in his mouth.
‘Speak up, girl,’ said the parson.
‘Is that the right thing to do, think you?’ demanded Will.
‘Nay, now,’ returned Will, ‘I wouldn’t press her, parson.
‘It is indispensable,’ said the parson.
I feel tongue-tied myself, who am not used to it; and she’s
‘Very well,’ replied the wooer.
a woman, and little more than a child, when all is said. But Two or three days passed away with great delight to Will, for my part, as far as I can understand what people mean although a bystander might scarce have found it out. He by it, I fancy I must be what they call in love. I do not wish continued to take his meals opposite Marjory, and to talk to be held as committing myself; for I may be wrong; but with her and gaze upon her in her father’s presence; but he that is how I believe things are with me. And if Miss Marjory made no attempt to see her alone, nor in any other way should feel any otherwise on her part, mayhap she would changed his conduct towards her from what it had been be so kind as shake her head.’
since the beginning. Perhaps the girl was a little disap-Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had heard.
pointed, and perhaps not unjustly; and yet if it had been
‘How is that, parson?’ asked Will.
enough to be always in the thoughts of another person,
‘The girl must speak,’ replied the parson, laying down and so pervade and alter his whole life, she might have his pipe. ‘Here’s our neighbour who says he loves you, been thoroughly contented. For she was never out of Will’s Madge. Do you love him, ay or no?’
mind for an instant. He sat over the stream, and watched
‘I think I do,’ said Marjory, faintly.
the dust of the eddy, and the poised fish, and straining
‘Well then, that’s all that could be wished!’ cried Will, weeds; he wandered out alone into the purple even, with 61
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all the blackbirds piping round him in the wood; he rose
‘How?’ she asked, pausing and looking up at him.
early in the morning, and saw the sky turn from grey to
‘Plucking them,’ said he. ‘They are a deal better off where gold, and the light leap upon the hill-tops; and all the while they are, and look a deal prettier, if you go to that.’
he kept wondering if he had never seen such things before,
‘I wish to have them for my own,’ she answered, ‘to or how it was that they should look so different now. The carry them near my heart, and keep them in my room. They sound of his own mill-wheel, or of the wind among the tempt me when they grow here; they seem to say, “Come trees, confounded and charmed his heart. The most en-and do something with us;” but once I have cut them and chanting thoughts presented themselves unbidden in his put them by, the charm is laid, and I can look at them with mind. He was so happy that he could not sleep at night, quite an easy heart.’
and so restless, that he could hardly sit still out of her com-
‘You wish to possess them,’ replied Will, ‘in order to pany. And yet it seemed as if he avoided her rather than think no more about them. It’s a bit like killing the goose sought her out.
with the golden eggs. It’s a bit like what I wished to do One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will when I was a boy. Because I had a fancy for looking out found Marjory in the garden picking flowers, and as he over the plain, I wished to go down there – where I couldn’t came up with her, slackened his pace and continued walk-look out over it any longer. Was not that fine reasoning?
ing by her side.
Dear, dear, if they only thought of it, all the world would
‘You like flowers?’ he said.
do like me; and you would let your flowers alone, just as I
‘Indeed I love them dearly,’ she replied. ‘Do you?’
stay up here in the mountains.’ Suddenly he broke off sharp.
‘Why, no,’ said he, ‘not so much. They are a very small
‘By the Lord!’ he cried. And when she asked him what affair, when all is done. I can fancy people caring for them was wrong, he turned the question off and walked away greatly, but not doing as you are just now.’
into the house with rather a humorous expression of face.
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He was silent at table; and after the night hid fallen and Why, before Heaven, what a great magician I must be!
the stars had come out overhead, he walked up and down Now if I were only a fool, should not I be in a pretty way?’
for hours in the courtyard and garden with an uneven pace.
And he went off to bed, chuckling to himself: ‘If I were There was still a light in the window of Marjory’s room: only a fool!’
one little oblong patch of orange in a world of dark blue The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once more in hills and silver starlight. Will’s mind ran a great deal on the the garden, and sought her out.
window; but his thoughts were not very lover-like. ‘There
‘I have been thinking about getting married,’ he began she is in her room,’ he thought, ‘and there are the stars abruptly; ‘and after having turned it all over, I have made overhead: – a blessing upon both!’ Both were good influ-up my mind it’s not worthwhile.’
ences in his life; both soothed and braced him in his pro-She turned upon him for a single moment; but his radi-found contentment with the world. And what more should ant, kindly appearance would, under the circumstances, he desire with either? The fat young man and his councils have disconcerted an angel, and she looked down again were so present to his mind, that he threw back his head, upon the ground in silence. He could see her tremble.
