The Little White Horse Page 18

  As soon as they got inside Maria understood why it was that Old Parson had not offered to walk back with her through the park last night . . . He had had something more important to do . . . As soon as she had left him he must have climbed up here in the gathering twilight, and by the light of the moon and stars he must have laboured half the night. For the paving-stones had been cleared of all the rubbish, the weeds and brambles, and had been washed and scrubbed so that they reflected the sun’s light like slabs of pearl. And the well and the channel through the paving-stones had been cleared of dead leaves, so that the spring bubbled up clear and strong and then ran away quickly and easily, as bright as silver, through the low archway beneath the rowan-tree. The tree looked glorious in the morning sunlight, its berries bright as lighted candles, and beneath its branches Old Parson had piled up the stones that he had cleared from the court into a little altar. The whole place looked fresh and clean and lovely, and utterly made new, and when Old Parson had thrust Sir Wrolf’s sword into the branches of the rowan-tree, so that it stood behind the stone altar like a cross, with the children’s flowers piled before it, and the statue of the Lady and her Child had been set in the empty niche above the low stone archway, and the Bell had been hung from a branch of the old holly, the whole place was ready for the prayers and praises which Old Parson proceeded to offer there.

  First, standing before the altar with Loveday, the children and the animals grouped about him, with as many of the sheep and lambs as had been able to squeeze their way into the already overcrowded little court, he said a very long prayer, though as it was such a lovely morning nobody minded. He prayed for forgiveness for Sir Wrolf, who had stolen this place from God — and at this point the living Wrolf gave a deep penitent growl. And then he prayed for forgiveness for all the Merryweathers who during succeeding generations had neglected to give it back — and here Loveday Minette and Maria and Robin bowed their heads and said they were sorry. And then he prayed for further forgiveness for the Merryweathers because they kept for themselves the money they had got from selling the wool off the backs of the sheep who were pastured on this holy hill — and at this point all the sheep baaed distressfully. And then he prayed that for ever and ever this place should now be a holy place, and that no wickedness should be done here any more. And then they all said Amen, and the sheep baaed low and mysteriously, and Robin went to the holly-tree and set the Bell swinging, and its deep voice sounded out loud and clear to tell the people in the valley below that once more Paradise Hill belonged to God. And then Robin took his shepherd’s pipe from where it still lay beside the entrance to Paradise Door, and to its accompaniment they sang ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ and ‘The Old Hundredth’, and the Bell Song and the Spring Song, and all the praising things they could think of. And then at last, reluctantly, because it was so lovely up here on the hill, they turned themselves about and went in procession back to the village, singing all the way.

  And when they got to the village they found that the sound of the Bell, and of the joyous singing, had brought all the grown-ups out into the village street, and they were laughing and talking and crying all together because they were so happy. For the spring had come and Paradise Hill had been given back to God, and they felt they were all in a fair way now to live happy ever after.

  CHAPTER TEN

  1

  FOR some little while now Maria did not see either Robin or Loveday, and as no clothes were put ready for her in the mornings she guessed that no adventures were demanded of her just at the moment. Wrolf, too, seemed out a good deal, and seemed to think she could look after herself just for a while. It was glorious spring weather, with the trees and flowers bursting into leaf and blossom and the birds singing at the tops of their voices.

  Maria, when she got up the mornings, ran first to the south window of her room to look at the daffodils that made glorious rivers and pools of light against the sombre darkness of those sinister dark yew-trees.

  And then she would run to the west window and look down into the rose-garden that was now all a soft mist of tender green leaves where the bright colours of the birds’ wings flashed like fire.

  And then she would go to the north window, and look long and seriously at the dark mass of the pine-woods beyond the tumbled roofs. Several times, in the early dawns, she thought she heard a cock crowing out there in the woods, and the sound was a challenge.

  ‘Well?’ it said. ‘Cock-a-doodle-do. What are you going to do-do-do about it? What are you going to cock-a-doodle-do?’

