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There was nothing in him that belonged to killing; and that is more than I could say for myself, or any other man I know except Clare Skymer. He was at the bottom of the garden one afternoon, where nothing but a low hedge came between him and a field of long grass. He had in his hand the stick of a worn-out umbrella. Suddenly a half-grown rabbit rose in the grass before him, and bolted.
Skymer endeavoured repeatedly to find out what had become of the blacksmith, but never with any approach to success; the probability being that he had left the world long before his natural time, by disease engendered or quarrel occasioned through his drunkenness. Clare laid the baby down, and fetched water from the pool.
At once he rose and lifted me into the natural relation of man and horse. Then he looked round at his master, and they set off at a leisurely pace. "You have me captive!" I said. "Memnon and I," answered Mr. Skymer, "will do what we can to make your captivity pleasant." A silence followed my thanks.
There, sure enough, was the horse, on the other side of the paling that here fenced the wood from a well-kept country-road. His long neck was stretched over it toward his master. "Memnon," said Mr. Skymer as we issued by the gate, "I want you to carry this gentleman home."
I have myself in my possession at this moment, given me by one who loved her, an ink-stand made from the hoof of a pony that died at the age of at least forty-two, and did her part of the work of a pair till within a year or two of her death. Poor little Zephyr!" "Why, Mr. Gowrie, you talk of her as if she were a Christian!" exclaimed Mr. Skymer. "That's how you talked of Memnon a moment ago!
Skymer's small boys told me that "He" died in that room. Evidently small Louis Skymer didn't in the least know who "He" was, but realized that his home was in some vague way connected with a mysterious person whose memory occasionally attracts inquirers to the house. Behind the parlor is a dark little bedroom, and then the kitchen.
I remembered the next moment that I had heard said of Mr. Skymer that he liked beasts better than men, but I soon found this was only one of the foolish things constantly said of honest men by those who do not understand them.
We had not been seated many moments, and had scarcely pushed off the shore of silence into a new sea of talk, when we were interrupted by the invasion of half a dozen dogs. They were of all sorts down to no sort. Mr. Skymer called one of them Tadpole I suppose because he had the hugest tail, while his legs were not visible without being looked for.
The avenue led to a wide gravelled space before a plain, low, long building in whitish stone, with pillared portico. In the middle of the space was a fountain, and close to it a few chairs. Mr. Skymer begged me to be seated. Memnon walked up to the fountain, and lay down, that I might get off his back as easily as I had got on it. Once down, he turned on his side, and lay still.
"With pleasure. I delight in talking about my poor brothers and sisters! Most of them are only savages yet, but there would be far fewer such if we did not treat them as slaves instead of friends. One day, however, all will be well for them as for us thank God." "I hope so," I responded heartily. "But please tell me," I said, "something more about your Memnon." Mr. Skymer thought for a moment.
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