Peregrine's Progress Part 46

"It is--the 'Hand of Glory,'" she whispered.

"What is it--what does it mean?"

"It means, Peregrine, it means that you--that I--oh, you must find out!" And s.n.a.t.c.hing her hand from mine, she fled from me into the wood.

CHAPTER XXVII

JUNO VERSUS DIANA

I was busily engaged blowing the bellows of the Tinker's small, portable forge; besides the making and mending of kettles, pots, pans and the like, it seems he was a skilful smith also, able to turn his hand from shoeing a horse to fashioning such diverse implements as the rustic community had need of, for beside the forge lay a pile of billhooks, axe-heads, sickle-blades and the like, finished or in the making.

So I blew the fire, wielded the heavy sledge-hammer or stood absorbed to watch the deft strokes of his hammer draw out, bend and shape the glowing steel, though turning very often to behold Diana sitting near by, her quick hands busied upon the construction of her baskets of rush or peeled willow: thus despite the heat of the fire, the sulphurous flames and the smoke-grime that besmirched me, I laboured joyously and swung the ponderous sledge more vigorously for the knowledge that her bright eyes were often raised to watch me at my work.

Thus bellows roared and hammers rang until the sun was high and the Tinker, returning the half-forged billhook to the fire, straightened his back and wiped the sweat from sooty brow with sooty hand.

"We shall make a tidy smith of him yet, eh Anna?"

"In time--with patience!" she nodded.

"The question is--wages. What ought us to pay him, Ann?"

"Nothing!" said I.

"Five shillings," said Diana.

"Good, we'll make it seven shillings a week to begin wi'," quoth the Tinker, and whipping the glowing bill from the fire, he clapped it on the anvil and at sign from him I whirled up the sledge and brought it down with resounding clank, which he followed with two blows from his lighter hammer, and we fell to it merrily, thus: Clang--c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k!

Clang--c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k! While with every stroke the bill took on form and semblance, growing more and more into what a billhook should be.

"A good thick steak, I think you said, Anna?" enquired the Tinker, while I blew the fire for the next heat.

"And fried onions, Jerry."

"Steak an' onions!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes ecstatically. "Did ye hear that, Perry? And to make good vittles better, there's nowt like smithing! The only thing agin' steak an' onions is that there's never enough onions!"

"There will be this time!" said Diana, with another nod.

"D'ye hear that, Perry? Lord, I am that ravenous!"

"But 'tis scarce twelve o'clock yet, Jerry."

"Are you hungry, friend Peregrine?"

"I always am, lately."

"Poor Perry's hungry likewise, Ann! Come, what of it?"

"You must wait till dinner time."

"Which is when a man's hungry--or should be. Come, la.s.s, famishin' an'

faintin' away we be!"

Laughing, Diana rose and crossed the glade to where, screened among leafy thickets, stood cart and tent.

"Now as regards paying me wages, Jerry," I began, then stopped and caught my breath suddenly, for Diana was singing.

Yet could this indeed be Diana's voice--these soft, sweet, rippling notes mounting in silvery trills so purely sweet, swelling gloriously until the whole wood seemed full of the wonder of it, and I spellbound by this simple, oft-heard air, but which, sung thus and thus glorified, touched me to awed delight.

"Aha!" exclaimed the Tinker, as the liquid notes died away. "She can sing when she's happy. Jessamy says there's a fortun' in her voice--"

But I was off and across the glade and next moment standing before her.

"Why--Diana!" I exclaimed. "O Diana!"

"What is it?" she demanded, glancing up from the onion she was peeling.

"Why have I never heard you sing before? Why do you sing so seldom?"

"Because I only sing when--when I feel like it and to please myself."

"Your voice is wonderful!" I exclaimed. "We will have it cultivated; you shall be one of the world's great singers, you shall--"

"Don't be silly!" she exclaimed, flushing.

"But I tell you your voice is one in ten thousand!"

"And this onion is one of six, so take a knife and help me with 'em, 'stead of talking foolish--only go wash first; you're black as a sweep."

"Gladly," said I, "if you will sing again."

"n.o.body can sing and peel onions--they make your eyes run."

"Why, then, let me--"

"Hush!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"What is it?"

"Strangers coming--listen!" And presently I heard it too, a rustle of leaves, crackling of twigs, voices and jingling spurs, coming nearer.

Then as I rose with a premonition of approaching fate, forth into the clearing stepped my uncle George, my uncle Jervas and my aunt Julia.

She was dressed for riding and carried the skirt of her close-fitting habit across her arm, and never had she looked handsomer nor more magnificently statuesque as she stood, her n.o.ble figure proudly erect, all potent femininity from feathered hat to dainty, firm-planted riding boots.

My lips were opening in glad welcome, I had taken a quick step forward, when her words arrested me.

"George Vereker!" she exclaimed, with a waft of her jewelled riding switch towards Diana and myself, "O Sir Jervas, is it with such dreadful creatures as these that you have doomed my poor, delicately nurtured Peregrine to consort? Aye, well may you grow purple, George, and you turn your back in shame, Jervas, to behold thus the degrading company--"