Short Story of the Day-15: "A Sweet Day"

 "A Sweet Day"

Lord Thomas De Bohun had been married twice--and more. In fact, he wassick and tired of womenkind. And that is why he came out to Australia. Hethought a year or two of travel in a savage country, free of all thetrammels of civilization, would give him a rest. Besides, the second LadyThomas had been rather nice to him, and she had died pathetically, and hemissed her. Wherefore he loathed the British matchmaker for the present,and was glad to get as far away from her as possible.He was not a roué and a reprobate, such as this introduction might imply.Nothing of the sort. A better-natured or more charming young man--he wason the right side of forty still--was not to be found in London. But hewas the son of a duke, poor fellow, with a great deal of money, and nowork to do--misfortunes for which the fair-minded reader will make a large allowance.

In the beginning, Australia did not quite answer his expectations.Whereas he had imagined a dress-suit to be a thing unknown, he foundhimself obliged to wear one nightly, and he was just as ducal in our cityclubs and drawing-rooms as he would have been at home--indeed, a greatdeal more so. But as soon as he escaped into the country he was allright. Clad in moleskins and a Crimean shirt, with a soft felt hat on hishead, and big spurs on his heels, he galloped about at kangaroo hunts andcattle musters, a simple bushman of the bush (while his servant playedthe gentleman in Melbourne), enjoying health and happiness and theunrivalled charm of novelty to a degree unknown before. Anybody could gethim who had no right to get him. The great country houses, flatteringthemselves that they alone could entertain him suitably, found it a mostdifficult matter to drop salt on his elusive tail.

He was at a bush hotel one evening, spending a convivial hour withperfect strangers, who did not know he was Lord Thomas. Having heard hisname was De Bohun, they called him Mr. Bone, and were quite satisfiedwith that. So was he. The talk turned upon agricultural machinery, asused by English and Australian farmers respectively; and a member of thelatter class, as Lord Thomas supposed, was most anxious to show him afive-furrow plough and various modern implements--American "notions" ofthe labour-saving kind.

"You come home with me," said the jolly old man, "and you shall see 'emworking. Now do, Mr. Bone. Pot-luck, you know, but a hearty welcome."

Lord Thomas jumped at the chance, for, amongst other delightfully novelpursuits, he had set himself to the improvement of his mind in thesematters, as a responsible landlord and potential duke.

"But your family?" he objected. "Would it not inconvenience them toreceive a stranger without warning, and at so late an hour?"

"Not a bit of it, Mr. Bone. There's always a bed ready for anybody thatmay turn up. Mrs. Kemp will be charmed to see you."

"In that case," said Lord Thomas, "I accept with pleasure."

A pair of rough horses, in a ramshackle American wagon, were broughtround, and they set forth on a ten-mile voyage through the bush, withneither lamps nor moon to steer by. At a long, swinging trot, neverhastening and never loitering, the shabby animals did it in an hourwithout making a false step, and were as fresh at the end as at thebeginning. The mysterious, illimitable gloom and the romantic solitudewere very refreshing to the London man, and so was his host, who was fullof merry tales and valuable information. Lord Thomas, in short, enjoyedhis adventure thoroughly.

But he was taken aback by the sight of Mr. Kemp's house. Instead of theshanty of his anticipations, he beheld a tall and imposing structure,cutting a great block out of the starry midnight sky. A sweet place bydaylight--ivied, virginia-creepered, grape-vined all over its mellow brickwalls and decaying verandahs, with a great garden and magnificent trees around it.

"Built by my father in the early days," said Mr. Kemp. "The first bighouse in this district, and the only one for nigh twenty years. We'vebeen rich folks in our time, Mr. Bone, but the ups and downs, youknow,--things ain't what they used to be, especially since the Boom.However, we've still got a roof over us, thank God, and a crust to sharewith a friend."

The family had retired, and the guest, having been warmed with whisky,was escorted to his bedroom by the host. It was a kind of bedroom to makehim feel slightly nervous about meeting the hostess next morning. The bedcreaked with age, and so did the carpetless floor beneath it; but thelinen was fine and the pillows soft, the handsome old rosewood furnitureshone like glass, and there was an impalpable air about everything thatbespoke the house of a lady.

"I don't know whether you like the windows shut?" said Mr. Kemp,hospitably bustling about. "We always keep them open, and the blinds up.Nobody to overlook us here, you know." He tried to pull down a sash whichstuck in the frame, but at Lord Thomas's request desisted.

"Leave it as it is," said the guest. "I like them open. It's soAustralian!"

And he presently lay down on his lavender-perfumed couch, feeling--afterhis experience of bush inns--that it was the nicest bed he had everoccupied. And that scent of the earth and of the night, coming in throughopen windows, how exquisite it was! He blew out his candle--a home-madecandle in an old chased silver candlestick--and slept like a baby.

Not for long, however. Voices called him through those open windows, andbefore six o'clock he was leaning out of one of them, awake and alive ashe had rarely been at such an hour.

What an Arcadian world was this, in which he felt like a man new born!Air as clear as crystal, and dew shining on shrubs and trees; giantacacias and native white cedars, and pink and white oleanders that couldhave swallowed an ordinary bush house; the morning moon still gleaminglike a jewel over the saffron sunrise and the intensely dark-blue hills.He had heard curlews in the night and frogs at the break of dawn; now themagpies were fluting all over the place, cheerful fowls were crowing,laughing jackasses shouting "Ha-ha-ha!" and "Hoo-hoo-hoo!" to oneanother. Delicious sounds! But none so acutely audible as the immensesilence at the back of them.

"This," said he to himself, "is the real bush, that we have heard so muchabout, at last."

He looked down from his window, and saw the sparrows at the ripe grapesnow loading the eaves of the verandah; saw a hare limping along thegravelled paths, where no hare should be. He looked over the gardenhedges to the peaceful fields outside, where cows were feeding quietly,throwing shadows on the wet grass; flocks of cockatoos were screamingamongst them, and sprinkling themselves like white flowers over thefresh-ploughed land; and an army of dusky jays held the vineyard on thehill, whence their joyous gabble rose continuously. It was not hisproperty they were destroying, and he saw and heard them withdelight--those denizens of the wild bush--that was healing him, body andsoul, of the ills of excessive civilization.

The pink dawn spread and glowed, quenching the horned moon and dimmingthe sapphire hues of the distant ranges. Then some white bee boxesgleamed conspicuously to the right of the flower garden--an orderlyencampment, like tents on a field of battle--and he could see the busyswarms going forth to their day's labour. He could even hear themhumming, they were in such myriads. And another thing he heard--a faint,muffled clatter--which he traced to a little building near the gate of the bees' enclosure; a shed made of reeds, with two windows and a door in it--doubtless the honey-house, in which some one was early at work. As helistened to the noise within, he watched the door, which faced his view,and presently he saw a girl come out of it. She wore a pink cottonsun-bonnet, veiled with a bushman's fly net, and an all-embracing tightapron, which made her look like the toy figures of a Noah's ark. In eachhand she carried a long tin box, one heavier than the other, by roughloops of fencing wire; and she marched with them down an alley betweenthe bee hives. Mr. Kemp had casually mentioned his daughter, who, at thetime, Lord Thomas had not regarded as affecting him in any way. Evidentlythis was she, and the circumstances of the house disposed him to takeanother view of her.

He saw her put the boxes on the grass and set the lids open, then liftthe roof from one of the wooden hives. A cloud of angry insects rose toher stooping face and buzzed about her; it made him tingle to see them,but she heeded them no more than if they had been motes in the sun-raysthat now lighted up her figure so effectively. She puffed something thatsmoked into the open hive from a sort of little bellows arrangement, andthen lifted out the frames of comb, held them dangling in the air whileshe brushed black masses of bees off them, and placed them edgewise inone of the boxes on the grass until she had quite filled it. Out of theother she took similar frames, which she dropped into the emptiedchamber, and shut down there. Then he saw her labouring towards the honeyhouse with the weighted box, and was exasperated to note how it draggedher down. She passed it from hand to hand to ease the strain, but couldnot carry it without a twist of her supple body, a staggering gait, andpantings that he seemed to hear, though of course he could not.