and, putting his hands before his mouth, shouted aloud to
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he went on, a little taken aback.
the populous heavens. Whether from the position of his
‘You ought not. I have turned it all over, and upon my soul head or the sudden strain of the exertion, he seemed to see there’s nothing in it. We should never be one whit nearer a momentary shock among the stars, and a diffusion of than we are just now, and, if I am a wise man, nothing like frosty light pass from one to another along the sky. At the so happy.’
same instant, a corner of the blind was lifted and lowered
‘It is unnecessary to go round about with me,’ she said.
again at once. He laughed a loud ho-ho! ‘One and another!’
‘I very well remember that you refused to commit your-thought Will. ‘The stars tremble, and the blind goes up.
self; and now that I see you were mistaken, and in reality 63
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have never cared for me, I can only feel sad that I have stay friends. Though I am a quiet man I have noticed a been so far misled.’
heap of things in my life. Trust in me, and take things as I
‘I ask your pardon,’ said Will stoutly; ‘you do not under-propose; or, if you don’t like that, say the word, and I’ll stand my meaning. As to whether I have ever loved you or marry you out of hand.’
not, I must leave that to others. But for one thing, my feel-There was a considerable pause, and Will, who began to ing is not changed; and for another, you may make it your feel uneasy, began to grow angry in consequence.
boast that you have made my whole life and character some-
‘It seems you are too proud to say your mind,’ he said.
thing different from what they were. I mean what I say; no
‘Believe me that’s a pity. A clean shrift makes simple liv-less. I do not think getting married is worth while. I would ing. Can a man be more downright or honourable, to a rather you went on living with your father, so that I could woman than I have been? I have said my say, and given walk over and see you once, or maybe twice a week, as you your choice. Do you want me to marry you? or will people go to church, and then we should both be all the you take my friendship, as I think best? or have you had happier between whiles. That’s my notion. But I’ll marry enough of me for good? Speak out for the dear God’s sake!
you if you will,’ he added.
You know your father told you a girl should speak her
‘Do you know that you are insulting me?’ she broke out.
mind in these affairs.’
‘Not I, Marjory,’ said he; ‘if there is anything in a clear She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without a conscience, not I. I offer all my heart’s best affection; you word, walked rapidly through the garden, and disappeared can take it or want it, though I suspect it’s beyond either into the house, leaving Will in some confusion as to the your power or mine to change what has once been done, result. He walked up and down the garden, whistling softly and set me fancy-free. I’ll marry you, if you like; but I tell to himself. Sometimes he stopped and contemplated the you again and again, it’s not worth while, and we had best sky and hill-tops; sometimes he went down to the tail of 64
Merry Men
the weir and sat there, looking foolishly in the water. All be agreeable inmates for some days.’
this dubiety and perturbation was so foreign to his nature Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from and the life which he had resolutely chosen for himself, the first, broke out upon this into an inarticulate noise, and that he began to regret Marjory’s arrival. ‘After all,’ he raised one hand with an appearance of real dismay, as if he thought, ‘I was as happy as a man need be. I could come were about to interfere and contradict. But she checked down here and watch my fishes all day long if I wanted: I him at once looking up at him with a swift glance and an was as settled and contented as my old mill.’
angry flush upon her cheek.
Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim and
‘You will perhaps have the good grace,’ she said, ‘to let quiet; and no sooner were all three at table than she made me explain these matters for myself.’
her father a speech, with her eyes fixed upon her plate, but Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expres-showing no other sign of embarrassment or distress.
sion and the ring of her voice. He held his peace, conclud-
‘Father,’ she began, ‘Mr. Will and I have been talking ing that there were some things about this girl beyond his things over. We see that we have each made a mistake about comprehension, in which he was exactly right.
our feelings, and he has agreed, at my request, to give up The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove all idea of marriage, and be no more than my very good that this was no more than a true lovers’ tiff, which would friend, as in the past. You see, there is no shadow of a pass off before night; and when he was dislodged from quarrel, and indeed I hope we shall see a great deal of him that position, he went on to argue that where there was no in the future, for his visits will always be welcome in our quarrel there could be no call for a separation; for the good house. Of course, father, you will know best, but perhaps man liked both his entertainment and his host. It was curi-we should do better to leave Mr. Will’s house for the ous to see how the girl managed them, saying little all the present. I believe, after what has passed, we should hardly time, and that very quietly, and yet twisting them round 65
Robert Louis Stevenson
her finger and insensibly leading them wherever she would sun, he was both pained and delighted.
