Hocken and Hunken by A. T. Quiller Couch

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"I was sayin' as I'd like to be a Queen," said Fancy. "Queen of
England, I mean: none of your second-bests."

"Well, my dear," Cai assured her, bustling down the ladder and staring
up at the motto to make sure that it hung straight, "_that_ you won't
never be: but you're among the many as have done virtuously, and God
bless 'ee for it! Which is pretty good for your age."

"_You_'re not," retorted the uncompromising child.

"Eh?"

"'Tis three days now since you've been near the old man, either one of
'ee. How would _you_ like that, if you was goin' to hell?"

"Hush 'ee now! . . . 'Bias and me had clean forgot--there's so much to
do in all these rejoicin's! Run back and tell 'n we'll be down in
half-an-hour, soon as we've tidied up here."

On their way down to visit the sick man, Cai and 'Bias had to pause
half-a-score of times at least to admire an arch or a decorated
house-front. For by this time even the laggards were out and working
for the credit of Troy.

But no decorations could compare with their own.

"That's a handsome bunch, missus," called Cai to a very old woman, who,
perched on a borrowed step-ladder, was nailing a sheaf of pink valerian
(local name, "Pride of Troy") over her door-lintel. "Let me give 'ee a
hand wi' that hammer," he offered; for her hand shook pitiably.

"Ne'er a hand shall help me--thank 'ee all the same," the old lady
answered. "There, Cap'n! . . . there's for Queen Victoria! an' it's
done, if I die to-morrow." She tottered down to firm earth and gazed up
at the doorway, her head nodding.

"She've _got_ to be in London to-morrow, of course. . . . But what a
pity she can't take a walk through Troy too! Main glad she'd be. . . .
Oh, I know! She an' me was born the same year."

Of the doings of next day--the great day; of the feasting, the cheering,
the salvo-firing, the marching, the counter-marching, the speechifying,
the tea-drinking, the dancing, the illuminations, the bonfires; the tale
may not be told here. Were they not chronicled, by this hand, in a book
apart? And does not the chronicle repose in the Troy Parish Chest?
And may not a photograph of the famous arch constructed by Captains
Hocken and Hunken be discovered therein some day by the curious?

To be sure, Queen Victoria herself did not pass beneath that arch.
But there passed beneath that arch many daughters who since have grown
into women and done virtuously, I hope. If not, I am certain there was
no lack of encouragement that day in the honest, smiling faces of
Captain Hocken and Captain Hunken as they stood with proprietary mien,
one on either side of the roadway, and each with an enormous red rose
aglow in his button-hole.

_Pulvis et umbra sumus_--"The tumult and the shouting dies."--A little
before ten o'clock that night Mr Middlecoat and Mrs Bosenna walked up
through the dark to Higher Parc to see the bonfires. The summit
commanded a view of the coast from Dodman to Rame, and inland to the
high moors which form the backbone of the county. Mrs Bosenna counted
eighteen fires: her lover could descry sixteen only.

"But what does it matter?" said he. They had started the climb
arm-in-arm: but by this time his arm was about her waist.

"My eyes are sharper than yours, then," she challenged.

"Very likely," he allowed. "Sure, they must be: for come to think I
reckoned 'em both in my list."

She laughed cosily.

"Shall we go over the ridge?" he suggested. "We may pick up one or two
inland from my place."

"No," she answered, and mused for a while. "It's strange to think our
two farms are goin' to be one henceforth. . . . The ridge has always
seemed to me such a barrier. But I'll not cross it to-night.
Good-bye!"

"Nay, but you don't go back alone. I'll see you to the door."

"Why? I'm not afraid of ghosts."

But he insisted: and so, arm linked in arm, they descended to Rilla,
where the roses breathed their scent on the night air.

Cai and 'Bias--the long day over--sat in Cai's summer-house, overlooking
the placid harbour. Loyal candles yet burned in every window on the far
shore and scintillated their little time on the ripple of the tide.
Above shone and wheeled in their courses the steady stars, to whom our
royalties are less than a pinch of dust in the meanest unseen planet
that spins within their range.

The door of the summer-house stood wide to the night. Yet so breathless
was the air that the candles within (set by Mrs Bowldler on the table
beside the glasses and decanters) carried a flame as unwavering as any
star of the firmament. So the two friends sat and smoked, and between
their puffed tobacco-smoke penetrated the dewy scents of the garden.
Both were out-tired with the day's labours; for both were growing old.

"'Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all,'"
murmured Cai. "'Twas a noble text we chose."

"Ay," responded 'Bias, drawing the pipe from his lips. "She've kept a
widow just thirty-six years. An unusual time, I should say."

"Very," agreed Cai.

They gazed out into the quiet night, as though it held all their future
and they found it good.

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