More Jonathan Papers Part 20

And at last, the sermon:_The text to which I wish to call your attention this morning_my attention, forsooth! My attention was otherwise occupied.

Ah! A puff of warm, sweet air from behind me, and the soft, padding noise of the swinging doors, apprised me of an incomer. A cautious tread in the aisleI moved along a little to make room.

In a city church probably I should have thrown propriety to the winds and had the gist of the story out of him at once, but in a country church there are always such listening s.p.a.ces,the very pew-backs and cushions seem attentive, the hymnals creak in their racks, and the little stools cry out nervously when one barely touches them. It was too much for me. I was coerced into an outer semblance of decorum. However, I s.n.a.t.c.hed a hasty glance at Jonathans face. It was quite red and hot-looking, but calm, very calm, and I judged it to be the calm, not of defeat nor yet of settled militancy, but of triumph. I even thought I detected the flicker of a grin,the mere atmospheric suggestion of a grin,as if he felt the urgent if furtive appeal in my glance. At any rate, Jonathan was all right, that was clear. And as to Grizwhether she was still one mare or two half-maresit didnt so much matter. And now for the sermon! I gathered myself to attend.

As we stood up for the last hymn, I whispered, How did it go?

All right. Shes. .h.i.tched, was the answer.

After church there was the usual stir of sociability, and when I emerged into the glare of the church steps, I saw Jonathan driving slowly around from the rear. Griz walked meekly, her head sagged, her eyes blinked.

Good quiet little horse youve got there, said a deacon over my shoulder; dont get restless standing, the way some horses do.

Yes, shes very quiet, I said.

I got in, and at last, as we drove off, the flood-gates of my impatience broke:

Well? I said,well?

Well said Jonathan.

_Well? Tell_ me about it!

Ive told you. I hitched her.

How did you hitch her?

Just the way I said I would.

Didnt she mind?

Dont know.

Did she make a fuss?

Not much.

What do you mean by much?

Oh, she set back a little.

Do any harm?

No.

Hurt herself?

Guess not.

Jonathan, you drive me distractedyou have no more sense for a story

But there was nothing in particular

Now, Jonathan, if there was nothing in particular, _why_ didnt you get into church till the sermon was begun, and why were you so red and hot?

Jonathan smiled indulgently. Why, of course, she didnt care about being hitched. I thought you knew that. But it was perfectly easy.

And that was about all I could extract by the most artful questions. I took my revenge by telling Jonathan the deacons compliment to Griz. He said she didnt get restless standing, the way so many horses did. I thought of mentioning that you were a rather good judge of horses, in an amateur way, but then I thought it might seem like boasting, so I didnt.

After that, of course, I didnt really deserve to hear the whole story, but the next night I happened to be in the hammock while Jonathan was talking to a neighbor at the front gate, and he was relating the incident with detail enough to have satisfied the most hungry gossip. Only thus did I learn that Bill Howard, who had wound the rope twice round the post to give himself a little leeway, was drawn right up to the post when she set back; that they had been afraid the headstall would tear off; that they had been rather nervous about the post, and other such little points, which I had not been clever enough to elicit by my questions.

Now, why? Probably a man likes to tell a story when he likes to tell it. I find myself wondering how much Odysseus told Penelope about his adventures when she got him to herself for a good talk. Is it significant that his really long story was told to the King of the Phaeacians?

As to Griz:it would perhaps not be worth while to recount her subsequent history. It was a curious one, consisting of long stretches of continuous and ostentatious meekness, broken by sudden flare-ups which, after their occurrence, always seemed incredible. She never again set back when Jonathan was the one to hitch her, but this was a concession made to him personally, and had no effect on her general habits. We talked of changing her name, but could never manage it. We thought of selling her, but she was too valuablemost of the time. And when we finally parted from her our relief was deeply tinged with regret.

I have sometimes wondered whether such flare-ups were not the natural and necessary means of recuperation from such depths of meekness. I have even wondered whether the original Griselda may not havebut this is not a dissertation on early Italian poetry, nor on the nature of women.

IX

A Rowboat Pilgrimage

We were glad that the plan of the rowboat cruise dawned upon us almost a year before it came to pa.s.s. We were the gainers by just that rich length of expectancy.

For the joy that one gets from any cherished plan is always threefold: there is the joy of looking forward, the joy of the very doing, and the joy of remembering. They are all good, but only the last is eternal. The doing is hedged between limits, and its pleasures are often confused, overlaid with alien or accidental impressions. The joy of the forward look is pure and keen, but its bounds, too, are set. It begins at the moment when the first ray of the plan-idea dawns on ones mind, and it ends with the day of fulfillment. If the dawn begins long before the day, so much the better.

It was early fall, and we had come in from a day by the river, where we had tramped miles up, to one of its infrequent bridges, and miles down on the other bank. Now we sat before the fire, talking it over.

If we only had a boat! I said.

Boat! What do you want a boat for? You wouldnt want to sit in a boat all day.

Who said I would? But I want to get into it, and float off, and get out again somewhere else. Thats my idea of a boat.

Oh, of course, a boat would be handy

Handy! You talk as if it was a b.u.t.tonhook!

Well?

Wellof course it _is_ handyas you call itbut a boat means such a lot of thingsadventure, romance. When youre in a boata little boatanything might happen.

Yes, said Jonathan, drawing the logs together, thats just the way your family feels about it when youre young.

Then we both laughed, and there was a reminiscent pause.