The Golden Age

d, ‘that we’re Cavaliers and Rou

sun was hot, the season merry June, and never (I thought) had there been such wealth and riot of buttercups throughout the lush grass. Green-and-gold was the dominant key that day. Instead of active ‘pretence’ with its shouts and its perspiration, ho

retend we’re Knights of the Round Tabl

didn’t mean it really, but the game of Knigh

Edward’s here I never get a chance of being

lly. ‘All right,’ I sa

as always been Tristram. She won’t play unless she’s

hunter and harper was her special hero of romance, and rather than see the part in

4

‘I’ll be anything. I’l

before the skilled spear that was his terror and his bane. Once more the lists were dight in Camelot, and all was gay with shimmer of silk and gold; the earth shook with thunder of hooves, ash-staves flew in splinters, and the firmament rang to the clash of sword on helm. The varying fortune of the day swung doubtful—now on this side, now on that; till at last Lancelot, grim and great, thrusting through the press, unhorsed Sir Tristram (an easy task), and be

king out her curls; while Lancelot forsook the clan

ith a cry of ‘Soldiers!’ I was off to the hedge, Sir

[43] up and down, and the big jolly horsemen acknowledged the salute with easy condescension. The moment they were past we were through the hedge and after them. Soldiers were not the common stuff of everyday life. There had been nothing like this since the winter before last, when on a certain afternoon—bare of leaf a

le?’ panted Harold, hardly a

I replied. ‘We’re ju

t realm. In the schoolroom[44] we were just now dallying with the Wars of the Roses; and did not legends of the country-side inform us how cavaliers had once galloped up and down these very la

puffed Harold, ‘that he’s

amo (of all verbs!) between four walls, while Selina, who ever thrilled ecstatic to a red coa

ted out to my companions, ought to have been loopholed, and strongly held. But no opposition was offered to the so

4

ll maiden, docile but exceedingly dolorous, dragged reluctant feet homewards, heavy at heart that she was to behold no stout fellows slain

d my brother (meaning the en

ired direct straightforward ans

t Roundheads. There haven’t been any Roundheads see

’ he said: ‘Frenchmen’ll do; bu

on. Because[46] when Indians take you prisoner they scalp you first, an

sure?’ asked Ha

you in a loaf of bread, and saw the bars through, and slide down a rope, and they all fire at you—but they don’t

rather attractive. ‘If they try to take us p

a stitch in my side, and both Harold’s stockings had come down. Just as I was beginning to have gloomy doubts of the proverbial courage[47] of Frenchmen, the officer called out

ried Harold, very wear

the officer always makes a speech, and then they draw their swords and th

ly unfamiliar than any road I ever looked upon. Not a hint nor a sign of friendly direction or assistance on the dogged white face of it! There was no longer any disguising it: we were hopelessly lost. The small rain continued[48] steadily, the evening began to come on. Really there are moments when a fellow is justified in

in the approaching vehicle the familiar carriage of the old doctor. If ever a god emerged from a machine, it was when this heaven-sent friend, recognising us, stoppe

uzzled. I briefly exp

4

le to-day. It’s been put off, on account of the change in the weather. You will have due notice of the renewal of hostilities. And no

rratives of personal adventure in the tented field, he having followed the profession of arms (so it seemed) in every quarter of the globe. Time, the destroyer of all things beautiful, subsequently revealed the basel