Chapter 4

THE PEACOCK IN JACKDAW'S FEATHERS.

It is hard to say what made Dan so excited. Usually he was a self-contained young man, who but seldom gave vent to his high spirits. On this morning, however, he was fairly carried away by the exuberance of his animal nature. He urged Simon to a gallop along the shining sands, and shouted out any poetry that came into his head. There was nobody to listen to him save a gull or so, therefore he indulged himself to the full in such nonsense. "Dulce est desipere in loco," and why not?

Whether it was the brisk air, the roaring waves, or the sight of that beautiful face, he could not tell, but there was no doubt he was nature-mad, and pranced Simon about till the steady old roadster wondered what could be the matter with his usually sedate master. Peter enjoyed the excitement, and barked till he was hoarse. He was more in sympathy with such moods than Simon.

The beach was a goodly length of sand, and at the end there was a cluster of rocks which afforded privacy. Not a soul was in sight, for, with the exception of "t' doctor's lass," none of the Farbis folk patronized the seashore at so early an hour. Dan tied up Simon, and behind the rocks stripped off his clothes. These he left Peter to guard, jumped, naked as he was, on horseback, and went off to frolic in the water. Here was primevalism with a vengeance. It is hard to say whether Dan or Simon most enjoyed the bath. They both splashed about in the waves till the blood sang in their veins. Some distance out Dan slipped off and ducked under and rolled over till he was tired. He could not go far enough out to swim, as he had to hold Simon by the reins. At length man and beast emerged thoroughly refreshed.

Having donned his clothes, Dan once more made a racecourse of the beach, and finally trotted campward through the Gates of Dawn. Alas! no beauty awaited him this time. The sun was fairly up, and Aurora's services not being needed, she had disappeared. On his way through the village Dan had quite a crowd to look at him; but they only grinned, and did not volunteer a remark. At the Red Deer he drew rein for a tankard of ale. The landlord, stout and cheerful (as landlords should be), himself brought the frothing pot, and spoke so respectfully that Dan again felt that he was found out. What is the use of wearing shabby clothes and driving a caravan, and camping gipsy-fashion in a dell, if people will persistently say "sir" and touch their hat--or forelock, if uncovered? Dan remonstrated.

"Why do you call me 'sir,' landlord? I'm only a cheap-jack."

"That yew bain't, zur," replied the landlord, with respectful contradiction. "Aw knows gentry when aw sees 'um."

"But I'm not a gentleman, confound you."

"Aw've been tu Lunnon, zur, an' ses I when I sees 'um, 'Thet's gentry, fur zure.'"

Dan contradicted him again, but receiving nothing but an obstinate shake of the head, rode off on his bare-backed steed, followed by the "Marnin', zur," of the landlord and attendant satellites. As a would-be tramp he was a distinct failure.

"There's nothing for it," said Dan, as Simon climbed the hill; "I must get an accent of some sort. Perhaps Mother Jericho will teach me how to patter. They don't teach the rural accent at Oxford, more's the pity. I must say 'marnin'' and 'zur' and 'oi,' or they'll see through my disguise at once. What the deuce made me come on this wild-goose chase? I don't say it's not amusing, but I'm such a palpable fraud that I can't even gain the confidence of the lower orders. They all call me 'zur' and grin, and expect to be tipped. Hang it, no; as a cheap-jack I bar tipping. Puh! Here's the top of the hill at last. Tired, Simon?"

Simon was tired, and intimated as much by refusing to move an inch for a few minutes. During the continuance of this fit of obstinacy his master gazed at the Gates of Dawn, and his thoughts reverted to the vision of sunrise.

"I wonder who that girl can be? I must see her again, if only to feast my eyes on the loveliest face I ever saw in my life. 'T' doctor's lass!' I'll get an ache or a pain, or something, and call on that doctor. I hope I won't be such a fool as to fall in love with Aurora! It would never do. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, and rustic beauty does not look at home in the silks and farthingales of London. That old woman said I should meet my fate at the Gates of Dawn. Is that wild rose my fate, and if so, is----? Pshaw! I'm talking nonsense, and breakfast is waiting! Move on, Simon."

From this speech it will be seen that Dan was by no means the person he represented himself to be. He spoke of London, of Oxford, of silks, satins, and tipping. Cheap-jacks are ignorant of such things. Even in looks he failed to impose on the rural population. Borrow, the glorious Bohemian, never would have recognized so arrant an impostor as one of the "fancy." Altogether Dan was rather crestfallen at his attempt to act the part of a cheap-jack, but could not help laughing at his own failure. To reverse the fable, this peacock could not strut in jackdaw plumes.

The fire was nearly out when he reached the camp, but an armful of sticks soon made it blaze merrily again. All was exactly as he left it, and Dan could espy no thievish footsteps about his caravan. The taboo of Mother Jericho was evidently efficacious, or her people were exceptionally honest. Knowing somewhat of the gipsy nature, Dan held to the former opinion.

