From my window the humors of the scene were strange and various, and at first not a little laughable. Simon bustled to and fro, urging and directing stable lads sweating under load after load of armor, and weapons from the hall, the armory, and the steward's room. At last, all being in some manner armed and mounted, they were gotten into a semblance of order, and their instruction and weeding out began. At first, I say, I laughed much at one man's hopeless perplexity in handling together sword and reins, or at another, being undersized and of even less strength than skill, to see him strive in vain to control a fat and lusty charger, fresh from the plough, and grown wanton to feel so little weight upon his back and none at his tail. But, as one after another these were discarded and went their ways, some in evident dudgeon and others in as plain relief of mind, and as the dwindling number grew even more martial in mount, bearing, and accoutrement, the sight did begin to make some corresponding emotion in my heart; and I almost found myself wishing that I had been born a man, the more that my dear father had that same morning lamented there was none of Drayton blood to lead the little band. He had let drop, too, some words, as bitter as few, of my brother Philip, and had told me then, for the first time, how my mother's two children did come to bear one name.
"Your mother bore her first child, little Phil," he said, "in the early days of the horse-breeding that has brought us so much wealth. And I loved the beasts, spending once my last guineas and the price of a farm besides to bring to my stud the Barbary sire you remember. So when I knew it was a man child I called him Philip, saying he should love horses as his father, and do great things for the breed, and his name be famous in England. And as he grew 't was harder to get him inside a stable than to keep most lads without it. To this day I know not if he would distinguish your ugly Meg from the noblest charger of His Highness of Orange. When ten years were gone, and there was again hope for us, I said, if it prove a girl, we 'll e'en try the name on her. And give it you I did, with a little tag or handle to mark you woman. Poor child," he added kindly, yet sorrowfully, "'t is not thy fault thou hast the wrong sex, and, Gad 's my life! you have been a better son to me than Philip."
"And I love horses, sir," I answered, "and, indeed, many other things that my Lady Mary will ever say are not women's matters." Whereupon we laughed at Lady Mary a little, and the matter dropped, as he went to the muster. But I knew he felt in great need of a son that day, or he had never come so near throwing reproach on me that he loved so well for a fault that at another time he would not have had me change for a man's best virtue. Yet, as I gazed from the window at this threshing and winnowing of men, to make of them soldiers, the memory of that reproach rankled a little in me, and a small plot began to take form.
At the time when I commenced housewife at home I had in a disused chamber above found a closet filled with clothes once worn by my half-brothers of the elder family that I had come into the world too late to know. These were the only relics, I believe, of three good and honest gentlemen that, in the strange and ghostly manner of a child as I then was, I reverenced much, and even contrived to love a little; I had therefore rescued many of these garments from the moth, and, deciding in my mind by the varying fashions and much guess-work to which brother the different pieces had belonged, bestowed them in three ordered piles in a wide shelf of my great oak press. "So these," I would say, as I brushed and folded them once a month, "were Henry's; these Maurice used to wear." And I always held that the morion and the back- and breast-pieces, which were all the armor found with the clothes, had belonged to Rupert. For they were wondrous small for a man, and I knew he had been the least of them all in stature, and had scarce attained his full growth when he fell at Salisbury.
Now, in my excitement with the martial sounds without, and a good part, I doubt not, in mischief that meant going no further than gently avenging his slight of my sex upon my father, I suddenly thought of this wardrobe so little proper to a young maid's chamber; and at once began with trembling hands to choose from my store such garments as I thought would best become the son my father wished me, giving, I doubt not, an undue value to color and to that size which nearest approached my own, and little to coherence of fashion.
