“How does one make a dog understand?” asked Cyril, and the farmer laughed brutally.
“Boy dumb too?” he asked.
“Not a bit of it; only asleep. I would wake him up and let you hear how he can talk, but that he is tired and would be troublesome.”
The old man laughed again, and they rowed on in silence for a time. Then he said suddenly, “If you have been on pilgrimage, I suppose you saw the tomb of St Gabriel at Tatarjé? What is it like?”
“Of course we saw it,” returned Cyril indignantly, and he began to describe the shrine, which he and the other members of the Court had visited as the only show-place in Tatarjé. But his hearer’s attention wandered.
“What did you want to take her on pilgrimage for?” he asked, jerking his head towards the Queen. “Did it do her any good?”
“It hasn’t given her a voice, as you see. But the fact was, I wanted to take the boy, and he can’t look after himself. Besides, she wanted to come.”
“Ah, you don’t know how to manage a wife. The idea of letting a woman go anywhere because she wished it!” and the old man turned chuckling to his oars again, and chuckled until the boat arrived at the opposite bank.
“Now then, young man, out you go, and your relations too,” he said.
“Don’t you mean to take us any farther?” asked Cyril, in a tone of dire dismay.