The Wooden Horse

mprisoning him, tormenting him, and the tortures that he had endured were many and severe. He had not known that he could have felt it so much-that absolute rejection of him by everything in

twenty years and start afresh, with the knowledge won of his e

s ears and the sea scents of clover and poppies and salt stinging foam were brought to his nos

lept gently, gratefully, with their heads drooping to the soil, their petals closed by the tender hands of the spirits of the garden. The night-sounds were strangely musical. Cries that were discordant in the day mingled now with the running of distant water, the last notes of some

denly a woman's voice called for help across the silence, and he had turned and listened. It had called again, and, thinking that he might help some one in distress, he had burst a dark, silent door, stumbled up crooked wooden stairs, and entered an empty room. As he passed the door there was a sound of skirts, and a door at the other end of the room had closed. There was no one there, only a candle guttering on the table, the remains of a meal, a woman's hat on the back of a chair; he had waited for some time in silence, he had called and asked

o to the Cove and find his romance where he had left it twenty years ago. It was the hour in Pendragon when shops are closing and young men and maidens walk out. There were a great many people in the street; girls with white, tired faces, young men with bright ties and a self

ow I might venture-not but what

rs and the sooner she caught on to the idea

that, did yer? I always said you'd

himself at the corner under the protecting glare of two hissing gas-jets urged on the company present an immediate acceptance of his stupend

f the sea with the shriek of the gramophone. He crossed through the turnstile at the bend of the road and passed up the hill that led to the Cove. At a bend the view of the sea came to him, the white moonlight lying, a path of dancin

that dim, uncertain light, and he stopped and bent down to the road. It was a dog, a fox-terrier of a kind,

for a bit." The dog ran up the hill, and for a moment stood out against the moon-a shaggy, disreputable dog with a

he dog barked; they walke

inn flung a circle of light down the little cobbled street. The beat of the sea came solemnly like the tra

rough uneven floor had the same holes, the same hills and dales. The great settle by the fire was marked, as in former years, with mysterious crosses and initials cut by jack-knives in olden days. The two

and geraniums, struck out the long intervals since Harry had been there before. Twenty years ago he had breathed the same air; and now he was back there again and nothing was changed. The dog had

n the doorway and watched him; then he came forw

sorry," he said, stamme

ot to be expected-especially in foreign parts which is confusing and difficult for a man-but I'm Bill Tregarvis what h

regarvis! Why, of course-many was the time they ha

his hand a

ore, but there were things that have made it difficult at first, and of course there was a lot to do up there. But it's good to be down here! The ot

might have harmed you-that you'd be thinking a bit like the folk up-along with their cars and gas and filth. Aye

es on the moor, the tales at night by candlelight, the fun of it all. The room began to fill, and one after another men came forward and claimed friendship on the score of ol

lames leaping and flinging gigantic shadows on the walls. The landlord, a short, ruddy-faced man

nt mother, stern but never unjust, controlled his will and justified his actions. In those early days Harry had worshipped him with that whole-hearted adoration bestowed at times by young hero-worshippers on those that have travelled a little way along the path and have learnt their lesson w

d. Not that he objected to books; he had read a good deal and cared for it-but "God's air in

of those twenty years, and indeed, with them all, Harry noticed that there was very little curiosity as to those other countries. They welcomed him quiet

e gave a smothered chuckle. "I knew you'd come back, Mr. Harry," he said. "I just waited. O

survivals of smuggling days and fights on the beach under the moon; and it always was the sea. They might leave it for a moment perhaps, but they came back to it-t

They had learnt her moods and her dangers; they knew that she could ca

re, for the spirit of which he had so diligently been searching. "Up-along" life was an affair of measured rules and things foreseen. "Down-along" it was a game of unending surprises and a gossamer web shot wi

nts of old, and strange sacrifices are grimly performed. Talse Carlyon had seen things late on a moonlit night with the mists swimming white and silvery-grey over the moor. He had lost h

there 'm some good and some bad, for the proper edification of us

blind eye. Harry remembered that he had had a wi

rcely, "dead-and, thank God,

bad of late, and here again they spoke as if some personal power had been at work. There were few there who had not lost some one during the years that they had served her, and the memory of what this had been and

azing at the fire. The others were not listening-or at any rate not obviously so. They, too, gazed at the fire-it had, as it were, become personal and mesmerised the room. Perhaps it was a dream. He would wake and find himself at "The Flutes." There would be Clare and Garrett and-Robin! He would put all that away now; he would forget it for a moment, at least. He had failed them; they had not wanted him and had told him so,-but here they had known him and loved him; they had welcomed him back as though there had been no intervening space of years. They at least had known what life was. They had not played with it, like those others. They had not surrounded the

and a merry, deceiving eye; but he couldn't see him clear because of the mist that hung there, with the moon pushing through like a candle, he said. The man was laughing to himself and

e-away into the country, where he could live his life without fear, where there would be no contempt, no hampering family traditions? Should he stay and wait while Robin learnt to hate him? At the thought his face grew white and he clen

ove-to the old church he meant; and the man laughed and danced with the leaves throu

d-he would show them of what stuff he was made-and Robin would

e lamps flared in the wind, and there was a cry fro

and curly. His eyes were blue and twinkled, and his face was pleasantly humorous and, in the mouth and chin, strong and determined. He wore a grey flannel suit with a flannel collar, and he was smoking a pipe of great si

been expecting to meet you. I think that we have int

e eyes-there was no hesitation or disguise; there ha

m fell upon them all, and they cursed the new Pendragon-the race had grown too fast for them and competition was too keen. But Harry noticed that they did not ye

ne with you. I had only looked in for a moment and had n

her, and Harry shivered for a momen

your fires are well enough, but t

d then Harry said: "Those are a fine lo

are glad that there's no change. Twenty years has made

nothing until one comes back, and then one

ndragon has become popular, and to your mind that ha

ne of march. I suppose that they must move with the day. That is inevitable. But Pendragon! Why-when I was a boy, it was simply a little town by the sea. No one thought abou

he very charm of it lies in its contrast. It is invasion, if you like, but

here and see them dispassionately-you see I am bound up with so much of it. Those men to-night were my friends when I was a boy.