by feminine tact and generalship. It scarcely seemed to have As the days went forward he passed from one extreme been her doing – it seemed as if things had merely so fallen to another; now pluming himself on the strength of his de-out – that she and her father took their departure that same termination, now despising his timid and silly caution. The afternoon in a farm-cart, and went farther down the valley, former was, perhaps, the true thought of his heart, and to wait, until their own house was ready for them, in an-represented the regular tenor of the man’s reflections; but other hamlet. But Will had been observing closely, and was the latter burst forth from time to time with an unruly vio-well aware of her dexterity and resolution. When he found lence, and then he would forget all consideration, and go himself alone he had a great many curious matters to turn up and down his house and garden or walk among the fir-over in his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to begin woods like one who is beside himself with remorse. To with. All the interest had gone out of his life, and he might equable, steady-minded Will this state of matters was in-look up at the stars as long as he pleased, he somehow tolerable; and he determined, at whatever cost, to bring it failed to find support or consolation. And then he was in to an end. So, one warm summer afternoon he put on his such a turmoil of spirit about Marjory. He had been puzzled best clothes, took a thorn switch in his hand, and set out and irritated at her behaviour, and yet he could not keep down the valley by the river. As soon as he had taken his himself from admiring it. He thought he recognised a fine, determination, he had regained at a bound his customary perverse angel in that still soul which he had never hitherto peace of heart, and he enjoyed the bright weather and the suspected; and though he saw it was an influence that would variety of the scene without any admixture of alarm or fit but ill with his own life of artificial calm, he could not unpleasant eagerness. It was nearly the same to him how keep himself from ardently desiring to possess it. Like a the matter turned out. If she accepted him he would have man who has lived among shadows and now meets the to marry her this time, which perhaps was, all for the best.
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If she refused him, he would have done his utmost, and right after all.’ And he paid a very agreeable visit, walked might follow his own way in the future with an untroubled home again in capital spirits, and gave himself no further conscience. He hoped, on the whole, she would refuse him; concern about the matter.
and then, again, as he saw the brown roof which sheltered For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued on her, peeping through some willows at an angle of the stream, these terms, seeing each other once or twice a week withhe was half inclined to reverse the wish, and more than half out any word of love between them; and for all that time I ashamed of himself for this infirmity of purpose.
believe Will was nearly as happy as a man can be. He rather Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her hand stinted himself the pleasure of seeing her; and he would without affectation or delay.
often walk half-way over to the parsonage, and then back
‘I have been thinking about this marriage,’ he began.
again, as if to whet his appetite. Indeed there was one cor-
‘So have I,’ she answered. ‘And I respect you more and ner of the road, whence he could see the church-spire wedged more for a very wise man. You understood me better than into a crevice of the valley between sloping firwoods, with a I understood myself; and I am now quite certain that things triangular snatch of plain by way of background, which he are all for the best as they are.’
greatly affected as a place to sit and moralise in before re-
‘At the same time – ,’ ventured Will.
turning homewards; and the peasants got so much into the
‘You must be tired,’ she interrupted. ‘Take a seat and let habit of finding him there in the twilight that they gave it the me fetch you a glass of wine. The afternoon is so warm; name of ‘Will o’ the Mill’s Corner.’
and I wish you not to be displeased with your visit. You At the end of the three years Marjory played him a sad must come quite often; once a week, if you can spare the trick by suddenly marrying somebody else. Will kept his time; I am always so glad to see my friends.’
countenance bravely, and merely remarked that, for as little
‘O, very well,’ thought Will to himself. ‘It appears I was as he knew of women, he had acted very prudently in not 67
Robert Louis Stevenson
marrying her himself three years before. She plainly knew CHAPTER III: DEATH
very little of her own mind, and, in spite of a deceptive manner, was as fickle and flighty as the rest of them. He YEAR AFTER YEAR went away into nothing, with great ex-had to congratulate himself on an escape, he said, and would plosions and outcries in the cities on the plain: red revolt take a higher opinion of his own wisdom in consequence.
springing up and being suppressed in blood, battle sway-But at heart, he was reasonably displeased, moped a good ing hither and thither, patient astronomers in observatory deal for a month or two, and fell away in flesh, to the as-towers picking out and christening new stars, plays being tonishment of his serving-lads.
performed in lighted theatres, people being carried into It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will was hospital on stretchers, and all the usual turmoil and agita-awakened late one night by the sound of a horse galloping tion of men’s lives in crowded centres. Up in Will’s valley on the road, followed by precipitate knocking at the inn-only the winds and seasons made an epoch; the fish hung door. He opened his window and saw a farm servant, in the swift stream, the birds circled overhead, the pine-mounted and holding a led horse by the bridle, who told tops rustled underneath the stars, the tall hills stood over him to make what haste he could and go along with him; all; and Will went to and fro, minding his wayside inn, until for Marjory was dying, and had sent urgently to fetch him the snow began to thicken on his head. His heart was young to her bedside. Will was no horseman, and made so little and vigorous; and if his pulses kept a sober time, they still speed upon the way that the poor young wife was very beat strong and steady in his wrists. He carried a ruddy near her end before he arrived. But they had some min-stain on either cheek, like a ripe apple; he stooped a little, utes’ talk in private, and he was present and wept very but his step was still firm; and his sinewy hands were reached bitterly while she breathed her last.
out to all men with a friendly pressure. His face was covered with those wrinkles which are got in open air, and 68
Merry Men
which rightly looked at, are no more than a sort of perma-But that is the object of long living, that man should cease nent sunburning; such wrinkles heighten the stupidity of to care about life.’ And again: ‘There is only one differ-stupid faces; but to a person like Will, with his clear eyes ence between a long life and a good dinner: that, in the and smiling mouth, only give another charm by testifying dinner, the sweets come last.’ Or once more: ‘When I was to a simple and easy life. His talk was full of wise sayings.
a boy, I was a bit puzzled, and hardly knew whether it was He had a taste for other people; and other people had a myself or the world that was curious and worth looking taste for him. When the valley was full of tourists in the into. Now, I know it is myself, and stick to that.’
season, there were merry nights in Will’s arbour; and his He never showed any symptom of frailty, but kept stal-views, which seemed whimsical to his neighbours, were wart and firm to the last; but they say he grew less talk-often enough admired by learned people out of towns and ative towards the end, and would listen to other people by colleges. Indeed, he had a very noble old age, and grew the hour in an amused and sympathetic silence. Only, when daily better known; so that his fame was heard of in the he did speak, it was more to the point and more charged cities of the plain; and young men who had been summer with old experience. He drank a bottle of wine gladly; above travellers spoke together in cafes of Will o’ the Mill and all, at sunset on the hill-top or quite late at night under the his rough philosophy. Many and many an invitation, you stars in the arbour. The sight of something attractive and may be sure, he had; but nothing could tempt him from his unatttainable seasoned his enjoyment, he would say; and upland valley. He would shake his head and smile over his he professed he had lived long enough to admire a candle tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. ‘You come too late,’
all the more when he could compare it with a planet.
he would answer. ‘I am a dead man now: I have lived and One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed died already. Fifty years ago you would have brought my in such uneasiness of body and mind that he arose and heart into my mouth; and now you do not even tempt me.
dressed himself and went out to meditate in the arbour. It 69
Robert Louis Stevenson
was pitch dark, without a star; the river was swollen, and and flowed: he was sometimes half-asleep and drowned in the wet woods and meadows loaded the air with perfume.
his recollections of the past; and sometimes he was broad It had thundered during the day, and it promised more thun-awake, wondering at himself. But about the middle of the der for the morrow. A murky, stifling night for a man of night he was startled by the voice of the dead miller calling seventy-two! Whether it was the weather or the wakeful-to him out of the house as he used to do on the arrival of ness, or some little touch of fever in his old limbs, Will’s custom. The hallucination was so perfect that Will sprang mind was besieged by tumultuous and crying memories.
from his seat and stood listening for the summons to be His boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the death repeated; and as he listened he became conscious of an-of his adopted parents, the summer days with Marjory, and other noise besides the brawling of the river and the ring-many of those small circumstances, which seem nothing to ing in his feverish ears. It was like the stir of horses and the another, and are yet the very gist of a man’s own life to creaking of harness, as though a carriage with an impatient himself – things seen, words heard, looks misconstrued –
team had been brought up upon the road before the court-arose from their forgotten corners and usurped his atten-yard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough and dangerous tion. The dead themselves were with him, not merely tak-pass, the supposition was no better than absurd; and Will ing part in this thin show of memory that defiled before his dismissed it from his mind, and resumed his seat upon the brain, but revisiting his bodily senses as they do in pro-arbour chair; and sleep closed over him again like running found and vivid dreams. The fat young man leaned his el-water. He was once again awakened by the dead miller’s bows on the table opposite; Marjory came and went with call, thinner and more spectral than before; and once again an apronful of flowers between the garden and the arbour; he heard the noise of an equipage upon the road. And so he could hear the old parson knocking out his pipe or blow-thrice and four times, the same dream, or the same fancy, ing his resonant nose. The tide of his consciousness ebbed presented itself to his senses: until at length, smiling to 70
Merry Men
himself as when one humours a nervous child, he proceeded what unmanned, rubbing his eyes and staring at the outline towards the gate to set his uncertainty at rest.
of the house and the black night behind it. While he thus From the arbour to the gate was no great distance, and stood, and it seemed as if he must have stood there quite a yet it took Will some time; it seemed as if the dead thick-long time, there came a renewal of the noises on the road: ened around him in the court, and crossed his path at every and he turned in time to meet a stranger, who was advanc-step. For, first, he was suddenly surprised by an overpow-ing to meet him across the court. There was something ering sweetness of heliotropes; it was as if his garden had like the outline of a great carriage discernible on the road been planted with this flower from end to end, and the hot, behind the stranger, and, above that, a few black pine-tops, damp night had drawn forth all their perfumes in a breath.
like so many plumes.
Now the heliotrope had been Marjory’s favourite flower,
‘Master Will?’ asked the new-comer, in brief military fashion.
and since her death not one of them had ever been planted
‘That same, sir,’ answered Will. ‘Can I do anything to in Will’s ground.
serve you?’
‘I must be going crazy,’ he thought. ‘Poor Marjory and
‘I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will,’ returned her heliotropes!’
the other; ‘much spoken of, and well. And though I have both And with that he raised his eyes towards the window hands full of business, I wish to drink a bottle of wine with that had once been hers. If he had been bewildered before, you in your arbour. Before I go, I shall introduce myself.’
he was now almost terrified; for there was a light in the Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted and room; the window was an orange oblong as of yore; and a bottle uncorked. He was not altogether unused to such the corner of the blind was lifted and let fall as on the night complimentary interviews, and hoped little enough from when he stood and shouted to the stars in his perplexity.
this one, being schooled by many disappointments. A sort The illusion only endured an instant; but it left him some-of cloud had settled on his wits and prevented him from 71
Robert Louis Stevenson
remembering the strangeness of the hour. He moved like a positive but myself; not one. I have crossed the whims, in person in his sleep; and it seemed as if the lamp caught fire my time, of kings and generals and great artists. And what and the bottle came uncorked with the facility of thought.
would you say,’ he went on, ‘if I had come up here on Still, he had some curiosity about the appearance of his purpose to cross yours?’
visitor, and tried in vain to turn the light into his face; ei-Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder; but ther he handled the lamp clumsily, or there was a dimness the politeness of an old innkeeper prevailed; and he held over his eyes; but he could make out little more than a his peace and made answer with a civil gesture of the hand.
shadow at table with him. He stared and stared at this
‘I have,’ said the stranger. ‘And if I did not hold you in a shadow, as he wiped out the glasses, and began to feel particular esteem, I should make no words about the mat-cold and strange about the heart. The silence weighed upon ter. It appears you pride yourself on staying where you him, for he could hear nothing now, not even the river, but are. You mean to stick by your inn. Now I mean you shall the drumming of his own arteries in his ears.
come for a turn with me in my barouche; and before this
‘Here’s to you,’ said the stranger, roughly.
bottle’s empty, so you shall.’
‘Here is my service, sir,’ replied Will, sipping his wine,
‘That would be an odd thing, to be sure,’ replied Will, which somehow tasted oddly.
with a chuckle. ‘Why, sir, I have grown here like an old oak-
‘I understand you are a very positive fellow,’ pursued tree; the Devil himself could hardly root me up: and for all I the stranger.
perceive you are a very entertaining old gentleman, I would Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction and a wager you another bottle you lose your pains with me.’
little nod.
The dimness of Will’s eyesight had been increasing all
‘So am I,’ continued the other; ‘and it is the delight of this while; but he was somehow conscious of a sharp and my heart to tramp on people’s corns. I will have nobody chilling scrutiny which irritated and yet overmastered him.
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‘You need not think,’ he broke out suddenly, in an ex-all plain and I forgive all sins; and where my patients have plosive, febrile manner that startled and alarmed himself, gone wrong in life, I smooth out all complications and set
‘that I am a stay-at-home, because I fear anything under them free again upon their feet.’
God. God knows I am tired enough of it all; and when the
‘I have no need of you,’ said Will.
time comes for a longer journey than ever you dream of, I
‘A time comes for all men, Master Will,’ replied the doc-reckon I shall find myself prepared.’
tor, ‘when the helm is taken out of their hands. For you, The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away from because you were prudent and quiet, it has been long of him. He lo