Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

wanted. The nearest town, according to my best calculation, lay about five miles distant; I had no doubt, however, that by using ordinary diligence I should be back before evening. In order to go lighter, I determined to leave my tent standing as it was, and all the things which I had purchased of the tinker, just as they were. “I need not be apprehensive on their account,” said I to myself; “nobody will come here to meddle with them; the great recommendation of this place is its perfect solitude; I daresay that I could live here six months without seeing a single human visage. I will now harness my little gry and be off to the town.”

At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding on the bank near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me: for by this time he had become so accustomed to me, that he would obey my call for all the world as if he had been one of the canine species. “Now,” said I to him, “we are going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats for you. I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you to do your best, and to draw me and the cart to the town with all possible speed, and to bring us back; if you do your best, I promise you oats on your return. You know the meaning of oats, Ambrol?”

Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood me perfectly well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once fed him during the time he had been in my possession without saying the word in question to him. Now, ambrol, in the Gypsy tongue, signifieth a pear.

So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I removed two or three things from out it into the tent; I then lifted up the shafts, and was just going to call to the pony to come and be fastened to them, when I thought I heard a noise.

I stood stock still supporting the shaft of the little cart in my hand, and bending the right side of my face slightly towards the ground; but I could hear nothing. The noise which I thought I had heard was not one of those sounds which I was accustomed to hear in that solitude: the note of a bird, or the rustling of a bough; it was⁠—there I heard it again, a sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst gravel. Could it proceed from the road? Oh no, the road was too far distant for me to hear the noise of anything moving along it. Again I listened, and now I distinctly heard the sound of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the dingle; nearer and nearer they drew, and presently the sound of wheels was blended with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard a boisterous shout, which seemed to proceed from the entrance of the dingle. “Here are folks at hand,” said I, letting the shaft of the cart fall to the ground, “is it possible that they can be coming here?”

My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon dispelled; the wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or two, were once again in motion, and were now evidently moving down the winding path which led to my retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself near the entrance of the open space, with my eyes fixed on the path down which my unexpected, and I may say unwelcome, visitors were coming. Presently I heard a stamping or sliding, as if of a horse in some difficulty; and then a loud curse, and the next moment appeared a man and a horse and cart; the former holding the head of the horse up to prevent him from falling, of which he was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of the path. Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted from me. When, however, he had reached the bottom of the descent, he turned his head, and perceiving me, as I stood bareheaded, without either coat or waistcoat, about two yards from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent, that the backward motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon his haunches.

“Why don’t you move forward?” said a voice from behind, apparently that of a female, “you are stopping up the way, and we shall be all down upon one another;” and I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of the cart.

“Why don’t you move forward, Jack?” said another voice, also of a female, yet higher up the path.

The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which he had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much drawn back, his left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till it was clean down on his haunches.

“What’s the matter?” said the voice which I had last heard.

“Get back with you, Belle, Moll,” said the man, still staring at me, “here’s something not over-canny or comfortable.”

“What is it?” said the same voice; “let me pass, Moll, and I’ll soon clear the way,” and I heard a kind of rushing down the path.

“You need not be afraid,” said I, addressing myself to the man, “I mean you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself⁠—come here to seek for shelter⁠—you need not be afraid; I am a Roman chabo by matriculation⁠—one of the right sort, and no mistake. Good day to ye, brother; I bid ye welcome.”

The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then turning to his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches, and led him and the