Ever After by Elswyth Thane

profundities. It was all familiar to him—the powerful horse between his knees, the damp smell of the spring day, the pale warmth of the English sun—even the odd little village, which was still half asleep when he came to it, though the ducks gleamed white on the water above the bridge, and a cow ambled down the right-hand road followed by a very small smocked child with a long stick. The child smiled bashfully at his greeting, and walked crabwise to watch him pass.
    He went on through the village and turned into a grassy lane beyond it, letting the horse take its own pace. Soon they came to a place where the hedge left off and a stone wall had not yet begun and went through it, away from the lane, up a bare-sided hill towards the sun.
    But you can’t see a world like this and not be happy, Bracken said within himself. You can’t dwell on past idiocies and future dreariness with the sun striking bang into your silly face like a gong. Or can you? Apparently you can. All right, then, suppose you have messed up your life till it can almost be said you haven’t got one at all. You knew everything there was to know, didn’t you? Nobody could tell you anything about women! You knew better than any of them, and Lisl was a misunderstood angel of light, a. blasphemed saint, a brand from the burning—and so on. Bosh. You knew better, even then. What you had for Lisl was a plain old-fashioned case of biology. You were too well brought up, that’s your trouble. You should have spent more time out on the tiles in your extreme youth. But you were a very self-righteous young man, and instead of coming out in boils you got married to Lisl, and it serves you right. Or does it? No, I don’t really think I deserved all this. I don’t really think in this case the punishment does fit the crime. I demand commutation of sentence. I shall appeal to a highter court. If I can find one. Hullo, somebody else can’t sleep, I wonder who it is.
    Coming towards him at an angle to the sun was a small figure on a tall horse. Bracken turned to intercept it, for he always felt the need of company in these dark moods, and rode down the slope. It was a boy about twelve, he judged as they came nearer to each other—a boy wearing tweed knickers and jacket and shooting cap, with an excellent seat on a spirited bay hunter much too big for him.
    “Good morning!” Bracken called as soon as he was within range.
    “Good morning, sir,” the child replied rather primly. He had a strange, delicate face, with a sharp, clean jaw-line and very large, rather distrustful blue eyes.
    “What’s on your conscience?” Bracken inquired easily, out of long confidence in his ability to make friends with any child and set it telling him the story of its life. He was rewarded by a wide smile, as the boy took his meaning and replied:
    “Oh, I slept all right! But I have to get up early if I’m to wangle one of my brother’s horses. I’m not supposed to ride them.”
    “Did you saddle that brute yourself?”
    “I can, you know. All but getting the girth in. I made the stable boy give a pull on that.”
    “You’ll get him sacked if you’re not careful,” said Bracken.
    “I hope not. But Edward would be cross if he knew I had Thunderbolt out!” The boy’s hand stroked the glossy neck fondly, and his eyes ran over Bracken’s horse. “You must be staying at Farthingale. Are you the American who may take it for the summer ?”
    “I am. Name of Murray. Who are you?”
    The boy hesitated a moment before he said, “Campion is my name. Lord Enstone is my father”
    “I see.” Bracken recalled the Major’s remarks about the large family at the Hall. “Then your brother Edward is Lord Alwyn, I suppose.”
    “Yes. Didn’t you sleep well? I’ve heard people don’t in a strange bed.”
    “Well, no, I didn’t. I thought a ride might do me some good. Mind if I join you?” he asked rather wistfully.
    “I’d be glad. That’s Sunbeam you’ve got there. She