The Yeoman Adventurer | Page 4

that they were not, since her hair was the
colour of wheat when it is ripening for the sickle and the summer sun
falls on it at eve. And I, who am six feet in my socks, had hardly to
lower my eyes to look into hers. Her face was beautiful beyond all
imagining of mine. I had conjured up visions of Dido enthralled of
Aeneas, of Cleopatra bending Antony to her whim. But the conscious
art of my day-dreams had wrought no such marvel as here I saw in very
flesh before me. I felt as one who drinks deep of some rich and rare
vintage, and wonders why the gods have blessed him so. And further,
as small things jostle big things in the mind, I knew that this was the
real queen that had dazzled Joe Braggs.
"What do you call it?" she said, looking down at the fish.
"A jack, or pike, madam."
"'The tyrant of the watery plains,' as Mr. Pope calls him. You've heard
of Mr. Pope, the poet?" She spoke as if 'No' was the inevitable answer.
"Strictly speaking, no, madam," said I gravely, "but I have read his
so-called poems." She frowned. "Horace calls the jack," I continued,
"lupus, the wolf-fish, as one may say, and a very good name too.
Doubtless madam has heard of Horace."
My quip brought a glint into her eyes and a richer colour to her cheek.
"Yes, heard of him," she said, with a trace of chagrin in her voice. "And
now, O Nimrod of the watery plains, how far is it to the village

smithy?"
"Just under a mile, madam."
"And how long does it take to shoe a horse?"
"How many shoes, madam?"
Again the glint in her eyes, and this time I saw some of the blue in
them. "One, sir," she said shortly.
"Ten to fifteen minutes, madam."
"He's a very long time," she said under her breath.
"The smith is probably very busy to-day."
"Busy! Why so?"
"The dragoons may have found him much work," said I, merely my
way of explaining the delay. But the words stabbed her. She laid a hand
on my arm and cried gaspingly, "Dragoons! What do you mean?
Quick!"
"The Duke of Cumberland is marching north from Lichfield against the
Stuart, and Lord Brocton's dragoons are in the village."
"Brocton! O God! Brocton! My father is taken! And by Brocton!" She
spoke aloud in her agitation, and I saw that she was cut to the quick.
And I rejoiced, so strange is the human heart, that it was Lord Brocton's
name that came in anguish off her tongue. Oh for one blow at the man
whose father had harried mine into an untimely grave!
In sharp, frosty air sound travels far across the meadows of the
Hanyards. The hills that hem the valley to the west perhaps act as a
sounding board. Anyhow, further inquiry as to her trouble was stopped
by the rattle of distant hoofs. We were standing now less than a dozen
paces from the bridge. A straggling hedge, on a low bank, crossed flush
up to the bridge by a stile, cut the field off from the road. I rushed to

the stile, and cautiously pushed my head through near the ground. Half
a mile of level road stretched to my right towards the village, and along
it, and now less than six hundred yards away, a squad of dragoons was
galloping towards us. The hedge was thin and leafless, and there was
not cover enough for a rabbit. I ran back. "Dragoons," said I.
"After me," she replied carelessly, and I saw that danger for herself left
her cold.
I kicked the great jack motionless, flung him to the foot of the bank
under the hedge, and the rod after him, hurried her up to the stile,
leaped into the water, took her in my arms, and carried her under the
bridge. In less than a minute after I stopped wading, the dragoons
clattered overhead.
Not an hour ago I had been aching for life and adventures, and here I
was, up to the loins in water, with a goddess in my arms. Her right arm
was round my neck, and her cheek so near that I felt her sweet, warm
breath fanning my own. As the sounds died away, I turned and looked
at her face, and I had my reward. Her eyes told me that she thanked and
trusted me.
"Well done, fisherman!" she said for the second time.
"You're heavier than the jack," replied I, hitching her as far from the
water as possible before wading back. A minute later I put her down on
the bank with tumbled, yellow hair and face flaming red. I examined
her critically,