The words of Wordsworth's immortal ode rushed into his brain, and he
recognised that this ignorant lad possessed a knowledge which was hidden
from the world. Heaven, with its clouds of glory, lay close around him,
ignorant of worldly wisdom though he might be. God forbid that the one
should ever be exchanged for the other!
The Chieftain was answered, but like Ron he remained silent. They
walked on over the short, springy grass, breathed the clear, fresh
breeze, and thought their own thoughts. It was not until nearly a mile
had been traversed that Ron turned his head and said simply, as if
answering a question put but a moment before-"I sing, because I must! It is my life. I have not thought of other
people, except in so far as their approval would justify me in my
father's eyes. You could no doubt judge better than I if what I have to
say has value or not. Will you read some of my lines?"
A curious sound broke from the Chieftain's lips, a sound something
between a groan and a laugh. He frowned, pursed his lips, swung his
short arms vigorously to and fro, shook his head with an air of
determined opposition, then suddenly softened into a smile.
"It's a strange world, my masters! A strange world! You never know
your luck! In the middle of my holiday, and a Scotch moor into the
bargain! I'll try Timbuctoo another year! Nothing else for it. Where
does my brain-rest come in, I want to know! You and your verses--be
plagued to the pair of you! Got some about you now, I suppose? Hand
them over, then,--the first that come to the surface--and let me get
through with it as soon as possible!"
He plumped down on the grass as he spoke, took out a large bandana
handkerchief and mopped his brow with an air of resignation, while
Ronald fumbled awkwardly in his pocket.
"I have several pencil copies. I think you can make them out. This is
the latest. A Madrigal--`To my Lady.'"
"Love-song?"
"Yes."
"Ever been in love?"
"No."
"What a pity when charming--poets--sing of things they don't understand!
Well, well, hand it over! I'll bear it as bravely as I may--"
Ron winced, and bit his lower lip. It was agony to sit by and watch the
cool, supercilious expression on the critic's face, the indifferent
flick of the fingers with which the sheet was closed and returned.
"Anything more?"
"You don't care for that one?"