long. It'll be theworkhouse, if it's not the other thing. "

And hearing us mutter that it seemed cruel, he smiled for the third time. 

"Yes, " he said slowly, "it's a bit 'ard on us, because we've done nothingto deserve it. But things are like that, so far as I can see. One thingcomes pushin' out another, and so you go on. I've thought about it--youget to thinkin' and worryin' about the rights o' things, sittin' up hereall day. No, I don't see anything for it. It'll soon be the end of usnow--can't last much longer. And I don't know that I'll be sorry to havedone with it. It's pretty well broke my spirit. "

"There was a fund got up. "

"Yes, it helped a few of us to learn the motor-drivin'; but what's thegood of that to me, at my time of life? Sixty, that's my age; I'm notthe only one--there's hundreds like me. We're not fit for it, that's thefact; we haven't got the nerve now. It'd want a mint of money to helpus. And what you say's the truth--people want to see the end of us. They want the taxis--our day's over. I'm not complaining; you asked meabout it yourself. "

And for the third time he raised his whip. 

"Tell me what you would have done if you had been given your fare andjust sixpence over?"

The cabman stared downward, as though puzzled by that question. 

"Done? Why, nothing. What could I have done?"

"But you said that it had saved your life. "

"Yes, I said that, " he answered slowly; "I was feelin' a bit low. Youcan't help it sometimes; it's the thing comin' on you, and no way out ofit--that's what gets over you. We try not to think about it, as a rule. "

And this time, with a "Thank you, kindly!" he touched his horse's flankwith the whip. Like a thing aroused from sleep the forgotten creaturestarted and began to draw the cabman away from us. Very slowly theytravelled down the road among the shadows of the trees broken bylamplight. Above us, white ships of cloud were sailing rapidly acrossthe dark river of sky on the wind which smelled of change. And, afterthe cab was lost to sight, that wind still brought to us the dying soundof the slow wheels. 1910. 

RIDING IN MIST

Wet and hot, having her winter coat, the mare exactly matched thedrenched fox-coloured beech-leaf drifts. As was her wont on such mistydays, she danced along with head held high, her neck a little arched, herears pricked, pretending that things were not what they seemed, and nowand then vigorously trying to leave me planted on the air. Stones whichhad rolled out of the lane banks were her especial goblins, for one suchhad maltreated her nerves before she came into this ball-room world, andshe had not forgotten. 

There was no wind that day. On the beech-trees were still just enough ofcoppery leaves to look like fires lighted high-up to air the eeriness;but most of the twigs, pearled with water, were patterned very nakedagainst universal grey. Berries were few, except the pink spindle one, so far the most beautiful, of which there were more than Earth generallyvouchsafes. There was no sound in the deep lanes, none of that sweet, overhead sighing of yesterday at the same hour, but there was a qualityof silence--a dumb mist murmuration. We passed a tree with a proudpigeon sitting on its top spire, quite too heavy for the twig delicacybelow; undisturbed by the mare's hoofs or the creaking of saddle leather, he let us pass, absorbed in his world of tranquil turtledoves. The misthad thickened to a white, infinitesimal rain-dust, and in it the treesbegan to look strange, as though they had lost one another. The worldseemed inhabited only by quick, soundless wraiths as one trotted past. 

Close to a farm-house the mare stood still with that extreme suddennesspeculiar to her at times, and four black pigs scuttled by and at oncebecame white air. By now we were both hot and inclined to cling closelytogether and take liberties with each other; I telling her about hernature, name, and appearance, together with comments on her manners; andshe giving forth that sterterous, sweet snuffle, which begins under thestar on her forehead. On such days she did not sneeze, reserving thoseexpressions of her joy for sunny days and the crisp winds. At a forkingof the ways we came suddenly on one grey and three brown ponies, whoshied round and flung away in front of us, a vision of pretty heads andhaunches tangled in the thin lane, till, conscious that they were beyondtheir beat, they faced the bank and, one by one, scrambled over to jointhe other ghosts out on the dim common. 

Dipping down now over the road, we passed hounds going home. Pied, dumb-footed shapes, padding along in that soft-eyed, remote world oftheirs, with a tall riding splash of red in front, and a tall splash ofriding red behind. Then through a gate we came on to the moor, amongstwhitened furze. The mist thickened. A curlew was whistling on itsinvisible way, far up; and that wistful, wild calling seemed the veryvoice of the day. Keeping in view the glint of the road, we galloped;rejoicing, both of us, to be free of the jog jog of the lanes. 

And first the voice of the curlew died; then the glint of the roadvanished; and we were quite alone. Even the furze was gone; no shape ofanything left, only the black, peaty ground, and the thickening mist. Wemight as well have been that lonely bird crossing up there in the blindwhite nothingness, like a human spirit wandering on the undiscovered moorof its own future. 

The mare jumped a pile of stones, which appeared, as it were, after wehad passed over; and it came into my mind that, if we happened to strikeone of the old quarry pits, we should infallibly be killed. Somehow, there was pleasure in this thought, that we might, or might not, strikethat old quarry pit. The blood in us being hot, we had pure joy incharging its white, impalpable solidity, which made way, and at onceclosed in behind us. There was great fun in this yard-by-yard discoverythat we were not yet dead, this flying, shelterless challenge to whatevermight lie out there, five yards in front. We felt supremely above thewish to know that our necks were safe; we were happy, panting in thevapour that beat against our faces from the sheer speed of our galloping. Suddenly the ground grew lumpy and made up-hill. The mare slackenedpace; we stopped. Before us, behind, to right and left, white vapour. No sky, no distance, barely the earth. No wind in our faces, no windanywhere. At first we just got our breath, thought nothing, talked alittle. Then came a chillness, a faint clutching over the heart. Themare snuffled; we turned and made down-hill. And still the mistthickened, and seemed to darken ever so little; we went slowly, suddenlydoubtful of all that was in front. There came into our minds visions, sodistant in that darkening vapour, of a warm stall and manger of oats; oftea and a log fire. The mist seemed to have fingers now, long, darkwhite, crawling fingers; it seemed, too, to have in its sheer silence asort of muttered menace, a shuddery lurkingness, as if from out of itthat spirit of the unknown, which in hot blood we had just now sogleefully mocked, were creeping up at us, intent on its vengeance. Sincethe ground no longer sloped, we could not go down-hill; there were nomeans left of telling in what direction we were moving, and we stopped tolisten. There was no sound, not one tiny noise of water, wind in trees, or man; not even of birds or the moor ponies. And the mist darkened. Themare reached her head down and walked on, smelling at the heather; everytime she sniffed, one's heart quivered, hoping she had found the way. She threw up her head, snorted, and stood still; and there passed just infront of us a pony and her foal, shapes of scampering dusk, whisked likeblurred shadows across a sheet. Hoof-silent in the long heather--as everwere visiting ghosts--they were gone in a flash. The mare plungedforward, following. But, in the feel of her gallop, and the feel of myheart, there was no more that ecstasy of facing the unknown; there wasonly the cold, hasty dread of loneliness. Far asunder as the poles werethose two sensations, evoked by this same motion. The mare swervedviolently and stopped. There, passing within three yards, from the samedirection as before, the soundless shapes of the pony and her foal flewby again, more intangible, less dusky now against the darker screen. Were we, then, to be haunted by those bewildering uncanny ones, flittingpast ever from the same direction? This time the mare did not follow, butstood still; knowing as well as I that direction was quite lost. Soon, with a whimper, she picked her way on again, smelling at the heather. And the mist darkened!

