Carette of Sark Part 14

She gave us "L' R'tou du Terre-Neuvi opres San Prumi Viage"--

"Mais en es-tu bain seu, ma fille?

Not' Jean est-i don bain r'v'nu?

Tu dis que nou l'a veu en ville, I m'etonn' qu'i n'sait deja v'nu"--

eighteen long verses, full of tender little touches telling of the hysterical upsetting in the mother's heart at the safe return of her boy from the perils of the sea.

And to me, who had just seen it all in my own mother's heart, it struck right home, and came near to making me foolish in the matter of wet eyes.

And, besides, Aunt Jeanne would keep looking at me, as she reeled it off in her sharp little voice, which was softer than I had ever heard it before, and that made Carette and all the other girls look at me also, till I was glad when she was done, I was getting so uncomfortable.

Then, when at last the poor sailor-boy in the story was so full that he could not take another bite--not even a bite of pancake on which his mother in her upsetting had sprinkled salt instead of sugar--that poem came to an end, and by way of a change Aunt Jeanne plunged headlong into--

"Ma Tante est une menagere Coum je cre qu'i gn'y'en a pouit"--

hitting off in another twenty long verses the strong and weak points of an old and very managing Auntie, not unlike herself in her good points, and very unlike her in her bad ones. And we joyfully pointed them all back at the managing Auntie in front of us, good and bad points alike, and laughed ourselves almost black in the face at the most telling strokes; all except young Torode, who laughed, indeed, but not heartily like the rest,--rather as though he thought us an uncommonly childish set of people for our ages.

And so we were that night, and enjoyed ourselves mightily.

Then young Torode sang "Jean Gran d'orge," in a fine big voice, and Carette sang "Nico v'nait m' faire l'amour," in a very sweet one, and I was sorely troubled that I had never learned to sing.

Then to dancing again, and it was only then, as I leaned against the door-post watching Carette go round and round with young Torode, in a way that I could not help but feel was smoother and neater than when my arm was round her, that a chance word between two girls sitting near me startled me into the knowledge that I had been guilty of another foolishness, and had overlooked another most important matter that night. You see, I had been in a flutter ever since I reached home, and one cannot think of everything.

"Oh, Father Guille has promised him his horse, and so--" said the girl, between giggles and whispers, and it hit me like a stone to think how stupid I had been. And after a moment's thought I slipped away and ran quickly down the lane to La Vauroque, calling myself all manner of names through my teeth, and thumped l.u.s.tily on George Hamon's door.

He was in bed and fast asleep, and it took much thumping before I heard a sleepy growl in the upper room, and at last the window rattled open and Uncle George's towsled head came out with a rough--

"Eh b'en, below there? What's afire? Can't you let a man--"

"It's me, Uncle George--Phil Carre. I'm sorry--"

"Phil!... Bon dou! Phil come back alive!" in a tone of very great surprise.

And then very sternly--

"Tiens donc, you down there! You're not a ghost, are you?"

"Not a bit of a ghost, Uncle George. I got home this evening. I'm up at Jeanne Falla's party at Beaumanoir, and I've only just remembered that I haven't got a horse for to-morrow."

"Aw, then--a horse for to-morrow! Yes--of course!" and he began to gurgle inside, though bits of it would come out--"A horse! Of course you want a horse! And who--?"

"Can you let me have Black Boy--if you've got him yet?"

"I'll come down, mon gars. Wait you one minute;" and very soon the door opened, and he dragged me in, gripping my hand as if it were a rudder in a gale, so that it ached for an hour after.

"And you're all safe and sound, mon gars?--"

"As safe and sound as Sercq, Uncle George. Can you let me have Black Boy?"

"Pergui! But it's a happy woman your mother will be this night. She never would give you up, Phil. It's just wonderful--"

"'Tis, sure! Can you spare me Black Boy?"

"Aw now, my dear, but I'm sorry! You see, I'd no idea of you coming, and the young Torode came along this very afternoon and begged me to lend him Black Boy, and I promised, not knowing--But there's Gray Robin. You can have him. He's a bit heavy, maybe, but he's safe as a cart, and Black Boy's got more than a bit of the devil in him still. Will you be crossing the Coupee?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, take my advice, and get down and lead over. It's more than a bit crumbly in places. I've made young Torode promise not to ride Black Boy across."

"All right! When can I have Gray Robin?"

"Now if you like."

"I'll be back at four. May I have some of your roses, Uncle George?"

"All of them, if you like, mon gars. Bon dou, but I'm glad to see you home again!"

"I'd like a few to trim Robin up with."

"I'll see to it. It's good to see you back, Phil. Your mother didn't say much, but she was sore at heart, _I_ know, though she did put a bold face on it."

"I know.... You won't mind my running away now, Uncle George? You see--"

"Aw, I know! Gallop away back, my boy. And--say, Phil, mon gars,--don't let that young cub from Herm get ahead of you. He's been making fine play while you've been away." And I waved my hand and sped back to the merrymaking.

CHAPTER XIII

HOW WE RODE GRAY ROBIN

It was close upon the dawn before Jeanne Falla's party broke up, and as I jogged soberly down the lane from La Vauroque on Gray Robin, I met the jovial ones all streaming homewards.

A moment before, the quiet gray lane, with its fern-covered banks and hedges of roses and honeysuckle all asleep and drenched with dew, was all in keeping with my spirits, which were gray also, partly with the weariness of such unaccustomed merriment, and still more at thought of my various stupidities.

They all gathered round me and broke out into fresh laughter.

"Ma fe, Phil, but you're going to make a day of it! We wondered where you'd got to."

"Bon dou donc, you're in your pontificals, mon gars!"

"Is it a bank of roses you're riding, then?" and Gray Robin hotched uncomfortably though still half asleep.

"The early bird gets the nicest worm. Keep ahead of the Frenchman, Phil, and good luck to you!"

"Good luck to you all!" and their laughing voices died away along the lanes, and I woke up Gray Robin and went on to Beaumanoir.

I hitched the bridle over the gatepost, and lighted my pipe, and strolled to and fro with my hands deep in the pockets of my grandfather's best blue pilot-cloth jacket, for there was a chill in the air as though the night must die outright before the new day came.