Wood Magic: A Fable
returned, and died in a few years' time. Then indeed deserted, the
farmer had nothing left but to cultivate, and dwell on, the memory of
the past. He neglected his business, and his farm; he left his house to
take care of itself; the cows wandered away, the horses leaped the
hedges, other people's cattle entered his corn, trampled his wheat, and
fattened on his clover. He did nothing. The hand of man was removed, and
the fields, and the house, and the owner himself, fell to decay.
Years passed, and still it was the same, and thus it was, that when
Bevis and his papa drove up, Bevis was so interested and so inquisitive
about the knocker, which had fallen from the front door. One thing, and
one place only, received the owner's care, and that was the orchard, the
arbour, the magpie's nest, and the footpath that led to the orchard
gate. Everything else fell to ruin, but these were very nearly in the
same state as when the young lady used to come to the orchard daily. For
the old gentleman, as he grew old, and continued to dwell yet more and
more upon the happy days so long gone by, could not believe that she
could be dead, though he himself had outlived the usual span of life.
He was quite certain that she would some day come back, for she had said
so herself; she had said that some day he would know that he had judged
her wrongly, and unless she came back it was not possible for him to
understand. He was, therefore, positively certain that some day she
would come along the old footpath to the gate in the orchard wall, open
it with her duplicate key, walk to the arbour and sit down, and smile at
the magpie's ways. The woodwork of the arbour had of course decayed long
since, but it had been carefully replaced, so that it appeared exactly
the same as when she last sat within it. The coping fell from the
orchard wall, but it was put back; the gate came to pieces, but a new
one was hung in its place.
Kapchack, thus protected, still came to his palace, which had reached an
enormous size from successive additions and annual repairs. As the time
went on people began to talk about Kapchack, and the extraordinary age
to which he had now attained, till, by-and-by, he became the wonder of
the place, and in order to see how long he would live, the gentlemen who
had gamekeepers in the neighbourhood instructed them to be careful not
to shoot him. His reputation extended with his years, and those curious
in such things came to see him from a distance, but could never obtain
entrance to the orchard, nor approach near his tree, for neither money
nor persuasion could induce the owner to admit them.
In and about the village itself Kapchack was viewed by the superstitious
with something like awe. His great age, his singular fortune, his
peculiar appearance--having but one eye--gave him a wonderful prestige,
and his chattering was firmly believed to portend a change of the
weather or the wind, or even the dissolution of village personages. The
knowledge that he was looked upon in this light rendered the other birds
and animals still more obedient than they would have been. Kapchack was
a marvel, and it gradually became a belief with them that he would never
die.
Outside the orchard-gate, the footpath which crossed the lane, and
along which the lady used to come, was also carefully kept in its former
condition. By degrees the nut-tree faggots rotted away--they were
supplanted by others; in the process of time the flints sunk into the
earth, and then another waggon-load was sent for. But the waggons had
all dropped to pieces except one which chanced to be under cover; this,
too, was much decayed, still it held together enough for the purpose. It
was while this very waggon was jolting down from the hills with a load
of flints to fill this hollow that the one particular flint, out of five
thousand, worked its way through a hole in the bottom and fell on the
road. And the rich old gentleman, whose horse stepped on it the same
evening, who was thrown from the dog-cart, and whose discharged groom
shot him in his house in London, was the very same man who, years and
years before, had given the diamond locket to the young lady.
In the orchard the old farmer pottered about every day, now picking up
the dead wood which fell from the trees, now raking up the leaves, and
gathering the fruit (except that on Kapchack's tree), now mowing the
grass, according to the season, now weeding the long gravel path at the
side under the sheltering wall, up and down which the happy pair had
walked in the winters so long ago. The butterflies flew over, the
swallows alighted on the topmost twigs of the tall pear-tree and
twittered sweetly, the spiders spun their webs, or came floating down on
gossamer year after year, but he did not notice that they were not the
same butterflies or the same swallows which had been there in his
youth. Everything was the same to him within the orchard, however much
the world might change without its walls.
Why, the very houses in the village close by had many of them fallen and
been rebuilt; there was scarcely a resident left who dwelt there then;
even the ancient and unchangeable church was not the same--it had been
renovated; why, even the everlasting hills were different, for the
slopes were now in many places ploughed, and grew oats where nothing but
sheep had fed. But all within the orchard was the same; his lady, too,
was the same without doubt, and her light step would sooner or later
come down the footpath to her lover. This was the story Bevis's papa
told him afterwards.
They had some difficulty in fastening up the horse, until they pulled
some hay from a hayrick, and spread it before him, for like Bevis he had
to be bribed with cake, as it were, before he would be good. They then
knocked at the front door, which was propped up with a beam of timber,
but no one answered, nor did even a dog bark at the noise; indeed, the
dog's kennel had entirely disappeared, and only a piece of the staple to
which his chain had been fastened remained, a mere rusty stump in the
wall. It was not possible to look into this room, because the broken
windows were blocked with old sacks to keep out the draught and rain;
but the window of the parlour was open, the panes all broken, and the
casement loose, so that it must have swung and banged with the wind.
Within, the ceiling had fallen upon the table, and the chairs had
mouldered away; the looking-glass on the mantelpiece was hidden with
cobwebs, the cobwebs themselves disused; for as they collected the dust,
the spiders at last left them to spin new ones elsewhere. The carpet, if
it remained, was concealed by the dead leaves which had been carried in
by the gales. On these lay one or two picture frames, the back part
upwards, the cords had rotted from the nails, and as they dropped so
they stayed. In a punch-bowl of ancient ware, which stood upon the old
piano untouched all these years, a robin had had his nest. After Bevis
had been lifted up to the window-ledge to look in at this desolation,
they went on down towards the orchard, as if the old gentleman was not
within he was certain to be there.
They found the gate of the orchard open--rather an unusual thing, as he
generally kept it locked, even when at work inside--and as they stepped
in, they saw a modern double-barrel gun leant against a tree. A little
farther, and Bevis caught sight of Kapchack's nest, like a wooden castle
in the boughs, and clapped his hands with delight. But there was a
ladder against Kapchack's tree, a thing which had not been seen there
these years and years, and underneath the tree was the old farmer
himself, pale as his own white beard, and only kept from falling to the
ground by the strong arms of a young gentleman who upheld him. They
immediately ran forward to see what was the matter.
Now it had happened in this way. It will be recollected that when the
keeper fell from the dead oak-tree, he not only disabled himself, but
his gun going off shot the dogs. Thus when the heir to the estate came
down the same evening, he found that there was neither dog nor keeper to
go round with him the next day. But when the morning came, not to be
deprived of his sport, he took his gun and went forth alone into the
fields. He did not find much game, but he shot two or three partridges
and a rabbit, and he was so tempted by the crowds of wood-pigeons that
were about (parties from Choo Hoo's army out foraging), that he fired
away the remaining cartridges in his pocket at them.
So he found himself early in the day without a cartridge, and was just
thinking of walking back to the house for some more, when the shadow of
the eclipse came over. He stayed leaning against a gate to watch the
sun, and presently as he was looking up at it a hare ran between his
legs--so near, that had he seen her coming he could have caught her with
his hands.
She only went a short way down the hedge, and he ran there, when she
jumped out of the ditch, slipped by him, and went out fifty or sixty
yards into the field, and sat up. How he now wished that he had not shot
away all his ammunition at the wood-pigeons! While he looked at the hare
she went on, crossed the field, and entered the hedge on the other side;
he marked the spot, and hastened to get over the gate, with the
intention of running home for cartridges. Hardly had he got over, than
the hare came back again on that side of the hedge, passed close to
him, and again leaped into the ditch. He turned to go after her, when
out she came again, and crouched in a furrow only some twenty yards
distant.
Puzzled at this singular behaviour (for he had never seen a hare act
like it before), he ran after her; and the curious part of it was, that
although she did indeed run away, she did not go far--she kept only a
few yards in front, just evading him. If she went into a hedge for
shelter, she quickly came out again, and thus this singular chase
continued for some time. He got quite hot running, for though he had not
much hope of catching the creature, still he wanted to understand the
cause of this conduct.
By-and-by the zig-zag and uncertain line they took led them close to the
wall of the old gentleman's orchard, when suddenly a fox started out
from the hedge, and rushed after the hare. The hare, alarmed to the last
degree, darted into a large drain which went under the orchard, and the
fox went in after her. The young gentleman ran to the spot, but could
not of course see far up the drain. Much excited, he ran round the
orchard wall till he came to the gate, which chanced to be open, because
the farmer that day, having discovered that the great bough of
Kapchack's tree had been almost torn from the trunk by the gale, had
just carried a fresh piece of timber in for a new prop, and having his
hands full, what with the prop and the ladder to fix it, he could not
shut the gate behind him. So the sportsman entered the orchard, left
his gun leaning against a tree, and running down to see if he could find
which way the drain went, came upon the old gentleman, and caught sight
of the extraordinary nest of old King Kapchack.
Now the reason Ulu (for it was the very hare Bevis was so fond of)
played these fantastic freaks, and ran almost into the very hands of the
sportsman, was because the cunning fox had driven her to do so for his
own purposes.
After he learnt the mysterious underground saying from the toad
imprisoned in the elm, he kept on thinking, and thinking, what it could
mean; but he could not make it out. He was the only fox who had a
grandfather living, and he applied to his grandfather, who after
pondering on the matter all day, advised him to keep his eyes open. The
fox turned up his nostrils at this advice, which seemed to him quite