The Delectable Duchy | Page 3

should fail to perceive that what he had seen was of no
account in comparison with what he had not: or that, if he did indeed
perceive this, he could write such stuff with such gusto. "To be capable
of so much and content with so little," I thought; and then broke off to
wonder if, after all, he were not right. To-morrow he would be on his
way, crowding his mind with quick and brilliant impressions, hurrying,
living, telling his fellows a thousand useful and pleasant things, while I
pored about to discover one or two for them.

"I thought," said the Journalist, swinging his gold pencil-case between
finger and thumb, "you might furnish me with just a hint or so, to give
the thing a local colour. Some little characteristic of the natives, for
instance. I noticed, this afternoon, when I was most sea-sick, that your
fellow took off his hat and pulled something out of the lining. I was too
ill to see what it was; but he dropped it overboard the next minute and
muttered something."
"Oh, you remarked that, did you?"
"Yes, and meant to ask him about it afterwards; but forgot, somehow."
"Do you remember where we were--what we were passing--when he
did this?"
"Not clearly. I was infernally ill just then. Why did he do it?"
I was silent.
"I suppose it had some meaning?" he went on.
"Yes, it had. And excuse me when I say that I'm hanged if either you or
your Constant Readers shall know what that meaning was. My dear
fellow, you belong to a strong race--a race that has beaten us and taken
toll of us, and now carves 'Smith' and 'Thompson' and such names upon
our fathers' tombs. But there are some things you have not laid hands
on yet; secrets that we all know somehow, but never utter, even among
ourselves, nor allude to. If I told you what Billy Tredegar did to-day,
and why he did it, I tell you frankly your article would make some
thousands of Constant Readers open wide eyes over their
breakfast-cups. But you won't know. Why, after all, should I say
anything to spoil Cornwall's prospects as a health-resort?"
My friend took this very quietly, merely observing that it was rather
late in the day to take sides against Hengist and Horsa. But he was
sorry, I could see, to lose his local colour. And as I looked down, for
the last time that night, upon Troy, this petition escaped me--

"O my country, if I keep your secrets, keep for me your heart!"

THE SPINSTER'S MAYING.
"The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet,
old wives a-sunning sit; In every street these tunes our ears do greet--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet Spring."
At two o'clock on May morning a fishing-boat, with a small row-boat
in tow, stole up the harbour between the lights of the vessels that lay at
anchor. She came on a soundless tide, with her sprit-mainsail wide and
drawing, and her foresail flapping idle; and although her cuddy-top and
gunwale glistened wet with a recent shower, the man who steered her
looked over his shoulder at the waning moon, and decided that the
dawn would be a fine one. A furlong below the Town Quay he left the
tiller and lowered sail: two furlongs above, he dropped anchor: then,
having made all ship-shape, he lit a pipe and pulled an enormous watch
from his fob. The vessels he had passed since entering the harbour's
mouth seemed one and all asleep. But a din of horns, kettles, and
tea-trays, and a wild tattoo of door-knockers, sounded along the streets
behind the stores and houses that lined the water-side. Already the
town-boys were ushering in the month of May.
The man waited until the half-hour chimed over the 'long-shore roofs
from the church-tower up the hill; set his watch with care; and sat down
to wait for the sun. Upon the wooded cliff that faces the town the birds
were waking; and by-and-bye, from the three small quays came the
sound of voices laughing, and then a boat or two stealing out of the
shadow, each crowded with boys and maids. Before the dawn grew red
above the cliff where the birds sang, a dozen boats had gone by him on
their way up the river, the chatter and broken laughter returning down
its dim reaches long after the rowers had passed out of sight.
For some moments longer he watched the broadening daylight, till the
sun, mounting above the cliff, blazed on the watch he had again pulled
out and now shut with a brisk snap. His round, shaven face, still boyish

in middle age, wore the shadow of a solemn