Chapter XVI: Book FOUR (12)

Now, for all he was so big, Huglet didna want to wrostle. He hiver-hovered over it a good bit, for he knew Kester was a right proper wrostler. But many of the people knew nothing about Kester, and wouldna have cared if they had, for they only wanted a good day’s sport. This was what Kester had reckoned on.

“A wrestling match!” they called out, quite in a pleasant humour again, though what they’d be after, nobody could say.

“Haw-whop!” cries out old Callard, pretty well beside himself with excitement, and the children, seeing Kester and remembering their lessons, folded their hands very primly over their stomachs and sang out—

“Bull-baiting’s bad!” which would have made me laugh if I hadna been so uneasy in mind about Kester.

“A ring! Make a ring!”

“Ah, chaps, there’s a nice smooth bit of turf there,” says Kester, pointing to a place close by the water. So they made a ring there. Kester stripped off his coat and weskit, and Huglet took his off unwilling. There were some hasty wagers made. Then they set to at it. I thought Huglet would crush every one of Kesters bones, but no! Kester was hard, and a practised wrestler, and when Huglet seemed to have got him safe and sure, he was out of his grip, ready to start all over again. A tuthree times Huglet bore him back till his one shoulder very near touched the ground, but each time he wrostled free, sharp and sudden, so it was only a _foyle_, and didna count. I was in a terror all the while that Huglet, by his great strength, would break Kester’s back, and I could see he’d dearly like to, for he’d forgotten everything but hate of the man who’d twice robbed him of his sport. I wondered why Kester didna try, by some feint, to get him down, but Felena whispered—

“He’s got summat in mind, Weaver has. He’s tarrying for summat.”

All the while Kester kept edging nigher to the water, and I wondered at it, for the mud was very slippery there.

Then, all in a minute, it was done. Though how it was done, I never knew to this day. Kester said it was a new throw he’d learnt in the city. Anyway, in the blink of an eye, Huglet was flung, not only onto the ground but clean out into the water. He went in souse, and when he struggled out, which he did with a deal of difficulty, for he’d gone all his length and the mud was very sticky, there was such a roar of laughter that he blenched. And indeed he was a comical sight. Miller, who stood by, smiled for the first time in anybody’s memory, as if to say, “Another kit-cat in the water!”

Kester stood a minute, breathed with the tremenjous heave, getting his wind. Then he took the rein from Callard, put foot in stirrup, and was in the saddle.

“I’d lief,” says Felena, low, “I’d lief be on that saddle afore you, Weaver.”

I never saw such worship as was in her green eyes.

But he took no manner notice.

“Prue!” he said.

I rose up.

“Did I say at the harvesting at Sarn that it was to be toërts or frommet?” he asked me.

“Toërts.”

I could only whisper it.

“Come here then, Prue Woodseaves!”

He stooped. He set his arms about me. He lifted me to the saddle. It was just as in the dream I had. And, as in that dream, Felena looked up, imploring, and he took no account of her, and the noise of the people sank away, the laughter, and the curses of Huglet and Grimble, the clapping of the Callard children and the high voice of Granfeyther Callard telling of a wrestling match nearly a century ago. All sank, all faded in the quiet air. There was only the evening wind lifting the boughs, like a lover lifting his maid’s long hair.

“Tabor on, owd nag!” says Kester, and we were going at a canter towards the blue and purple mountains.

“But no!” I said. “It mun be frommet, Kester. You mun marry a girl like a lily. See, I be hare-shotten!”

But he wouldna listen. He wouldna argufy. Only after I’d pleaded agen myself a long while, he pulled up sharp, and looking down into my eyes, he said—

“No more sad talk! I’ve chosen my bit of Paradise. ’Tis on your breast, my dear acquaintance!”

And when he’d said those words, he bent his comely head and kissed me full upon the mouth.

* * * * * * *

_Here ends the story of Prudence Sarn._

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain.