The Roadmender | Page 7

in his wonderful arms he bears us swiftly down the valley and across
the waters of Remembrance.
Very pleasant art thou, O Brother Death, thy love is wonderful, passing
the love of women.
* * * * * *
To-day I have lived in a whirl of dust. To-morrow is the great annual
Cattle Fair at E-, and through the long hot hours the beasts from all the
district round have streamed in broken procession along my road, to
change hands or to die. Surely the lordship over creation implies wise
and gentle rule for intelligent use, not the pursuit of a mere immediate
end, without any thought of community in the great sacrament of life.
For the most part mystery has ceased for this working Western world,
and with it reverence. Coventry Patmore says: "God clothes Himself
actually and literally with His whole creation. Herbs take up and

assimilate minerals, beasts assimilate herbs, and God, in the Incarnation
and its proper Sacrament, assimilates us, who, says St Augustine, 'are
God's beasts.'" It is man in his blind self- seeking who separates woof
from weft in the living garment of God, and loses the more as he
neglects the outward and visible signs of a world-wide grace.
In olden days the herd led his flock, going first in the post of danger to
defend the creatures he had weaned from their natural habits for his
various uses. Now that good relationship has ceased for us to exist, man
drives the beasts before him, means to his end, but with no harmony
between end and means. All day long the droves of sheep pass me on
their lame and patient way, no longer freely and instinctively following
a protector and forerunner, but DRIVEN, impelled by force and
resistless will--the same will which once went before without force.
They are all trimmed as much as possible to one pattern, and all make
the same sad plaint. It is a day on which to thank God for the unknown
tongue. The drover and his lad in dusty blue coats plod along stolidly,
deaf and blind to all but the way before them; no longer wielding the
crook, instrument of deliverance, or at most of gentle compulsion, but
armed with a heavy stick and mechanically dealing blows on the short
thick fleeces; without evil intent because without thought-- it is the
ritual of the trade.
Of all the poor dumb pilgrims of the road the bullocks are the most
terrible to see. They are not patient, but go most unwillingly with
lowered head and furtive sideways motion, in their eyes a horror of
great fear. The sleek cattle, knee deep in pasture, massed at the gate,
and stared mild-eyed and with inquiring bellow at the retreating drove;
but these passed without answer on to the Unknown, and for them it
spelt death.
Behind a squadron of sleek, well-fed cart-horses, formed in fours, with
straw braid in mane and tail, came the ponies, for the most part a merry
company. Long strings of rusty, shaggy two-year-olds, unbroken,
unkempt, the short Down grass still sweet on their tongues; full of fun,
frolic, and wickedness, biting and pulling, casting longing eyes at the
hedgerows. The boys appear to recognise them as kindred spirits, and

are curiously forbearing and patient. Soon both ponies and boys vanish
in a white whirl, and a long line of carts, which had evidently waited
for the dust to subside, comes slowly up the incline. For the most part
they carry the pigs and fowls, carriage folk of the road. The latter are
hot, crowded, and dusty under the open netting; the former for the most
part cheerfully remonstrative.
I drew a breath of relief as the noise of wheels died away and my road
sank into silence. The hedgerows are no longer green but white and
choked with dust, a sight to move good sister Rain to welcome tears.
The birds seem to have fled before the noisy confusion. I wonder
whether my snake has seen and smiled at the clumsy ruling of the lord
he so little heeds? I turned aside through the gate to plunge face and
hands into the cool of the sheltered grass that side the hedge, and then
rested my eyes on the stretch of green I had lacked all day. The rabbits
had apparently played and browsed unmindful of the stir, and were still
flirting their white tails along the hedgerows; a lark rose, another and
another, and I went back to my road. Peace still reigned, for the
shadows were lengthening, and there would be little more traffic for the
fair. I turned to my work, grateful for the stillness, and saw on the
white stretch of road a lone old man and a pig. Surely I