Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (32 page)

“Aren’t you ever going to finish?” she said.

The Queen answered, “Well, I was rather hungry, you see; but I’ve finished now. There’s no great hurry, is there?”

“I want
my
dinner,” the old woman said, with such an emphasis on the “
my”
that the Queen was quite amused.

“Why, the goose is there; at least, there’s some of it left.”

“But I don’t like goose,” the old woman said. Her manner was growing more and more peculiar.

“Any one would think you were going to eat
me,”
the Queen said; and the cat licked its jaws.

“So I am,” the old woman said, and her eyes gleamed.

But the Queen said, “Nonsense!”

“But it’s not nonsense,” the old woman said; and the cat began to grow visibly.

“Well, but you didn’t say anything about it before,” the Queen said. “I only agreed to herd your geese.”

“But you won’t be able to,” the old woman said.

The Queen said, “Why not?”

“
Because they’re wild ones.”

The cat was growing larger and larger, till the Queen grew positively afraid.

“Well, at any rate, I’ll have a try,” she said.

And the old woman answered, “You may as well save yourself the trouble.”

But the Queen insisted, and so they went out-side, the old woman carrying her broom, for all the world like a crossing-sweeper.

The great cat rubbed against her skirt and licked its jaws. It was about the size of a lion now.

They came to the back of the house, and there the pen was — a cage covered completely over, and filled with a multitude of geese. The old woman undid the door and threw it wide, and immediately, with a mighty rustle of wings filling the air, the geese swept out of the pen away into the sky.

The old woman chuckled, and the cat crouched itself down as if preparing to spring, lashing its sides with its long tail But the Queen only smiled, and started off straight into the air, faster even than the geese had gone.

The old woman gave a shriek, and the cat a horrible yell, and then the Queen saw the one mounted upon her broom, and the other without any sort of steed at all, come flying after her.

Then ensued a terrific race. The Queen put up one hand to hold her crown on, and the other to shield her eyes, and then flew as fast as she could, with her hair streaming out upon the wind.

Right through the startled geese she went, and the old woman and the cat followed after; but, fast as she went, they gained upon her, and at last the cat was almost upon her. In despair, she doubled back and almost ran into the old woman, who aimed a furious blow at her with her broom; but the Queen just dodged it, and it lighted full in the face of the cat, and, locked fast together, the cat and the old woman whirled to the ground.

They were both of them too enraged to inquire who was who, and such a furious battle raged that the sand they threw up completely hid the earth from view for miles around.

The Queen, however, after she had recovered her breath, hovered over the spot to see what would happen.

All of a sudden there was a loud explosion, and a column of blue flame shot up.

“Now what has happened?” the Queen thought to herself, and prepared to fly off at full speed. But the cloud of sand sailed quietly off down the wind, and, save for a deep hole, there remained no trace of the old woman and her cat Just at that moment the Queen heard a mighty rustling of wings, and, looking up, saw the great herd of wild geese swirling round and round her head.

“Dear me!” the Queen said to herself, “I wonder if I could talk to them. Perhaps they will understand bat’s language.”

Now, it is a rather difficult thing to give you a good idea of what the bat’s language is like, because, although one may produce a fairly good imitation by rubbing two corks together, or by blowing through a double button, it doesn’t mean any more in bat’s language than “Huckery hickyhoo” would in ours, if any one were foolish enough to produce such sounds.

Suffice it then, to say that the Queen said in the bat’s language, “Oh, come, that’s a good And the geese answered,” Yes, isn’t it scrumptious?”

You see, geese are rather vulgar kinds of fowls, and so they speak a vulgar language — about as different from the aristocratic bat’s as a London costermonger’s is from that of a well-brought-up young person. So that, if you can imagine a gander and a bat proposing each to the lady of his choice, the goose would say, “‘Lizer, be my disy;” whereas the bat would lay one claw upon its velvet coat over its heart and begin, “Miss Elizabeth,” or “Miss Vespertilio,” — for that is the bat’s surname—”if the devotion of a lifetime can atone for—” and so on, in the most elegant of phrases.

At any rate, the geese understood the Queen, and the Queen understood the geese, which is the main thing.

“Now what shall I do?” the Queen said.

And the geese consulted among themselves. Then an elderly gander spoke up for the rest.

“Ma’am,” he said, or rather hissed, “you have saved our lives.”

The Queen said, “I’m sure I’m very glad.”

The poor gander blushed, not being used to speaking in public; but he began again bravely.

“Ma’am, seeing as how you’ve saved our lives, we’ve made up our minds to be your faithful servants, and to go where you go, and do what you do.”

“I’m sure it’s very good of you,” the Queen said, not knowing exactly whether to be glad or sorry. “But I don’t quite know where I a
m
going; though, as it’s getting late in the day, I think I’d better be moving on.”

“Why don’t you go back to the cottage?” the old gander said. “There’ll be no one there to bother you now.”

