The Amateur Gentleman

"I haven't the least idea."

"She calls, sir,--though you won't believe me, it aren't to be

expected,--no, not on my affer-daver,--she being a Duchess, ye see--"

"Well, what did she call for?" inquired Barnabas, rising.

"Sir, she called for--on my solemn oath it's true--though I don't ax

ye to believe me, mind,--she sat in that theer identical chair,--an'

mark me, 'er a Duchess,--she sat in that cheer, a-fannin' 'erself

with 'er little fan, an' calls for a 'arf of Kentish ale--'Westerham

brew,' says she; an' 'er a Duchess! In a tankard! But I know as you

won't believe me,--nor I don't ax any man to,--no, not if I went

down on my bended marrer-bones--"

"But I do believe you," said Barnabas.

"What--you do?" cried the landlord, almost reproachfully.

"Certainly! A Duchess is, sometimes, almost human."

"But you--actooally--believe me?"

"Yes."

"Well--you surprise me, sir! Ale! A Duchess! In a tankard! No, it

aren't nat'ral. Never would I ha' believed as any one would ha'

believed such a--"

But here Barnabas laughed, and taking up his hat, sallied out into

the sunshine.

He went by field paths that led him past woods in whose green

twilight thrushes and blackbirds piped, by sunny meadows where larks

mounted heavenward in an ecstasy of song, and so, eventually he

found himself in a road where stood a weather-beaten finger-post,

with its two arms wide-spread and pointing: TO LONDON. TO HAWKHURST Here Barnabas paused a while, and bared his head as one who stands

on hallowed ground. And looking upon the weather-worn finger-post,

he smiled very tenderly, as one might who meets an old friend. Then

he went on again until he came to a pair of tall iron gates,

hospitable gates that stood open as though inviting him to enter.

Therefore he went on, and thus presently espied a low, rambling

house of many gables, about which were trim lawns and stately trees.

Now as he stood looking at this house, he heard a voice near by, a

deep, rolling bass upraised in song, and the words of it were these: "What shall we do with the drunken sailor,

Heave, my lads, yo-ho!

Why, put him in the boat and roll him over,

Put him in the boat till he gets sober,

Put him in the boat and roll him over,

With a heave, my lads, yo-ho!"

Following the direction of this voice, Barnabas came to a lawn

screened from the house by hedges of clipped yew. At the further end

of this lawn was a small building which had been made to look as

much as possible like the after-cabin of a ship. It had a door midway,

with a row of small, square windows on either side, and was flanked

at each end by a flight of wooden steps, with elaborately carved

hand-rails, that led up to the quarterdeck above, which was

protected by more carved posts and rails. Here a stout pole had been

erected and rigged with block and fall, and from this, a flag

stirred lazily in the gentle wind.