Read Online Fair Blows the Wind (1978) by Louis - Talon-Chantry L'amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis - Talon-Chantry L'amour
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sight.
I plodded on into the forest. I was sick of running and desperately worried, for in all this broad land there was no friend to whom I could turn. Nor had I a place to go. It was lonely and tired I was when at last I seated myself on a fallen tree and began to cry.
Shamed am I to confess it, but so it was. Lonely and sick with the fear of all that was about me, with enemies all on every hand, I cried. My dear father was on my mind, and my lost home, and the knowledge that I'd no place to go nor anybody to go to anywhere that was friend to me.
"Are you hurt?"
It was a girl's voice, and I sprang to my feet, putting a hand across my eyes to wipe the tears.
She was standing there, not a dozen feet away, with a great dog beside her, a huge bull mastiff with great jowls.
"I said, are you hurt? There you sit, crying like a great booby. What sort of boy are you, anyway?"
"I was not crying!" I protested. "I was tired."
"What are you doing here in my forest?"
"Yourforest?"
"Yes, mine it is, and I did not invite you here. You are nobody I have ever seen. Are you a gypsy?"
"I amnot! "
"Well, do not be so proud. I think it not a bad thing to be a gypsy. I have often thought it would be a great thing to go riding about in a red and gold wagon, eating beside the road. I would have white horses, four of them, and I'd have Tiger with me, and--"
"Who is Tiger?"
"My dog. Tiger is his name."
"It is a cat's name. Tigers are cats," I said scornfully.
"It is not! Tiger can be a dog's name, also! My father said it could, and my father knows. Anyway," she added, "Tiger does not know it is a cat's name."
"He's a large dog," I said. And then more politely, "I am sorry I am in your wood. I--I wanted to rest."
"You are not poaching? If you were and the gamekeeper found you--"
"I do not poach," I replied proudly. "I am sorry I disturbed you. I will go now."
Yet I did not go. I did not want to go. I had talked with no child of my years in many months.
She was a pretty child, with large dark eyes and soft lips.
"Have you come far?" she asked.
"From very far away," I said.
"Your shirt is torn," she said, "and you have skinned your knee."
Looking down, I saw that my stocking was torn and my knee bloody. "I fell," I said.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"I--I have just--" I stopped in time. If I admitted to eating at the tavern all would come out, and for all I knew the tavern keeper was her friend. The tavern could not be that far away. Suddenly I realized they might still be searching for me. "I must go," I said.
"It will be night soon," she said. "Where will you sleep?" She looked at me curiously. "Will you sleep in a haycock? Or beside a hedge?"
"It does not matter." I edged away. "I must go."
I turned and took a step, then stopped. "It is a nice wood," I said. "I did not mean it harm."
"I know you did not." She stared at me. "I think you are frightened of something, and I think you should talk to my father. He is very brave." And she added, "He was a soldier."
"I must be going."
I started away and then stopped, for there was a man standing there. He was a tall, slender man with fine features and brown eyes.
"I do not know that I am very brave, my dear," he said, "but I always hoped to be. Who are you, lad?" My eyes went down the way through the trees by which I had come. I needed to be away from here. I did not want to answer questions, nor to have them discover there had been trouble at the tavern, even if it was none of my doing.
"I was just passing by," I said, "and wished to rest. It seemed better off the road than on it."
He was regarding me very seriously. The girl came up and stood beside him, taking his hand. My father had held mine just that way, sometimes. The thought made tears come to my eyes and I brushed them away quickly and turned to go.
"Wait." He did not speak loudly but there was command in his tone. Involuntarily, I stopped. "I asked who you are."
"I am nobody," I said. "I was just passing. I--I
I plodded on into the forest. I was sick of running and desperately worried, for in all this broad land there was no friend to whom I could turn. Nor had I a place to go. It was lonely and tired I was when at last I seated myself on a fallen tree and began to cry.
Shamed am I to confess it, but so it was. Lonely and sick with the fear of all that was about me, with enemies all on every hand, I cried. My dear father was on my mind, and my lost home, and the knowledge that I'd no place to go nor anybody to go to anywhere that was friend to me.
"Are you hurt?"
It was a girl's voice, and I sprang to my feet, putting a hand across my eyes to wipe the tears.
She was standing there, not a dozen feet away, with a great dog beside her, a huge bull mastiff with great jowls.
"I said, are you hurt? There you sit, crying like a great booby. What sort of boy are you, anyway?"
"I was not crying!" I protested. "I was tired."
"What are you doing here in my forest?"
"Yourforest?"
"Yes, mine it is, and I did not invite you here. You are nobody I have ever seen. Are you a gypsy?"
"I amnot! "
"Well, do not be so proud. I think it not a bad thing to be a gypsy. I have often thought it would be a great thing to go riding about in a red and gold wagon, eating beside the road. I would have white horses, four of them, and I'd have Tiger with me, and--"
"Who is Tiger?"
"My dog. Tiger is his name."
"It is a cat's name. Tigers are cats," I said scornfully.
"It is not! Tiger can be a dog's name, also! My father said it could, and my father knows. Anyway," she added, "Tiger does not know it is a cat's name."
"He's a large dog," I said. And then more politely, "I am sorry I am in your wood. I--I wanted to rest."
"You are not poaching? If you were and the gamekeeper found you--"
"I do not poach," I replied proudly. "I am sorry I disturbed you. I will go now."
Yet I did not go. I did not want to go. I had talked with no child of my years in many months.
She was a pretty child, with large dark eyes and soft lips.
"Have you come far?" she asked.
"From very far away," I said.
"Your shirt is torn," she said, "and you have skinned your knee."
Looking down, I saw that my stocking was torn and my knee bloody. "I fell," I said.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"I--I have just--" I stopped in time. If I admitted to eating at the tavern all would come out, and for all I knew the tavern keeper was her friend. The tavern could not be that far away. Suddenly I realized they might still be searching for me. "I must go," I said.
"It will be night soon," she said. "Where will you sleep?" She looked at me curiously. "Will you sleep in a haycock? Or beside a hedge?"
"It does not matter." I edged away. "I must go."
I turned and took a step, then stopped. "It is a nice wood," I said. "I did not mean it harm."
"I know you did not." She stared at me. "I think you are frightened of something, and I think you should talk to my father. He is very brave." And she added, "He was a soldier."
"I must be going."
I started away and then stopped, for there was a man standing there. He was a tall, slender man with fine features and brown eyes.
"I do not know that I am very brave, my dear," he said, "but I always hoped to be. Who are you, lad?" My eyes went down the way through the trees by which I had come. I needed to be away from here. I did not want to answer questions, nor to have them discover there had been trouble at the tavern, even if it was none of my doing.
"I was just passing by," I said, "and wished to rest. It seemed better off the road than on it."
He was regarding me very seriously. The girl came up and stood beside him, taking his hand. My father had held mine just that way, sometimes. The thought made tears come to my eyes and I brushed them away quickly and turned to go.
"Wait." He did not speak loudly but there was command in his tone. Involuntarily, I stopped. "I asked who you are."
"I am nobody," I said. "I was just passing. I--I
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