"What a shame!" he inwardly ejaculated. And he withdrew into his room,emptied a can of water into a battered old bath, and dressed in haste.The clatter in the honey-house, which had ceased while she was amongstthe bees, showing that she worked single-handed, began again.

"I wonder," quoth Lord Thomas, "what she's doing in there?"

He thought he would go down to see, and went, stepping softly, so as notto disturb the rest of the family, who did not seem to rise so early asshe. As usual in the bush, no locks or bolts impeded him; he turned thehandle of the hall door, and noiselessly slipped out.

What a morning indeed! Freshly autumnal--for it was the end ofMarch--though the day would be all summer until the sun was low again;cool almost to coldness, with an air that washed the lungs andinvigorated the heart in a manner to make mere living an ecstasy, even toa lord--the air of the spacious, untainted bush, and of nowhere else inthe wide world. He stood a moment on the steps of the verandah to drinkit in--to sniff the wholesome odour of gum trees and the richer scent ofthe perennial orange flower starring the thick green walls of the orchardpaths. Then he strolled down one of those perfumed lanes--the one thatdivided the back garden from the front--and presented himself at the gateof the bee enclosure just as Miss Kemp, with one of her tin boxes, dashed out of the honey-house and slammed the door behind her, disappointing theexpectations of a cloud of besieging bees.

She saw him and stopped short, evidently taken aback, and conscious ofher coarse apron and limp sun-bonnet, not worn for company. He hesitatedfor a moment in sympathetic confusion, but, being immediately aware thatthe form thus plainly outlined was a charming one, as also the pink facein the frame of pink calico, stood his ground and modestly accosted her.He lifted his cap gracefully, and a bee got under it.

"Good morning--you brute!" was what he said.

"Don't come," she cried in answer, waving him back. Then she pulled off asticky glove and held a bare hand over the gate, regardless of bees,expressing a polite astonishment at his being up so soon.

"I heard of your arrival, Mr. Bone," said she. "I hope you slept well. Ihope you like Australia, as far as you have seen it."

They chatted conventionally for some minutes. He apologised for hispresence, and she reassured him, on behalf of the family, with an easyfrankness that seemed to say he was but one of dozens of Mr. Bonesflowing in a continuous stream through the house, like tramps through acasual ward. And then he begged to be allowed to help her in her work. "Iam sure," said he, "you must want somebody to carry that heavy box--oh,conf--! They knew I am a stranger, evidently."

"Go away," she laughed. "You have no business here. I don't want help--Iam quite used to doing it all--and you'd better go and sit on theverandah, where you can be at peace. Or wouldn't you like a stroll round?With a pipe, perhaps?"

"Will you show me round?"

"I'm sorry I can't; I must be busy here. The honey is coming in so fastthis weather--which may break at any moment--that I can't gather it quicklyenough. I get on an average nearly a quarter of a ton per day."

She looked at him with an air of professional pride, forgetting hercostume; and he looked at her. The closer view showed freckles and aretroussé nose, without at all detracting from her charm. He could gazefull into her face without being rude, because her eyes were continuallyfollowing the movements of the bees that buzzed about him. Every now andthen her fingers skirmished round his head like a flight of butterflies.

Five minutes more, and she was tying a large apron round his waist, overa very old coat that did not fit him, and he was planting on hisaristocratic head an aged straw hat, flounced with mosquito netting. Inthis costume, finished off with a pair of good gloves of his own,cheerfully sacrificed, he was allowed to pass through the gate and takeup the box by its handles of fencing-wire. The sun was well above theranges now, and every dewy leaf and blade of grass glittering.

"What a heavenly morning!" he sighed ecstatically.

"Isn't it?" she assented, and then fell to work again with an energyinteresting to contemplate in a person of her sex and years. She walkedbetween the rows of hives till she came to the one to be operated on; hewalked after her, inwardly nervous, but with an air of utmost valour.

"Now be careful," said she, as she seized her little bellows. "Tuck thatnet into your waistcoat in front, and then lift the lid off for me."

He did as she bade him, and gasped at the spectacle presented. How allthose bees managed to breathe and move, let alone work, in the space theyoccupied, was more than he could understand. She had no time to explainjust now. While he stood rigid, and imagined bees under the hems of histrousers--for they were thick in the grass he stood on--she rapidly smokedthe hive and drew out the frames of comb, heavy with honey, brushedthousands of stinging things off them, and placed them in the empty tin.From the full one she took the frames, filled only with hollow cells,which she had brought from the honey house; and these she dropped intothe hive amid the masses of bees, leaving less than an inch between onewall of comb and another.

"And you make the same wax do again?" he inquired, thirsting forknowledge.

"Many times," she replied, pleased to inform his ignorance. "That combwill be refilled in about ten days. Put the lid on again, please.Gently--don't crush more than you can help. Now--"

She straightened her back and looked at him.

"Now what?" he inquired eagerly.

"Well, if you would, you might be filling the other box while Iextracted."

But this was rather more than his courage was equal to. He said he was afraid he did not know enough about it yet.

"Very well; we will go and extract the lot we have."

They went to the honey-house together, and she quickly shut the door assoon as both were in. He smiled to himself as he saw her do it. Thesituation to him was--well, noticeable; to her it was absolutely withoutsentimental suggestions. The honey-house was the place for work, not forplay.

It was a stuffy and a sticky place, for its little windows, as well asthe door, had to be closed to keep the bees out. Ventilation depended onthe loosely-woven canvas lining the reed-thatched walls. Half of thefloor was raised above the other half, so that the honey from theextractor, pouring from the spout upon a fine sieve, could flow downwardsto the great tank, and from that into the tins which conveyed it tomarket. Five tons' weight of these tins were stacked on the lower floor,all filled and soldered up; and many more, Miss Kemp stated, were storedin the house.

"I used to get sixpence a pound for it," she informed him, with ananxious, business look in her pretty grey eyes; "but now the stores won'tgive more than threepence. It really doesn't seem worth while, at thatprice, taking railway charges and all do you think it does?"

Lord Thomas did not, emphatically.

"So I am going to try exporting. I have the regulation boxes andtins--fifty-six pounds in a tin, and two tins in a case--and, as soon as Ican get my hands free here, I shall prepare a consignment for the Londonmarket. I do hope that will pay! You are an Englishman, Mr. Bone--what isyour opinion of the chances of a trade in Australian honey?"

With the confidence of utter ignorance, Lord Thomas assured her thatthere was a splendid opening. He knew people--heaps of people--who wouldsnap it up gladly; and proposed to himself to be her purveyor to thosepeople, comprising all the De Bohuns and his numerous lady friends.

"Oh, I am so thankful to hear you say that!" Miss Kemp ejaculated, with aheave of the chest. "You see wool is down, and cattle selling for nothingand the value of places like this dropped to less than what they aremortgaged for; therefore something must be done. I've begun with honey,so I want to go on with it. I can increase to any extent, if I can onlyget a regular and paying market."

He was oddly touched, and more interested and amused than he had everbeen in his life, to see a pretty girl regarding her destiny from such apoint of view. It was something quite out of his experience. She reallywanted to work, and not to flirt--to do something for men, instead ofbeing done for by them. And yet there was nothing of the new woman abouther. She was sweetly old-fashioned.

For instance, it gave her a visible shock to learn, in the course ofmiscellaneous conversation, that he had a baby ten months old and hadleft it behind in England.

"What!" she exclaimed tragically, "without either father or mother tolook after it?"