Then, out of the heart of that dusky whiteness, came a tiny sound; westood, not breathing, turning our heads. I could see the mare's eyefixed and straining at the vapour. The tiny sound grew till it becamethe muttering of wheels. The mare dashed forward. The muttering ceaseduntimely; but she did not stop; turning abruptly to the left, she slid, scrambled, and dropped into a trot. The mist seemed whiter below us; wewere on the road. And involuntarily there came from me a sound, notquite a shout, not quite an oath. I saw the mare's eye turn back, faintly derisive, as who should say: Alone I did it! Then slowly, comfortably, a little ashamed, we jogged on, in the mood of men andhorses when danger is over. So pleasant it seemed now, in one shorthalf-hour, to have passed through the circle-swing of the emotions, fromthe ecstasy of hot recklessness to the clutching of chill fear. But themeeting-point of those two sensations we had left out there on themysterious moor! Why, at one moment, had we thought it finer thananything on earth to risk the breaking of our necks; and the next, shuddered at being lost in the darkening mist with winter night fastcoming on?

And very luxuriously we turned once more into the lanes, enjoying thepast, scenting the future. Close to home, the first little eddy of windstirred, and the song of dripping twigs began; an owl hooted, honey-soft, in the fog. We came on two farm hands mending the lane at the turn ofthe avenue, and, curled on the top of the bank, their cosy red colliepup, waiting for them to finish work for the day. He raised his sharpnose and looked at us dewily. We turned down, padding softly in the wetfox-red drifts under the beechtrees, whereon the last leaves stillflickered out in the darkening whiteness, that now seemed so littleeerie. We passed the grey-green skeleton of the farm-yard gate. A henran across us, clucking, into the dusk. The maze drew her long, home-coming snuffle, and stood still. 1910. 

THE PROCESSION

In one of those corners of our land canopied by the fumes of blindindustry, there was, on that day, a lull in darkness. A fresh wind hadsplit the customary heaven, or roof of hell; was sweeping long drifts ofcreamy clouds across a blue still pallid with reek. The sun evenshone--a sun whose face seemed white and wondering. And under that raresun all the little town, among its slag heaps and few tall chimneys, hadan air of living faster. In those continuous courts and alleys, wherethe women worked, smoke from each little forge rose and dispersed intothe wind with strange alacrity; amongst the women, too, there was thatsame eagerness, for the sunshine had crept in and was making pale allthose dark-raftered, sooted ceilings which covered them in, together withtheir immortal comrades, the small open furnaces. About their work theyhad been busy since seven o'clock; their feet pressing the leather lungswhich fanned the conical heaps of glowing fuel, their hands poking intothe glow a thin iron rod till the end could be curved into a fiery hook;snapping it with a mallet; threading it with tongs on to the chain;hammering, closing the link; and; without a second's pause, thrusting theiron rod again into the glow. And while they worked they chattered, laughed sometimes, now and then sighed. They seemed of all ages and alltypes; from her who looked like a peasant of Provence, broad, brown, andstrong, to the weariest white consumptive wisp; from old women ofseventy, with straggling grey hair, to fifteen-year-old girls. In thecottage forges there would be but one worker, or two at most; in the shopforges four, or even five, little glowing heaps; four or five of thegrimy, pale lung-bellows; and never a moment without a fiery hook aboutto take its place on the growing chains, never a second when the thinsmoke of the forges, and of those lives consuming slowly in front ofthem, did not escape from out of the dingy, whitewashed spaces past thedark rafters, away to freedom. 

But there had been in the air that morning something more than the whitesunlight. There had been anticipation. And at two o'clock beganfulfilment. The forges were stilled, and from court and alley forth camethe women. In their ragged working clothes, in their best clothes--solittle different; in bonnets, in hats, bareheaded; with babies born andunborn, they swarmed into the high street and formed across it behind theband. A strange, magpie, jay-like flock; black, white, patched withbrown and green and blue, shifting, chattering, laughing, seemingunconscious of any purpose. A thousand and more of them, with facestwisted and scored by those myriad deformings which a desperatetown-toiling and little food fasten on human visages; yet with hardly asingle evil or brutal face. Seemingly it was not easy to be evil orbrutal on a wage that scarcely bound soul and body. A thousand and moreof the poorest-paid and hardest-worked human beings in the world. 

On the pavement alongside this strange, acquiescing assembly of revolt, about to march in protest against the conditions of their lives, stood ayoung woman without a hat and in poor clothes, but with a sort of beautyin her rough-haired, high cheek-boned, dark-eyed face. She was not oneof them; yet, by a stroke of Nature's irony, there was graven on her facealone of all those faces, the true look of rebellion; a haughty, almostfierce, uneasy look--an untamed look. On all the other thousand facesone could see no bitterness, no fierceness, not even enthusiasm; only ahalf-stolid, half-vivacious patience and eagerness as of children goingto a party. 

The band played; and they began to march. 

Laughing, talking, waving flags, trying to keep step; with the sameexpression slowly but surely coming over every face; the future was not;only the present--this happy present of marching behind the discordanceof a brass band; this strange present of crowded movement and laughter inopen air. 

We others--some dozen accidentals like myself, and the tall, grey-hairedlady interested in "the people, " together with those few kind spirits incharge of "the show"--marched too, a little self-conscious, desiring witha vague military sensation to hold our heads up, but not too much, underthe eyes of the curious bystanders. These--nearly all men--werewell-wishers, it was said, though their faces, pale from their own workin shop or furnace, expressed nothing but apathy. They wished well, verydumbly, in the presence of this new thing, as if they found it queer thatwomen should be doing something for themselves; queer and ratherdangerous. A few, indeed, shuffled along between the column and thelittle hopeless shops and grimy factory sheds, and one or two accompaniedtheir women, carrying the baby. Now and then there passed us somebetter-to-do citizen-a housewife, or lawyer's clerk, or ironmonger, withlips pressed rather tightly together and an air of taking no notice ofthis disturbance of traffic, as though the whole thing were a rather poorjoke which they had already heard too often. 

So, with laughter and a continual crack of voices our jay-like crew swungon, swaying and thumping in the strange ecstasy of irreflection, happy tobe moving they knew not where, nor greatly why, under the visiting sun, to the sound of murdered music. Whenever the band stopped playing, discipline became as tatterdemalion as the very flags and garments; butnever once did they lose that look of essential order, as if indeed theyknew that, being the worst-served creatures in the Christian world, theywere the chief guardians of the inherent dignity of man. 

Hatless, in the very front row, marched a tall slip of a girl, arrow-straight, and so thin, with dirty fair hair, in a blouse and skirtgaping behind, ever turning her pretty face on its pretty slim neck fromside to side, so that one could see her blue eyes sweeping here, there, everywhere, with a sort of flower-like wildness, as if a secret embracingof each moment forbade her to let them rest on anything and break thispleasure of just marching. It seemed that in the never-still eyes ofthat anaemic, happy girl the spirit of our march had elected to enshrineitself and to make thence its little excursions to each ecstaticfollower. Just behind her marched a little old woman--a maker of chains, they said, for forty years--whose black slits of eyes were sparkling, who fluttered a bit of ribbon, and reeled with her sense of the exquisitehumour of the world. Every now and then she would make a rush at one ofher leaders to demonstrate how immoderately glorious was life. And eachtime she spoke the woman next to her, laden with a heavy baby, went offinto squeals of laughter. Behind her, again, marched one who beat timewith her head and waved a little bit of stick, intoxicated by this noblemusic. 

For an hour the pageant wound through the dejected street, pursuingneither method nor set route, till it came to a deserted slag-heap, selected for the speech-making. Slowly the motley regiment swung intothat grim amphitheatre under the pale sunshine; and, as I watched, astrange fancy visited my brain. I seemed to see over every ragged headof those marching women a little yellow flame, a thin, flickering gleam, spiring upward and blown back by the wind. A trick of the sunlight, maybe? Or was it that the life in their hearts, the inextinguishablebreath of happiness, had for a moment escaped prison, and was flutteringat the pleasure of the breeze?

Silent now, just enjoying the sound of the words thrown down to them, they stood, unimaginably patient, with that happiness of they knew notwhat gilding the air above them between the patchwork ribands of theirpoor flags. If they could not tell very much why they had come, norbelieve very much that they would gain anything by coming; if theirdemonstration did not mean to the world quite all that oratory would havethem think; if they themselves were but the poorest, humblest, leastlearned women in the land--for all that, it seemed to me that in thosetattered, wistful figures, so still, so trustful, I was looking on suchbeauty as I had never beheld. All the elaborated glory of things made, the perfected dreams of aesthetes, the embroideries of romance, seemed asnothing beside this sudden vision of the wild goodness native in humblehearts. 1910. 

A CHRISTIAN

One day that summer, I came away from a luncheon in company of an oldCollege chum. Always exciting to meet those one hasn't seen for years;and as we walked across the Park together I kept looking at him askance. He had altered a good deal. Lean he always was, but now very lean, andso upright that his parson's coat was overhung by the back of his longand narrow head, with its dark grizzled hair, which thought had not yetloosened on his forehead. His clean-shorn face, so thin and oblong, wasremarkable only for the eyes: dark-browed and lashed, and coloured likebright steel, they had a fixity in them, a sort of absence, on onecouldn't tell what business. They made me think of torture. And hismouth always gently smiling, as if its pinched curly sweetness had beencommanded, was the mouth of a man crucified--yes, crucified!

Tramping silently over the parched grass, I felt that if we talked, wemust infallibly disagree; his straight-up, narrow forehead so suggested anature divided within itself into compartments of iron. 

It was hot that day, and we rested presently beside the Serpentine. Onits bright waters were the usual young men, sculling themselves to andfro with their usual sad energy, the usual promenaders loitering andwatching them, the usual dog that swam when it did not bark, and barkedwhen it did not swim; and my friend sat smiling, twisting between histhin fingers the little gold cross on his silk vest. 

Then all of a sudden we did begin to talk; and not of those matters ofwhich the well-bred naturally converse--the habits of the rarer kinds ofducks, and the careers of our College friends, but of something nevermentioned in polite society. 

At lunch our hostess had told me the sad story of an unhappy marriage, and I had itched spiritually to find out what my friend, who seemed sofar away from me, felt about such things. And now I determined to findout. 

"Tell me, " I asked him, "which do you consider most important--the letteror the spirit of Christ's teachings?"

"My dear fellow, " he answered gently, "what a question! How can youseparate them?"

"Well, is it not the essence of His doctrine that the spirit is allimportant, and the forms of little value? Does not that run through allthe Sermon on the Mount?"

"Certainly. "

"If, then, " I said, "Christ's teaching is concerned with the spirit, doyou consider that Christians are justified in holding others bound byformal rules of conduct, without reference to what is passing in theirspirits?"

"If it is for their good. "

"What enables you to decide what is for their good?"

"Surely, we are told. "

"Not to judge, that ye be not judged. "

"Oh! but we do not, ourselves, judge; we are but impersonal ministers ofthe rules of God. "

"Ah! Do general rules of conduct take account of the variations of theindividual spirit?"

He looked at me hard, as if he began to scent heresy. 

"You had better explain yourself more fully, " he said. "I really don'tfollow. "

"Well, let us take a concrete instance. We know Christ's saying of themarried that they are one flesh! But we know also that there are wiveswho continue to live the married life with dreadful feelings of spiritualrevolt wives who have found out that, in spite of all their efforts, theyhave no spiritual affinity with their husbands. Is that in accordancewith the spirit of Christ's teaching, or is it not?"

