Dismounting Again I Stood For Some Time
Admiring The Scene, Wishing That I Could Make That Village My
Home For The Rest Of My Life, Conscious At The Same Time That
Is Was The Mood, The Season, The Magical Hour Which Made It
Seem So Enchanting.
Presently a young man, the first human
figure that presented itself to my sight, appeared, mounted on
a big carthorse and leading a second horse by a halter, and
rode down into the pool to bathe the animals' legs and give
them a drink.
He was a sturdy-looking young fellow with a
sun-browned face, in earth-coloured, working clothes, with a
small cap stuck on the back of his round curly head; he
probably imagined himself not a bad-looking young man, for
while his horses were drinking he laid over on the broad bare
backs and bending down studied his own reflection in the
bright water. Then an old woman came out of a cottage close
by, and began talking to him in her West Country dialect in a
thin high-pitched cracked voice. Their talking was the only
sound in the village; so silent was it that all the rest of
its inhabitants might have been in bed and fast asleep; then,
the conversation ended, the young man rode out with a great
splashing and the old woman turned into her cottage again, and
I was left in solitude.
Still I lingered: I could not go just yet; the chances were
that I should never again see that sweet village in that
beautiful aspect at the twilight hour.
For now it came into my mind that I could not very well settle
there for the rest of my life; I could not, in fact, tie
myself to any place without sacrificing certain other
advantages I possessed; and the main thing was that by taking
root I should deprive myself of the chance of looking on still
other beautiful scenes and experiencing other sweet surprises.
I was wishing that I had come a little earlier on the scene to
have had time to borrow the key of the church and get a sight
of the interior, when all at once I heard a shrill voice and a
boy appeared running across the wide green space of the
churchyard. A second boy followed, then another, then still
others, and I saw that they were going into the church by the
side door. They were choir-boys going to practice. The
church was open then, and late as it was I could have half an
hour inside before it was dark! The stream was spanned by an
old stone bridge above the ford, and going over it I at once
made my way to the great building, but even before entering it
I discovered that it possessed an organ of extraordinary power
and that someone was performing on it with a vengeance.
Inside the noise was tremendous - a bigger noise from an organ,
it seemed to me, than I had ever heard before, even at the
Albert Hall and the Crystal Palace, but even more astonishing
than the uproar was the sight that met my eyes.
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