Part 32 (2/2)

But what Alfred had said remained in Fancy's mind. It explained much that had puzzled her ever since she was able to think: her father's ill-health and ill-fortune, her mother's premature death, and the big casualty-lists. If life was a dream--! If reality lay beyond--! Then all the mysteries, the inequalities, the apparent injustices, could be explained. Such an explanation is old as human thought. It can be found in the Vedas, in the Bible, in the writings of the Gnostics, in some of the pagan and modern philosophies. Fancy, however, was neither concerned nor interested in speculations veiled in words she could not understand.

Alfred's queer notions were his and hers, rushlights s.h.i.+ning in the darkness. But terror touched her heart, when she applied the obvious conclusion to herself. If the best were taken, why then Alfred would be numbered amongst them.

As her wedding-day approached, this apprehension grew fainter and then disappeared for a time. She resolved to live in the present, not in the shadows of past or future. Such resolution has been a fairy G.o.dmother's gift to young women in Fancy's cla.s.s of life. They turn their eyes gratefully to the sun whenever it s.h.i.+nes upon them.

She had never been so happy before.

It was arranged that part of the honeymoon should be spent in London.

After three days' sight-seeing, the pair would return to Mrs. Yellam's cottage. Alfred bestowed upon Fancy a black fur stole and m.u.f.f, a wrist-watch, and a pair of silver-backed hair-brushes.

She placed these oblations upon a chair near her bed, so that her eyes could gloat upon them the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning.

Sergeant George Mucklow, V. C., promised to act as best man.

Mrs. Yellam was nearly as happy as Fancy. One fly settled in her ointment. Conscription had become the law of the land. But the local tribunal exempted William Saint. Uncle predicted that he would be called up later. Jane, of course, contradicted this on general principles. With Mrs. Yellam she believed that Satan would take good care of his own.

The men at Pomfret Court gave a sing-song in Alfred's honour upon the afternoon before he left them. Fancy sat beside the bridegroom-elect amongst the quality. She liked one new song so much that she clapped her hands and called out ”Encore” before anybody else. The chorus of that song is now known to every English-speaking soldier in the world.

There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams; Where the nightingales are singing, And a white moon beams.

There's a long, long night of waiting Until my dreams all come true; Till the day when I'll be going down That long, long trail with you.

Her dreams had come true; the night of waiting was past.

CHAPTER XIV

HYMENEAL

They were married from Mr. Broomfield's house in Salisbury, and, before returning to Nether-Applewhite, Mrs. Yellam reconsidered her opinion of Fancy's father. He was more than half a man. Call him three-quarters at least. The other quarter was woman. Fancy always affirmed that her sire had played mother to her. Mrs. Yellam, after some intimate conversation with Mr. Broomfield, believed this to be true. It seemed odd to think of a farrier--the brawny blacksmith of the village chestnut-tree--helping to undress dolls and smacking them when they misbehaved themselves. But Mr. Broomfield was not brawny. He had Fancy's pale face and large, luminous eyes. He talked about books, not storybooks, which Susan Yellam disdained as ”rubbishy truck,” but solid, respectable treatises dealing with subjects far beyond Susan's ken, such as the better housing of the poor, communal kitchens, and a more equable wage for the working-man.

About such talk hung a flavour of Radicalism, a whiff of Socialism. Mrs.

Yellam gasped for breath when Mr. Broomfield ”blasphemiously” labelled Christ as Socialist. As a set-off, the man actually believed in fairies!

Mrs. Yellam had never met his like. But she admitted somewhat grudgingly his charm as a companion. He attended Divine Wors.h.i.+p, regularly, observed the Sabbath, and spoke with enthusiasm of the cathedral. He could laugh at his own mild jokes. Through him, Mrs. Yellam came to a subtler understanding of her daughter-in-law. She accepted Fancy, so she informed Mr. Broomfield, as a daughter, saying trenchantly: ”No 'in-laws' for me.” But she ceased to regard her as a child. Fancy's artless ways, she decided, were on the surface. Beneath might be found, by a diligent delver, a remarkable little woman, sensible, very affectionate, but queer, like her father. Mr. Broomfield, apparently, could enjoy a joke against himself. Susan, with a very limited sense of humour, was incapable of such a feat. Speaking of motors, Mr. Broomfield said whimsically:

”What I've lost over 'em, Mrs. Yellam, seems to have been picked up by Alfred. So--no complaints! Good money remains in the family.”

To Susan this cheerful acceptance of bludgeonings indicated Christian resignation rather than humour. She told the farrier forthwith all about William Saint--the ”Proosian.” Mr. Broomfield listened sympathetically.

He perceived that Mrs. Yellam was disappointed because Alfred had not ”man-handled” a rascal and hypocrite, but he said with an odd chuckle:

”That makes things harder for this Saint, don't it?”

”I begs your pardon, Mr. Broomfield--whatever does you mean?”

She thought for the moment that he was as light in head as in body.

Fancy's father went on chuckling:

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