"We are told----" he began. 

"I have admitted the definite commandment: 'They twain shall be oneflesh. ' There could not be, seemingly, any more rigid law laid down; howdo you reconcile it with the essence of Christ's teaching? Frankly, Iwant to know: Is there or is there not a spiritual coherence inChristianity, or is it only a gathering of laws and precepts, with noinherent connected spiritual philosophy?"

"Of course, " he said, in his long-suffering voice, "we don't look atthings like that--for us there is no questioning. "

"But how do you reconcile such marriages as I speak of, with the spiritof Christ's teaching? I think you ought to answer me. "

"Oh! I can, perfectly, " he answered; "the reconciliation is throughsuffering. What a poor woman in such a case must suffer makes for thesalvation of her spirit. That is the spiritual fulfilment, and in such acase the justification of the law. "

"So then, " I said, "sacrifice or suffering is the coherent thread ofChristian philosophy?"

"Suffering cheerfully borne, " he answered. 

"You do not think, " I said, "that there is a touch of extravagance inthat? Would you say, for example, that an unhappy marriage is a moreChristian thing than a happy one, where there is no suffering, but onlylove?"

A line came between his brows. "Well!" he said at last, "I would say, Ithink, that a woman who crucifies her flesh with a cheerful spirit inobedience to God's law, stands higher in the eyes of God than one whoundergoes no such sacrifice in her married life. " And I had the feelingthat his stare was passing through me, on its way to an unseen goal. 

"You would desire, then, I suppose, suffering as the greatest blessingfor yourself?"

"Humbly, " he said, "I would try to. "

"And naturally, for others?"

"God forbid!"

"But surely that is inconsistent. "

He murmured: "You see, I have suffered. "

We were silent. At last I said: "Yes, that makes much which was darkquite clear to me. "

"Oh?" he asked. 

I answered slowly: "Not many men, you know, even in your profession, havereally suffered. That is why they do not feel the difficulty which youfeel in desiring suffering for others. "

He threw up his head exactly as if I had hit him on the jaw: "It'sweakness in me, I know, " he said. 

"I should have rather called it weakness in them. But suppose you areright, and that it's weakness not to be able to desire promiscuoussuffering for others, would you go further and say that it is Christianfor those, who have not experienced a certain kind of suffering, to forcethat particular kind on others?"

He sat silent for a full minute, trying evidently to reach to the bottomof my thought. 

"Surely not, " he said at last, "except as ministers of God's laws. "

"You do not then think that it is Christian for the husband of such awoman to keep her in that state of suffering--not being, of course, aminister of God?"

He began stammering at that: "I--I----" he said. "No; that is, I thinknot-not Christian. No, certainly. "

"Then, such a marriage, if persisted in, makes of the wife indeed aChristian, but of the husband--the reverse. "

"The answer to that is clear, " he said quietly: "The husband mustabstain. "

"Yes, that is, perhaps, coherently Christian, on your theory: They wouldthen both suffer. But the marriage, of course, has become no marriage. They are no longer one flesh. "

He looked at me, almost impatiently as if to say: Do not compel me toenforce silence on you!

"But, suppose, " I went on, "and this, you know; is the more frequentcase, the man refuses to abstain. Would you then say it was moreChristian to allow him to become daily less Christian through hisunchristian conduct, than to relieve the woman of her suffering at theexpense of the spiritual benefit she thence derives? Why, in fact, doyou favour one case more than the other?"

"All question of relief, " he replied, "is a matter for Caesar; it cannotconcern me. "

There had come into his face a rigidity--as if I might hit it with myquestions till my tongue was tired, and it be no more moved than thebench on which we were sitting. 

"One more question, " I said, "and I have done. Since the Christianteaching is concerned with the spirit and not forms, and the thread in itwhich binds all together and makes it coherent, is that of suffering----"

"Redemption by suffering, " he put in. 

"If you will--in one word, self-crucifixion--I must ask you, and don'ttake it personally, because of what you told me of yourself: In lifegenerally, one does not accept from people any teaching that is not theresult of firsthand experience on their parts. Do you believe that thisChristian teaching of yours is valid from the mouths of those who havenot themselves suffered--who have not themselves, as it were, beencrucified?"

He did not answer for a minute; then he said, with painful slowness:"Christ laid hands on his apostles and sent them forth; and they in turn, and so on, to our day. "

"Do you say, then, that this guarantees that they have themselvessuffered, so that in spirit they are identified with their teaching?"

He answered bravely: "No--I do not--I cannot say that in fact it isalways so. "

"Is not then their teaching born of forms, and not of the spirit?"

He rose; and with a sort of deep sorrow at my stubbornness said: "We arenot permitted to know the way of this; it is so ordained; we must havefaith. "

As he stood there, turned from me, with his hat off, and his neckpainfully flushed under the sharp outcurve of his dark head, a feeling ofpity surged up in me, as if I had taken an unfair advantage. 

"Reason--coherence--philosophy, " he said suddenly. "You don'tunderstand. All that is nothing to me--nothing--nothing!"1911

WIND IN THE ROCKS

Though dew-dark when we set forth, there was stealing into the frozen airan invisible white host of the wan-winged light--born beyond themountains, and already, like a drift of doves, harbouring grey-white highup on the snowy skycaves of Monte Cristallo; and within us, tramping overthe valley meadows, was the incredible elation of those who set outbefore the sun has risen; every minute of the precious day before us--wehad not lost one!

At the mouth of that enchanted chine, across which for a million yearsthe howdahed rock elephant has marched, but never yet passed from sight, we crossed the stream, and among the trees began our ascent. Very faraway the first cowbells chimed; and, over the dark heights, we saw thethin, sinking moon, looking like the white horns of some devotional beastwatching and waiting up there for the god of light. That god cameslowly, stalking across far over our heads from top to top; then, of asudden, his flame-white form was seen standing in a gap of the valleywalls; the trees flung themselves along the ground before him, andcensers of pine gum began swinging in the dark aisles, releasing theirperfumed steam. Throughout these happy ravines where no man lives, heshows himself naked and unashamed, the colour of pale honey; on hisgolden hair such shining as one has not elsewhere seen; his eyes like oldwine on fire. And already he had swept his hand across the invisiblestrings, for there had arisen, the music of uncurling leaves and flittingthings. 