"Oh," said he, "there are plenty of people to look after it."

"Who will--who could--like its own parents?"

"Well, you wouldn't have a fellow travel about the world with a nurseryin his train--now would you?"

"I don't know how you can travel, under such circumstances."

He thought this very funny. And yet he liked it. Lady Thomas the first had detested children; Lady Thomas the second, a mother for a day, hadshown no feeling for them. This girl's evident concern for his virtualorphan--who, as she said, might die of croup or convulsions without hisknowing it, while he idly gadded about like an irresponsible bachelor--struck him as very interesting. She asked questions about it inan earnest way, and made him feel quite fatherly and serious. He wondered if the poor little brat was really being cared for properly, and determined to make strict inquiries by the next mail.

Conversation was not allowed to hinder business. While she talked in thisfriendly, human fashion, Miss Kemp worked as he had never seen a ladywork before, as he had never worked himself since he was born. With aframe of comb in one hand, and in the other a big knife, kept hot in atin of water standing on an oil-fed flame, she sheared off the capsulesfrom the cells that had been filled and closed, leaving those that hadbees in them, with the rapidity and dexterity of a performing conjuror.Then she dropped the frames into the wheel arrangement inside theextractor, and turned the handle violently--no, he turned it for her whileshe prepared more frames, full ones for the machine and empty ones forthe tin box, and cleared up the shreds of wax, and so on. She had noregard for attitudes, nor for the state of her complexion, and it wasclearly evident that she valued Lord Thomas for his services and not forhimself. He had never been in such a position since he was a fag atschool; in relation to a woman, never. It chagrined him a little, butpleased him much. He determined to remain Mr. Bone for the present.

Called to breakfast, he made the acquaintance of just such a hostess ashe had expected--a faded woman, with a refined face and voice, Englishborn, and homesick for her own country. He exercised upon her that art ofpleasing, of which he was a master, and she was so charmed with him thatshe begged him to stay a little, not to run away immediately, unlessbored by the dulness of the place. Her husband abetted her, with theunquestioning hospitality of the bush, which asks no more of a guest thanthat he shall know how to behave himself.

"And I'll show you all my improvements," said Mr. Kemp. "A good deal morethan you could run through in an hour or two, or even in a day."

"Thanks, thanks," Lord Thomas murmured. "Just at present I am moreinterested in the honey industry than in anything else. I intend to keepbees myself when I get back, and it is a great chance for me to see allthe working of the thing as it is done here. Er--er--how clear andbeautiful that is!" He looked at a dish containing a square block ofhoney in the comb, neatly removed from the wooden frame it was made in.Letty hastened to pass it to him.

"Isn't it?" she crooned, surveying it with a maternal air. "And this iswhat I get only threepence for in the local market! I can't but thinkthere must be ways of exporting it in sections, with careful packing.

Don't you think if it could be brought on English breakfast tables in thecomb like this there would be a great demand for it? I am sure theyhaven't honey to surpass our honey."

Lord Thomas was equally sure of it--convinced, indeed, that benightedEngland never tasted anything like it in its life. Mrs. Kemp smiled asuperior British smile. Mr. Kemp pooh-poohed the fuss his daughter madeover comparative trifles. What was honey, as a topic of interest for an Englishman anxious to improve his mind, compared with ensilage, andirrigation, and six-furrow ploughs?

For two precious hours Lord Thomas found himself obliged to attend to these latter subjects with what interest he could muster, and he only got away from them so soon by force of misleading insinuations to the effect that bees were his natural hobby and bee-keeping his proposed profession. At eleven o'clock he resumed his sticky apron and gloves, his old coatand his veiled old hat, with more delight than he had ever taken inclothes before--ridiculous as it seemed, even to himself--and rushed to theheated and messy honey-house as he had never rushed to a royal garden party.

Letty's hot face lighted up at sight of him. Beads of perspiration laylike dew under her clear eyes and over her pretty lips, but she carednot, neither did he. This sort of thing did not spoil the effect, asusual.

"Oh, how good of you!" she exclaimed. And at once she set him to work. Hebuckled to with might and main, as if his life and hers depended on theamount of honey they could extract in a given time. They had two hourstogether, talking while they worked, growing better friends every minute.

"Labour-saving machines," said she, still harping on the one string, "aresplendid, I know; but they run away with money when there isn't anymoney. My plan is just the opposite of father's. It mightn't be such goodeconomy in other circumstances, but as things are it is my idea ofeconomy. I don't know what you think."

He told her what he thought, and she told him it was beside the point. Soit was. So he wanted it to be. Hard as he worked at the handle of theextractor, he worked still harder at trying to change the subject. But,though she might be led aside a step or two, she could not be whollydrawn from it.

It was worse after lunch. She said to him, with the firm air of a generaldirecting military manoeuvres, "Now you know all that is to be done inthe house, so you can attend to that while I am changing the frames inthe hives. Oh, never mind the box; I can carry it quite easily. And we shall get on twice as fast."

He found he had to do it--the uncapping with the hot knife, and all therest of it--while she went back and forth outside. It was a longafternoon, and the little shed was stifling. The perspiration poured fromhis brow and trickled down his neck as he strained every nerve to beready for her each time she brought the full box in. And his wages werenext to nothing.

But at last the sun went down, and his long struggle to get the better ofhis rivals seemed over. They came straggling home in the golden twilightto their well-earned rest, and Letty Kemp prepared to follow theirexample when it was too dark to work any more.

"There," said she, with a sigh of utter weariness and satisfaction, "wehave done well, haven't we? I can't tell you how much obliged to you Iam, Mr. Bone."

Suddenly he felt tired of being Mr. Bone and a casual labourer, so hesaid awkwardly, "Er--er--I think you haven't got my name quite correctly.It is De Bohun--Thomas de Bohun."

"Oh, I beg pardon," she returned, in an airy manner; and he perceivedthat she was not enlightened. "You know, Mr. de Bohun, there is a littletalk and movement about eucalyptus honey just now. Some chemist people athome have been praising its medicinal properties. And it is everythingin these cases to strike while the iron is hot."

"Ye--es," drawled Lord Thomas absent-mindedly. Actually she had been soabsorbed in those blessed bees as not to have heard of him in his propercharacter.

They took off their sticky overalls and returned to the house to preparefor the evening meal. And when Miss Kemp came downstairs, washed andbrushed, in a pale-blue frock, a white muslin fichu, and a rose, LordThomas thought her beautiful. Yes, in spite of freckles and a turned-upnose. Never had he seen in woman's shape such pure health and such anabsence of self-consciousness. Of all the charming novelties surroundinghim, these were the most charming.

"I suppose she's too busy to notice what a sweet creature she is," hethought, as he sat down to the juicy slice of mutton for which he hadearned so keen an appetite. And he anticipated with joy the leisure hourshe now expected to spend with her, undisturbed by bees, in the somewhatthreadbare drawing-room.

All went thither together at the conclusion of the meal--the comfortabletea-dinner of the bush. Mr. Kemp, desiring to talk ploughs and ensilage,proposed a smoke. His guest, yearning for tobacco, aching in every limb,declined. Mrs. Kemp sent her daughter to the piano, and Lettyplayed--admirably Lord Thomas thought--the intermezzo from Cavalleria, anda few things of that sort; and while he tried to listen, and to feed hissense of the girl's many-sided excellence, his hostess babbled aboutLondon as she remembered it, and wanted a thousand and one details of thedear city as it was now. During a laborious description of the ThamesEmbankment, Letty rose from the music-stool, and softly moved about theroom. Her admirer flattered himself that she was listening to him, butwas shortly undeceived. She vanished at a moment when his face was turnedfrom the door, and never came back.

"Does she actually leave me!" he dumbly groaned. "Is she so lost to allthe feelings of her sex as to imagine that I won't miss her while I havethis old woman to talk to?" It was enough to drive any titled gentlemanto extremities.