  But as she had not the least idea what she was going to do about the wickedness of the Men from the Dark Woods, she could not answer the challenge. She could only wait. But she was not idle while she waited, because she was holding herself in readiness for whatever it was that she would have to do. She was trying not to be frightened in her mind, and she found that that sort of waiting and thinking really keep a person quite busy.

  And then she had her lessons with Miss Heliotrope, and almost every day she rode up to Paradise Hill and admired the sheep and lambs, which were now no longer Merryweather sheep and lambs, and talked to the children whom she found playing in the paved court under the beech-trees. For the children of Silverydew had now adopted the monastery as a second nursery. It had not ousted the church in their affection, but they had decided to keep the church for wet or cold days and Paradise Hill for when it was fine and warm. They were not afraid to be there. They knew by instinct that now that Paradise Hill had been given back to God, the wicked Men from the Dark Woods would not come there ever again.

  Robin, Maria thought, must feel like the other children, because he was not protecting the sheep any more. Never once did she see him there. She missed him, but she guessed he was doing something useful somewhere, and she would see them again soon if she was patient.

  The little paved court was getting to look less like a ruin and more like a loved and lived-in church every day. The feet of the children, and of the grown-ups who often came up here now when the day’s work was over, had made a path beneath the beech-trees to the doorway in the wall.

  Old Parson had put two big pots of pink geraniums on the stone altar before Sir Wrolf’s great cross-handled sword, and one on each side of the doorway; and the Lady and her Child always had their gifts of flowers, just as they had had them in the church down below.

  The village carpenter had fixed up a bench upon which panting grown-ups could sit and rest themselves after they had toiled up the hill. The village mason had repaired the wall in many places, and the village thatcher, reputed to be the best thatcher in the whole countryside, had already fixed the posts and beams that were one day to support the thatched roof, which was to be erected over the little court to protect it from raindrops dripping from the trees.

  And unknown people had brought various treasures; an earthenware pot to put the Lady’s flowers in, a string of horse-chestnuts to look pretty hanging on the wall, and a fine new rope to pull the Bell with. Whenever anybody said their prayers in this place they pulled the Bell, just as the monks had done, to let the people in the valley below know what they were doing.

  One day, when she was out riding with Sir Benjamin, Maria took him to Paradise Hill to see what had been done there. When he saw the sheep and remembered that he was not going to make any money out of them any more, he looked very gloomy; but as soon as Maria led him into the paved court he cheered up. He took off his hat, as he did in church, and looked about him in delight, and when they left he paused beside the pots of geraniums at the door and sniffed.

  ‘They have a good smell,’ he said. ‘A wholesome sort of smell.’

  ‘I used to hate pink,’ said Maria, ‘but now — these look so nice here — I rather think I’m changing my mind.’

  ‘Don’t rather think — do it,’ said Sir Benjamin abruptly, almost crossly. ‘Don’t waste hate on a pink geranium. All colour is of the sun, and good. Keep your hatred for dark things — evil things. Now come along home for goodness�
� sake. You’ve kept me dawdling here a good hour, and now we’re going to be late for dinner.’

  All the way home he was quite snappy, a thing Maria had not known he could be, but she did not mind because now she knew that he too, as well as Loveday, regretted that quarrel. And after a good dinner of roast beef, gravy, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, greens, horse-radish sauce, apple-tart, sugar, cream, cheese, plum cake, and beer he was quite himself again.

  2

  The next morning Maria’s waking dream was that the carved sickle moon over her head had flown down like a butterfly and kissed her on the nose. And when she woke up she saw that her riding-habit had been put ready for her, so it must have been Loveday who had kissed her. At breakfast Sir Benjamin noticed that she was wearing her habit and smiled broadly.

  ‘Lovely day,’ he said. ‘Grand day. Too good to waste over lesson books. Give her the day off, Miss Heliotrope. Let her run wild today — go where she likes — do what she likes. You might take a look at the orchard, Maria. I’ve turned some sheep in there, and they’re a pretty sight.’ Then he sighed gustily. ‘I’m going to keep more sheep than I did, now that owing to your meddlesome ways those on Paradise Hill are a dead loss.’

  But when Maria looked at him she saw that he was not really cross with her about the sheep, because his eyes were twinkling.

  She was a little surprised, though, that he should be in such a good mood, because there had been a minor tragedy this morning. Marmaduke Scarlet had left the larder door open and Wrolf had gone in and devoured the whole of the leg of mutton intended for dinner, the whole of the beef-steak and kidney pudding intended for supper, and the whole of the ham intended for tomorrow’s breakfast . . . He had never been known to do such a thing before.

  Miss Heliotrope agreed about the day off, and as soon as she had finished her breakfast Maria, with Serena, Wiggins, and Wrolf, went to the stable to saddle Periwinkle, for she thought she would take her pony into the orchard too, and afterwards she would ride to—wherever it was she was supposed to ride to today. Then, leading Periwinkle and followed by the other animals, she went through the tunnel into the kitchen garden, where all the fruit-trees were just coming into blossom and the great mulberry-tree was robed in green. She paused on one of the narrow paths, between the box hedges, and looked up at the window over the tunnel, and as before it was a blaze of salmon-pink geraniums.

  ‘I’ll look into it later,’ said Maria to herself. ‘After I’ve finished with the Men from the Dark Woods.’

  Then she went on to the door in the east wall, unlocked it, and went through into the orchard. She had not been here for some while, and she gasped in delight when she saw the pink-and-white blossom that made a canopy fit for a queen over her head. It had been so warm lately that the fruit blossom was out much earlier than usual, and there were still clumps of primroses growing about the gnarled old trunks of the trees.

  A rollicking spring wind was swaying the apple blossom, and carried to Maria a thread of merry music from the other end of the orchard. She followed it, and found Robin sitting on the grass beneath the largest and loveliest of the blossoming trees, his back against the trunk, playing his pipe. The branches above him were crowded with birds, robins, blackbirds, thrushes, tits, wrens, finches, all singing away fit to burst themselves. There were several rabbits skipping about, looking as though they were dancing in time to the music, and Serena began dancing too, and Wiggins rushed round and round, chasing his tail as he had done when he was a puppy. Wrolf and Periwinkle were too dignified to dance or skip, but Wrolf wagged his tail and Periwinkle whinnied on a high note of delight.

  ‘Robin, you’re a kind of enchanter, like Orpheus,’ said Maria. ‘I believe animals and birds would follow your music anywhere.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ said Robin. Then he smiled up at her, and asked, ‘Well, are you ready?’

  Maria’s heart began to beat. ‘Today?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘Now. I’ve spent the last few days exploring the pine-woods with Wrolf. He showed me where the castle is, and I found out the way to get inside it. It won’t do to ring at the door in the ordinary way, of course. They wouldn’t let us in. We must get inside secretly.’

  ‘But, Robin,’ whispered Maria, ‘what do we do when we are inside?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ said Robin. ‘I suppose we just walk up to the Men and tell them not to be wicked any more. We could try that, anyway.’

  Maria thought this plan, though simple, sounded dreadfully dangerous, and she went prickly all over with fright; but she answered his cheerful grin with a merry smile.

  ‘Just one moment, young Mistress and young Master Robin,’ called out a squeaky voice, and turning round they saw Marmaduke Scarlet ambling along towards them through the trees, carrying two bulging leather bags, one in each hand, and followed by Zachariah.

  ‘Hearing through the chink of the kitchen door, slightly ajar at breakfast, that today was to be a festal day unclouded by the shadows of education, I have taken the liberty of packing up a small picnic repast,’ he said. ‘It will allay the pangs of hunger should your peregrinations delay longer than had been foreseen that safe return to the ancestral mansion which is so eagerly anticipated by your well-wishers. The bags have straps that can be slipped around the neck, and if supported in the small of the back the weight of them will not prove an inconvenience. Good day, young Mistress; good day, young Master Robin.’