A legend runs, that, driven from land to land by Christians, Apollo hidhimself in Lower Austria, but those who ever they saw him there in thethirteenth century were wrong; it was to these enchanted chines, frequented only by the mountain shepherds, that he certainly came. 

And as we were lying on the grass, of the first alp, with the stargentians--those fallen drops of the sky--and the burnt-brown dandelions, and scattered shrubs of alpen-rose round us, we were visited by one ofthese very shepherds, passing with his flock--the fiercest-looking manwho ever, spoke in a gentle voice; six feet high, with an orange cloak, bare knees; burnt as the very dandelions, a beard blacker than black, andeyes more glorious than if sun and night had dived and were lyingimprisoned in their depths. He spoke in an unknown tongue, and couldcertainly not understand any word of ours; but he smelled of the goodearth, and only through interminable watches under sun and stars could sogreat a gentleman have been perfected. 

Presently, while we rested outside that Alpine hut which faces the threesphinx-like mountains, there came back, from climbing the smallest andmost dangerous of those peaks, one, pale from heat, and trembling withfatigue; a tall man, with long brown hands, and a long, thin, beardedface. And, as he sipped cautiously of red wine and water, he looked athis little conquered mountain. His kindly, screwed-up eyes, his kindly, bearded lips, even his limbs seemed smiling; and not for the world wouldwe have jarred with words that rapt, smiling man, enjoying the sacredhour of him who has just proved himself. In silence we watched, insilence left him smiling, knowing somehow that we should remember him allour days. For there was in his smile the glamour of adventure just forthe sake of danger; all that high instinct which takes a man out of hischair to brave what he need not. 

Between that hut and the three mountains lies a saddle--astride of allbeauty and all colour, master of a titanic chaos of deep clefts, tawnyheights, red domes, far snow, and the purple of long shadows; and, standing there, we comprehended a little of what Earth had been throughin her time, to have made this playground for most glorious demons. Mother Earth! What travail undergone, what long heroic throes, hadbrought on her face such majesty!

Hereabout edelweiss was clinging to smoothed-out rubble; but a littlehigher, even the everlasting plant was lost, there was no more life. Andpresently we lay down on the mountain side, rather far apart. Up hereabove trees and pasture the wind had a strange, bare voice, free from allouter influence, sweeping along with a cold, whiffing sound. On the warmstones, in full sunlight, uplifted over all the beauty of Italy, one feltat first only delight in space and wild loveliness, in the unknownvalleys, and the strength of the sun. It was so good to be alive; soineffably good to be living in this most wonderful world, drinking airnectar. 

Behind us, from the three mountains, came the frequent thud and scuffleof falling rocks, loosened by rains. The wind, mist, and winter snow hadground the powdery stones on which we lay to a pleasant bed, but once ona time they, too, had clung up there. And very slowly, one could not sayhow or when, the sense of joy began changing to a sense of fear. Theawful impersonality of those great rock-creatures, the terribleimpartiality of that cold, clinging wind which swept by, never an inchlifted above ground! Not one tiny soul, the size of a midge or rockflower, lived here. Not one little "I" breathed here, and loved!

And we, too, some day would no longer love, having become part of thismonstrous, lovely earth, of that cold, whiffling air. To be no longerable to love! It seemed incredible, too grim to bear; yet it was true!To become powder, and the wind; no more to feel the sunlight; to be lovedno more! To become a whiffling noise, cold, without one's self! Todrift on the breath of that noise, homeless! Up here, there were not eventhose little velvet, grey-white flower-comrades we had plucked. No life!Nothing but the creeping wind, and those great rocky heights, whence camethe sound of falling-symbols of that cold, untimely state into which we, too, must pass. Never more to love, nor to be loved! One could but turnto the earth, and press one's face to it, away from the wild loveliness. Of what use loveliness that must be lost; of what use loveliness when onecould not love? The earth was warm and firm beneath the palms of thehands; but there still came the sound of the impartial wind, and thecareless roar of the stories falling. 

Below, in those valleys amongst the living trees and grass, was thecomradeship of unnumbered life, so that to pass out into Peace, to stepbeyond, to die, seemed but a brotherly act, amongst all those others; butup here, where no creature breathed, we saw the heart of the desert thatstretches before each little human soul. Up here, it froze the spirit;even Peace seemed mocking--hard as a stone. Yet, to try and hide, totuck one's head under one's own wing, was not possible in this air socrystal clear, so far above incense and the narcotics of set creeds, andthe fevered breath of prayers and protestations. Even to know thatbetween organic and inorganic matter there is no gulf fixed, was of nopeculiar comfort. The jealous wind came creeping over the lifelesslimestone, removing even the poor solace of its warmth; one turned fromit, desperate, to look up at the sky, the blue, burning, wide, ineffable, far sky. 

Then slowly, without reason, that icy fear passed into a feeling, not ofjoy, not of peace, but as if Life and Death were exalted into what wasneither life nor death, a strange and motionless vibration, in which onehad been merged, and rested, utterly content, equipoised, divested ofdesire, endowed with life and death. 

But since this moment had come before its time, we got up, and, closetogether, marched on rather silently, in the hot sun. 1910. 

MY DISTANT RELATIVE

Though I had not seen my distant relative for years--not, in fact, sincehe was obliged to give Vancouver Island up as a bad job--I knew him atonce, when, with head a little on one side, and tea-cup held high, as if, to confer a blessing, he said: "Hallo!" across the Club smoking-room. 

Thin as a lath--not one ounce heavier--tall, and very upright, with hispale forehead, and pale eyes, and pale beard, he had the air of a ghostof a man. He had always had that air. And his voice--thatmatter-of-fact and slightly nasal voice, with its thin, pragmaticaltone--was like a wraith of optimism, issuing between pale lips. Inoticed; too, that his town habiliments still had their unspeakable paleneatness, as if, poor things, they were trying to stare the daylight outof countenance. 

He brought his tea across to my bay window, with that wistful sociabilityof his, as of a man who cannot always find a listener. 

"But what are you doing in town?" I said. "I thought you were inYorkshire with your aunt. "

Over his round, light eyes, fixed on something in the street, the lidsfell quickly twice, as the film falls over the eyes of a parrot. 

