CHAPTER XI
ABOUT THE FEAST OF ST. GOOSE
The cult of the goose, so far as it concerns Tavistock Fair, is gastronomic entirely, and has no religious significance. At dedication festivals of a church some particular saint is flattered with decorations and services, and his existence upon this world at one time is taken for granted. In certain places a few bones are produced for the edification of the faithful, and advertised as the great toe or the jaw of the patron in question. Goose bones are displayed at the "gurt vair" in lieu of the living creature, and they are unmistakably genuine, for there is plenty of sound meat upon them. St. Goose is honoured with the fun of the fair, while he himself is offered up on a charger. The congregation of countryfolk devour their canonised bird, and wash him down with beer and cider. There is not a living goose to be seen about the town, but the atmosphere of the principal street is thick and fragrant with sage and onions.
Peter and Mary trod the wide roads as delicately as large boots could, feeling far too nervous to enjoy themselves. Peter would not enter into the pleasure of the fair until he had swallowed several stimulating pints, and even Mary was willing to take a little cordial for the sake of her nerves. It was not so much the noises which disconcerted her—there was plenty of howling wind and roaring water down Tavy Cleave—as their unaccustomed nature. She was not used to steam roundabouts, megaphones, and all the drums and shoutings of the showmen. When Peter proposed an aërial trip upon wooden horses, Mary moved an amendment in favour of light refreshment. Peter could not object to a suggestion so full of sense, so they passed beside the statue of Francis Drake, crossed the road, and were getting clear of the crowd, when a familiar laugh reached their ears, and Mary saw a fresh and happy pair of youngsters. Boodles and Aubrey, in high spirits and good health, laughing at everything merely because they were together for a good long day. Boodles had never looked nicer. West-country beauty is nothing but fair hair and tinted skin; but Boodles was all glorious just then. She was a flame rather than a flower. Her hair had never looked so radiant, or her skin more golden. She was as happy as she could be; and when a girl is like that she has to look splendid, whether she likes it or no.
Mary was soon after her, bellowing like a bullock, lunging with the umbrella, shouting! "Aw, Miss Boodles! Aw, my dear! I be come to the vair tu. Me and Peter has come to Goosie Vair. Where be ye going, my dear?"
Boodles turned with a look of amazement. She had her flaming hair up, beneath a big straw hat which was trimmed with poppies, and her dainty frock just touched her ankles. She looked so deliciously clean that Mary hardly liked to come near her, and she smelt, not like a chemist's shop, but like the sweet earth after a shower. Mary drew her right hand swiftly across her big tongue, rubbed the palm upon her buttock, and held it out. She always shook hands with Boodles whenever they met. She felt that the civilising contact lent her some of the womanhood which nature had withheld.
"It's so jolly!" cried the child. "Such a lovely day, and everything perfect. I'm glad you have come—and Peter too! Aubrey, this is Mary who gives us eggs and butter. She and Peter live upon Tavy Cleave. You know!"
Mary cleansed her right hand again.
"Why, Where's Peter?" cried Boodles.
Peter was already across the road, following his little turned-up nose in the direction of a door which suggested pewters.