Soon he was hunting the dim verandahs round and round, in search of the fugitive. He explored the passages of the house; he walked about thegarden, smelling so strongly of orange blossom, in the pure night air;and he used bad language under his breath. At last he was drawn to alight shining like a thread of incandescent wire through a certainouthouse door. He lifted the latch and looked in.

There she was. Kneeling on a piece of sacking in the middle of the floor,with her blue skirt pinned up round her waist under a large apron, and with all the mess of a station workshop and lumber-shed around her, she was busily engaged in painting her brand on honey tins. A kerosene lampshed effective rays on her dainty figure, her fair, clear skin, hershining chestnut hair. In short, Lord Thomas stood and looked at her,fascinated. Of the thousands of pretty women that he had admired in histime, not one had ever appeared to such advantage in the matter ofbackground and grouping. Yet he protested at the sight.

"Oh, I say! Haven't you done enough work for one day, Miss Kemp? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

She looked up at him with a laugh; and her eyes, focussing the light,were like stars in the grubby gloom.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. de Bohun! I thought as you were talking to mother, you would not notice if I slipped away for half an hour."

"Did you?" said Lord Thomas, entering and shutting the door behind him.

"I want so badly to get my consignment away next week. And I thought if I painted the tins to-night, they would be dry for packing in the morning."

She continued to dab her black brush upon a slip of perforated zinc, buther quick hand became slightly unsteady, and she blushed visibly, even inthat bad light. The fact was that Lord Thomas--not as Lord Thomas, but as a man--was a delightful fellow, and it was not in nature that a healthy,heart-whole girl could spend a long and intimate day with him withoutbeing more or less affected in the usual way. As yet her bees were ofmore consequence than lovers--he was resentfully aware of it--but that didnot prevent her feeling hourly more conscious that toil was sweetened byhis participation therein. She was pleased that he had found her. She wasmore pleased when he took the black brush from her, asked leave to removehis coat, turned up his cuffs, and began to paint honey tins himself.

"I am not a very practised hand at this sort of thing," he confessed. "You must tell me if I don't do it right."

"You are quite as practised at that as I am at looking on while others do my work," she replied.

"So I suppose," he rejoined thoughtfully.

They had a happy hour, unmolested by the parents, who never supposed thattheir practical Letty could lend herself to foolishness. Lord Thomaspainted all the tins successfully. He could not well go wrong while sheheld the lettered label straight. Their two heads were within an inch oftouching as they bent over their job; a handkerchief might have coveredtheir four hands while the branding was in process. They looked at eachother's fingers continually.

"Mine," said Letty, "are quite rough compared with yours. I don't think I ever saw such beautiful nails. It's my belief you never did a stroke ofwork in your life until you came here."

"Well," said Lord Thomas, colouring a little, "I am afraid I haven't done much. You make me awfully ashamed of myself, Miss Kemp."

They fell into serious talk at this stage--the first serious talk LordThomas had ever had with a young lady, all his experiencesnotwithstanding.

"I wish," he abruptly remarked, "you'd teach me to be as useful as youare." There was much feeling in his voice.

She seemed to think the matter over. Then she asked him when he intendedto return home. He said he was not sure.

"Soon, I suppose?"

"Oh, I suppose so."

"You must go soon," she urged. "You must, for the sake of that poor baby,left to the tender mercies of hired people."

"Well," he said, "I will."

"Then you will have an opportunity to be very, very useful. You can look after my honey for me in London--oh!"

He flung the paint-brush into the pot.

"I suppose it is useless," he exclaimed, through grinding teeth, "to expect you to care a straw for anything except honey and bees!"

There were but two courses open to a self-respecting man, titled or otherwise--to make her do it, or die in the attempt.

She is Her Grace the Duchess now. And an excellent duchess into the bargain. The smart folks laugh at her for not "knowing her way about,"but the duke does not. He thoroughly realizes that she knows it betterthan they do. When, as a surprise present to her, he established amagnificent apiary in the castle grounds, and then found she did not carefor it, he was a little disappointed; but he soon woke to the fact thatbees had been merely the make-shift of circumstance until worthier objects for the exercise of her splendid abilities were provided. Withgreat households to administer and young dukes to rear--not to speak of athousand matters of more public moment--she advisedly transferred herinterest in honey to the wives of her husband's tenants. "But they will never make honey like mine," she says, shaking her coroneted head. "It wants the taste of the eucalyptus in it."

- From "At Midnight and Other Stories" by Ada Cambridge
Courtesy: Project Gutenberg Australia - The above eBook produced by Colin Choat.
Grateful thanks to Ada Cambridge, Colin Choat and Project Gutenberg Australia.

Short Story of the Day-14: "The Cock and the Pearl "

"The Cock and the Pearl "

A cock was once strutting up and down the farmyard among the hens when suddenly he espied something shinning amid the straw."Ho! ho!" quoth he, "that's for me," and soon rooted it out from beneath the straw. What did it turn out to be but a Pearl that by some chance had been lost in the yard? "You may be a treasure,"quoth Master Cock, "to men that prize you, but for me I would rather have a single barley-corn than a peck of pearls."

Precious things are for those that can prize them.

- Aesop's Fables

Detailed Wikipedia article on "AESOP'S FABLES":

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aesopica

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Short Story of the Day-13: "The Kiss" by Anton Chekhov

The Kiss by Anton Chekhov
Translated by Constance Black Garnett

At eight o'clock on the evening of the twentieth of May all the sixbatteries of the N---- Reserve Artillery Brigade halted for the night in the village of Myestetchki on their way to camp. When the general commotion was at its height, while some officers were busily occupied around the guns, while others, gathered together in the square near the church enclosure, were listening to the quartermasters, a man in civilian dress, riding a strange horse, came into sight round the church. The little dun-coloured horse with a good neck and a short tail came, moving not straight forward, but as it were sideways, with a sort of dance step, as though it were being lashed about the legs. When he reached the officers the man on the horse took off his hat and said:

"His Excellency Lieutenant-General von Rabbek invites the gentlemen to drink tea with him this minute..."

The horse turned, danced, and retired sideways; the messenger raised his hat once more, and in an instant disappeared with his strange horse behind the church.

"What the devil does it mean?" grumbled some of the officers, dispersing to their quarters. "One is sleepy, and here this Von Rabbek with his tea! We know what tea means."

The officers of all the six batteries remembered vividly an incident of the previous year, when during manoeuvres they, together with the officers of a Cossack regiment, were in the same way invited to tea by a count who had an estate in the neighbourhood and was a retired army officer: the hospitable and genial count made much of them, fed them,and gave them drink, refused to let them go to their quarters in the village and made them stay the night. All that, of course, was very nice--nothing better could be desired, but the worst of it was, the old army officer was so carried away by the pleasure of the young men's company that till sunrise he was telling the officers anecdotes of his glorious past, taking them over the house, showing them expensive pictures, old engravings, rare guns, reading them autograph letters from great people, while the weary and exhausted officers looked and listened, longing for their beds and yawning in their sleeves; when at last their host let them go, it was too late for sleep.

Might not this Von Rabbek be just such another? Whether he were or not,there was no help for it. The officers changed their uniforms, brushed themselves, and went all together in search of the gentleman's house. In the square by the church they were told they could get to His Excellency's by the lower path--going down behind the church to the river, going along the bank to the garden, and there an avenue would taken them to the house; or by the upper way--straight from the churchby the road which, half a mile from the village, led right up to His Excellency's granaries. The officers decided to go by the upper way.

"What Von Rabbek is it?" they wondered on the way. "Surely not the one who was in command of the N---- cavalry division at Plevna?"

"No, that was not Von Rabbek, but simply Rabbe and no 'von.'"

"What lovely weather!"

At the first of the granaries the road divided in two: one branch went straight on and vanished in the evening darkness, the other led to the owner's house on the right. The officers turned to the right and began to speak more softly...On both sides of the road stretched stone granaries with red roofs, heavy and sullen-looking, very much like barracks of a district town. Ahead of them gleamed the windows of the manor-house.

"A good omen, gentlemen," said one of the officers. "Our setter is the foremost of all; no doubt he scents game ahead of us!..."

Lieutenant Lobytko, who was walking in front, a tall and stalwart fellow, though entirely without moustache (he was over five-and-twenty,yet for some reason there was no sign of hair on his round, well-fed face), renowned in the brigade for his peculiar faculty for divining the presence of women at a distance, turned round and said:

"Yes, there must be women here; I feel that by instinct."

On the threshold the officers were met by Von Rabbek himself, a comely-looking man of sixty in civilian dress. Shaking hands with his guests, he said that he was very glad and happy to see them, but begged them earnestly for God's sake to excuse him for not asking them to stay the night; two sisters with their children, some brothers, and some neighbours, had come on a visit to him, so that he had not one spare room left.

The General shook hands with every one, made his apologies, and smiled,but it was evident by his face that he was by no means so delighted as their last year's count, and that he had invited the officers simply because, in his opinion, it was a social obligation to do so. And the officers themselves, as they walked up the softly carpeted stairs, as they listened to him, felt that they had been invited to this house simply because it would have been awkward not to invite them; and at the sight of the footmen, who hastened to light the lamps in the entrance below and in the anteroom above, they began to feel as though they had brought uneasiness and discomfort into the house with them. In a house in which two sisters and their children, brothers, and neighbours were gathered together, probably on account of some family festivity, or event, how could the presence of nineteen unknown officers possibly be welcome?

At the entrance to the drawing-room the officers were met by a tall,graceful old lady with black eyebrows and a long face, very much like the Empress Eugénie. Smiling graciously and majestically, she said she was glad and happy to see her guests, and apologized that her husband and she were on this occasion unable to invite messieurs les officiers to stay the night. From her beautiful majestic smile, which instantly vanished from her face every time she turned away from her guests, it was evident that she had seen numbers of officers in her day, that she was in no humour for them now, and if she invited them to her house and apologized for not doing more, it was only because her breeding and position in society required it of her.

When the officers went into the big dining-room, there were about adozen people, men and ladies, young and old, sitting at tea at the end of a long table. A group of men was dimly visible behind their chairs,wrapped in a haze of cigar smoke; and in the midst of them stood a lanky young man with red whiskers, talking loudly, with a lisp, in English.Through a door beyond the group could be seen a light room with pale blue furniture.

"Gentlemen, there are so many of you that it is impossible to introduce you all!" said the General in a loud voice, trying to sound very cheerful. "Make each other's acquaintance, gentlemen, without any ceremony!"

The officers--some with very serious and even stern faces, others with forced smiles, and all feeling extremely awkward--somehow made their bows and sat down to tea.

The most ill at ease of them all was Ryabovitch--a little officer in spectacles, with sloping shoulders, and whiskers like a lynx's. While some of his comrades assumed a serious expression, while others wore forced smiles, his face, his lynx-like whiskers, and spectacles seemed to say: "I am the shyest, most modest, and most undistinguished officer in the whole brigade!" At first, on going into the room and sitting down to the table, he could not fix his attention on any one face or object.The faces, the dresses, the cut-glass decanters of brandy, the steam from the glasses, the moulded cornices--all blended in one general impression that inspired in Ryabovitch alarm and a desire to hide his head. Like a lecturer making his first appearance before the public, he saw everything that was before his eyes, but apparently only had a dim understanding of it (among physiologists this condition, when the subject sees but does not understand, is called psychical blindness).After a little while, growing accustomed to his surroundings, Ryabovitchsaw clearly and began to observe. As a shy man, unused to society, what struck him first was that in which he had always been deficient--namely,the extraordinary boldness of his new acquaintances. Von Rabbek, his wife, two elderly ladies, a young lady in a lilac dress, and the young man with the red whiskers, who was, it appeared, a younger son of Von Rabbek, very cleverly, as though they had rehearsed it beforehand, took seats between the officers, and at once got up a heated discussion in which the visitors could not help taking part. The lilac young lady hotly asserted that the artillery had a much better time than the cavalry and the infantry, while Von Rabbek and the elderly ladies maintained the opposite. A brisk interchange of talk followed. Ryabovitch watched the lilac young lady who argued so hotly about what was unfamiliar and utterly uninteresting to her, and watched artificial smiles come and go on her face.

Von Rabbek and his family skilfully drew the officers into the discussion, and meanwhile kept a sharp lookout over their glasses and mouths, to see whether all of them were drinking, whether all had enough sugar, why some one was not eating cakes or not drinking brandy. And the longer Ryabovitch watched and listened, the more he was attracted by this insincere but splendidly disciplined family.

After tea the officers went into the drawing-room. Lieutenant Lobytko's instinct had not deceived him. There were a great number of girls and young married ladies. The "setter" lieutenant was soon standing by a very young, fair girl in a black dress, and, bending down to her jauntily, as though leaning on an unseen sword, smiled and shrugged his shoulders coquettishly. He probably talked very interesting nonsense,for the fair girl looked at his well-fed face condescendingly and asked indifferently, "Really?" And from that uninterested "Really?" the setter, had he been intelligent, might have concluded that she would never call him to heel.

The piano struck up; the melancholy strains of a waltz floated out ofthe wide open windows, and every one, for some reason, remembered that it was spring, a May evening. Every one was conscious of the fragrance of roses, of lilac, and of the young leaves of the poplar. Ryabovitch,in whom the brandy he had drunk made itself felt, under the influence of the music stole a glance towards the window, smiled, and began watching the movements of the women, and it seemed to him that the smell of roses, of poplars, and lilac came not from the garden, but from the ladies' faces and dresses.

Von Rabbek's son invited a scraggy-looking young lady to dance, and waltzed round the room twice with her. Lobytko, gliding over the parquet floor, flew up to the lilac young lady and whirled her away. Dancing began...Ryabovitch stood near the door among those who were not dancing and looked on. He had never once danced in his whole life, and he had never once in his life put his arm round the waist of a respectable woman. He was highly delighted that a man should in the sight of all take a girl he did not know round the waist and offer her his shoulder to put her hand on, but he could not imagine himself in the position of such a man. There were times when he envied the boldness and swagger of his companions and was inwardly wretched; the consciousness that he was timid, that he was round-shouldered and uninteresting, that he had along waist and lynx-like whiskers, had deeply mortified him, but with years he had grown used to this feeling, and now, looking at his comrades dancing or loudly talking, he no longer envied them, but only felt touched and mournful.

When the quadrille began, young Von Rabbek came up to those who were not dancing and invited two officers to have a game at billiards. The officers accepted and went with him out of the drawing-room. Ryabovitch,having nothing to do and wishing to take part in the general movement,slouched after them. From the big drawing-room they went into the little drawing-room, then into a narrow corridor with a glass roof, and thence into a room in which on their entrance three sleepy-looking footmen jumped up quickly from the sofa. At last, after passing through a long succession of rooms, young Von Rabbek and the officers came into a small room where there was a billiard-table. They began to play.

Ryabovitch, who had never played any game but cards, stood near the billiard-table and looked indifferently at the players, while they in unbuttoned coats, with cues in their hands, stepped about, made puns,and kept shouting out unintelligible words.

The players took no notice of him, and only now and then one of them,shoving him with his elbow or accidentally touching him with the end of his cue, would turn round and say "Pardon!" Before the first game was over he was weary of it, and began to feel he was not wanted and in the way...He felt disposed to return to the drawing-room, and he went out.

