LITMIR.BIZ

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said:

      "It is a dull life. What should a King do in a Barn?"

      So saying, he pulled the last handful of hay from under him, rising up quickly before he had time to fall down, and gave it to his nag; and next he tied up his scepter and crown with his change of linen in a blue handkerchief; and last he fetched a rope and a sack and put them on Pepper for bridle and saddle, and rode out of the Barn leaving the door to swing.

      "Let us go south, Pepper," said he, "for it is warmer to ride into the sun than away from it, and so we shall visit my Father's lands that might have been mine."

      South they went, with the great Downs ahead of them, and who knew what beyond? And first they came to the Hawking Sopers, who when they saw William approaching tumbled out of their dwelling with a great racket, crying to him to come and drink and play with them.

      "Not I," said he. "For so I should lose my Barn to you, and such as it is it is a shelter, and my only one. But tell me, if you can, what should a King do in a Barn?"

      "He should dance in it," said they, and went laughing and singing back to their cups.

      "What sort of advice is this, Pepper?" said the King. "Shall we try elsewhere?"

      The nag whinnied with unusual vehemence, and the King, taking this for yea, and not observing that she limped as she went, rode on to the Doves: the gentle gray-gowned Brothers who spent their days in pious works and their nights in meditation. Between the twelve hours of twilight and dawn they were pledged not to utter speech, but the King arriving there at noon they welcomed him with kind words, and offered him a bowl of rice and milk.

      He thanked them, and when he had eaten and drink put to them his riddle.

      "What should a King do in a Barn?"

      They answered, "He should pray in it."

      "This may be good advice," said the King. "Pepper, should we go further?"

      The little nag whinnied till her sides shook, which the King took, as before, to be an affirmative. However, because it was Sunday he remained with the Doves a day and a night, and during such time as their lips were not sealed they urged him to become one of them, and found a new settlement of Brothers in his Barn. He spent his night in reflection, but by morning had come to no decision.

      "To what better use could you dedicate it?" asked the Chief Brother, who was known as the Ringdove because he was the leader.

      "None that I can think of," said the King, "but I fear I am not good enough."

      "When you have passed our initiation," said the Ringdove, "you will be."

      "Is it difficult?" asked William.

      "No, it is very easy, and can be accomplished within a month. You have only to ride south till you come to the hills, on the highest of which you will see a Ring of beech-trees. Under the hills lies the little village of Washington, and there you may dwell in comfort through the week. But on each of the four Saturdays of the lunar month you must mount the hill at sunset and keep a vigil among the beeches till sunrise. And you must see that these Saturdays occur on the fourth quarters of the moon—once when she is in her crescent, once at the half, again at the full, and lastly when she is waning."

      "And is this all?" said William. "It sounds very simple."

      "Not quite all, but the rest is nearly as simple. You have but to observe four rules. First, to tell no living soul of your resolve during the month of initiation. Second, to keep your vigil always between the two great beeches in the middle of the Ring. Third, to issue forth at midnight and immerse your head in the Dewpond which lies on the hilltop to the west, and having done so to return to your watch between the trees. And fourth, to make no utterance on any account whatever from sunset to sunrise."

      "Suppose I should sneeze?" inquired the King anxiously.

      "There's no supposing about it," said the Ringdove. "Sneezing, seeing that your head will be extremely wet, is practically inevitable. But the rule applies only to such utterance as lies within human control. When the fourth vigil has been successfully accomplished, return to us for a blessing and the gray robe of our Order."

      "But how," asked the King, "during my vigils shall I know when midnight is due?"

      "In the third quarter after eleven a bird sings. At the beginning of its song go forth from the Ring, and at the ending plunge your head into the Pond. For on these nights the bird sings ceaselessly for fifteen minutes, but stops at the very moment of midnight."

      "And is this really all?"

      "This is all."

      "How easy it is to become good," said William cheerfully. "I will begin at once."

      So impatient was he to become a Brother Dove—

      (But here Martin Pippin broke off abruptly, and catching the rope of the swing in his left hand he gave it a great lurch.

      Joan: Oh! Oh! Oh!

      Martin: I perceive, Mistress Joan, that you lose interest in my story. Your mouth droops.

      Joan: Oh, no! Oh, no! It is only—it is a very nice story—but—

      Martin: What cannot be said aloud can frequently be whispered.

      He leaned his ear close to her mouth, and very shyly she whispered into it.

      Joan (whispering very shyly): Why must the young King join a Brotherhood? I thought … this was to be a … love story.

      Martin smiled and chose an apple from her lap.

      "Keep this for me," said he, "until I ask for it; and if you are not then satisfied, neither will I be")

      So impatient (resumed Martin) was the King to enter the Brotherhood, that he abandoned his idea of visiting the Huddle Stone and the Wapping Thorp (which would have taken him out of his course), and, without even waiting to break his fast, leaped on to Pepper's back and turned her head southwest towards the hills. And in his eagerness he failed to remark how Pepper stumbled at every second step. Before he had gone a mile he came to the Guess Gate.

      Of the Guess Gate, as you may know, all men ask a question in passing through, and in the back-swing of the Gate it creaks an answer. So nothing more natural than that the King, having flung the Gate open, should cry aloud once more:

      "Gate, Gate! What should a King do in a Barn?"

      "Now at last," thought he, "I shall be told whether to dance or to pray in it." And he stood listening eagerly as the Gate hung an instant on its outward journey and then began to creak home.

      "He—should—rule—in—it—he—should—rule—in—it—he—should—" squeaked the Guess Gate, and then latch clicked and it was silent.

      This disconcerted William.

      "Now I am worse off than ever," he sighed. "Pray, Pepper, can this advice be bettered?"

      As usual when he questioned her, the nag pricked up her ears and whinnied so violently that he nearly fell off her back. Nevertheless, he kept Pepper's head in a beeline for Chanctonbury, never noticing how very ill she was going, and presently crossed the great High Road beyond which lay the Bush Hovel. The Wise Woman was at home; from afar the King saw her sitting outside the Hovel mending her broom with a withe from the Bush.

      "Here if anywhere," rejoiced William, "I shall learn the truth."

      He dismounted and approached the old woman, cap in hand.

      "Wise Woman," he said respectfully, "you know most things, but do you know this—whether a King should dance or pray or rule in his Barn?"

      "He should do all three, young man," said the Wise Woman.

      "But—!" exclaimed William.

      "I'm busy," snapped the Wise Woman. "You men will always be chattering, as though pots need never be stewed nor cobwebs swept." So saying,

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