"I'm after a job, " he answered. "Must be on the spot just now. "

And it seemed to me that I had heard those words from him before. 

"Ah, yes, " I said, "and do you think you'll get it?"

But even as I spoke I felt sorry, remembering how many jobs he had beenafter in his time, and how soon they ended when he had got them. 

He answered:

"Oh, yes! They ought to give it me, " then added rather suddenly: "Younever know, though. People are so funny!"

And crossing his thin legs, he went on to tell me, with quaintimpersonality, a number of instances of how people had been funny inconnection with jobs he had not been given. 

"You see, " he ended, "the country's in such a state--capital going out ofit every day. Enterprise being killed all over the place. There'spractically nothing to be had!"

"Ah!" I said, "you think it's worse, then, than it used to be?"

He smiled; in that smile there was a shade of patronage. 

"We're going down-hill as fast as ever we can. National character'slosing all its backbone. No wonder, with all this molly-coddling goingon!"

"Oh!" I murmured, "molly-coddling? Isn't that excessive?"

"Well! Look at the way everything's being done for them! The workingclasses are losing their self-respect as fast as ever they can. Theirindependence is gone already!"

"You think?"

"Sure of it! I'll give you an instance----" and he went on to describeto me the degeneracy of certain working men employed by his aunt and hiseldest brother Claud and his youngest brother Alan. 

"They don't do a stroke more than they're obliged, " he ended; "they knowjolly well they've got their Unions, and their pensions, and thisInsurance, to fall back on. "

It was evidently a subject on which he felt strongly. 

"Yes, " he muttered, "the nation is being rotted down. "

And a faint thrill of surprise passed through me. For the affairs of thenation moved him so much more strongly than his own. His voice alreadyhad a different ring, his eyes a different look. He eagerly leanedforward, and his long, straight backbone looked longer and straighterthan ever. He was less the ghost of a man. A faint flush even had comeinto his pale cheeks, and he moved his well-kept hands emphatically. 

"Oh, yes!" he said: "The country is going to the dogs, right enough; butyou can't get them to see it. They go on sapping and sapping theindependence of the people. If the working man's to be looked after, whatever he does--what on earth's to become of his go, and foresight, andperseverance?"

In his rising voice a certain piquancy was left to its accent of theruling class by that faint twang, which came, I remembered, from someslight defect in his tonsils. 

"Mark my words! So long as we're on these lines, we shall do nothing. It's going against evolution. They say Darwin's getting old-fashioned;all I know is, he's good enough for me. Competition is the only thing. "

"But competition, " I said, "is bitter cruel, and some people can't standagainst it!" And I looked at him rather hard: "Do you object to puttingany sort of floor under the feet of people like that?"

He let his voice drop a little, as if in deference to my scruples. 

"Ah!" he said; "but if you once begin this sort of thing, there's no endto it. It's so insidious. The more they have, the more they want; andall the time they're losing fighting power. I've thought pretty deeplyabout this. It's shortsighted; it really doesn't do!"

"But, " I said, "surely you're not against saving people from beingknocked out of time by old age, and accidents like illness, and thefluctuations of trade?"

"Oh!" he said, "I'm not a bit against charity. Aunt Emma's splendidabout that. And Claud's awfully good. I do what I can, myself. " Helooked at me, so queerly deprecating, that I quite liked him at thatmoment. At heart--I felt he was a good fellow. "All I think is, " hewent on, "that to give them something that they can rely on as a matterof course, apart from their own exertions, is the wrong principlealtogether, " and suddenly his voice began to rise again, and his eyes tostare. "I'm convinced that all this doing things for other people, andbolstering up the weak, is rotten. It stands to reason that it must be. "

He had risen to his feet, so preoccupied with the wrongness of thatprinciple that he seemed to have forgotten my presence. And as he stoodthere in the window the light was too strong for him. All the thinincapacity of that shadowy figure was pitilessly displayed; the desperatenarrowness in that long, pale face; the wambling look of those pale, well-kept hands--all that made him such a ghost of a man. But his nasal, dogmatic voice rose and rose. 

"There's nothing for it but bracing up! We must cut away all this Statesupport; we must teach them to rely on themselves. It's all sheerpauperisation. "

And suddenly there shot through me the fear that he might burst one ofthose little blue veins in his pale forehead, so vehement had he become;and hastily I changed the subject. 

"Do you like living up there with your aunt?" I asked: "Isn't it a bitquiet?"

He turned, as if I had awakened him from a dream. 

"Oh, well!" he said, "it's only till I get this job. "

"Let me see--how long is it since you----?"

"Four years. She's very glad to have me, of course. "

"And how's your brother Claud?"

"Oh! All right, thanks; a bit worried with the estate. The poor oldgov'nor left it in rather a mess, you know. "

"Ah! Yes. Does he do other work?"

"Oh! Always busy in the parish. "

"And your brother Richard?"

"He's all right. Came home this year. Got just enough to live on, withhis pension--hasn't saved a rap, of course. "

"And Willie? Is he still delicate?"

"Yes. "

"I'm sorry. "

"Easy job, his, you know. And even if his health does give out, hiscollege pals will always find him some sort of sinecure. So jollypopular, old Willie!"

"And Alan? I haven't heard anything of him since his Peruvian thing cameto grief. He married, didn't he?"

"Rather! One of the Burleys. Nice girl--heiress; lot of property inHampshire. He looks after it for her now. "

"Doesn't do anything else, I suppose?"

"Keeps up his antiquarianism. "

I had exhausted the members of his family. 

Then, as though by eliciting the good fortunes of his brothers I had castsome slur upon himself, he said suddenly: "If the railway had come, as itought to have, while I was out there, I should have done quite well withmy fruit farm. "

"Of course, " I agreed; "it was bad luck. But after all, you're sure toget a job soon, and--so long as you can live up there with your aunt--youcan afford to wait, and not bother. "

"Yes, " he murmured. And I got up. 

"Well, it's been very jolly to hear about you all!"

He followed me out. 

"Awfully glad, old man, " he said, "to have seen you, and had this talk. I was feeling rather low. Waiting to know whether I get that job--it'snot lively. "

He came down the Club steps with me. By the door of my cab a loafer wasstanding; a tall tatterdemalion with a pale, bearded face. My distantrelative fended him away, and leaning through the window, murmured:"Awful lot of these chaps about now!"

For the life of me I could not help looking at him very straight. But noflicker of apprehension crossed his face. 

"Well, good-by again!" he said: "You've cheered me up a lot!"

I glanced back from my moving cab. Some monetary transaction was passingbetween him and the loafer, but, short-sighted as I am, I found itdifficult to decide which of those tall, pale, bearded figures was givingthe other one a penny. And by some strange freak an awful vision shot upbefore me--of myself, and my distant relative, and Claud, and Richard, and Willie, and Alan, all suddenly relying on ourselves. I took out myhandkerchief to mop my brow; but a thought struck me, and I put it back. Was it possible for me, and my distant relatives, and their distantrelatives, and so on to infinity of those who be longed to a classprovided by birth with a certain position, raised by Providence on to aplatform made up of money inherited, of interest, of education fitting usfor certain privileged pursuits, of friends similarly endowed, ofsubstantial homes, and substantial relatives of some sort or other, onwhom we could fall back--was it possible for any of us ever to be in theposition of having to rely absolutely on ourselves? For several minutesI pondered that question; and slowly I came to the conclusion that, shortof crime, or that unlikely event, marooning, it was not possible. Never, never--try as we might--could any single one of us be quite in theposition of one of those whose approaching pauperisation my distantrelative had so vehemently deplored. We were already pauperised. If weserved our country, we were pensioned. .. . If we inherited land, it couldnot be taken from us. If we went into the Church, we were there for life, whether we were suitable or no. If we attempted the more hazardousoccupations of the law, medicine, the arts, or business, there werealways those homes, those relations, those friends of ours to fall backon, if we failed. No! We could never have to rely entirely onourselves; we could never be pauperised more than we were already! And alight burst in on me. That explained why my distant relative felt sokeenly. It bit him, for he saw, of course, how dreadful it would be forthese poor people of the working classes when legislation had succeededin placing them in the humiliating position in which we already were--thedreadful position of having something to depend on apart from our ownexertions, some sort of security in our lives. I saw it now. It was hissecret pride, gnawing at him all the time, that made him so rabid on thepoint. He was longing, doubtless, day and night, not to have had afather who had land, and had left a sister well enough off to keep himwhile he was waiting for his job. He must be feeling how horriblydegrading was the position of Claud--inheriting that land; and ofRichard, who, just because he had served in the Indian Civil Service, hadgot to live on a pension all the rest of his days; and of Willie, who wasin danger at any moment, if his health--always delicate--gave out, ofhaving a sinecure found for him by his college friends; and of Alan, whose educated charm had enabled him to marry an heiress and live bymanaging her estates. All, all sapped of go and foresight andperseverance by a cruel Providence! That was what he was really feeling, and concealing, be cause he was too well-bred to show his secret grief. And I felt suddenly quite warm toward him, now that I saw how he wassuffering. I understood how bound he felt in honour to combat with allhis force this attempt to place others in his own distressing situation. At the same time I was honest enough to confess to myself sitting therein the cab--that I did not personally share that pride of his, or feelthat I was being rotted by my own position; I even felt some dimgratitude that if my powers gave out at any time, and I had not savedanything, I should still not be left destitute to face the prospect of ableak and impoverished old age; and I could not help a weak pleasure inthe thought that a certain relative security was being guaranteed tothose people of the working classes who had never had it before. At thesame moment I quite saw that to a prouder and stronger heart it mustindeed be bitter to have to sit still under your own security, and evenmore bitter to have to watch that pauperising security coming closer andcloser to others--for the generous soul is always more concerned forothers than for himself. No doubt, I thought, if truth were known, mydistant relative is consumed with longing to change places with thatloafer who tried to open the door of my cab--for surely he must see, as Ido, that that is just what he himself--having failed to stand thepressure of competition in his life--would be doing if it were not forthe accident of his birth, which has so lamentably insured him againstcoming to that. 

"Yes, " I thought, "you have learnt something to-day; it does not do, yousee, hastily to despise those distant relatives of yours, who talk aboutpauperising and molly-coddling the lower classes. No, no! One must lookdeeper than that! One must have generosity!"

And with that I stopped the cab and got out for I wanted a breath of air. 1911

THE BLACK GODMOTHER

Sitting out on the lawn at tea with our friend and his retriever, we hadbeen discussing those massacres of the helpless which had of lateoccurred, and wondering that they should have been committed by thesoldiery of so civilised a State, when, in a momentary pause of ourastonishment, our friend, who had been listening in silence, crumplingthe drooping soft ear of his dog, looked up and said, "The cause ofatrocities is generally the violence of Fear. Panic's at the back ofmost crimes and follies. "

Knowing that his philosophical statements were always the result ofconcrete instance, and that he would not tell us what that instance wasif we asked him--such being his nature--we were careful not to agree. 

He gave us a look out of those eyes of his, so like the eyes of a mildeagle, and said abruptly: "What do you say to this then? . . . I was outin the dog-days last year with this fellow of mine, looking for Osmunda, and stayed some days in a village--never mind the name. Coming back oneevening from my tramp, I saw some boys stoning a mealy-coloured dog. Iwent up and told the young devils to stop it. They only looked at me inthe injured way boys do, and one of them called out, 'It's mad, guv'nor!'I told them to clear off, and they took to their heels. The dog followedme. It was a young, leggy, mild looking mongrel, cross--I shouldsay--between a brown retriever and an Irish terrier. There was frothabout its lips, and its eyes were watery; it looked indeed as if it mightbe in distemper. I was afraid of infection for this fellow of mine, andwhenever it came too close shooed it away, till at last it slunk offaltogether. Well, about nine o'clock, when I was settling down to writeby the open window of my sitting-room--still daylight, and very quiet andwarm--there began that most maddening sound, the barking of an unhappydog. I could do nothing with that continual 'Yap yap!' going on, and itwas too hot to shut the window; so I went out to see if I could stop it. The men were all at the pub, and the women just finished with theirgossip; there was no sound at all but the continual barking of this dog, somewhere away out in the fields. I travelled by ear across threemeadows, till I came on a hay-stack by a pool of water. There was thedog sure enough--the same mealy-coloured mongrel, tied to a stake, yapping, and making frantic little runs on a bit of rusty chain; whirlinground and round the stake, then standing quite still, and shivering. Iwent up and spoke to it, but it backed into the hay-stack, and there itstayed shrinking away from me, with its tongue hanging out. It had beenheavily struck by something on the head; the cheek was cut, one eyehalf-closed, and an ear badly swollen. I tried to get hold of it, butthe poor thing was beside itself with fear. It snapped and flew round sothat I had to give it up, and sit down with this fellow here beside me, to try and quiet it--a strange dog, you know, will generally form hisestimate of you from the way it sees you treat another dog. I had to sitthere quite half an hour before it would let me go up to it, pull thestake out, and lead it away. The poor beast, though it was so feeblefrom the blows it had received, was still half-frantic, and I didn't dareto touch it; and all the time I took good care that this fellow heredidn't come too near. Then came the question what was to be done. Therewas no vet, of course, and I'd no place to put it except my sitting-room, which didn't belong to me. But, looking at its battered head, and itshalf-mad eyes, I thought: 'No trusting you with these bumpkins; you'llhave to come in here for the night!' Well, I got it in, and heaped two orthree of those hairy little red rugs landladies are so fond of, up in acorner; and got it on to them, and put down my bread and milk. But itwouldn't eat--its sense of proportion was all gone, fairly destroyed byterror. It lay there moaning, and every now and then it raised its headwith a 'yap' of sheer fright, dreadful to hear, and bit the air, as ifits enemies were on it again; and this fellow of mine lay in the oppositecorner, with his head on his paw, watching it. I sat up for a long timewith that poor beast, sick enough, and wondering how it had come to bestoned and kicked and battered into this state; and next day I made it mybusiness to find out. "

