The end of the week seemed to come very soon, and all at once they were coming back from Gorsley Bottom for the last time. Fred said he would never forget Ufferleigh, nor the nice time he had there.
You ought to send us a postcard when you're on your travels, said Rosie.
Yes, he said. That's an idea. I will
Yes, do, said Rosie.
Yes, said he again. I will. Do you know, I was altogether down-hearted at going away, but now I'm half wishing I was on the road again already. So I could be sending that card right away, said he.
At that rate, said Rosie, looking the other way, you might as well make it a letter.
Ah! said he. And do you know what I should feel like putting at the bottom of that letter? If you was my young lady, that is. Which, of course, you're not. Me never having had one.
What? said Rosie.
A young lady, said he.
But what would you put? said she.
Ah! said he. What I'd put. Do you know what I'd put? If if, mind you if you was my young lady?
No, said she, what?
I don't hardly like to tell you, said he.
Go on, she said. You don't want to be afraid.
All right, said he. Only mind you, it's if. And with his stick he traced three crosses in the dust
If I was anybody's young lady, said Rosie, I shouldn't see anything wrong in that. After all, you've got to move with the times.
Neither of them said another word, for two of the best reasons in the world. First, they were unable to; second, it was not necessary. They walked on with their faces as red as fire, in an agony of happiness.
Fred had a word with Mrs. Hedges, who had taken a fancy to him from the start. Not that she had not always looked down upon caravan people, and could have been knocked over with a feather, had anyone suggested, at any earlier date, that she would allow a daughter of hers to marry into such a company. But right was right; this Fred Baker was different, as anyone with half an eye could see. He had kept himself to himself, almost to a fault, for his conversation showed that he was as innocent as a new-born babe. Moreover, several knowledgeable people in the village had agreed that his ambitions for Mary, his pig, were in no way unjustified. Everyone had heard of such talented creatures, reclining on snow-white sheets in the best hotels of the metropolis, drinking champagne like milk, and earning for their fortunate owners ten pounds, or even twenty pounds, a week.
So Mrs. Hedges smilingly gave her consent, and Rosie became Fred's real, genuine, proper young lady. He was to save all he could during the winter, and she to stitch and sing. In the spring, he would come back and they were to get married.
At Easter, said he.
No, said Mrs. Hedges, counting on her fingers. In May. Then tongues can't wag, caravan or no caravan.
Fred had not the faintest idea what she was driving at, for he had lived so much alone that no one had told him certain things that every young man should know. However, he well realized that this was an unusually short engagement for Ufferleigh, and represented a great concession to the speed and dash of the entertainment industry, so he respectfully agreed, and set off on his travels.
My Darling Rosie,
Well here we are in Painswick having had a good night Saturday at Evesham. Mary cleverer than ever that goes without saying now spells four new words thirty-six in all and when I say now Mary how do you like Painswick or Evesham or wherever it is she picks FINE it goes down very well. She is in the best of health and I hope you are the same. Seems to understand every word I say more like a human being every day. Well I suppose I must be getting our bit of supper ready she always sets up her cry for that specially when I am writing to you.
With true love
Fred
XXX
In May the apple trees were an in bloom, so it was an apple-blossom wedding, which in those parts is held to be an assurance of flowery days. Afterwards they took the bus to the market town, to pick up the caravan, which stood in a stable yard. On the way Fred asked Rosie to wait a moment, and dived into a confectioner's shop. He came out with a huge box of chocolates. Rosie smiled all over her face with joy. For me? she said.
Yes, said he. To give to her as soon as she claps eyes on you. They're her weakness. I want you two to be real pals.
All right, said Rosie, who was the best-hearted girl in the world.
The next moment they turned into the yard: there was the caravan. Oh, it's lovely! cried Rosie.
Now you'll see her, said Fred.
At the sound of his voice a falsetto squeal rose from within.
Here we are, old lady, said Fred, opening the door. Here's a friend of mine come to help look after you. Look, she's brought you something you'll fancy.
Rosie saw a middle-sized pig, flesh-coloured, neat, and with a smart collar. It had a small and rather calculating eye. Rosie offered the chocolates; they were accepted without any very effusive acknowledgment
Fred put the old horse in, and soon they were off, jogging up the long hills to the west. Rosie sat beside Fred on the driving seat; Mary took her afternoon nap. Soon the sky began to redden where the road divided the woods on the far hill-top. Fred turned into a green lane, and they made their camp.
He lit the stove, and Rosie put on the potatoes. They took a lot of peeling, for it seemed that Mary ate with gusto. Rosie put a gigantic rice pudding into the oven, and soon had the rest of the meal prepared.
Fred set the table. He laid three places.
I say, said Rosie.
What? said Fred.
Does she eat along with us? said Rosie. A pig?
Fred turned quite pale. He beckoned her outside the caravan. Don't say a thing like that, said he. She won't never take to you if you say a thing like that. Didn't you see her give you a look?
Yes, I did, said Rosie. All the same Well, never mind, Fred. I don't care, really. I just thought I did.
You wait, said Fred. You're thinking of ordinary pigs. Mary's different
Certainly Mary seemed a comparatively tidy eater. All the same, she gave Rosie one or two very odd glances from under her silky, straw-coloured lashes. She seemed to hock her rice pudding about a bit with the end of her nose.
What's up, old girl? said Fred. Didn't she put enough sugar in the pudden? Never mind can't get everything right first time.
Mary, with a rather cross hiccup, settled herself on her bunk. Let's go out, said Rosie, and have a look at the moon.
I suppose we might, said Fred. Shan't be long, Mary. Just going about as far as that gate down the lane. Mary granted morosely and turned her face to the wall.
Rosie and Fred went out and leaned over the gate. The moon, at least, was all that it should be.
Seems funny, being married and all, said Rosie softly.
Seems all right to me, said Fred.
Remember them crosses you drew in the dirt in the road that day? said Rosie.
That I do, said Fred.
And all them you put in the letters? said Rosie.
All of 'em, said Fred. I remember every one.
Kisses, that's what they're supposed to stand for, said Rosie.
So they say, said Fred.
You haven't given me one, not since we was married, said Rosie. Don't you like it?
That I do, said Fred. Only, I don't know
What? said Rosie.
It makes me feel an queer, said Fred, when I kiss you. As if I wanted
What? said Rosie.
I dunno, said Fred. I don't know if it's I want to eat you all up, or what
Try and find out, they say, said Rosie.
A delicious moment followed. In the very middle of it a piercing squeal rose from the caravan. Fred jumped as if he were shot.