The White Peacock

hat the Squire would not for one moment tolerate the shooting of that manna, the rabbits, yet he was out in the first cold morning twilight banging away. At first he but s

elf, or even to urge his father to it. He prophesied trouble, and possible loss of the farm. It disturbed him somewhat, to

the Mill and the keeper, Annable.

of vermin-and that's the talkin sort." So he set

e was like a devil of the woods. Some miners had sworn vengeance on him for having caused their committal to gaol. But he h

ricate traps for weasels and men, putting together a gun, or doing some amateur forestry, cutting down timber, splitting it in logs for use in the hall, and planting young trees. When he thought, he reflected on the decay of mankind-the decline of the human race into folly and weakness and rottenness. "Be a good animal, true to your animal instinct," was his motto. With all this, he was fundam

rden, along the main road as far as the mouldering church which stands high on a bank by the road-side, just where the trees tunnel the darkness, and the gloom of the highway startles the travellers at noon

ce and birds. Birds scuffled in the darkness of the roof. I looked up. In the upward well of the tower I could see a bell hanging. I stooped and picked up a piece of plaster from the ragged confusion of feathers, and broken nests, and remnants of dead birds. Up into the vault overhead I tossed pieces of plaster until one hit the bell, and it "tonged" out its faint remonstrance. There was a rustle of many birds like spirits. I sounded the bell

fish pool. A stone staircase descended from the graveyard to the court, between stone balustrades whose pock-marked grey columns still swelled gracefully and with dignity, encru

icious rose-boughs up the stairs. The peacock flapped beyond me, on to the neck of an old bowed angel, rough and dark, an angel which had long ceased sorrowing for the lost Lucy, and had died also. The bird bent its voluptuous neck

smiled. He nodded his head

that damn

g awkwardly on its ugly legs, so that it showed us the full wealth of its tail

el, too, as if it were a pedestal for vanity.

watched the great bird moving u

very, very soul. Damn the thing, to perch on t

; it seemed to stretch its beak at us in derision. Annable

here must be plenty of hearts twisting under here,"-

hrew at the big bird. The peacock flappe

dirtied that angel. A woman to the end, I tel

e he had smoked two minutes, it was out again. I h

they'll stand all over the country like this

red, taking no

is cold," I

he were tired. It was quite dark, save for

," I said. "Don't you no

oman with child. I wonder wh

don't expect anyth

t rot off-Oh, my God!-I'm like a good house, built and finis

at's up

rly, saying, "Co

, very black and silent. There we sat, he putting his gun c

ther was a big cattle dealer-he died bankrupt while I was in college, and I

to do, and the rector-he was the son of an Earl-was generous. He lent me a horse and would have me hunt like the rest. I always think of that place with a s

d talking to her, and I was hot on things. We must play tennis together, and ride together, and I must row her down the river. She said we were in the wilderness and could do as we liked. She made me wear flannels and soft clothes. She was very fine and frank and unconventional-ripping, I thought her. All the summe

ne, and they went and locked the door. Then she pretended to be frightened and clung to me, and said what would they think, and hid her face in my coat. I took her and kissed he

f her sight. Lord!-we were an infatuated couple-and she would choose to view me in an aesthetic light. I was Greek statue

ee years to be really glutted with me. I had

e try his muscle. I was startled. The

't-said she daren't. That was the root of the difference at first. But she cooled down, and if you don't know the pride of my body

house-she was a lot like one of his women-Lady of Shalott, I believe. At any rate, she got souly, and I was he

young fellow. Then I was proved to have died, and I read a little obituary notice on myself in a woman's paper she subscrib

ven an old photo of me-"an unfortunate misalliance." I feel, somehow, as if I were at an end too. I though

a breed as you'd not meet anywhere. I was a good an

e big moon swam through th

your poor peaco

mself again. He was an impressive figure massed in bla

said, "it wasn't

ck, we will sa

lau

ou!" he said. "I believe there's

wered, with a quiv

fair enough,

self by the white sympathy it seemed to express, extended towards him in th

athe, and fearful in the shadow of the great trees. I was glad when I came out on the bare white road, and could see the copper lights from th

t tufts against my face for company; and as I passed, still I reached upward for the touch of this budded gentleness of the trees. The wood breathed fragrantly, with a subtle sympathy. The firs softened their touch to me, and the larches woke from the barren winter-sleep, and pu