On his way back he met with a little adventure. When he had gone half-way he noticed he had taken a wrong turning. He distinctly remembered that he ought to meet three sleepy footmen on his way, but he had passed five or six rooms, and those sleepy figures seemed to have vanished into the earth. Noticing his mistake, he walked back a little way and turned to the right; he found himself in a little dark room which he had not seen on his way to the billiard-room. After standing there a little while, he resolutely opened the first door that met his eyes and walked into an absolutely dark room. Straight in front could be seen the crack in the doorway through which there was a gleam of vivid light; from the other side of the door came the muffled sound of a melancholy mazurka. Here, too, as in the drawing-room, the windows were wide open and there was a smell of poplars, lilac and roses...

Ryabovitch stood still in hesitation...At that moment, to his surprise,he heard hurried footsteps and the rustling of a dress, a breathless feminine voice whispered "At last!" And two soft, fragrant, unmistakably feminine arms were clasped about his neck; a warm cheek was pressed to his cheek, and simultaneously there was the sound of a kiss. But at oncethe bestower of the kiss uttered a faint shriek and skipped back from him, as it seemed to Ryabovitch, with aversion. He, too, almost shrieked and rushed towards the gleam of light at the door...

When he went back into the drawing-room his heart was beating and hishands were trembling so noticeably that he made haste to hide them behind his back. At first he was tormented by shame and dread that the whole drawing-room knew that he had just been kissed and embraced by a woman. He shrank into himself and looked uneasily about him, but as he became convinced that people were dancing and talking as calmly as ever,he gave himself up entirely to the new sensation which he had never experienced before in his life. Something strange was happening to him...His neck, round which soft, fragrant arms had so lately been clasped, seemed to him to be anointed with oil; on his left cheek near his moustache where the unknown had kissed him there was a faint chilly tingling sensation as from peppermint drops, and the more he rubbed the place the more distinct was the chilly sensation; all over, from head to foot, he was full of a strange new feeling which grew stronger and stronger...He wanted to dance, to talk, to run into the garden, to laugh aloud...He quite forgot that he was round-shouldered and uninteresting,that he had lynx-like whiskers and an "undistinguished appearance" (that was how his appearance had been described by some ladies whose conversation he had accidentally overheard). When Von Rabbek's wife happened to pass by him, he gave her such a broad and friendly smile that she stood still and looked at him inquiringly.

"I like your house immensely!" he said, setting his spectacles straight.

The General's wife smiled and said that the house had belonged to her father; then she asked whether his parents were living, whether he had long been in the army, why he was so thin, and so on... After receiving answers to her questions, she went on, and after his conversation with her his smiles were more friendly than ever, and he thought he was surrounded by splendid people...

At supper Ryabovitch ate mechanically everything offered him, drank, and without listening to anything, tried to understand what had just happened to him...The adventure was of a mysterious and romantic character, but it was not difficult to explain it. No doubt some girl or young married lady had arranged a tryst with some one in the dark room;had waited a long time, and being nervous and excited had taken Ryabovitch for her hero; this was the more probable as Ryabovitch had stood still hesitating in the dark room, so that he, too, had seemed like a person expecting something...This was how Ryabovitch explained to himself the kiss he had received.

"And who is she?" he wondered, looking round at the women's faces. "She must be young, for elderly ladies don't give rendezvous. That she was a lady, one could tell by the rustle of her dress, her perfume, hervoice..."

His eyes rested on the lilac young lady, and he thought her veryattractive; she had beautiful shoulders and arms, a clever face, and a delightful voice. Ryabovitch, looking at her, hoped that she and no one else was his unknown...But she laughed somehow artificially and wrinkled up her long nose, which seemed to him to make her look old. Then he turned his eyes upon the fair girl in a black dress. She was younger,simpler, and more genuine, had a charming brow, and drank very daintily out of her wineglass. Ryabovitch now hoped that it was she. But soon he began to think her face flat, and fixed his eyes upon the one next her.

"It's difficult to guess," he thought, musing. "If one takes the shoulders and arms of the lilac one only, adds the brow of the fair one and the eyes of the one on the left of Lobytko, then..."

He made a combination of these things in his mind and so formed the image of the girl who had kissed him, the image that he wanted her to have, but could not find at the table...

After supper, replete and exhilarated, the officers began to take leave and say thank you. Von Rabbek and his wife began again apologizing that they could not ask them to stay the night.

"Very, very glad to have met you, gentlemen," said Von Rabbek, and this time sincerely (probably because people are far more sincere and good-humoured at speeding their parting guests than on meeting them)."Delighted. I hope you will come on your way back! Don't stand on ceremony! Where are you going? Do you want to go by the upper way? No,go across the garden; it's nearer here by the lower way."

The officers went out into the garden. After the bright light and the noise the garden seemed very dark and quiet. They walked in silence all the way to the gate. They were a little drunk, pleased, and in good spirits, but the darkness and silence made them thoughtful for a minute.Probably the same idea occurred to each one of them as to Ryabovitch: would there ever come a time for them when, like Von Rabbek, they would have a large house, a family, a garden--when they, too, would be able towel come people, even though insincerely, feed them, make them drunk and contented?

Going out of the garden gate, they all began talking at once and laughing loudly about nothing. They were walking now along the little path that led down to the river, and then ran along the water's edge,winding round the bushes on the bank, the pools, and the willows that overhung the water. The bank and the path were scarcely visible, and the other bank was entirely plunged in darkness. Stars were reflected here and there on the dark water; they quivered and were broken up on the surface--and from that alone it could be seen that the river was flowing rapidly. It was still. Drowsy curlews cried plaintively on the further bank, and in one of the bushes on the nearest side a nightingale was trilling loudly, taking no notice of the crowd of officers. The officers stood round the bush, touched it, but the nightingale went on singing.

"What a fellow!" they exclaimed approvingly. "We stand beside him and he takes not a bit of notice! What a rascal!"

At the end of the way the path went uphill, and, skirting the church enclosure, turned into the road. Here the officers, tired with walking uphill, sat down and lighted their cigarettes. On the other side of the river a murky red fire came into sight, and having nothing better to do,they spent a long time in discussing whether it was a camp fire or alight in a window, or something else...Ryabovitch, too, looked at the light, and he fancied that the light looked and winked at him, as though it knew about the kiss.

On reaching his quarters, Ryabovitch undressed as quickly as possible and got into bed. Lobytko and Lieutenant Merzlyakov--a peaceable, silent fellow, who was considered in his own circle a highly educated officer,and was always, whenever it was possible, reading the "Vyestnik Evropi,"which he carried about with him everywhere--were quartered in the same hut with Ryabovitch. Lobytko undressed, walked up and down the room fora long while with the air of a man who has not been satisfied, and sent his orderly for beer. Merzlyakov got into bed, put a candle by hispillow and plunged into reading the "Vyestnik Evropi."

"Who was she?" Ryabovitch wondered, looking at the smoky ceiling.

His neck still felt as though he had been anointed with oil, and there was still the chilly sensation near his mouth as though from peppermint drops. The shoulders and arms of the young lady in lilac, the brow and the truthful eyes of the fair girl in black, waists, dresses, and brooches, floated through his imagination. He tried to fix his attention on these images, but they danced about, broke up and flickered. When these images vanished altogether from the broad dark background which every man sees when he closes his eyes, he began to hear hurried footsteps, the rustle of skirts, the sound of a kiss and--an intense groundless joy took possession of him...Abandoning himself to this joy,he heard the orderly return and announce that there was no beer.

Lobytkowas terribly indignant, and began pacing up and down again.

"Well, isn't he an idiot?" he kept saying, stopping first before Ryabovitch and then before Merzlyakov. "What a fool and a dummy a man must be not to get hold of any beer! Eh? Isn't he a scoundrel?"

