The Broad Highway - Jeffery Farnol (urban books to read .txt) š
- Author: Jeffery Farnol
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CHAPTER XXIX
HOW BLACK GEORGE AND I SHOOK HANDS
The world was full of sunshine, the blithe song of birds, and the sweet, pure breath of waking flowers as I rose next morning, and, coming to the stream, threw myself down beside it and plunged my hands and arms and head into the limpid water whose contact seemed to fill me with a wondrous gladness in keeping with the world about me.
In a little while I rose, with the water dripping from me, and having made shift to dry myself upon my neckcloth, nothing else being available, returned to the cottage.
Above my head I could hear a gentle sound rising and falling with a rhythmic measure, that told me Donald still slept; so, clapping on my hat and coat, I started out to my first dayās work at the forge, breakfastless, for the good and sufficient reason that there was none to be had, but full of the glad pure beauty of the morning. And I bethought me of the old Psalmistās deathless words:
āThough sorrow endure for a night, yet joy cometh in the morningā (brave, true words which shall go ringing down the ages to bear hope and consolation to many a wearied, troubled soul); for now, as I climbed the steep path where bats had hovered last night, and turned to look back at the pit which had seemed a place of horrorābehold! it was become a very paradise of quivering green, spangled with myriad jewels where the dew yet clung.
Indeed, if any man would experience the full ecstasy of being aliveāthe joi de vivre as the French have itālet him go out into the early morning, when the sun is young, and look about him with a seeing eye.
So, in a little while, with the golden song of a blackbird in my ears, I turned village-wards, very hungry, yet, nevertheless, content.
Long before I reached the smithy I could hear the ring of Black Georgeās hammer, though the village was not yet astir, and it was with some trepidation as to my reception that I approached the open doorway.
There he stood, busy at his anvil, goodly to look upon in his bare-armed might, and with the sun shining in his yellow hair, a veritable son of Anak. He might have been some hero, or demigod come back from that dim age when angels wooed the daughters of men, rather than a village blacksmith, and a very sulky one at that; for though he must have been aware of my presence, he never glanced up or gave the slightest sign of welcome, or the reverse.
Now, as I watched, I noticed a certain slownessāa heaviness in all his movementsātogether with a listless, slipshod air which, I judged, was very foreign to him; moreover, as he worked, I thought he hung his head lower than was quite necessary.
āGeorge!ā George went on hammering. āGeorge!ā said I again. He raised the hammer for another stroke, hesitated, then lifted his head with a jerk, and immediately I knew why he had avoided my eye.
āWhat do āee want wiā me?ā
āI have come for two reasons,ā said I; āone is to begin workāā
āThen yeād best go away again,ā he broke in; āyeāll get no work here.ā
āAnd the second,ā I went on, āis to offer you my hand. Will you take it, George, and let bygones be bygones?ā
āNo,ā he burst out vehemently. āNo, I tell āee. Ye think to come āere anā crow oāer me, because ye beat me, by a trick, and because ye heerdāherāā His voice broke, and, dropping his hammer, he turned his back upon me. āCalled me ācowardā! she did,ā he went on after a little while. āYou heerd herāthey all heerd her! Iāve been a danged fule!ā he said, more as if speaking his thoughts aloud than addressing me, ābut a man canāt help lovinā a lassālike Prue, and when āe loves āe canāt āelp hopinā. Iāve hoped these three years anā more, and last night āshe called meācoward.ā Something bright and glistening splashed down upon the anvil, and there ensued a silence broken only by the piping of the birds and the stirring of the leaves outside.
āA fule I be!ā said Black George at last, shaking his head, āno kind oā man for the likes oā her; too big I beāand rough. And yetāif sheād only given me the chance!ā
Again there fell a silence wherein, mingled with the bird-chorus, came the tap, tapping of a stick upon the hard road, and the sound of approaching footsteps; whereupon George seized the handle of the bellows and fell to blowing the fire vigorously; yet once I saw him draw the back of his hand across his eyes with a quick, furtive gesture. A moment after, the Ancient appeared, a quaint, befrocked figure, framed in the yawning doorway and backed by the glory of the morning. He stood awhile to lean upon his stick and peer about, his old eyes still dazzled by the sunlight he had just left, owing to which he failed to see me where I sat in the shadow of the forge.
āMarninā, Jarge!ā said he, with his quick, bright nod. The smithās scowl was blacker and his deep voice gruffer than usual as he returned the greeting; but the old man seemed to heed it not at all, but, taking his snuff-box from the lining of his tall, broad-brimmed hat (its usual abiding place), he opened it, with his most important air.
āJarge,ā said he, āIām thinkinā yeād better takā Job back to strike for ye again if youām goinā to mend tā owd screen.ā
āWhat dāye mean?ā growled Black George.
āBecause,ā continued the old man, gathering a pinch of snuff with great deliberation, ābecause, Jarge, the young feller as beat ye at the throwināāāim as was to āave worked for ye at āis own priceābe dead.ā
āWhat!ā cried Black George, starting.
āDead!ā nodded the old man, āa corpā āe beāeh! such a fine, promisinā young chap, anā nowāa corpā.ā Here the Ancient nodded solemnly again, three times, and inhaled his pinch of snuff with great apparent zest and enjoyment.
