Cornwall (England : County) -- Fiction; Short stories, English
"Since you have found us out, sir," said the woman, "I will tell you
why we are behaving like this, and trust you to tell nobody. I have
been left a widow, in great poverty, and with this one son, who must
be educated as well as his father was. Richard is a promising boy, and
cannot be satisfied to stand lower in the world than his father stood.
His father was an auctioneer. But we are left very poor--poor as mice:
and how was I to get him better teaching than the Board Schools here?
Well, six months ago, when sadly perplexed, I found out by chance that
this small gift of mine might earn me a good income in London, at--at
a music-hall--"
"Mother!" interjected the youth reprovingly.
"Pursue, madame," said the flageolet-player.
"Of course, sir, Richard doesn't like or approve of me performing at
such places, but he agrees with me that it is necessary. So we are
hiding it from everybody in the village, because we have always been
respected here. We never guessed that anybody would see us from the
churchyard, of all places, at this time of night. As soon as I have
practised enough, we mean to travel up to London. Of course I shall
change my name to something French or Italian, and hope nobody will
discover--"
But the flageolet-player sat suddenly down upon a damp grave, and
broke into hysterical laughter.
"Oh-oh-oh! Quick, madame! dance your pretty figures while yet I laugh
and before I curse. O stars and planets, look down on this mad world,
and help me play! And, O monsieur, your pardon if I laugh; for that
either you or I are mad is a cock-sure. Dance, madame!"
He put the flageolet to his lips and blew. In a moment or two
harlequin and columbine appeared on the screen, and began to caper
nimbly, naturally, with the airiest graces. The tune was a jigging
reel, and soon began to inspire the performer above. Her small dancers
in a twinkling turned into a gambolling elephant, then to a pair
of swallows. A moment after they were flower and butterfly, then
a jigging donkey, then harlequin and columbine again. With each
fantastic change the tune quickened and the dance grew wilder. At
length, tired out, the woman spread her hands out wide against the
sheet, as if imploring mercy.
The player tossed his flageolet over a headstone, and rolled back on
the grave in a paroxysm of laughter. Above him the rooks had poured
out of their nests, and were cawing in flustered circles.
"Monsieur," he gasped out, sitting up and wiping his eyes, "was it
good this time?"
"Yes, it was."
"Then could you spare from the house one little crust of bread? For I
am famished."
The youth went round the churchyard wall, and came back in a couple of
minutes with some bread and cold bacon.
"Of course," said he, "if you should meet either of us in the village
to-morrow, you will not recognise us."
The little man bowed. "I agree," said he, "with your mother, monsieur,
that you must be educated at all costs."
THE DRAWN BLIND.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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