The Golden Age Part 9

'EXIT TYRANNUS'

THE eventful day had arrived at last, the day which, when first named, had seemed--like all golden dates that promise anything definite--so immeasurably remote. When it was first announced, a fortnight before, that Miss Smedley was really going, the resultant ecstasies had occupied a full week, during which we blindly revelled in the contemplation and discussion of her past tyrannies, crimes, malignities; in recalling to each other this or that insult, dishonour, or physical a.s.sault, sullenly endured at a time when deliverance was not even a small star on the horizon: and in mapping out the s.h.i.+ning days to come, with special new troubles of their own, no doubt--since this is but a work-a-day world!--but at least free from one familiar scourge. The time that remained had been taken up by the planning of practical expressions of the popular sentiment. Under Edward's masterly direction, arrangements had been made for a flag to be run up over the hen-house at the very moment when the fly, with Miss Smedley's boxes on top and the grim oppressor herself inside, began to move off down the drive. Three bra.s.s cannons, set on the brow of the sunk-fence, were to proclaim our deathless sentiments in the ears of the retreating foe; the dogs were to wear ribbons; and later--but this depended on our powers of evasiveness and dissimulation--there might be a small bonfire, with a cracker or two if the public funds could bear the unwonted strain.

I was awakened by Harold digging me in the ribs, and 'She's going to-day!' was the morning hymn that scattered the clouds of sleep.

Strange to say, it was with no corresponding jubilation of spirits that I slowly realised the momentous fact. Indeed, as I dressed, a dull disagreeable feeling that I could not define grew up in me--something like a physical bruise. Harold was evidently feeling it too, for after repeating 'She's going to-day!' in a tone more befitting the Litany, he looked hard in my face for direction as to how the situation was to be taken. But I crossly bade him look sharp and say his prayers and not bother me. What could this gloom portend, that on a day of days like the present seemed to hang my heavens with black?

Down at last and out in the sun, we found Edward before us, swinging on a gate and chanting a farm-yard ditty in which all the beasts appear in due order, jargoning in their several tongues, and every verse begins with the couplet:

'Now, my lads, come with me, Out in the morning early!'

The fateful exodus of the day had evidently slipped his memory entirely.

I touched him on the shoulder. 'She's going to-day!' I said. Edward's carol subsided like a water-tap turned off. 'So she is!' he replied, and got down at once off the gate. And we returned to the house without another word.

[Ill.u.s.tration: '_At breakfast Miss Smedley behaved in a most mean and uncalled-for manner_']

At breakfast Miss Smedley behaved in a most mean and uncalled-for manner. The right divine of governesses to govern wrong includes no right to cry. In thus usurping the prerogative of their victims they ignore the rules of the ring, and hit below the belt. Charlotte was crying, of course; but that counted for nothing. Charlotte even cried when the pigs' noses were ringed in due season; thereby evoking the cheery contempt of the operators, who a.s.serted they liked it, and doubtless knew. But when the cloud-compeller, her bolts laid aside, resorted to tears, mutinous humanity had a right to feel aggrieved, and think itself placed in a false and difficult position. What would the Romans have done, supposing Hannibal had cried? History has not even considered the possibility. Rules and precedents should be strictly observed on both sides. When they are violated, the other party is justified in feeling injured.

There were no lessons that morning, naturally--another grievance! The fitness of things required that we should have struggled to the last in a confused medley of moods and tenses, and parted for ever, flushed with hatred, over the dismembered corpse of the multiplication-table.

But this thing was not to be; and I was free to stroll by myself through the garden, and combat, as best I might, this growing feeling of depression. It was a wrong system altogether, I thought, this going of people one had got used to. Things ought always to continue as they had been. Change there must be, of course; pigs, for instance, came and went with disturbing frequency--

'Fired their ringing shot and pa.s.sed, Hotly charged and sank at last'--

but Nature had ordered it so, and in requital had provided for rapid successors. Did you come to love a pig, and he was taken from you, grief was quickly a.s.suaged in the delight of selection from the new litter.

But now, when it was no question of a peerless pig, but only of a governess, Nature seemed helpless, and the future held no litter of oblivion. Things might be better, or they might be worse, but they would never be the same; and the innate conservatism of youth asks neither poverty nor riches, but only immunity from change.

Edward slouched up alongside of me presently, with a hangdog look on him, as if he had been caught stealing jam. 'What a lark it'll be when she's really gone!' he observed, with a swagger obviously a.s.sumed.

'Grand fun!' I replied dolorously; and conversation flagged.

We reached the hen-house, and contemplated the banner of freedom lying ready to flaunt the breezes at the supreme moment.

'Shall you run it up,' I asked, 'when the fly starts, or--or wait a little till it's out of sight?'

Edward gazed round him dubiously. 'We're going to have some rain, I think,' he said; 'and--and it's a new flag. It would be a pity to spoil it. P'raps I won't run it up at all.'

Harold came round the corner like a bison pursued by Indians. 'I've polished up the cannons,' he cried, 'and they look grand! Mayn't I load 'em now?'

'You leave 'em alone,' said Edward severely, 'or you'll be blowing yourself up' (consideration for others was not usually Edward's strong point). 'Don't touch the gunpowder till you're told, or you'll get your head smacked.'