reen, and some primroses scattered whitely on the edge under the fringing boughs. It was a clear morning, as when the latent life of the world begins to vibrate afresh in

and went running across the hillside to the wood. "He is going for his father," I said to myself, and I left the path to follow him down hill across the waste meadow, crackl

e wall was scored with the marks of heavy boots. Then I looked again down the quarry-side, and I saw-how could I have failed to see?-stones projecting to make an uneven staircase, such as is often seen in the Derbyshire fences. I saw this ladder was well used, so I trusted myse

aglow with very early dog-violets; there the sparks were coming out on the bits of gorse, and among the stones the colt-foot

tale to the primroses and the budding trees. I was startled from

s I drew near I could hear the scrape and rattle of stones, and the vigorous grunting of Sam as he laboured among them. He was hidden by a great bush of sallow catkins, all yellow, and murmuring with bees, warm with spice. When he came in view I laughed to see him lug

face red with exertion, eyes big wi

he hand of the keeper lying among the stones. I set to tearing away the stones, and we worked for som

whined the lad, w

here was a great smashed wound on the side of the head. Sam put his face against his fat

and his little voice was h

awn with pain and death, leaving the teeth bare; then his fingers hovered round the eyes

e said, "because his

terror. I took him up to carry him away

t up," he cried in a frenzy,

ing his shoulder; then he sat down, fascinated by the sight

away,"

g to the wound. I covered the f

on't touch him-so sit still while I go and

to let him lie still till I came back. He watched me go, but did not move from his seat o

the child lifting a corner of the handkerchief to peep and see if the eyes were closed in sleep. Then he heard us, and started viol

ome down when he was going up, and he said he had taken care to fix them. But you can't be sure, you can't be certain. And he'

adventure. But there were vague rumours in the village

ymede under the beeches; the widow would have it

ance the hot sun pushed his way, new little suns dawned, and blazed with real light. There was a certain thrill and quickening everywhere, as a woman must feel when she has conceived. A sallow tree in a favoured spot looked like a pale gold cloud of summer dawn; nearer it had poised a golden, fairy busby on every twig, an

fussy, black-legged lamb trotting along on its toes, with its tail swinging behind. They wer

bramble bush. It will cover the bedded moss, it will weave among the soft red cow-hair beautifully. I

quoise eggs-blue, blue, bluest of eggs, which cluster so close and round against the breast, which round up beneath the breast, nestling

them against their shy little wills. But they have all risen with a rush of wings, and are gone, the birds. The ai

w-waving peewits cry and complain, and lift their broad wings in sorrow. They stoop suddenly to the ground, the lapwings, then in another throb of anguish and protest, t

ugh the hedge. The cold cock must fly in his haste, spread hims

en bearing the coffin on their shoulders, treading heavily and cautiously, under the great weight of the glistening white coffin; six men following behind, ill at ease, waiting their turn for the burden. You can see the red handkerchiefs knotted ro

t does not form one of the group. How the crying frightens the birds, and the rabbits; and the lambs away there run to their mothers. But the peewits are not frightened, they add their notes to the sorrow; they circle after the white, retreating coffin, they circle round the woman; it is they w

urned out of sight. The big woman cannot see them, and yet

s are wiping the sweat from their faces. They put their hands

She must turn and rustle among the leaves of the violets for the flowers she does not see. Then, trembling, she comes to herself, and plucks a few flowers and breathes them hungrily into her soul, for comfort. The men put down the pots beside her, with thanks, and the squire gives the word. The bearers lift up the burden again, and the elm-boughs rattle along the hollow white wood, and the pitif

orses over the fallow, in the still, lonely valley, full of sunshine and eternal forgetfulness. The day had already forgotten. The water was blue and white and dark-burnished with shadows; two swans sailed across the reflected trees with perfect blithe grace. The gloom that had passed across was gone. I watched the swan with his ruffle

ily of flowers, some bursten with golden fulness, some lifting their heads slightly, to show a modest, sweet countenance, others still hi

t their hair to the sun, decking themselves with

company down the path; I stroked the velvet faces, and laughed also, and I s

t the ghosts had only come to enjoy the warm place once more, carrying s