Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (34 page)

And he who had been the old grey gander answered, “The witch turned us into it when we came to ask for the Elixir of Love.”

“Dear me!” the Queen said. “Does love make such geese of people?”

And the shepherd in prince’s clothing said, “I’m afraid it does.”

“You see, it was as I said,” the old grey gander said; “those young men are all fools. You had much better marry me.’

He had no sooner said the words than a perfect whirlwind of shouts arose.

“Marry me!”

“No, marry me!”
  
“Me!”
  
“Me!”
  
“Me!”

The Queen put her fingers to her ears. “If you don’t be quiet I’ll fly away altogether,” she said But it produced no effect at all; the sound of voices went on just like the sound of surf on a pebbly shore.

“Oh, I can’t stand it,” the Queen said “And to think that it is to go on like this for ever and ever, and all because of this horrible elixir! I shall fly right away from it.”

And she quietly rose and sailed away in the air, and the last she saw of the geese was that they were feebly trying to fly after her, waving their arms frantically as if they had been wings.

The Queen flew straight up into the air, and she had reached a dizzy height before she thought of what she was doing.

To tell the truth, she was a little sorrowful at the thought of leaving the geese; for, with the exception of the old bat, they had been almost her only friends.

“I wish they
amid
have flown with me,” she said to herself. “But, good gracious, how high I am getting! I shall be losing my way. Why, the earth looks quite small and quite like a map.” And so it did. Then an idea struck the Queen. “Suppose I were to fly right up to the sun; what fun it would be!”

And, since the idea had come into her head, she determined to make the attempt Up, up she flew, higher and ever higher, till all the air around was full of strange harmonies, as though ten thousand Æolian harps were being breathed upon in accord by a great wind. And all around her, too, the planets whirred and spun and the stars gleamed, and now and again she would pass through mists of luxurinousness and of gleaming hail.

Up, up she went till she came where there was a great bow of iridescent colours, and rising from it a great array of white steps, that ran up, up, so high that it took away her breath to look upon them. At the top was a great glare of light. The Queen felt tired and a little bewildered; it seemed as if her wings would bear her no longer or, at least, no higher.

Upon the many-coloured road she stood and looked up the great white way. A voice spoke to her like a great rushing of wind.

“Maiden,! it said,” so far and no further.”

And a feeling akin to fear came over her; but not fear, for she knew not what guilt was.

And the voice spoke again. “Go down this bow back to the earth, and do the work that is to be done by you. Be of use to your fellows.”

And the Queen turned and went her way down the great road. The air was full of voices, glad voices, such that the Queen had never heard before — full of a joy that made her heart leap to hear.

But she could see no one.

Till at last she came back to the green earth, late in the afternoon.

For a moment, above her, she could see the great span of the rainbow, and then it vanished into the clear air, and the Queen was alone in the little valley. There it was already dusk, though the sky above the long down before her was still golden with the rays of the sun that had sunk behind it.

There was a little rill running along the valley, and the Queen knelt down and drank of its brimfulness, taking the water up in her hand. It was very sweet and cool, and the Queen felt happy to be back on the earth again.

“After all,” she said to herself as she sat herself down in the soft, cool grass, that tickled her hands—”after all, it’s something to have firm ground under one; one feels just a
little
lonely up there, quite away from everything except shooting stars, and the world is a dear old place in the twilight like this.”

Up above the hill-top she saw a man’s head appear, together with a pair of horses and a plough. Quite plainly she could hear the bridle trappings’ rattle and click, and the heavy breathing of the horses in the evening stillness.

It was all so quiet and natural that she did not feel at all surprised.

Just at the brow of the hill, standing out black against the light, the man halted, and, lifting the plough, turned his team of horses round and set off down the new furrow.

With very little hesitation, the Queen went up the hill towards the spot from which he had disappeared, and in a very short time she had reached the brow and stood looking down the furrows. The western sky was still a blaze of glory, and the yellow light gleamed along the ridge of shining earth that the plough turned up, and on the steel of the ploughshare. The ploughman was singing a song, and his voice came mellowly along over the sunlit stubble that was not yet ploughed up.

“
I wonder, now, if it will be safe for me to speak to him, or if he’ll fall in love with me as soon as he sees me? because it’s really too much of a nuisance.”

However, she went lightly across the stubble towards him. He was just turning the plough as she approached, and he did not seem to notice her.

“Now, lads,” he said to the horses, “the last lap for this
evening.”

And the horses whinnied softly and set their necks to the collar.

“Can I be of any use to you?” the Queen said.

The man stopped his team for a moment, and looked towards her. Against the glow of the sky she could not make out his lace; but he seemed to smile.

“No, friend,” he said. “I have all but finished my day’s work; but, if you will lead the horses up the furrow, they may go straighter than I can drive them.”

So the Queen went to the horses’ heads and took one of them by the bridle, and the great beasts stretched to the work. And the Queen felt a new happiness come over her, at the thought that she was of use in the world.

The sun set as they came to the edge of the field. The plougher stretched his arms abroad, and then came to the horses’ heads.

“Thank you, friend,” he said to the Queen. He did not look at her, but kept his eyes downcast on the ground with a strangely distant appearance in them. “Will you not come home and sup with us? It is hardly a hundred yards to the farm, and the nearest place to here is several miles onwards.”

The Queen said, “Thank you. I should be very glad; but — but—” as the thought struck her, “I shan’t be able to pay you, you know.”

The ploughman laughed. “Now I see you are a stranger,” he said. “But yet I have seldom had strangers pass here that offered to help me.”

The Queen said, “Yes, but it is so nice to be of use to any one;” and seeing that he was engaged in unbuckling the horse from the plough on the right side, she did as much for the one on the left.

The ploughman said, “Now, can you ride?”

“Well, I’ve never tried, but I dare say I could if they didn’t go too fast.”

“No, I don’t think they’ll go fast,” he said.

“
Here, let me lift you on. There, catch hold of the horns of the collar.”

And in a moment the Queen was seated sideways on the great horse. The ploughman made his way to the horse’s head and led it down the valley again. The other horse went quietly along by the side of them.

“How delicious everything looks in the owl- light I” the Queen said.

And the ploughman sighed. “I — I can’t see it,” he said. “I can’t see anything. I’m blind.”

The Queen said, “Blind! Why, I should never have known it You are as skilful as any one else.” The ploughman answered, “Oh yes, I can manage pretty well because I’m used to it, and there are many ways of managing things; but it is an affliction.”

The horses went carefully down the hill, and in a little space they had reached the valley whence the Queen had started. It was now quite dark there, and the harvest moon had not yet arisen, but at no great distance from them the Queen could see a light winking.

So the horses plodded along, stopping now and again to crop a mouthful of grass or drink a draught from the tinkling rill, whose sound had grown loud in the twilight silence. In a very short while they had come to where a little farmhouse lay in the bottom of the valley among trees, that looked black in the starlight.

The ploughman called, “Mother, I’m bringing a visitor.”

And a little old woman came to the door. “Welcome!” she said, and added, “My dear,” when the Queen came into sight in the light that fell through the open door.

The Queen slipped down from the horse and went into the door with the little old woman, whilst the ploughman disappeared with the horses.

“She really is a dear little old woman,” the Queen said to herself—”very different from old Mrs. Hexer.”

And so indeed she was — quite a little woman in comparison with her stalwart son, with white hair and a rosy face and eyes not at all age-dimmed, but blue as the cornflower or as a summer sky, and looking, like a child’s, so gentle that a hard word would make them wince.

She put a chair ready for the Queen by the fireside, and then, on the white wood table, set out forks and knives for her.

“You must be tired,” she said kindly; “but we go to bed soon after supper, and so you will have a good rest.”

The Queen said, “Yes, I am a little tired; and it is very kind of you to let me stop.”

The little old woman looked at her with an odd, amused look in her gentle eyes.

“Now I see you are a stranger,” she said.

“Yes, I come from a long way off,” the Queen said. “At least I suppose it is a great way off, for it has taken me a long time to get here.”

At that moment the ploughman came in, with the heavy step of a tired man.

“Mother, mother!” he said gaily; “I’m hungry.”

“Son, son,” she answered, “I am glad to hear it. There will be plenty.”

And so the supper was made ready, and heartily glad the Queen was, for she was as hungry as the ploughman.

And they had the whitest of floury potatoes, in the whitest of white wooden bowls, and the sweetest of new milk, and the clearest of honey overrunning the comb, and junket laid on rushes, and plums, and apples, and apricots. And be certain that the Queen enjoyed it.

And, when it was finished, they drew their chairs round the fire, and the ploughman said, addressing the Queen —

“
Now, friend, since you have travelled far, tell us something of what may have befallen you on the way, for we are such stay-at-home folk here, that we know little of the world around. But perhaps you are tired and would rather go to bed.”

But the Queen said, “Oh no, I am very well rested now, and I will gladly tell you my story — only first tell me where I am.”

“This is the farm of Woodward, from which we take our names, my mother and I, and we are some ten miles from the Narrow Seas.”

“But what is the land called, and who rules it?” the Queen said.

The ploughman laughed. “Why, it is called the land of the Happy Folk; and as for who rules it, why, just nobody, because it gets along very well as it is.”

The Queen leant back in the great chair they had given her. She rubbed her chin reflectively and looked at the fire.