“It’s rather a good idea,” the Queen said. “I’ve a good mind to.”

“Do,” the geese said. “There’s a nice river near by.”

And, although the latter inducement was inconsiderable, the Queen did as she was asked. In their mad career they had come so great a distance that it was dose on nightfall before they reached the cottage again.

There everything was quiet and as they had left it, only the fire had almost died away on the hearth.

So the Queen, who rather disliked the darkness, threw one or two turfs on it and blew it up well with the bellows, so that the light glowed and danced cheerfully on the farthest wall of the cottage.

So the Queen sat and looked at the leaping flames, and her shadow danced large upon the walls. But outside, on the dunes before the door, the geese were all asleep, with their heads under their wings. Their shadows did not move in the moonlight. Only the old gander remained as a sentinel, marching up and down before the door. No sentry was ever more perfect in his goose-step.

So, when a fit of nervousness came over the Queen, and she went to look out at the door for fear the old woman and her cat should return, she felt quite reassured.

“It was we who saved the capitol,” the old gander said; “so you’re quite safe.”

And the remembrance soothed the Queen, so that she went and lay down on the conch of dried fern that served for a bed, and soon was fast asleep.

After all, the geese were some companionship, and it was better to sleep quietly on the bracken couch than to glide along in a ghostly way under the moon, with no company but one’s shadow on the fields far, far down below.

So the Queen slept until morning, and the first sound that awakened her was the quacking of the geese, a really tremendous noise. The sun was just up. The Queen sprang up, too, and dressed herself. There was a pail in the hut, and, at no great distance, a well. So thither she went, and, drawing a pail of water, washed herself well in it. It was delightfully cold and refreshing.

The geese saluted her with a genera] chorus of good mornings and good wishes, for which the Queen thanked them.

So, having made herself comfortable, she began to feel not a little hungry, as did the geese. After looking about in the hut, she discovered the cellar door, and, opening it, she went down, not without being a little afraid that it might be full of old women or black cats. She found no trace of either, but merely quite a lot of bread and cheese, and hard biscuits, and a sack of corn, which was evidently intended for the geese.

So she filled a measure with it and threw it to them, and gave them a great pan of water from the well, after which she made a frugal breakfast off a biscuit and an egg which one of the geese had laid.

Then the geese wanted to set forth for the river, and asked the Queen to come with them, which she did willingly enough, after she had tidied the house a little and had made up the fire so that it might not quite go out.

Then gaily they trooped off over the sand- dunes towards the river, the geese marching gravely in line; only the old grey gander went beside the Queen and talked to her.

Just where the river ran was a green meadow with several pools of water in it And the where their wings seemed to be flapping and fluttering and showing the whites underneath them.

They eyed the Queen with something like alarm, but the old grey gander made a speech in which he referred to the Queen as their preserver and friend; and the Queen said that, for from wishing to do them any harm, she was very fond of birds.

And so the flapping of wings went on again, and the sun shone down upon the gay meadow. But the geese led the Queen to the river’s edge, and there she sat down on the bank beneath a willow tree, whilst they jumped in and revelled in the clear water.

So the sun rose higher and higher, and the shade of the tree grew more and more grateful to the Queen, and the geese came out of the river and arranged themselves for a nap on the grass around her.

During the sun’s height, too, all the other birds were more silent; it was too hot for violent exercise.

So the river gurgled among the rushes, and they rustled and bent their heads, and the willow leaves forgot to tremble for want of a breeze. And the great, placid flow of the river was without a dimple on its face, save when a fish sprang gleaming out after a low-flying midge.

So the Queen felt happy and contented, and she, too, dozed off into a little nap, whilst the woolly clouds slowly sailed across the blue heaven.

But towards evening the birds all woke up; the peewits flew off in a flock to the marshy flats down the river, and the snipe whirred away to the mud-banks, and the geese arose and cropped the greensward with their bills.

And then, towards sunset, they all rose in the air, and the Queen with them, and went whirling round in great clouds of rustling pinions, dyed red in the sunset, geese and peewits, and snipe and herons, all wheeling about in sheer delight of life; until, when the sun was almost down, the geese, with a great cry of farewell, flew off through the gloaming with the Queen towards the hut.

And there she once more blew up the fire for company, whilst the geese outside slept calmly. And so she went to bed again.

Thus it fell about that the Queen remained quite a long time in the hut with the geese for her companions.

The days she spent down where the river whispered to the rushes. When the sun was very hot, she would bathe in the stream and lie among the rushes; and, having cut a pipe, she played upon it in tune with the gurgle of the river.

Then the geese and the gulls and the peewits and the gaunt grey herons would gather round and listen attentively — so attentively that if one of the gulls made a slight rustling in changing legs, he always got a good peck for disturbing them. And the great herons buried their bills in the feathers of their breasts and shut their eyes, and did not move even when the frogs crept out of the water and listened, with their gold-rimmed eyes all agog, and their yellow throats palpitating.