The troop were now reduced to eleven, for Christopher Kidd, making the twelfth, and having leave of absence after his services to my father in riding to Exeter, was expected to return from his farm but for the afternoon's drill; lacking whom, the rest had been dismissed for dinner at noon, which was the hour when I began so unmaidenly to dress myself out in my dead brothers' clothes. It was a business that occupied me longer than I had thought for, and when it came to the boots and the armor I wished I had Prue's nimble fingers to help me. But she, I knew, though she would never have confessed so much, was somewhere watching for the return of Christopher. At last, however, I made shift to fasten together about me the back- and breast-pieces; for the boots, I stuffed the toes of each with an handkerchief, and so made them sit passably well, the practising which device called to my mind how in the dark I had done the same for Ned to the filthy brogues he wore in leaving us. So, being dressed at all points to my satisfaction, the next thing was to contrive reaching the stables unobserved. For this my reasons were two: I knew the men would soon reassemble, and wished, in my folly, to take part in their evolutions in such manner that none could forbid without openly chiding me before the yokels; which I knew neither my father nor Emmet would do, whatever their censures might be in private. But far stronger was the other reason for privacy. Being now ready, I began to feel shame of what I was doing, and, being too petulant and obstinate to give it up, I felt that a horse beneath me and the necessity of handling him in unwonted movements would do near as much to cover my shyness as the skirt I lacked.
Whether this be clear to a masculine reader or no, confident I was of a lessened sense of bareness, and so of greater boldness in the saddle. Hearing, then, the bugle blown without, and seeing the men canter up by ones and twos from the stable, the few old soldiers among them roundly cursing the laggards, I opened my chamber door, peeped up and down the gallery, and made a bold run for the head of the great stair. That it was before I reached it my sword, catching between my legs, did fling me prone, I must ever thank Providence. Had it happened in my descent with the same force, I had broken my neck at the foot of the stair. For, though I could handle the small-sword, and even the heavier weapon of a soldier, "passably well for a maid," as Mr. Royston did use to say in the days when he taught me something of fence, yet never before, even in our games, had I worn one hung from my side. I picked myself up more shamefaced than hurt, and made my way sneakingly and gingerly, holding my sword in my left hand, down the stair and into the great hall, making for its further door which leads to the kitchens. I was already half-way toward it, walking most cat-like in that shyness so little fitted to my garb and action, when I heard the heaving of a great sigh. Turning my head, I saw, at the further end of the hall, standing with his back to me, and gazing from a window, a man dressed in sad-colored clothes. More quickly, I suppose, than the stranger could turn to observe me, I was through the door and in the flagged gallery that leads to the kitchens and pantries. Cutting across this gallery is a shorter one leading to a side door of entrance to the house, and as I drew near this I heard voices at the outer door. At once I knew the speakers for Prue and Christopher Kidd, and now more than ever did I feel that the salvation of my plan was to get me astride of a good horse; I would not, even to save changing my mind, a thing always hateful to me, be seen walking thus dressed. So, coming silently to a stand in hope that they would move away, I was for some minutes an involuntary eavesdropper. The stables were opposite this same door, with a paved yard between, and I could tell by the sound of hoof on stone that Mr. Kidd was mounted and on his way to the muster on the other side of the house. But I believe that he had learned since his first return from Exeter that it was ill policy to hide fresh news, good or bad, from little Prudence. Yet did he make some show of resistance. The first words that I clearly heard were his:
"But where is Sir Michael? I have news."
"News good or ill, Mr. Kidd?" says Prue.
"That is for him to say," replied Kidd. "Are they at the exercises, mistress?"
"Nay, but Mr. Kidd—Christopher," said the little rogue, in tones most winning and persuasive, "will you not dismount and stay a while to pleasure me? Shall I fetch you a horn of ale?" Then there was silence for a little space, and I could fancy her little red and pouting mouth turned up to the man in such wise that it could scarce be three heart-beats ere his spurs would ring on the flags. Nor was it. And then she continued: "And the news, Mr. Kidd? Perhaps it would not taint it if my lips should sip it first." And so a pause, and a little soft sound of kissing, with a small scream of formal hypocrisy.
