Now, I know not why, but when Rose Lisle said that she was going away, there was a feeling of regret came into my heart. For indeed, I had never seen aught like her before, and might never, for aught I knew, see aught like her again.
IV
Of Philip Lisle and His Good Horse Caesar
“I am going to find primroses,” said Rose, picking up her basket.
“I know where they grow,” said I. “Come along, and I will show you the best places.”
And so we went through the wood, gay as the spring air that breathed upon us, and talking childlike about ourselves and our fathers and of such matters as children best love to dwell on. And presently the shyness wore off and we ran along hand in hand amongst the trees, and I showed her where I had climbed the crags for the jackdaw’s nest, and took her to the bank of the Went at the place where you can throw a stone across five times in one cast, and from thence we wandered down stream to the mill, where the miller and his men peered at us through a mist of dusty whiteness, and the Went ran howling through the great wheel and fled away in thick circles of spume. And I told her about our farm of Dale’s Field, and how many horses we had, and how many cattle and sheep, with many particulars concerning Dumpling the pony, and Jacob Trusty, and Timothy Grass, and other matters upon which I loved to talk. She, in return, told me that she lived in a town a long, long way off, as indeed it must have been, seeing that it was but an hour’s ride from London itself. As for mother, or sister, or brother, she had none, nor ever remembered having, nor any other relation save her father, who was called Philip Lisle, and had business that took him much from home. And at Barnet, which was where they lived, they stayed with Mistress Goodfellow, who, said Rose, was an old woman, and sometimes cross-grained. But her father, she said, was the most admirable man that ever lived, for he could sing and dance, and play music upon several instruments, and tell stories and legends, so that when he was at home they were as happy as the day is long. But sometimes, she said, he was away a long time, and she was lonely until he came again, bringing her various rare things which he had found in his travels, and then they were happy once more. And now and then he took her with him when the weather was fine, she riding before him on his great horse, and he telling her stories of the fine houses they passed, or the dark woods through which they rode. Much did she tell me, too, about her father’s horse, which understood him when he talked to it as if it had been a Christian, and would follow him about, and ate bread and sugar out of his hand, and had more than once saved his life, though how she did not know.
In discourse like this Rose Lisle and I passed the afternoon, and I forgot the ache in my head in listening to her conversation. But as it drew near suppertime I was forced to leave her, and said goodbye to her with much regret, and she went down the lane into Wentbridge while I climbed the valley slope and went across the meadows home. And though I told Jacob Trusty about my tumble from the elm-tree, yet I said nothing either to him or to my sister Lucy about Rose Lisle. Only I thought much about her, and wished that she was going to stay in our neighbourhood, so that Lucy and myself might take her with us when we went birds’-nesting, or blackberrying, or nutting.
Upon the next afternoon I set off again to the old sheepfold, determined to climb the elm with success. But I left Lucy at home, not being minded to let anyone see me tumble down again. However, as fortune would have it, the stormcock escaped once more; for I had no sooner got into the woods above Wentbridge Mill than I met Rose Lisle, who was once more gathering the primroses that were now springing up in every nook and corner. And so through the woods we went, as on the previous day, and rambled in and out all the afternoon until we came to the mill again, where we stood beside the stream and watched the bits of stick and twig race by.
While we stood there I became aware of someone calling to us, and looking across the stream saw a man on horseback, at sight of whom Rose raised a glad cry.
“ ’Tis my father!” said she. “Will Dale, ’tis my father. Let us run round by the mill-bridge.”
But I saw that the man was going to leap his horse across the stream, which is there about twenty feet in width. And calling to us to stand where we were, he turned his horse about and brought him at the Went, and the great brute tucked up his thighs and came clear across with a motion like a swallow flying. The man gave him an encouraging pat as he dismounted, and throwing the bridle loose, took Rose in his arms and lifted her up and kissed her.
“Well, my princess!” said he. “Here is thy father back again, safe and sound once more. Thy cheeks are the rosier, my beauty, for thy little outing.”
And then he kissed her again on both cheeks, and I saw his eyes sparkle as if it were a great delight to him to see Rose again. He was a tall, fine man, this Philip Lisle, and
