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The Golden Age-Part3_Kenneth Grahame(1859-1932)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Charlotte said nothing, but breathed hard, looking straight

before her. The peerlesshunter and harper was her special hero



of romance, and rather than see the part in less appreciative

hands, she would even have returned sadly to the stuffy



schoolroom.

"I don't care," I said: "I'll be anything. I'll be Sir Kay.



Come on!"

Then once more in this country's story the mail-clad knights



paced through the greenwood shaw, questing adventure, redressing

wrong; and bandits, five to one, broke and fled discomfited to



their caves. Once again were damsels rescued, dragons

disembowelled, and giants, in every corner of the orchard,



deprived of their already superfluous number of heads; while

Palamides the Saracen waited for us by the well, and Sir Breuse



Saunce Pite vanished in craven flight before the skilled spear

that was his terror and his bane. Once more the lists were dight



in Camelot, and all was gay with shimmer of silk and gold; the

earth shook with thunder of horses, ash-staves flew in splinters;



and the firmament rang to the clash of sword on helm. The

varying fortune of the day swung doubtful--now on this side, now



on that; till at last Lancelot, grim and great, thrusting through

the press, unhorsed Sir Tristram (an easy task), and bestrode



her, threatening doom; while the Cornish knight, forgetting hard-

won fame of old, cried piteously, "You're hurting me, I tell you!



and you're tearing my frock!" Then it happed that Sir Kay,

hurtling to the rescue, stopped short in his stride, catching



sight suddenly, through apple-boughs, of a gleam of scarlet

afar off; while the confused tramp of many horses, mingled with



talk and laughter, was borne to our ears.

"What is it?" inquired Tristram, sitting up and shaking out her



curls; while Lancelot forsook the clanging lists and trotted

nimbly to the hedge.



I stood spell-bound for a moment longer, and then, with a cry of

"Soldiers!" I was off to the hedge, Charlotte picking herself up



and scurrying after.

Down the road they came, two and two, at an easy walk; scarlet



flamed in the eye, bits jingled and saddles squeaked

delightfully; while the men, in a halo of dust, smoked their



short clays like the heroes they were. In a swirl of

intoxicating glory the troop clinked and clattered by, while we



shouted and waved, jumping up and down, and the big jolly

horsemen acknowledged the salute with easy condescension. The



moment they were past we were through the hedge and after them.

Soldiers were not the common stuff of everyday life. There had



been nothing like this since the winter before last, when on a

certain afternoon--bare of leaf and monochrome in its hue of



sodden fallow and frost-nipt copse--suddenly the hounds had burst

through the fence with their mellow cry, and all the paddock was



for the minute reverberant of thudding hoof and dotted with

glancing red. But this was better, since it could only mean that



blows and bloodshed were in the air.

"Is there going to be a battle?" panted Harold, hardly able to



keep up for excitement.

"Of course there is," I replied. "We're just in time. Come on!"



Perhaps I ought to have known better; and yet-- The pigs and

poultry, with whom we chiefly consorted, could instruct us little



concerning the peace that in these latter days lapped this sea-

girt realm. In the schoolroom we were just now dallying with the



Wars of the Roses; and did not legends of the country-side inform

us how Cavaliers had once galloped up and down these very lanes



from their quarters in the village? Here, now, were soldiers

unmistakable; and if their business was not fighting, what was



it? Sniffing the joy of battle, we followed hard on their

tracks.



"Won't Edward be sorry," puffed Harold, "that he's begun that

beastly Latin?"



It did, indeed, seem hard. Edward, the most martial spirit of us

all, was drearily conjugating AMO (of all verbs) between four



walls; while Selina, who ever thrilled ecstatic to a red coat,

was struggling with the uncouth German tongue. "Age," I






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