Our friend paused, scanned us a little angrily, and then went on: "It hadmade its first appearance, it seems, following a bicyclist. There aremen, you know--save the mark--who, when their beasts get ill or tooexpensive, jump on their bicycles and take them for a quick run, takingcare never to look behind them. When they get back home they say:'Hallo! where's Fido?' Fido is nowhere, and there's an end! Well, thispoor puppy gave up just as it got to our village; and, roaming shout insearch of water, attached itself to a farm labourer. The man withexcellent intentions--as he told me himself--tried to take hold of it, but too abruptly, so that it was startled, and snapped at him. Whereonhe kicked it for a dangerous cur, and it went drifting back toward thevillage, and fell in with the boys coming home from school. It thought, no doubt, that they were going to kick it too, and nipped one of them whotook it by the collar. Thereupon they hullabalooed and stoned it down theroad to where I found them. Then I put in my little bit of torture, anddrove it away, through fear of infection to my own dog. After that itseems to have fallen in with a man who told me: 'Well, you see, he camesneakin' round my house, with the children playin', and snapped at themwhen they went to stroke him, so that they came running in to theirmother, an' she' called to me in a fine takin' about a mad dog. I ran outwith a shovel and gave 'im one, and drove him out. I'm sorry if hewasn't mad, he looked it right enough; you can't be too careful withstrange dogs. ' Its next acquaintance was an old stone-breaker, a verydecent sort. 'Well! you see, ' the old man explained to me, 'the dog camesmellin' round my stones, an' it wouldn' come near, an' it wouldn' goaway; it was all froth and blood about the jaw, and its eyes glared greenat me. I thought to meself, bein' the dog-days--I don't like the look o'you, you look funny! So I took a stone, an' got it here, just on theear; an' it fell over. And I thought to meself: Well, you've got tofinish it, or it'll go bitin' somebody, for sure! But when I come to itwith my hammer, the dog it got up--an' you know how it is when there'ssomethin' you've 'alf killed, and you feel sorry, and yet you feel youmust finish it, an' you hit at it blind, you hit at it agen an' agen. The poor thing, it wriggled and snapped, an' I was terrified it'd biteme, an' some'ow it got away. "' Again our friend paused, and this time wedared not look at him. 

"The next hospitality it was shown, " he went on presently, "was by afarmer, who, seeing it all bloody, drove it off, thinking it had beendigging up a lamb that he'd just buried. The poor homeless beast camesneaking back, so he told his men to get rid of it. Well, they got holdof it somehow--there was a hole in its neck that looked as if they'd useda pitchfork--and, mortally afraid of its biting them, but not liking, asthey told me, to drown it, for fear the owner might come on them, theygot a stake and a chain, and fastened it up, and left it in the water bythe hay-stack where I found it. I had some conversation with thatfarmer. 'That's right, ' he said, 'but who was to know? I couldn't havemy sheep worried. The brute had blood on his muzzle. These curs do alot of harm when they've once been blooded. You can't run risks. "' Ourfriend cut viciously at a dandelion with his stick. "Run risks!" hebroke out suddenly: "That was it from beginning to end of that poorbeast's sufferings, fear! From that fellow on the bicycle, afraid of theworry and expense, as soon as it showed signs of distemper, to myself andthe man with the pitch fork--not one of us, I daresay, would have goneout of our way to do it--a harm. But we felt fear, and so by the law ofself-preservation, or what ever you like--it all began, till there thepoor thing was, with a battered head and a hole in its neck, ravenouswith hunger, and too distraught even to lap my bread and milk. Yes, andthere's something uncanny about a suffering animal--we sat watching it, and again we were afraid, looking at its eyes and the way it bit the air. Fear! It's the black godmother of all damnable things!"

Our friend bent down, crumpling and crumpling at his dog's ears. We, too, gazed at the ground, thinking of, that poor lost puppy, and thehorrible inevitability of all that happens, seeing men are what they are;thinking of all the foul doings in the world, whose black godmother isFear. 

"And what became of the poor dog?" one of us asked at last. 

"When, " said our friend slowly, "I'd had my fill of watching, I coveredit with a rug, took this fellow away with me, and went to bed. There wasnothing else to do. At dawn I was awakened by three dreadful cries--notlike a dog's at all. I hurried down. There was the poor beast--wriggledout from under the rug-stretched on its side, dead. This fellow of minehad followed me in, and he went and sat down by the body. When I spoketo him he just looked round, and wagged his tail along the ground, butwould not come away; and there he sat till it was buried, veryinterested, but not sorry at all. "

Our friend was silent, looking angrily at something in the distance. 

And we, too, were silent, seeing in spirit that vigil of early morning:The thin, lifeless, sandy-coloured body, stretched on those red mats; andthis black creature--now lying at our feet--propped on its haunches likethe dog in "The Death of Procris, " patient, curious, ungrieved, staringdown at it with his bright, interested eyes. 1912.