Part 34 (1/2)
The land grew flatter than before. There were few trees upon the hills, and scarcely any springs at which to drink, but much tender gra.s.s, with countless sheep nibbling everywhere. The shower was soon blown away; the sun came out; and a pleasant wind sprang up out of the south. Here and there beside some cottage wall the lilacs bloomed, and the later orchard-trees were apple-pink and cherry-white with May.
They came to a puddle in the road where there was a dance of b.u.t.terflies. Cicely clapped her hands with glee. A goldfinch dipped across the path like a little yellow streak of laughter in the sun. ”Oh, Nick, what is it?” she cried.
”A bird,” said he.
”A truly bird?” and she clasped her hands. ”Will it ever come again?”
”Again? Oh, yes, or, la! another one--there's plenty in the weeds.”
And so they fared all afternoon, until at dusk they came to Chipping Norton across the fields, a short cut to where the thin blue supper-smoke curled up. The mists were rising from the meadows; earth and sky were blending on the hills; a little silver sickle moon hung in the fading violet, low in the western sky. Under an old oak in a green place a fiddler and a piper were playing, and youths and maidens were dancing in the brown light. Some little chaps were playing blindman's-buff near by, and the older folk were gathered by the tree.
Nick came straight to where they stood, and bowing, he and Cicely together, doffed his cap, and said in his most London tone, ”We bid ye all good-e'en, good folk.”
His courtly speech and manner, as well as his clothes and Cicely's jaunty gown, no little daunted the simple country folk. n.o.body spoke, but, standing silent, all stared at the two quaint little vagabonds as mild kine stare at pa.s.sing sheep in a quiet lane.
”We need somewhat to eat this night, and we want a place to sleep,” said Nick. ”The beds must be right clean--we have good appet.i.tes. If ye can do for us, we will dance for you anything that ye may desire--the 'Queen's Own Measure,' 'La Donzella,' the new 'Allemand' of my Lord Pembroke, a pavone or a tinternell, or the 'Galliard of Savoy.' Which doth it please you, mistresses?” and he bowed to the huddling young women, who scarcely knew what to make of it.
”La! Joan,” whispered one, ”he calleth thee 'mistress'! Speak up, wench.” But Joan stoutly held her peace.
”Or if ye will, the little maid will dance the coranto for you, straight from my Lord Chancellor's dancing-master; and while she dances I will sing.”
”Why, hark 'e, Rob,” spoke out one motherly dame, ”they two do look clean-like. Children, too--who'd gi' them stones when they beg for bread? I'll do for them this night myself; and thou, the good man, and Kit can sleep in the hutch. So there, dears; now let's see the Lord Chancellor's tantrums.”
”'Tis not a tantrums, goody,” said Nick, politely, ”but a coranto.”
”La! young master, what's the odds, just so we sees it done? Some folks calls whittles 'knives,' and thinks 't wunnot cut theys fingers!”
Nick took his place at the side of the ring. ”Now, Cicely!” said he.
”Thou'lt call 'Sa--sa!' and give me the time of the coup d'archet?” she whispered, timidly hesitant, as she stepped to the midst of the ring.
”Ay, then,” said he, ”'tis off, 'tis off!” and struck up a lively tune, snapping his fingers for the time.
Cicely, bowing all about her, slowly began to dance.
It was a pretty sight to see: her big eyes wide and earnest, her cheeks a little flushed, her short hair curling, and her crimson gown fluttering about her as she danced the quaint running step forward and back across the gra.s.s, balancing archly, with her hands upon her hips and a little smile upon her lips, in the swaying motion of the coupee, courtesying gracefully as one tiny slippered foot peeped out from her rustling skirt, tapping on the turf, now in front and now behind. Nick sang like a blackbird in the hedge. And how those country lads and la.s.ses stared to see such winsome, dainty grace! ”La me!” gaped one, ”'tis fairy folk--she doth na even touch the ground!” ”The pretty dear!”
the mothers said. ”Doll, why canst thou na do the like, thou lummox?”
”Tut,” sighed the buxom Doll, ”I have na wingses on my feet!”
Then Cicely, breathless, bowed, and ran to Nick's side asking, ”Was it all right, Nick?”
”Right?” said he, and stroked her hair; ”'twas better than thou didst ever dance it for M'sieu.”
”For why?” said she, and flushed, with a quick light in her eyes; ”for why--because this time I danced for thee.”
The country folk, enchanted, called for more and more.
Nick sang another song, and he and Cicely danced the galliard together, while the piper piped and the fiddler fiddled away like mad; and the moon went down, and the cottage doors grew ruddy with the light inside.
Then Dame Pettiford gave them milk and oat-cakes in a bowl, a bit of honey in the comb, and a cup of strawberries; and Cicely fell fast asleep with the last of the strawberries in her hand.