ath to the moor. The moon was struggling through a ba

prudent. There's nothing an Englishman fears so much as impulse, and he is terribly ashamed of imprudence. But, af

lighted," he began, but

o be a friend of mine, at any rate to give me a chance. I scarcely know you-you don't know me at all-but; one goes on first impressions, a

p; a week ago he would have seized it with both hands; now he was a little distrustful; a

glad," he said gra

e been waiting for some one who would understand. But I don't want you to listen to those other people about me; they will tell you a good deal-and most of it's true. I don't blame 'em, but

on of chiselled marble, appeared, and then, as though frightened at the wild flight of the clouds, vanished. The sea, pearl grey, lay like mist on the horizon, and its voice was gentle and

ers. There was a smell of clover and cornflowers in the air, and great sheets of flaming poppies in the cornfields. But there was more than that. It was Cornwall, something magical, and that strange sense of old history and customs that you get nowhere else in quite the same way. Ah! but why analyse it?-you know as well as I do what I mean. A new man was born in me that day. I had been sociable and fond of little quite ordinary pleasures that came my way, now I wanted to be alone. Their conversation worried me; it seemed to be pointless and concerned with things that did not matter at all. I had done things like oth

ou will never get back to your old routine again. I don't care how strong you are-you can't do it, man. Once she's got hold of you, nothing counts. That was eighteen years ago. I kept my work for a year, but it was killing me. I got ill-I nearly died; once I ran away at night and tried to get to the sea. But I came back-there were my wife and girl. We had a little money, and I gave

derstood only too well! Had he not himself that very evening been tempted to escape, to flee his duty? He had resisted, but the temptation had been very strong-that very voice of Cornwall of which Bethel

daughter?" he sai

o scold," he said, laughing, "and say just what all these other horrid people say. But I know. I grant it you all. I'm a waster-through and through; it's damnably selfish-worst of all, in this en

s time and Bethel stopped before a little dark ho

n and smoke! It must be past your dinner hour up

wondering at my erratic habits," he said.

we always are!" He hung his coat in the hall and led the way into the dining-room. Mrs. Bethel and her daughter came forward. The little woman was amazing in a dress of bright red silk and an absurd little yellow lace cap.

ns, a melancholy glass dish containing celery, and a s

ought a guest-up with the fam

. He began to carve the mutton like Siegfried making battle with Fafner, and indeed again and agai

Miss Bethel had said very little, but she had given Harry that same smile that he had seen before. She busied herself now with the salad, and he watched her white fingers shine under the la

eating furiously-not greedily, but with great pleasure and satisfaction. Mrs. Bethel

But there you know we knew everybody. You really couldn't help it. There was really only the Vicar and the Doctor, and he was so old. Of course there were the Draytons; you must have heard of Mr. Herbert Drayton-he paints things-I forget quite what, but I know he's good. They all lived there-such a lot of them and most peculiar in their habits; but one gets used to anything. They all lived to

enty years could make. She had been, perhaps, a little pretty, dainty thing then-the style of girl that a strong man like Bethel would fall in love with. Then he thought of Miss Bethel-what was her life with a mother like that and a father who never thought about her at all? She mu

e turned to her. "You know London?" he said. He wondered w

o, and I've been up once or twice since. But it makes one feel so dre

said. "When one is of no account even in

ddenly sorry for him. She had been a little afraid of him before-even on that terrible afternoon at "

the same untidiness here. The table was littered with papers and pens, tobacco jars, numerous pipes, some photogra

ave always been other things to do, and I must confess it is a mystery to me how men get time to

ee a book you must get it, whether you really want it or no. You go on buying and buying and buying. You get far more than you can ever rea

at him-"You

that I've never read, and I add to it continually. The worst of it is," he said, laughing, "that we ca

that it weighed on him. But he looked such a boy, standing there with his hands in his pockets a

ord, you'r

in the grip now." He talked about Borrow and displayed a little grey-bound "Walden" with pri

nt him "Lavengro." He described it and Harry co

great window overlooking the sea, and a large photograph of Mary on the man

nd again he had that same curious sense o

never been out of it-at least, since I've been born. But, of course, I've talked about you to Robin

Rob

cult age, you know, and there are a lot of things about him that are quite absurd. And I have been afraid that you might take those absurdities for the real things and fancy that that was all that was there. Cambridge-and other things-have made him think that a certain sort

ly. I expect that it is my fault. I have tried to see his point of view and have the same interests, but every effort that I've made has seemed to mak

of him that he has hidden from most people. He is curiously sensitive, and really, I think, very shy; and most of all, he has a perfect horror of being absurd. That is what I meant about your being affectionate. He would think, perhaps, that the rest w

events of the past week, and they revealed much that had been very dark and confused. B

you enough,"

me. But Robin is a very good friend of mine. Of course you will find out what a ste

Pendragon hasn't received me with open arms. I don't know why it should-and twenty years in N

thronging our door night and day-and a new friend is worth having. You see I've clai

bitterness in her voice. Life was hard fo

come back

," she

warmly. "You are very kind to take pity on us," she said, ogli

ughed. "We're absurd, aren't we, Trojan?" he said. "But don't

h a happier heart than he had

adventure had