"Of course you can't get beer here," said Merzlyakov, not removing his eyes from the 
"Vyestnik Evropi."

"Oh! Is that your opinion?" Lobytko persisted. "Lord have mercy upon us,if you dropped me on the moon I'd find you beer and women directly! I'll go and find some at once...You may call me an impostor if I don't!"

He spent a long time in dressing and pulling on his high boots, then finished smoking his cigarette in silence and went out.

"Rabbek, Grabbek, Labbek," he muttered, stopping in the outer room. "I don't care to go alone, damn it all! Ryabovitch, wouldn't you like to go for a walk? Eh?"

Receiving no answer, he returned, slowly undressed and got into bed. Merzlyakov sighed, put the "Vyestnik Evropi" away, and put out thelight.

"H'm!..." muttered Lobytko, lighting a cigarette in the dark.

Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that some one had caressed him and made him happy--that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep.

When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before. He looked enthusiastically at the window-frames, gilded by the light of the rising sun, and listened to the movement of the passers-by in the street. People were talking loudly close to the window. Lebedetsky, the commander of Ryabovitch's battery, who had only just overtaken the brigade, was talking to his sergeant at the top of his voice, being always accustomed to shout.

"What else?" shouted the commander.

"When they were shoeing yesterday, your high nobility, they drove a nail into Pigeon's hoof. The vet. put on clay and vinegar; they are leading him apart now. And also, your honour, Artemyev got drunk yesterday, and the lieutenant ordered him to be put in the limber of a spare gun-carriage."

The sergeant reported that Karpov had forgotten the new cords for the trumpets and the rings for the tents, and that their honours, the officers, had spent the previous evening visiting General Von Rabbek. In the middle of this conversation the red-bearded face of Lebedetsky appeared in the window. He screwed up his short-sighted eyes, looking at the sleepy faces of the officers, and said good-morning to them.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"One of the horses has a sore neck from the new collar," answered Lobytko, yawning.

The commander sighed, thought a moment, and said in a loud voice:

"I am thinking of going to see Alexandra Yevgrafovna. I must call on her. Well, good-bye. I shall catch you up in the evening."

A quarter of an hour later the brigade set off on its way. When it was moving along the road by the granaries, Ryabovitch looked at the house on the right. The blinds were down in all the windows. Evidently the household was still asleep. The one who had kissed Ryabovitch the day before was asleep, too. He tried to imagine her asleep. The wide-open windows of the bedroom, the green branches peeping in, the morning freshness, the scent of the poplars, lilac, and roses, the bed, a chair,and on it the skirts that had rustled the day before, the little slippers, the little watch on the table--all this he pictured to himself clearly and distinctly, but the features of the face, the sweet sleepy smile, just what was characteristic and important, slipped through his imagination like quicksilver through the fingers. When he had ridden on half a mile, he looked back: the yellow church, the house, and the river, were all bathed in light; the river with its bright green banks,with the blue sky reflected in it and glints of silver in the sunshine here and there, was very beautiful. Ryabovitch gazed for the last time at Myestetchki, and he felt as sad as though he were parting with something very near and dear to him.

And before him on the road lay nothing but long familiar, uninteresting pictures...To right and to left, fields of young rye and buckwheat with rooks hopping about in them. If one looked ahead, one saw dust and the backs of men's heads; if one looked back, one saw the same dust and faces...Foremost of all marched four men with sabres--this was the vanguard. Next, behind, the crowd of singers, and behind them the trumpeters on horseback. The vanguard and the chorus of singers, like torch-bearers in a funeral procession, often forgot to keep the regulation distance and pushed a long way ahead...Ryabovitch was with the first cannon of the fifth battery. He could see all the four batteries moving in front of him. For any one not a military man this long tedious procession of a moving brigade seems an intricate and unintelligible muddle; one cannot understand why there are so many people round one cannon, and why it is drawn by so many horses in such a strange network of harness, as though it really were so terrible and heavy. To Ryabovitch it was all perfectly comprehensible and therefore uninteresting. He had known for ever so long why at the head of each battery there rode a stalwart bombardier, and why he was called a bombardier; immediately behind this bombardier could be seen the horsemen of the first and then of the middle units. Ryabovitch knew that the horses on which they rode, those on the left, were called one name,while those on the right were called another--it was extremely uninteresting. Behind the horsemen came two shaft-horses. On one of them sat a rider with the dust of yesterday on his back and a clumsy and funny-looking piece of wood on his leg. Ryabovitch knew the object of this piece of wood, and did not think it funny. All the riders waved their whips mechanically and shouted from time to time. The cannon itself was ugly. On the fore part lay sacks of oats covered with canvas,and the cannon itself was hung all over with kettles, soldiers'knapsacks, bags, and looked like some small harmless animal surrounded for some unknown reason by men and horses. To the leeward of it marched six men, the gunners, swinging their arms. After the cannon there came again more bombardiers, riders, shaft-horses, and behind them another cannon, as ugly and unimpressive as the first. After the second followed a third, a fourth; near the fourth an officer, and so on. There were six batteries in all in the brigade, and four cannons in each battery. The procession covered half a mile; it ended in a string of wagons near which an extremely attractive creature--the ass, Magar, brought by a battery commander from Turkey--paced pensively with his long-eared head drooping.

Ryabovitch looked indifferently before and behind, at the backs of heads and at faces; at any other time he would have been half asleep, but now he was entirely absorbed in his new agreeable thoughts. At first when the brigade was setting off on the march he tried to persuade himself that the incident of the kiss could only be interesting as a mysterious little adventure, that it was in reality trivial, and to think of it seriously, to say the least of it, was stupid; but now he bade farewell to logic and gave himself up to dreams...At one moment he imagined himself in Von Rabbek's drawing-room beside a girl who was like the young lady in lilac and the fair girl in black; then he would close his eyes and see himself with another, entirely unknown girl, whose features were very vague. In his imagination he talked, caressed her, leaned on her shoulder, pictured war, separation, then meeting again, supper with his wife, children...

"Brakes on!" the word of command rang out every time they went downhill.

He, too, shouted "Brakes on!" and was afraid this shout would disturb his reverie and bring him back to reality...

As they passed by some landowner's estate Ryabovitch looked over the fence into the garden. A long avenue, straight as a ruler, strewn with yellow sand and bordered with young birch-trees, met his eyes...With the eagerness of a man given up to dreaming, he pictured to himself little feminine feet tripping along yellow sand, and quite unexpectedly had a clear vision in his imagination of the girl who had kissed him and whom he had succeeded in picturing to himself the evening before at supper.This image remained in his brain and did not desert him again.

At midday there was a shout in the rear near the string of wagons:

"Easy! Eyes to the left! Officers!"

The general of the brigade drove by in a carriage with a pair of white horses. He stopped near the second battery, and shouted something which no one understood. Several officers, among them

Ryabovitch, galloped up to them.

"Well?" asked the general, blinking his red eyes. "Are there any sick?"

Receiving an answer, the general, a little skinny man, chewed, thought for a moment and said, addressing one of the officers:

"One of your drivers of the third cannon has taken off his leg-guard and hung it on the fore part of the cannon, the rascal. Reprimand him."

He raised his eyes to Ryabovitch and went on:

"It seems to me your front strap is too long."

Making a few other tedious remarks, the general looked at Lobytko and grinned.

"You look very melancholy today, Lieutenant Lobytko," he said. "Are you pining for Madame Lopuhov? Eh? Gentlemen, he is pining for Madame Lopuhov."

The lady in question was a very stout and tall person who had long passed her fortieth year. The general, who had a predilection for solid ladies, whatever their ages, suspected a similar taste in his officers.The officers smiled respectfully. The general, delighted at having said something very amusing and biting, laughed loudly, touched his coachman's back, and saluted. The carriage rolled on...

"All I am dreaming about now which seems to me so impossible and unearthly is really quite an ordinary thing," thought Ryabovitch,looking at the clouds of dust racing after the general's carriage. "It's all very ordinary, and every one goes through it...That general, for instance, has once been in love; now he is married and has children.Captain Vahter, too, is married and beloved, though the nape of his neck is very red and ugly and he has no waist...Salrnanov is coarse and very Tatar, but he has had a love affair that has ended in marriage...I am the same as every one else, and I, too, shall have the same experience as every one else, sooner or later..."

And the thought that he was an ordinary person, and that his life was ordinary, delighted him and gave him courage. He pictured her and his happiness as he pleased, and put no rein on his imagination.

When the brigade reached their halting-place in the evening, and the officers were resting in their tents, Ryabovitch, Merzlyakov, and Lobytko were sitting round a box having supper. Merzlyakov ate without haste, and, as he munched deliberately, read the "Vyestnik Evropi,"which he held on his knees. Lobytko talked incessantly and kept filling up his glass with beer, and Ryabovitch, whose head was confused from dreaming all day long, drank and said nothing. After three glasses he got a little drunk, felt weak, and had an irresistible desire to impart his new sensations to his comrades.

"A strange thing happened to me at those Von Rabbeks'," he began, trying to put an indifferent and ironical tone into his voice. "You know I went into the billiard-room..."

He began describing very minutely the incident of the kiss, and a moment later relapsed into silence...In the course of that moment he had told everything, and it surprised him dreadfully to find how short a time it took him to tell it. He had imagined that he could have been telling the story of the kiss till next morning. Listening to him, Lobytko, who was a great liar and consequently believed no one, looked at him sceptically and laughed. Merzlyakov twitched his eyebrows and, without removing his eyes from the "Vyestnik Evropi," said:

"That's an odd thing! How strange!...throws herself on a man's neck,without addressing him by name...She must be some sort of hysterical neurotic."

"Yes, she must," Ryabovitch agreed.

"A similar thing once happened to me," said Lobytko, assuming a scared expression. "I was going last year to Kovno...I took a second-class ticket. The train was crammed, and it was impossible to sleep. I gave the guard half a rouble; he took my luggage and led me to another compartment...I lay down and covered myself with a rug...It was dark,you understand. Suddenly I felt some one touch me on the shoulder and breathe in my face. I made a movement with my hand and felt somebody's elbow...I opened my eyes and only imagine--a woman. Black eyes, lips red as a prime salmon, nostrils breathing passionately--a bosom like a buffer..."

"Excuse me," Merzlyakov interrupted calmly, "I understand about thebosom, but how could you see the lips if it was dark?"

Lobytko began trying to put himself right and laughing at Merzlyakov's unimaginativeness. It made Ryabovitch wince. He walked away from the box, got into bed, and vowed never to confide again.

Camp life began...The days flowed by, one very much like another. All those days Ryabovitch felt, thought, and behaved as though he were in love. Every morning when his orderly handed him water to wash with, and he sluiced his head with cold water, he thought there was something warm and delightful in his life.

In the evenings when his comrades began talking of love and women, he would listen, and draw up closer; and he wore the expression of a soldier when he hears the description of a battle in which he has taken part. And on the evenings when the officers, out on the spree with the setter--Lobytko--at their head, made Don Juan excursions to the"suburb," and Ryabovitch took part in such excursions, he always was sad, felt profoundly guilty, and inwardly begged her forgiveness...In hours of leisure or on sleepless nights, when he felt moved to recall his childhood, his father and mother--everything near and dear, in fact,he invariably thought of Myestetchki, the strange horse, Von Rabbek, hiswife who was like the Empress Eugénie, the dark room, the crack of light at the door...

On the thirty-first of August he went back from the camp, not with the whole brigade, but with only two batteries of it. He was dreaming and excited all the way, as though he were going back to his native place.He had an intense longing to see again the strange horse, the church,the insincere family of the Von Rabbeks, the dark room. The "inner voice," which so often deceives lovers, whispered to him for some reason that he would be sure to see her...and he was tortured by the questions,How he should meet her? What he would talk to her about? Whether she had forgotten the kiss? If the worst came to the worst, he thought, even if he did not meet her, it would be a pleasure to him merely to go through the dark room and recall the past...

Towards evening there appeared on the horizon the familiar church and white granaries.

Ryabovitch's heart beat...He did not hear the officer who was riding beside him and saying something to him, he forgot everything, and looked eagerly at the river shining in the distance, at the roof of the house, at the dovecote round which the pigeons were circling in the light of the setting sun.

When they reached the church and were listening to the billeting orders,he expected every second that a man on horseback would come round thechurch enclosure and invite the officers to tea, but...the billeting orders were read, the officers were in haste to go on to the village,and the man on horseback did not appear.

"Von Rabbek will hear at once from the peasants that we have come and will send for us," thought Ryabovitch, as he went into the hut, unable to understand why a comrade was lighting a candle and why the orderlies were hurriedly setting samovars...

A painful uneasiness took possession of him. He lay down, then got upand looked out of the window to see whether the messenger were coming.But there was no sign of him.

He lay down again, but half an hour later he got up, and, unable to restrain his uneasiness, went into the street and strode towards the church. It was dark and deserted in the square near the church...Three soldiers were standing silent in a row where the road began to go down hill. Seeing Ryabovitch, they roused themselves and saluted. He returned the salute and began to go down the familiar path.

On the further side of the river the whole sky was flooded with crimson:the moon was rising; two peasant women, talking loudly, were picking cabbage in the kitchen garden; behind the kitchen garden there were some dark huts...And everything on the near side of the river was just as it had been in May: the path, the bushes, the willows overhanging the water...but there was no sound of the brave nightingale, and no scent of poplar and fresh grass.

Reaching the garden, Ryabovitch looked in at the gate. The garden was dark and still...He could see nothing but the white stems of the nearest birch-trees and a little bit of the avenue; all the rest melted together into a dark blur. Ryabovitch looked and listened eagerly, but after waiting for a quarter of an hour without hearing a sound or catching a glimpse of a light, he trudged back...

He went down to the river. The General's bath-house and the bath-sheets on the rail of the little bridge showed white before him...He went on to the bridge, stood a little, and, quite unnecessarily, touched the sheets. They felt rough and cold. He looked down at the water...The river ran rapidly and with a faintly audible gurgle round the piles of the bath-house. The red moon was reflected near the left bank; little ripples ran over the reflection, stretching it out, breaking it into bits, and seemed trying to carry it away.

"How stupid, how stupid!" thought Ryabovitch, looking at the running water. "How unintelligent it all is!"

Now that he expected nothing, the incident of the kiss, his impatience,his vague hopes and disappointment, presented themselves in a clear light. It no longer seemed to him strange that he had not seen the General's messenger, and that he would never see the girl who had accidentally kissed him instead of some one else; on the contrary, it would have been strange if he had seen her...

The water was running, he knew not where or why, just as it did in May.In May it had flowed into the great river, from the great river into thesea; then it had risen in vapour, turned into rain, and perhaps the very same water was running now before Ryabovitch's eyes again...What for?Why?

And the whole world, the whole of life, seemed to Ryabovitch an unintelligible, aimless jest...And turning his eyes from the water and looking at the sky, he remembered again how fate in the person of an unknown woman had by chance caressed him, he remembered his summer dreams and fancies, and his life struck him as extraordinarily meagre,poverty-stricken, and colourless...

When he went back to his hut he did not find one of his comrades. The orderly informed him that they had all gone to "General von Rabbek's,who had sent a messenger on horseback to invite them..."

For an instant there was a flash of joy in Ryabovitch's heart, but he quenched it at once, got into bed, and in his wrath with his fate, as though to spite it, did not go to the General's.

THE END

Grateful thanks to the translator, Constance Black Garnett and Project Gutenberg Australia.