XII
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
Compton Arms, Stony Cross, New Forest,
July 25th
Little Star-Mother: It's very late to-night, or early to-morrow, but I did want to write you on my birthday; and besides, I am in a hurry to tell you about the fairylike experience I have had. I am in fairyland even here and now; but I have been to the heart of it. I shall never forget.
Oh, but first—the sunrise, my birthday sunrise. It was wonderful, and made me think how much time I have wasted, hardly ever accepting its invitations. I believe I will turn over a new leaf. I shall get up very, very early every day, and go to bed very, very late, so as to squeeze all the juice out of the orange, and wring every minute out of my youth. I feel so alive, I don't want to lose the "morning glory." When I'm old I shall do differently. I'll go to bed directly after dinner and sleep late, so that age may be short, following a long youth. Isn't that a good plan to make on my twenty-first birthday?
Sir Lionel hadn't forgotten, and wished me many happy returns of the day; but he didn't give me a present, so I hoped he had changed his mind. We got back to Salisbury about the time Mrs. Norton and Mrs. Senter were having their breakfasts in bed (they hadn't heard of our expedition, and the word had gone out that we weren't to start for the New Forest till after luncheon, as it would be a short run), and we had nearly finished our tea, toast, and eggs, when Dick strolled into the coffee-room. He seemed decidedly intrigue at sight of us together at a little table, talking cozily; and that detective look came into his eyes which cats have when a mouse occurs to them. He laughed merrily, though, and chaffed us on making "secret plans." Dick hasn't a very nice laugh. It's too explosive and loud. (Don't you think other animals must consider the laughter of humans an odd noise, without rhyme or reason?)
Also Dick has a nasty way of saying "thank you" to a waiter; with the rising inflection, you know, which is nicely calculated to make the servant feel himself the last of God's creatures.
By two o'clock we had said good-bye to Salisbury ("good-bye" for me, "au revoir" for the others, perhaps), and were kinematographing in and out of charming scenery, lovelier perhaps than any we'd seen yet. Under green gloom of forests, where it seemed a prisoned dryad might be napping in each tree, and where only a faun could have been a suitable chauffeur; past heatherland, just lit to rosy fire by the sun's blaze; through billowy country where grain was gold and silver, meadows were "flawed emeralds set in copper," and here and there a huge dark blot meant a prehistoric barrow.
The car played us a trick for the first time, and Young Nick, looking more like Buddha than ever, got down to have a heart-to-heart talk with the motor. I think Apollo had swallowed a crumb, or something, for he coughed and wheezed, and wouldn't move except with gasps, until he had been patted under the bonnet, and tickled with all sorts of funny instruments, such as a giant's dentist might use. It was fun, though, for us irresponsible ones, while Sir Lionel and Nick tried different things to get the crumb out of Apollo's throat. Other motorists flew by scornfully, like the Priest and the Levite, or slowed up to ask if they could help, and looked with some interest at Mrs. Senter and me, sitting there like mantelpiece ornaments. I didn't even want to slaughter them for the dust they made, now that I'm a real motorist myself, for "dog cannot eat dog"; and even cyclists seemed like our poor relations.