“Tell I about them places, sir,” said the poacher, “like what you sings about.” Instinctively, and without reasoning, he knew that a long talk was the best remedy for his friend; and gradually, by careful questioning, he launched him forth upon distant seas, and led him to speak of countries far away from the catalepsy of his present existence.
Jim spoke of the winding roads which lead up to the hills of Ceylon, where the ground is covered with little crimson blossoms of the Laritana, and where the peacocks, sitting in rows by the wayside, utter their wild cries as the bullock-bandies go lurching by, and the monkeys swing from tree to tree, chattering at the travellers. He spoke of the Aroe Islands, where, once a year, the pearl merchants are gathered; and he pictured in words the scene at night on the still waters when every kind of craft is afloat, and every kind of lantern sways under the stars in the warm breath of the wind.
Thence his memory leapt over the seas to the southern coasts of Italy, where, upon a hot summer’s night, the little harbour of Brindisi was gay with lanterns in like manner, and the sound of mandolins floated across the water; while the narrow streets were thronged with townspeople taking the air after the heat of the day. Later, he wandered to the slopes of Lebanon, where clear rivulets rush down from the hills, through thickets of oleander, and tumble at last into the blue Mediterranean. He spoke of mulberry orchards, and open tracts covered with a bewildering maze of flowers and flowering bushes: poppies, broom, speedwell, lupin, and many another, so that the hillsides, overhanging the sea, are dazzling to the eyes.
And so he came to Egypt and the desert, and told of the jackal-tracks which lead back from the Nile into the barren, mysterious hills, where a man may lose himself and die of thirst within a mile or two of hidden wells; where the mirage rises like a lake from the parched sand, and lures the thirsty traveller to his doom; and where the vultures circle in the blue heavens, waiting for the men and the camels who fall and lie still.
For a long time he sat talking thus, while the moon rose above the trees; but at length the chill of the air reminded him that he ought to be returning to the manor, and, picking up his guitar, he rose to his feet. Smiley-face, however, did not move. He was staring in front of him, his two hands thrust into the grass.
“Come along,” said Jim. “I must go back to the house now.”
The poacher looked up at him with a curious expression upon his face. “Reckon you baint agoin’ to tell I what your trouble is, sir,” he smiled.
Jim shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I can’t talk about it, somehow. But I’ll tell you this, Smiley-face: if I ever do talk to anybody about it all it’ll be to you.”
When he reached the manor, Jim found that he was late for dinner; and at the foot of the stairs he was confronted by Dolly, who was much annoyed at seeing him still in his day clothes.
“Oh, James!” she exclaimed, angrily. “Where have you been? Dinner has already been kept back a quarter of an hour for you.”