Then Christopher: "Faith, mistress, a kiss from you would win all things from a man, even to his soul's health, let alone a trifle of news."
"I gave you no kiss," says Prue, saucily enough; "you did but take it."
"Then take my news," quoth Kidd, with a stride, I thought, towards his horse. And then, I think, she did buy his news, and pay in advance. For although I cannot say that this time I heard the ring of the coin, yet Christopher's next words showed him proceeding to delivery of the goods. "You know, mistress, that Sir Michael would have me lead these men to the Prince when he shall call on them. So I have been to the farm to settle things for a long absence. I thought my nag here well recovered of his last week's ride to Exeter and beyond, but find there is little spirit left in him, and was ambling gently down the old road by the water-mill about an hour back, and cursing both luck and horse to be late for the work a-doing here, when there comes by a great coach, with much foul speech and cracking of whips. And whose face dost think I saw looking from the window, all drawn and wan?"
"Oh, I know not," said Prue, in anger of impatience; "tell me, and quickly."
"Well, 't was Madam Royston," says Christopher.
"Lady Mary!" says Prue, with a little gasp. "What did she there?"
"'T is the very thing I would know, dear lass," replied Kidd. "The fellows round her were ill-looking, and she was about calling to me when she was dragged back within the coach."
"Well, you are a man," cried Prue, raising her voice in excitement. "What did you do?"
"Little to purpose, sweetheart," answered Kidd; and, though I was as eager now as little Prue to hear more, I could have laughed to note how the man took advantage of her emotion to edge in these lover's terms unchecked; "I spurred after them, but a fellow on a sorrel nag turned and drew a great pistol and let fly at me. Do but see the hole his ball made in my coat." And here I heard a very genuine cry of fear from Prudence. And Kidd went on, with a slight note of exultation in his voice, the result, I do not doubt, of her perturbation. "It did me no hurt, though it wanted but little, as you see, of sending me where I could never again see the prettiest maid in three counties. Well, that shot angered me, and I made at him. But he was the better mounted, and leapt his horse over the hedge, and so away over the fields, while I pounded heavily after on my tired beast. When I gave over, the coach was far and my nag well-nigh foundered. But one thing I learned of him."
"Ay," cried Prue eagerly, "and that was——"
"That he was no true man, but a devilish priest of Rome."
"O Mr. Kidd," says Prue, "how you will ever be frighting a poor girl! How knew you that?"
"As he leapt the hedge," said Kidd, "being a bad horseman, he was near losing his seat. Arrived the other side, he saved himself by clutching at the sorrel's mane, and in that had almost lost both hat and his red wig but for clutching at those in turn. But as the wig shifted I saw his own hair, dark and short, and a little round place atop, bald and shaven. A priest he is, and Sir Michael loves not such cattle on his land. So indeed, dear Mistress Prudence, I must find and tell him what is doing. Will you not grant me but one more? My news was worth it."
Whatever it were he asked, I do suppose he shortly obtained it, for very soon I heard upon the stones the hoofs of his departing horse. Hoping that Prudence would follow him round the back of the house to see him join the little troop at exercise, I thought this was the moment for pressing on to the stables. So, wisely tucking my sword again under my arm, I made a run for it, which took me round the corner and fairly into the arms of Prudence, whom I clutched firm and close in my own to save us both a fall. At first her fright to be so suddenly seized in the arms, as she thought, of some ruffling gallant was luckily too great to let a sound escape her; and when I loosed my hold and clapped my hand upon her mouth, it began slowly to dawn upon the terror-struck eyes raised to mine in mute appeal that 't was none but I; whereupon, being released, she fell to laughing most consumedly, pointing at me the while a most derisive finger, till I could not but think all was not well with my unaccustomed attire, and shrank together and cringed from her in fashion most unmanlike.
And, when she could for laughing, "Oh, dear Mistress Phil!" she cried, "whatever your plan in this pretty masquerade, none will take you for a man if you do stand so."
