Book 4 — chapter seven:

“Open the Gates as wide as the sky,

And let the King come riding by.”

I CAME to myself, and opened my eyes, wondering what the great trompling was, and thinging it was Bendigo got loose. Then I remembered that Sexton had taken Bendigo away, so I looked to see what it might be, for all the waggon horses had been taken back to Plash Farm for the day. I looked up, and straightway I thought I must have died, and be now in Paradise.

There, looking down upon me from his nag, with a dwelling gaze so blazing with life that, if I hadna been sure the other way, I should have thought he loved me, was none other than Kester Woodseaves. Older-seeming he was, a little, and his face even cleaner cut than afore, as if the soul had been busy chiselling at it. As for his eyes, all the light of heaven was in them, not to speak of a very pleasant touch of the old Adam. They took me in from head to foot, and I was at rest. Ah! tied to the ducking-stool, in such sad case as no self-respecting woman could choose to be seen in by any man, let alone the man she loved, I was yet at rest. I cared for nothing now. I werrited about nothing. Kester was here. Kester had gotten things in hand. What could ail me? Such was my faith, that though three hundred people, more or less, were set against me, and only Kester for me, yet I knew that I was safe. I could have turned on my side and gone to sleep on that old ducking-stool as if it was a feather bed, so comfortable I was in my mind.

“Well,” says he at last, “well, Prue, my dear, you be in poor case!”

And he gave a little smile, as much as to say, “But not for long!”

“I be,” I answered, and my voice was all of a tremble with joy, “in very poor case, Kester Woodseaves.”

He gave a look round, and then beckoned to Felena. She darted forrard, as if she was his slave.

“Untie those, ’oot?” he said, pointing to the cords.

As she was doing it, she whispered—

“I dunna care what they do to me. I’ll work his will. A man to die for!”

“Is there any fellow here friend to me enough to catch a holt of my nag a minute?” he asks.

Callard called out—

“I will, and welcome.”

Afore he got off, Kester looked all around, and he says—

“Well, you were having a fine randy, I must say! Last time it was a little white ox. Now it’s a woman whiter than lily. I know very well who’s egging you on.”

Some hung their heads, but most were angered to have their fun stopped.

Kester went up to Grimble.

“You and me’s had ado afore, Grimble,” he says. “You’re too mean and twisty to be treated as a man. If you dunna like the treatment you get, you can fight me any time you like. But you’re only good enough to laugh at. Your nose is too long, Grimble. It stirs about in everybody’s business.”

And with that, he gave Grimble a tremenjous blow on the nose with his fist, and Grimble roared so, being a real coward, that the people couldna help but laugh.

Then Kester went to Huglet and he said—

“You’re aboveboard all right. You dunna do things secret. Man, I could hear you hollering even to Plash! Oot wrostle?”

Now, for all he was so big, Huglet didna want to wrostle. He hiver-hovered over it a good bit, for he knew Kester was a right proper wrostler. But many of the people knew nothing about Kester, and wouldna have cared if they had, for they only wanted a good day’s sport. This was what Kester had reckoned on.

“A wrestling match!” they called out, quite in a pleasant humour again, though what they’d be after, nobody could say.

“Haw-whop!” cries out old Callard, pretty well beside himself with excitement, and the children, seeing Kester and remembering their lessons, folded their hands very primly over their stomachs and sang out—

“Bull-baiting’s bad!” which would have made me laugh if I hadna been so uneasy in mind about Kester.

“A ring! Make a ring!”

“Ah, chaps, there’s a nice smooth bit of turf there,” says Kester, pointing to a place close by the water. So they made a ring there. Kester stripped off his coat and weskit, and Huglet took his off unwilling. There were some hasty wagers made. Then they set to at it. I thought Huglet would crush every one of Kesters bones, but no! Kester was hard, and a practised wrestler, and when Huglet seemed to have got him safe and sure, he was out of his grip, ready to start all over again. A tuthree times Huglet bore him back till his one shoulder very near touched the ground, but each time he wrostled free, sharp and sudden, so it was only a foyle, and didna count. I was in a terror all the while that Huglet, by his great strength, would break Kester’s back, and I could see he’d dearly like to, for he’d forgotten everything but hate of the man who’d twice robbed him of his sport. I wondered why Kester didna try, by some feint, to get him down, but Felena whispered—

“He’s got summat in mind, Weaver has. He’s tarrying for summat.”

All the while Kester kept edging nigher to the water, and I wondered at it, for the mud was very slippery there.

Then, all in a minute, it was done. Though how it was done, I never knew to this day. Kester said it was a new throw he’d learnt in the city. Anyway, in the blink of an eye, Huglet was flung, not only onto the ground but clean out into the water. He went in souse, and when he struggled out, which he did with a deal of difficulty, for he’d gone all his length and the mud was very sticky, there was such a roar of laughter that he blenched. And indeed he was a comical sight. Miller, who stood by, smiled for the first time in anybody’s memory, as if to say, “Another kit-cat in the water!”

Kester stood a minute, breathed with the tremenjous heave, getting his wind. Then he took the rein from Callard, put foot in stirrup, and was in the saddle.

“I’d lief,” says Felena, low, “I’d lief be on that saddle afore you, Weaver.”

I never saw such worship as was in her green eyes.

But he took no manner notice.

“Prue!” he said.

I rose up.

“Did I say at the harvesting at Sarn that it was to be toërts or frommet?” he asked me.

“Toërts.”

I could only whisper it.

“Come here then, Prue Woodseaves!”

He stooped. He set his arms about me. He lifted me to the saddle. It was just as in the dream I had. And, as in that dream, Felena looked up, imploring, and he took no account of her, and the noise of the people sank away, the laughter, and the curses of Huglet and Grimble, the clapping of the Callard children and the high voice of Granfeyther Callard telling of a wrestling match nearly a century ago. All sank, all faded in the quiet air. There was only the evening wind lifting the boughs, like a lover lifting his maid’s long hair.

“Tabor on, owd nag!” says Kester, and we were going at a canter towards the blue and purple mountains.

“But no!” I said. “It mun be frommet, Kester. You mun marry a girl like a lily. See, I be hare-shotten!”

But he wouldna listen. He wouldna argufy. Only after I’d pleaded agen myself a long while, he pulled up sharp, and looking down into my eyes, he said—

“No more sad talk! I’ve chosen my bit of Paradise. ’Tis on your breast, my dear acquaintance!”

And when he’d said those words, he bent his comely head and kissed me full upon the mouth.

* * * * * * *

Here ends the story of Prudence Sarn.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain.