224 
American Agriculturist, March 1,1924 
The Broad Highway-sy/e«er 7 Fame; 
T HE Pedler fell back, staring. 
“By Goles!” he exclaimed. “So you are married, then?” 
Now, when he said this I felt suddenly hot all over, even to the very tips of my 
ears, and, for the life of me, I could not have looked at Charmian. | 
“Why—why—” I began, but her smooth, soft voice came to my rescue. 
“No—he is not married,” said she, “far from it.’ 
“Here,” said I hastily, “here—sell me a broom!” 
The Pedler drew a broom from his bundle and passed it to me. 
“One shillin’ and sixpence!” said he, which sum I duly paid over. “Don't,” he 
continued, pocketing the money, and turning to Charmian, “don t go spilin’ things 
by lettin’ this young cove go a-marryin’ and’ a-churchin’ ye- 
“Come—I’ll take a belt—give me a belt!” said I, more hastily than before. 
“Two shillin’ an’ sixpence!” said the Pedler. 
“When I saw you last time, you offered much the same belt for a shilling, I de¬ 
murred. 
“Ah!” nodded the Pedler, “but belts is riz—’arf-a-crown’s the price—take it or 
leave it.” 
“It’s getting late,” said I, slipping the money into his hand, “and I’ll wish you 
good-night!” 
“Ah—to be sure!” nodded the fellow, looking from me to Charmian with an evil 
leer. 
“Come—get off!” said I angrily. 
“Wot—are ye goin’ to turn me away 
at this time o’ night!” 
“It is not so far to Sissinghurst!” said I. 
“An’ you don’t want to buy nothin’ 
for the young woman—•” But here, 
meeting my eye, he shouldered his brooms 
hastily and moved off. And, after he had 
gone some dozen yards or so, he paused 
and turned. 
“Very well then!” he shouted, “I 
’opes as you gets your ’ead knocked off— 
soon!” Having said which, he trudged 
off. 
CHAPTER XIV 
CONCERNING BLACK GEORGE’S LETTER 
I T WAS with a feeling of great relief 
that I watched the fellow out of sight; 
nevertheless his very presence seemed to 
not speak, Charmian began to sing, very 
sweet and low, yet, when I chanced to 
glance towards her, I found her mocking 
eyes still watching me. Now the words 
of her song were these: 
“O, my luve’s like a red, red rose. 
That’s newly sprung in June; 
O, my luve’s like the melodie 
That’s sweetly played in tune.” 
And so, at last, I rose and, taking my 
candle, went into my room and closed the 
door. But I had been there scarcely five 
minutes when Charmian knocked. 
“Oh, Peter! I wish to speak to you— 
please.” Obediently I opened the door. 
“What is it, Charmian?” 
“You dropped this from your pocket 
when you took out your tinder-box so 
clumsily!” said she, holding towards 
me a crumpled paper. It was Black 
have left a blight upon all things, so that, George’s letter to Prudence. . 
glancing over my shoulder, I was glad to 
see that Charmian had re-entered the 
cottage, 
“Here,” said I to myself, “here is 
Common-sense in the shape of a half¬ 
witted peddling fellow, blundering into 
Arcadia, in the shape of a haunted cottage, 
a woman, and a man. Straightway our 
Pedler, being Common-sense, misjudges 
us—as, indeed, would every other com¬ 
mon-sense individual the world over.” 
Here I found that I had been standing, 
all this while, the broom in one hand 
and the belt in the other, and I turned and 
saw Charmian in the open doorway 
watching me. 
“And so you are the—the cove—with 
the white hands and the taking ways, are 
you, Peter?” 
“Why, you were actually listening 
then?” 
“Why, of course I was.” 
“That,” said I, “that was very— 
undignified!” 
“But very—feminine, Peter!” Here¬ 
upon I threw the belt from me one way, 
and the broom the other, and sitting down 
upon the bench began to fill my pipe 
rather awkwardly, / being conscious of 
Charmian’s mocking scrutiny. 
“Poor—poor Black George!” she 
sighed. 
“What do you mean by that?” said I 
quickly. 
“You walked with her, and talked 
with her, Peter—like Caesar, ‘you came, 
vou saw, you conquered!’ ” 
' Here I dragged my tinder-box from my 
pocket so awkwardly as to bring the 
lining with it. 
“And even smiled at her, Peter—and 
you so rarely smile!” 
I thrust the tinder-box back into my 
pocket and fixed my gaze upon the 
moon. 
“Is she so very pretty, Peter f” 
I stared up at the moon without 
answering. 
“I wonder if you bother her witlj your 
Epictetus and—’and drv-as-dust quota¬ 
tions?” 
1 I bit my lips and stared up at the 
moon. 
I “Or perhaps she likes your musty 
books and philosophy? ” 
But presently, finding that I would 
Now, as I took it, I noticed that her 
hand trembled, while in her eyes I read 
fear and trouble; and seeing this, I was 
unwontedly glad, and then wondered 
at myself. 
“You did not read it, of course?” said 
I, well knowing that she had. 
“Yes, Peter. It lay open, and—” 
“Then,” said I, “you know that she 
loves George.” 
“He means you harm,” said she, 
“and, if he killed you—” 
“I should be spared a deal of sorrow, 
and—and mortification, and other people 
would be no longer bothered by dry-as- 
dust quotations.” She turned suddenly, 
and, crossing to the open doorway, stood 
leaning there. “But, indeed,” I w r ent on 
hurriedly, “there is no chance of such a 
thing happening—not the remotest. Black 
George’s bark is a. thousand times worse 
than his bite; this letter means nothing, 
and—er—nothing at all,” I ended, some¬ 
what lamely, for she had turned and was 
looking at me over her shoulder. 
“TF HE has to ‘wait and wait, and follow 
A you and follow you? ’ ” said she, in the 
same low tone. 
“Those are merely the words of a half- 
mad pedler,” said I. 
“‘And your blood will go soaking, and 
soaking into the grass!’” 
“Our Pedler has a vivid imagination!’’ 
said I lightly. But she turned to look 
out upon the beauty of the night once 
more, while I watched her. 
“I was angry with you to-night, Peter,” 
said she at length, “because you ordered 
me to do something against my will— 
and I did it; and so, I tried to torment 
you—you will forgive me for that, won't 
your 
“There is nothing to forgive, nothing, 
and—good night, Charmian.” Here she 
turned, and, coming to me, gave me her 
hand. 
“Charmian Brown will always think 
of you as a—” 
“Blacksmith!” said I. 
“As a blacksmith!” she repeated, with 
a gleam in her eyes, ‘‘but oftener as 
a—” 
“Pedant!” said I. 
“As a pedant!” she repeated obedi¬ 
ently, “but most of all as a—” 
“Well?” said I. 
“As a—man,” she ended, speaking with 
bent head. And here again I was 
possessed of a sudden gladness that was 
out of all reason. 
“Your hand is very small,” said I, 
finding nothing better to sav, “smaller 
even than I thought.” 
“Is it?” and she smiled and glanced up 
at me beneath her lashes. 
“And wonderfully smooth and soft!"’ 
“Is it?” said she again, but this time 
she did not look^ up. Now another man 
might have stooped and kissed those 
slender, shapely fingers—but, as for me, 
I loosed them, rather suddenly, and, 
once more bidding her good-night, re¬ 
entered my own chamber, and closed the 
door. 
But to-night, lying upon my bed, I 
could not sleep, and fell to watching the 
luminous patch of sky framed in my 
open casement. I thought of Charmian, 
of her beauty, of her strange whims and 
fancies, her swift-changing moods and 
her contrariness. Little by little, how¬ 
ever, my thoughts drifted to Gabbing 
Dick and Black George, and, with my 
mind’s eye, I could see him as he was 
(perhaps at this very moment), fierce¬ 
eyed and grim, sitting beneath some 
hedgerow, while he trimmed and trimmed 
his two bludgeons, one of which was to 
batter the life out of me. From such 
disquieting reflections I would turn my 
mind to Prudence, to the Ancient, the 
forge, and the thousand and one duties 
of the morrow. I bethought me of the 
storm, of the coming of Charmian, of the 
fierce struggle in the dark, of the Postilion, 
and of Charmian again. And yet, in 
despite of me, my thoughts would revert 
to George, and I would see myself as the 
Pedler pictured me, in some secluded 
corner of the woods, lying stiffly upon my 
back with glassy eyes staring up sight¬ 
lessly through the whispering leaves 
above, while my blood soaked and soaked 
into the green, and with a blackbird 
singing gloriously upon my motionless 
breast. 