āWhyāā began the amazed George, āwhatāā and broke off to stare, open-mouthed.
āLast night, as ever was,ā continued the old man, āāe went down to thā āaunted cottageāāt werenāt no manner oā use tryinā to turn āim, no, not if Iād gone down to āim on my marrer-bonesāāe were that set on it; so off he goes, ābout sundown, to sleep in thā āaunted cottageāI knows, Jarge, ācause I follered un, anā seen for myself; so now Iām a-goinā down to find āis corpāāā
He had reached thus far, when his eye, accustomed to the shadows, chancing to meet mine, he uttered a gasp, and stood staring at me with dropped jaw.
āPeter!ā he stammered at last. āPeterābe that you, Peter?ā
āTo be sure it is,ā said I.
āBeanāt yeādead, then?ā
āI never felt more full of life.ā
āBut ye slepā in thā āaunted cottage last night.ā
āYes.ā
āButābutāthe ghost, Peter?ā
āIs a wandering Scotsman.ā
āWhy then I canāt go down and find ye corpā arter all?ā
āI fear not, Ancient.ā
The old man slowly closed his snuff-box, shaking his head as he did so.
āAh, well! I wonāt blame ye, Peter,ā said he magnanunously, āit beanāt your fault, lad, noābut whatās come to the ghost!ā
āThe ghost,ā I answered, āis nothing more dreadful than a wandering Scotsman!ā
āScotsman!ā exclaimed the Ancient sharply. āScotsman!ā
āYes, Ancient.ā
āYouām mazed, Peterāah! mazed ye be! What, arenāt I heerd un moaninā anā groaninā to āisselfāah! anā twitterinā to?ā
āAs to that,ā said I, āthose shrieks and howls he made with his bagpipe, very easy for a skilled player such as he.ā
Some one was drawing water from a well across the road, for I heard the rattle of the bucket, and the creak of the winch, in the pause which now ensued, during which the Ancient, propped upon his stick, surveyed me with an expression that was not exactly anger, nor contempt, nor sorrow, and yet something of all three. At length he sighed, and shook his head at me mournfully.
āPeter,ā said he, āPeter, I didnāt think as youād try to takā āvantage of a old man wiā a tale the like oā that such a very, very old man, Peterāsuch a old, old man!ā
āBut I assure you, itās the truth,ā said I earnestly.
āPeter, I seen Scotchmen afore now,ā said he, with a reproachful look, āah! that I āave, manyās the time, anā Scotchmen donāt go about wiā tails, nor yet wiā āorns on their āeadsāleastways Iāve never seen one as did. Anā, Peter, I know what a bagpipe is; Iāve heerd āem often anā oftenāsqueak they do, yes, but a squeak beanāt a scream, Peter, nor yet a groanāno.ā Having delivered himself of which, the Ancient shook his head at me again, and, turning his back, hobbled away.
When I turned to look at George, it was to find him regarding me with a very strange expression.
āSir,ā said he ponderously, ādid you sleep in thā āaunted cottage last night?ā
āYes, though, as I have tried to explain, and unsuccessfully it seems, it is haunted by nothing more alarming than a Scots Piper.ā
āSir,ā said George, in the same slow, heavy way, āIācouldnāt go a-nigh the place myselfāāspecially arter darkāIād beāah! Iād be afeard to! I did go once, and then not alone, and I ran away. Sir, youām a better man nor me; you done what I durstnāt do. Sir, if so be as you ām in the same mind about itāI should like toāto shake your hand.ā
So there, across the anvil which was to link our lives together thenceforth, Black George and I clasped hands, looking into each otherās eyes.
āGeorge,ā said I at last, āIāve had no breakfast.ā
āNor I!ā said George.
āAnd Iām mightily hungry!ā
āSo am I,ā said George.
āThen come, and let us eat,ā and I turned to the door.
āWhy, so we willābut not atāāThe Bullāāshe be theer. Come to my cottageāit be close byāthat is, if you care to, sir?ā
āWith all my heart!ā said I, āand my name is Peter.ā
āWhat do you say to āam and eggsāPeter?ā
āHam and eggs will be most excellent!ā said I.
CHAPTER XXX
IN WHICH I FORSWEAR MYSELF AND AM ACCUSED OF POSSESSING THE āEVIL EYEā
Smithing is a sturdy, albeit a very black art; yet its black is a good, honest black, very easily washed off, which is more than can be said for many other trades, arts, and professions.
Yes, a fine, free, manly art is smithing, and those who labor at the forge would seem, necessarily, to reflect these virtues.
Since old Tubal Cain first taught man how to work in brass and iron, who ever heard of a sneaking, mean-spirited, cowardly blacksmith? To find such an one were as hard a matter as to discover the Fourth Dimension, methinks, or the carcass of a dead donkey.
Your true blacksmith is usually a strong man, something bowed of shoulder, perhaps; a man slow of speech, bold of eye, kindly of thought, and, lastlyāsimple-hearted.
Riches, Genius, Powerāall are fair things; yet Riches is never satisfied, Power is ever upon the wing, and when
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