England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
In his indecision he turned and surveyed the scene around. Not a
soul was anywhere visible. The garden path stretched downward from
his feet, gleaming like the track of a snail; the roof of the little
well (mostly dry), the well-cover, the top rail of the garden gate,
were varnished with the same dull liquid glaze; while, far away in
the vale, a faint whiteness of more than usual extent showed that
the rivers were high in the meads. Beyond all this winked a few
bleared lamplights through the beating drops, lights that denoted
the situation of the county town from which he had appeared to
come. The absence of all notes of life in that direction seemed to
clinch his intentions, and he knocked at the door.
Within a desultory chat had taken the place of movement and musical
sound. The hedge-carpenter was suggesting a song to the company,
which nobody just then was inclined to undertake, so that the knock
afforded a not unwelcome diversion.
"Walk in!" said the shepherd, promptly.
The latch clicked upward, and out of the night our pedestrian
appeared upon the door-mat. The shepherd arose, snuffed two of the
nearest candies, and turned to look at him.
Their light disclosed that the stranger was dark in complexion and
not unprepossessing as to feature. His hat, which for a moment he
did not remove, hung low over his eyes, without concealing that
they were large, open, and determined, moving with a flash rather
than a glance round the room. He seemed pleased with the survey,
and, baring his shaggy head, said, in a rich, deep voice, "The rain
is so heavy, friends, that I ask leave to come in and rest awhile."
"To be sure, stranger," said the shepherd. "And, faith, you've
been lucky in choosing your time, for we are having a bit of a fling
for a glad cause--though, to be sure, a man could hardly wish that
glad cause to happen more than once a year."
"Nor less," spoke up a woman; "for 'tis best to get your family
over and done with as soon as you can, so as to be all the earlier
out of the fag o't."
"And what may be this glad cause?" asked the stranger.
"A birth and christening," said the shepherd.
The stranger hoped his host might not be made unhappy either by too
many or too few of such episodes, and, being invited by a gesture
to a pull at the mug, he readily acquiesced. His manner, which
before entering had been so dubious, was now altogether that of a
careless and candid man.
"Late to be traipsing athwart this coomb--hey?" said the engaged
man of fifty.
"Late it is, master, as you say. I'll take a seat in the chimney-corner
if you have nothing to urge against it, ma'am, for I am a little
moist on the side that was next the rain."
Mrs. Shepherd Fennel assented, and made room for the self-invited
comer, who, having got completely inside the chimney-corner, stretched
out his legs and his arms with the expansiveness of a person quite
at home.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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