It was time to go home to supper now, and I felt very friendly towards
it, having been hard at work for some hours, with only the voice of the
little rill, and some hares and a pheasant for company. The sun was gone
down behind the black wood on the farther cliffs of Bagworthy, and the
russet of the tufts and spear-beds was becoming gray, while the greyness
of the sapling ash grew brown against the sky; the hollow curves of
the little stream became black beneath the grasses and the fairy fans
innumerable, while outside the hedge our clover was crimping its leaves
in the dewfall, like the cocked hats of wood-sorrel,--when, thanking God
for all this scene, because my love had gifted me with the key to all
things lovely, I prepared to follow their example, and to rest from
labour.
Therefore I wiped my bill-hook and shearing-knife very carefully, for
I hate to leave tools dirty; and was doubting whether I should try for
another glance at the seven rooks' nests, or whether it would be too
dark for it. It was now a quarter of an hour mayhap, since I had made
any chopping noise, because I had been assorting my spars, and tying
them in bundles, instead of plying the bill-hook; and the gentle tinkle
of the stream was louder than my doings. To this, no doubt, I owe my
life, which then (without my dreaming it) was in no little jeopardy.
For, just as I was twisting the bine of my very last faggot, before
tucking the cleft tongue under, there came three men outside the hedge,
where the western light was yellow; and by it I could see that all three
of them carried firearms. These men were not walking carelessly, but
following down the hedge-trough, as if to stalk some enemy: and for a
moment it struck me cold to think it was I they were looking for. With
the swiftness of terror I concluded that my visits to Glen Doone were
known, and now my life was the forfeit.
It was a most lucky thing for me, that I heard their clothes catch in
the brambles, and saw their hats under the rampart of ash, which is made
by what we call “splashing,” and lucky, for me that I stood in a goyal,
and had the dark coppice behind me. To this I had no time to fly, but
with a sort of instinct, threw myself flat in among the thick fern, and
held my breath, and lay still as a log. For I had seen the light gleam
on their gun-barrels, and knowing the faults of the neighbourhood, would
fain avoid swelling their number. Then the three men came to the gap
in the hedge, where I had been in and out so often; and stood up, and
looked in over.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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