The Roots of the Mountains | Page 7

Down in the
midmost meadows the long-horned dun kine were moving slowly as
they fed along the edges of the stream, and a dog was bounding about
with exceeding swiftness here and there among them. At a sharply
curved bight of the river the man could see a little vermilion flame
flickering about, and above it a thin blue veil of smoke hanging in the
air, and clinging to the boughs of the willows anear; about it were a
dozen menfolk clear to see, some sitting, some standing, some walking
to and fro, but all in company together: four of were brown-clad and
short-skirted like himself, and from above the hand of one came a flash
of light as the sun smote upon the steel of his spear. The others were
long-skirted and clad gayer, and amongst them were red and blue and
green and white garments, and they were clear to be seen for women.
Just as the young man looked up again, those of them who were sitting
down rose up, and those that were strolling drew nigh, and they joined
hands together, and fell to dancing on the grass, and the dog and
another one with him came up to the dancers and raced about and
betwixt them; and so clear to see were they all and so little, being far
away, that they looked like dainty well-wrought puppets.
The young man sat smiling at it for a little, and then rose up and
shouldered his venison, and went down into Wildlake's Way, and
presently was fairly in the Dale and striding along the Portway beside
the northern cliffs, whose greyness was gilded yet by the last rays of
the sun, though in a minute or two it would go under the western rim.
He went fast and cheerily, murmuring to himself snatches of old songs;
none overtook him on the road, but he overtook divers folk going alone
or in company toward Burgstead; swains and old men, mothers and

maidens coming from the field and the acre, or going from house to
house; and one or two he met but not many. All these greeted him
kindly, and he them again; but he stayed not to speak with any, but
went as one in haste.
It was dusk by then he passed under the gate of Burgstead; he went
straight thence to the door of the House of the Face, and entered as one
who is at home, and need go no further, nor abide a bidding.
The hall he came into straight out of the open air was long and
somewhat narrow and not right high; it was well-nigh dark now within,
but since he knew where to look, he could see by the flicker that leapt
up now and then from the smouldering brands of the hearth amidmost
the hall under the luffer, that there were but three men therein, and
belike they were even they whom he looked to find there, and for their
part they looked for his coming, and knew his step.
He set down his venison on the floor, and cried out in a cheery voice:
'Ho, Kettel! Are all men gone without doors to sleep so near the
winter-tide, that the Hall is as dark as a cave? Hither to me! Or art thou
also sleeping?'
A voice came from the further side of the hearth: 'Yea, lord, asleep I am,
and have been, and dreaming; and in my dream I dealt with the
flesh-pots and the cake-board, and thou shalt see my dream come true
presently to thy gain.'
Quoth another voice: 'Kettel hath had out that share of his dream
already belike, if the saw sayeth sooth about cooks. All ye have been
away, so belike he hath done as Rafe's dog when Rafe ran away from
the slain buck.'
He laughed therewith, and Kettel with him, and a third voice joined the
laughter. The young man also laughed and said: 'Here I bring the
venison which my kinsman desired; but as ye see I have brought it
over-late: but take it, Kettel. When cometh my father from the stithy?'
Quoth Kettel: 'My lord hath been hard at it shaping the Yule-tide sword,

and doth not lightly leave such work, as ye wot, but he will be here
presently, for he has sent to bid us dight for supper straightway.'
Said the young man: 'Where are there lords in the dale, Kettel, or hast
thou made some thyself, that thou must be always throwing them in my
teeth?'
'Son of the Alderman,' said Kettel, 'ye call me Kettel, which is no name
of mine, so why should I not call thee lord, which is no dignity of thine,
since it goes well over my tongue from old use and