And that was about all I could extract by the most artful questions. I took my revenge by telling Jonathan the deacon’s compliment to Griz. “He said she didn’t get restless standing, the way so many horses did. I thought of mentioning that you were a rather good judge of horses, in an amateur way, but then I thought it might seem like boasting, so I didn’t.”
After that, of course, I didn’t really deserve to hear the whole story, but the next night I happened to be in the hammock while Jonathan was talking to a neighbor at the front gate, and he was relating the incident with detail enough to have satisfied the most hungry gossip. Only thus did I learn that Bill Howard, who had wound the rope twice round the post to give himself a little leeway, was drawn right up to the post when she set back; that they had been afraid the headstall would tear off; that they had been rather nervous about the post, and other such little points, which I had not been clever enough to elicit by my questions.
Now, why? Probably a man likes to tell a story when he likes to tell it. I find myself wondering how much Odysseus told Penelope about his adventures when she got him to herself for a good talk. Is it significant that his really long story was told to the King of the Phæacians?
As to Griz:—it would perhaps not be worth while to recount her subsequent history. It was a curious one, consisting of long stretches of continuous and ostentatious [pg 179] meekness, broken by sudden flare-ups which, after their occurrence, always seemed incredible. She never again “set back” when Jonathan was the one to hitch her, but this was a concession made to him personally, and had no effect on her general habits. We talked of changing her name, but could never manage it. We thought of selling her, but she was too valuable—most of the time. And when we finally parted from her our relief was deeply tinged with regret.
I have sometimes wondered whether such flare-ups were not the natural and necessary means of recuperation from such depths of meekness. I have even wondered whether the original Griselda may not have—but this is not a dissertation on early Italian poetry, nor on the nature of women.
IX
A Rowboat Pilgrimage
We were glad that the plan of the rowboat cruise dawned upon us almost a year before it came to pass. We were the gainers by just that rich length of expectancy.