CHAPTER XV 
WHICH, BEING IN PARENTHESIS, MAY BE 
SKIPPED IF THE READER SO DESIRE 
A S this life is a Broad Highway along 
• which we must all of us pass; as it is 
a thoroughfare sometimes very hard and 
cruel in the going, and sometimes deso¬ 
late and hatefully monotonous, so, also, 
must its aspect, sooner or lateiN change for 
the better, and we may reach some green, 
refreshing haven shady with trees, and 
full of of the cool, sweet sound of running 
waters. Then who shall blame us if we 
pause unduly in this grateful shade, and, 
lying upon our backs a while, gaze up 
through the trees to the infinite blue be¬ 
yond, ere we journey on once more to 
whatsoever of good or evil lies waiting for 
us. 
To just such a place am I now come in 
this, my history; the record of a period 
which I afterwards remembered as the 
happiest I had ever known, the memory 
of which must remain with me, green and 
fragrant everlastingly. 
If, in the forthcoming pages, you shall 
find over-much of Charmian, I would say, 
in the first place, that it is upon her, that 
this narrative hangs; and, in the second 
place, that in this part of my story I find 
my greatest pleasure; though here, in¬ 
deed, I am faced with a great difficulty. 
seeing that I must depict that most 
difficult, that most elusive of all created 
things, to wit—a woman. 
Truly, I begin to fear lest my pen fail 
me altogether for the very reason that of 
Charmian I understand little more than 
nothing; for what rule has ever been de¬ 
vised whereby a woman’s mind may be 
accurately gauged, and who of all those 
wise ones who have written has ever 
fathomed the why and wherefore of the 
Mind Feminine? 
A fool indeed were I to attempt a thing 
impossible; I do but seek to show her to 
you as L saw her, and to describe her in so 
far as I learned to know her. 
And yet, how may I begin? I might 
tell you that her nose was neither arched 
nor straight, but perfect, none the less; 
I might tell you of her brows, straight 
and low, of her eyes, long and heavy- 
lashed, of her chin, firm and round and 
dimpled; and yet, that would not be 
Charmian. For I could not paint you the 
scarlet witchery of her mouth with its 
sudden, bewildering changes. I might 
tell you that to look into her eyes was 
like gazing down into very deep water, 
but I could never give you their varying 
beauty, nor the way she had with her 
lashes; nor can I ever describe her rich, 
warm coloring, nor the lithe grace of her 
body. 
Thus it is that I misdoubt my pen of 
its task, and fear that, when you shall 
have read these pages, you shall, at best, 
have caught but a very imperfect reflec¬ 
tion of Charmian as she really is. 
Wherefore, I will waste no more time 
or paper upon so unprofitable a task, but 
hurry on with my narrative, leaving you 
to find her out as best you may. 
CHAPTER XVI 
CONCERNING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, 
THE PRICE OF BEEF, AND THE LADY SOPHIA 
SEFTON OF CAMBOURNE 
C HARMIAN sighed, bit the end of her 
pen, and sighed again. She was deep 
in her housekeeping accounts, adding and 
subtracting and regarding the result with 
a rueful frown. 
Her sleeves were rolled up over her 
round, white arms, and she sighed, and 
nibbled her pen, and sighed again. 
“What is it, Charmian?” 
“Compound addition, Peter, and I 
hate figures—I detest, loathe, and 
abominate them—especially when they 
won't balance!” 
“Then never mind them,” said I. 
“Never mind them, indeed—the idea, 
sir! How can I help minding them when 
living costs so much and we so poor? 
“Yes—to be sure—I suppose we are,’ 
said I dreamily. 
Lais was beautiful, Thais was alluring, 
and Berenice was famous for her beauty, 
but then, could either of them have 
shown such arms—so long, so graceful 
hi their every movement, so subtly 
rounded, arms which, for all their seem¬ 
ing firmness, must (I thought) be won¬ 
derfully soft to the touch, and smooth 
as ivory? 
“We have spent four shillings for meat 
this week, Peter!” said Charmian, glanc¬ 
ing up suddenly. 
“Good!” said I. 
“Nonsense, sir—four shillings is most 
extravagant!” 
“Oh!” said I; “yes—perhaps it is.” 
(Continued on page 225) 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE STORY SO FAR 
C HARMIAN, whom Peter has befriended, continues to stay in the cottage 
which he fitted up for his own use. Peter works at the forge alone, for Black 
George, the smith, has quarreled with him over Prue, George’s sweetheart, and 
disappeared. Peter has had many adventures, since leaving London after being 
disinherited by his uncle’s will unless he marry a great lady he has never seen, and 
among them is a mysterious attempt upon his life. Charmian has recently pro¬ 
tected him from a similar attack. 
Among other curious characters, Peter has met a half-mad Pedler who turns 
up in his lonely Hollow. He sees Charmian at the cottage door. 