"I wonder if the old lady will pay me another visit?" said Dan, as he busied himself getting breakfast; "she said something about coming here at noon. Or was it another person she mentioned? Well, I don't much care who it is, so long as they can instruct me as to the name and identity of Aurora. 'And Joy comes up through the Gates of Dawn.' What a pretty song she sang, and what a voice she has! and why don't you be sensible, Dan, and drop talking nonsense?"

He took his own advice, and ceased to soliloquize. Indeed, his culinary cares did not permit him to continue it. With a dexterity begotten by long practice, he soon prepared the meal. Eggs and bacon, fragrant coffee, and bread and butter. O Lavengro, think of such a meal in the wilderness! What pioneer is this, to feed on such dainties! Lucullus should not tramp the country with his kitchen on his back.

Peter had some dog-biscuits soaked in milk, and likewise devoured such scraps of bacon as were left. He fared badly in this respect, as Dan scraped the platter clean. Simon partook of oats and hay, after which he returned to his grazing. The grass was succulent, and Simon hungry, so he wished for nothing better than to be left alone.

After breakfast, Dan washed up his crockery and cutlery, then lighted his beloved pipe. At peace with himself and the whole world, he sat by the fire and put Peter through a few tricks. Peter objected, and retreated with his tail--or what was called by courtesy his tail--between his legs; so, failing to find further diversion, Dan got out his diary.

"I'm afraid this doesn't look like a cheap-jack," said he, sharpening a pencil; "they don't keep diaries, as a rule. There are many things to be set down this morning: Mother Jericho's visit, her prophecy and its fulfilment at the Gates of Dawn. I would I were an artist, to sketch that face. Talk about the Madonna type! Ah me!"

He sighed as a tribute to the absent beauty, and busied himself in writing up the events of the last two days. Beyond the noting of a few facts, he had nothing whatever to write about. Such thoughts as he had were not worth committing to paper. And what, indeed, is the use of a healthy young man setting down immature fancies? Youth can write poetry, which is purely inspirational; but not novels or essays, both of which imply a long experience of human nature. Up to the age of thirty, unless gifted with the faculty of observance, youth is too interested in itself to concern itself with other people. It certainly troubles about the gentler sex, but they defy analysis, and he is a bold man who limns you a portrait in pen and ink with the remark, "This is a woman I once knew." Did you meet the original, you would find her vastly different. Women have as many sides to their characters as a diamond has facets, and never show the same side twice to one person. In such "weathercockisms"--to coin a word--lies their greatest charm.

This is all very well, but has nothing to do with Dan in his camp. It were wiser not to digress, but to keep to the subject-matter in hand. Therefore to return to Dan and his scribbling. He wrote down his adventures, tried to recollect the words of Aurora's song, and finally, dropping pencil and book, fell to meditating on her beauty. In truth, he could think of nothing else.

Now, the question is, Was he in love? Impossible! He knew nothing of the girl, he did not even know her name, so it was impossible that love could be born of a brief glance. Even Romeo's passion for Juliet had the advantage of a few hurried words. No! Dan was not in love, yet he felt strange sensations in the region of the heart when that face floated cherub-fashion--i.e. without body--before his mind's eye. Perhaps this was because the words of the red-cloaked sibyl had predisposed him to take special notice of the girl, and think of her as a possible factor in his life. Was she indeed his fate? He determined to question Mother Jericho closely the next time he saw her.

What with writing and idling and smoking, the morning passed very quickly, and the sun, pouring its rays vertically on the dell, warned him that it was noon. At that time Mother Jericho had promised that he should receive a visitor, so Dan packed away his diary and kept a sharp look-out on the road. Meanwhile he felt too restless to sit still, and walked up and down the limited area of the hollow.

Who he was, and what he was, and why he came to be camping in so solitary a place, will be told in due course. At present you can see that he is merely a rover of thirty, bent upon making holiday and getting the best out of life. What his name is matters not at present. He chose to call himself Dan, which is short for Daniel, but the name did not suit him in the least. He looked quite unlike a Daniel. There is a fitness in names as in other things.

The promised visitor did not arrive at the appointed hour, and Dan became impatient. He had longing thoughts in the direction of his midday meal, and, indeed, was about to see after it, when Peter's sharp bark announced the approach of the expected visitor. It was not Mother Jericho, but a tall and powerfully built man.

He strode boldly down the road and into the dell. Dan made a step forward to greet him, but the other drew back and looked at him carefully. Apparently the stranger was satisfied with his scrutiny, for he advanced with smile and outstretched hand. Not knowing whether to be pleased or angry, Dan gave his own reluctantly.

"What is your name?" said he.

"Tinker Tim," replied the other gruffly. "I come from Mother Jericho."