Which did but add anger to my desire of carrying through my plan; so that, drawing my body most martially erect, and seizing her by the shoulder with my left hand, I raised the other as if to cuff her, and threatened as much if she did not hold her peace and immediately lend me her aid. And this did mightily sober the girl, who, seeing me so terrible, ran out at my bidding to the stable, returning quickly with the news that there was not a man about the place, all being gone to see the drilling. Very bravely I then swaggered across the yard and in among the horses that were left. And there Prudence followed, panting with excitement and, as soon appeared, not without admiration of my assumption of manhood.
"Oh, but indeed I ask your pardon, dear Mistress Phil," she cried, "for so laughing at the figure you made. If you but carry it thus none who does not know you for Mistress Philippa Drayton will know you are not a man. Do but let me set your beautiful hair more in fashion of the great wigs Mr. Kidd tells me are worn by the gentlemen, even on horseback and in armor." And with a great coarse stable comb she pulled and twisted till she had my hair, which for the first time I was glad grew not so long as thick, to hang evenly round the shoulders behind, and over them in front in two heavy curling masses.
"And now for a horse," I said, when this was done. It took no long time to see that my choice lay between Meg, that I have already told of, and Roan Charley, a gelding of no great size but great beauty of proportion. He was grandson of that Barbary sire my father had purchased so dear to enrich his stock. Roan Charley had to the full the spirit and much of the fleetness of the Drayton barb, with more bone and greater power in the hinder part; whence it came, I suppose, that he was the best leaper I ever sat, while his grandsire would not, or could not, clear so much as a fallen tree-trunk. He was generally accounted difficult and contrary in handling, but he and I were seldom long in coming at an understanding.
Now for the work I had been watching all morning from my window I had certainly preferred Old Meg, as we had come to call the mare, more from her sure and trusty manners than her years. But, for the odd and elfish look of her, my vanity bade me pass her by and clap my father's best saddle on Charley. At first he gave me some trouble in this, thinking, said Prue, some strange gallant was about stealing him. When he fidgeted a little with his heels Prue screamed, and would not come near to help. The saddle was heavy and the sword mightily in my way, and each time I would have flung the first on Roan Charley's back, round would go his hindquarters, and, as I followed, the sword would again come between my legs and stop me, while he eyed me with teeth gleaming and ears laid back. At last I was fain to set down the saddle and caress him with voice and hand, making love to him till he knew me again, and, indeed, well-nigh said as much. After that, saddling and bridling were soon done, and Charley led into the yard, where, Prue being with much difficulty and in terror of her life persuaded to take him by the head, I was soon upon his back.
Now here, as once or twice before, I must tell of things that I did not know till after they were done. For even though it seem somewhat to break the thread of narrative to leave me running Roan Charley in the park to use him to my handling and my knees to my father's saddle, while I tell of events, some far, and others close at hand but beyond my knowledge, yet I hold it ever more easy for the reader to take his history, public or private, in order of occurrence, and so to hold in his hand all the threads that must knot together at that point for whose sake the story is told. For in life all is so large and complicate as to seem, in the little eye of man, confused and purposeless; and great part, I think, of our joy and interest in living it is found in the unexpected nature of its events. But in those pictures of life furnished us by drama, history, painting, or romance our pleasure is altogether of another kind. Here the artificer, choosing out of the multitudinous mesh threads such only as lead to his particular nodule of the mighty tangle, concerns himself and us with the convergence and final meeting of these; so that, if he but tell and we read aright, we see step by step the working of his little providence. And here our pleasure is not in astonishment, but in truth and sequence reasonably set forth. "This thing is coming," we say; or "That could have fallen no otherwise"; and we read on, and sometimes, perhaps, perceive some glimmer of the order lying in the greater skein. But all this Mr. Telgrove would call plagiarizing; and it comes, indeed, in the first instance, from his head. If he read it ever, he will confess me a better listener than he is wont to think.