  Then he handed them the bags, waved aside their thanks, and bowed low. In the act of turning away he paused and fixed his bright blue eyes upon Zachariah.

  ‘Zachariah,’ he said solemnly, ‘go with them and do your duty this day.’ Then he turned and ambled away through the orchard again.

  ‘Now,’ said Robin, when they had slung the bags round their necks as instructed, and Maria had put her foot in his outstretched hand and vaulted up on Periwinkle, ‘come along, all of you, and may God defend the right!’

  The procession, with Wrolf leading, Maria following on Periwinkle with Robin beside her, and Wiggins, Serena and Zachariah, with his tail held in three coils over his back, coming along behind, made its way to the far end of the walled orchard and out through another door into that part of the park where Maria had gone the first morning of all. But they did not go towards Primrose Hollow and the sea, they turned north towards the pine-woods.

  A wooden fence separated the park from the pine-woods, but at one point there was a break in it, and through this they made their entrance.

  ‘Sir Benjamin is always mending the fence, but They always break it down again,’ said Robin.

  The moment they were inside the pine-woods the bright spring sunshine was shut away and they were in a twilight world. The trunks of the great trees soared all about them like the pillars of some vast cathedral, and, far above, the branches spread out and interlaced and made a vast canopy of darkness over their heads. A thick carpet of pine-needles deadened all sound beneath their feet, and the silence was deep and strange. The pillared aisles of this vast wood seemed all alike, but Wrolf knew the way. His great shaggy figure went loping along, deeper and deeper into the wood, on and on. Robin and Periwinkle, Serena and Zachariah seemed tireless, but Wiggins got sore feet quite soon, and felt scared and complained, so Maria carried him. He was trembling a little and, cuddling him close in her arms, she felt much braver. There’s nothing like protecting someone more frightened than one is oneself, she thought, to make one feel as brave as a lion . . . as brave as . . . Wrolf . . . She looked at Wrolf going on ahead.

  ‘Robin!’ she whispered suddenly, ‘I don’t believe Wrolf is a dog at all; I believe he’s a lion!’

  ‘Of course,’ said Robin.

  ‘But Sir Benjamin always calls him a dog!’

  ‘It wouldn’t do to alarm people,’ explained Robin.

  ‘Well!’ marvelled Maria. ‘Well — I — never! I’m glad I got to know him before I realized what he was.’

  She looked at Wrolf, marching o
n ahead of them, and though she could not have felt for him any more respect than she did already, she felt now awe as well as respect. . . . A lion!

  A little later Wrolf sat down suddenly beneath a giant pine-tree, whose roots poked their way up out of the earth and curved this way and that in a way that invited one to sit down and lean against them. A small clear stream ran beside it, hurrying east towards the sea.

  ‘Dinner!’ said Robin.

  Maria dismounted, and she and Robin settled themselves comfortably among the supporting roots, while the five animals lay gratefully down on the soft carpet of pine-needles beside them. Maria opened the two bags, unfolded the snowy napkins inside, and exclaimed in delight at their contents. Marmaduke Scarlet had surpassed himself. It was amazing what he had got into a small space. Ham sandwiches. Jam sandwiches. Sausage rolls. Apple turnovers. Gingerbread. Saffron cake. Sugar biscuits. Radishes. A small crystal bottle of milk. Two little horn cups and two horn saucers. The children’s eyes sparkled, the animals licked their lips and they all set to with a will. Zachariah had ham sandwiches and milk lapped from one of the saucers. Serena ate the radishes. Wiggins chose sausage rolls and sugar biscuits. Periwinkle crunched happily at apple pasties. Maria and Robin ate everything that was left. Wrolf, when offered sausage rolls, disdained them, and had a good drink from the stream instead.