Harold fell behind, limp, squashed, obedient. 'She wants me to write to her,' he began presently. 'Says she doesn't mind the spelling, if I'll only write. Fancy her saying that!'

'O, shut up, will you?' said Edward savagely; and once more we were silent, with only our thoughts for sorry company.

'Let's go off to the copse,' I suggested timidly, feeling that something had to be done to relieve the tension, 'and cut more new bows and arrows.'

'She gave me a knife my last birthday,' said Edward moodily, never budging. 'It wasn't much of a knife--but I wish I hadn't lost it!'

'When my legs used to ache,' I said, 'she sat up half the night, rubbing stuff on them. I forgot all about that till this morning.'

'There's the fly!' cried Harold suddenly. 'I can hear it scrunching on the gravel.'

Then for the first time we turned and stared each other in the face.

The fly and its contents had finally disappeared through the gate, the rumble of its wheels had died away. Yet no flag floated defiantly in the sun, no cannons proclaimed the pa.s.sing of a dynasty. From out the frosted cake of our existence Fate had cut an irreplaceable segment: turn which way we would, the void was present. We sneaked off in different directions, mutually undesirous of company; and it seemed borne in upon me that I ought to go and dig my garden right over, from end to end. It didn't actually want digging; on the other hand no amount of digging could affect it, for good or for evil; so I worked steadily, strenuously, under the hot sun, stifling thought in action. At the end of an hour or so, I was joined by Edward.

'I've been chopping up wood,' he explained, in a guilty sort of way, though n.o.body had called on him to account for his doings.

'What for?' I inquired stupidly. 'There's piles and piles of it chopped up already.'

'I know,' said Edward, 'but there's no harm in having a bit over. You never can tell what may happen. But what have you been doing all this digging for?'

'You said it was going to rain,' I explained hastily. 'So I thought I'd get the digging done before it came. Good gardeners always tell you that's the right thing to do.'

'It did look like rain at one time,' Edward admitted; 'but it's pa.s.sed off now. Very queer weather we're having. I suppose that's why I've felt so funny all day.'

'Yes, I suppose it's the weather,' I replied. '_I've_ been feeling funny too.'

The weather had nothing to do with it, as we well knew. But we would both have died rather than admit the real reason.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE BLUE ROOM

THAT nature has her moments of sympathy with man has been noted often enough,--and generally as a new discovery. To us, who had never known any other condition of things, it seemed entirely right and fitting that the wind sang and sobbed in the poplar tops, and, in the lulls of it, sudden spirts of rain spattered the already dusty roads, on that bl.u.s.terous March day when Edward and I awaited, on the station platform, the arrival of the new tutor. Needless to say, this arrangement had been planned by an aunt, from some fond idea that our shy, innocent young natures would unfold themselves during the walk from the station, and that, on the revelation of each other's more solid qualities that must inevitably ensue, an enduring friends.h.i.+p, springing from mutual respect, might be firmly based. A pretty dream,--nothing more. For Edward, who foresaw that the brunt of tutorial oppression would have to be borne by him, was sulky, monosyllabic, and determined to be as negatively disagreeable as good manners would permit. It was therefore evident that I would have to be spokesman and purveyor of hollow civilities, and I was none the more amiable on that account; all courtesies, welcomes, explanations, and other court-chamberlain kind of business, being my special aversion. There was much of the tempestuous March weather in the hearts of both of us, as we sullenly glowered along the carriage-windows of the slackening train.

One is apt, however, to misjudge the special difficulties of a situation; and the reception proved, after all, an easy and informal matter. In a trainful so uniformly bucolic, a tutor was readily recognisable; and his portmanteau had been consigned to the luggage-cart, and his person conveyed into the lane, before I had discharged one of my carefully considered sentences. I breathed more easily, and looking up at our new friend as we stepped out together, remembered that we had been counting on something altogether more arid, scholastic, and severe. A boyish eager face and a petulant _pince-nez_--untidy hair--a head of constant quick turns like a robin's, and a voice that kept breaking into alto--these were all very strange and new, but not in the least terrible.

He proceeded jerkily through the village, with glances on this side and that; and 'Charming,' he broke out presently; 'quite too charming and delightful!'

I had not counted on this sort of thing, and glanced for help to Edward, who, hands in pockets, looked grimly down his nose. He had taken his line, and meant to stick to it.

Meantime our friend had made an imaginary spy-gla.s.s out of his fist, and was squinting through it at something I could not perceive. 'What an exquisite bit!' he burst out. 'Fifteenth century--no--yes it is!'

I began to feel puzzled, not to say alarmed. It reminded me of the butcher in the _Arabian Nights_, whose common joints, displayed on the shop-front, took to a startled public the appearance of dismembered humanity. This man seemed to see the strangest things in our dull, familiar surroundings.

'Ah!' he broke out again, as we jogged on between hedgerows: 'and that field now--backed by the downs--with the rain-cloud brooding over it,--that's all David c.o.x--every bit of it!'

'That field belongs to Farmer Larkin,' I explained politely; for of course he could not be expected to know. 'I'll take you over to Farmer c.o.x's to-morrow, if he's a friend of yours; but there's nothing to see there.'