NIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE by Margery Lawrence

Author:Margery Lawrence [Lawrence, Margery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9781553102960
Publisher: Christopher Roden/Ash-Tree Press
Published: 2013-01-18T05:00:00+00:00

So Pan and his merry crew came to Little Ingleton, and so departed—and so the Reverend Thomas Minchin learnt humility. But deeply as he is now loved and revered by his flock—and indeed you would not know him for the same man—it is generally admitted that he has never again attained to quite the pitch of eloquence of that memorable Midsummer Day.

Through cautious questioning of his betrothed, the young clergyman established, much to his own private relief, that not one of the congregation that night, not even Miss Perkins at the moment when Pan, playing his last elvish trick, literally thrust them into each other’s arms, had the remotest idea that any but their own accustomed priest had led the service . . . the truth lay hid in Mr Minchin’s breast, and there it was buried, gratefully and thankfully. Not one had dreamt of the Things of so strange life and shape and form that had elbowed them during that amazing Evensong—and in his undreamt-of happiness with his pretty wife the Reverend Thomas looks back upon that enchanted Midsummer Night with a deep and humble thankfulness. . . . For since that marvellous hour of sight—when for a little while the veil before his eyes was torn away and he saw horned beast of the field, wilful elf and goblin, faun and nymph, mingling with village maid and man, jostle together singing prayer and praise in the Church of Christ, he has walked humbly, tremblingly before men, and in his gentleness and understanding, his loving-kindness and readiness to forgive sin, his old cruel bigotry is long forgotten.

Only on one day in the year does he mystify the village a little, and that is on Midsummer Day—now a great holiday in Little Ingleton, when parson and flock betake themselves to the fields and woods, dancing and singing and feasting as in the old days, for joy of the dear green world, the warm sun and the merry pagan winds of heaven. . . . And there is no stinting of the feast these days—good ale and foaming golden beer shoulder prim lemonade and gingerpop, and there is no lack of junket, and syllabub, of Granny Calder’s recipe, to eat with the cakes and pies, the plum-starred buns . . . and the village foots it to the tune of ragged Peter’s fiddle and old Dad Verity’s drum till the moon rises glimmering over the tree-tops, and busy little Mrs Minchin begins to gather up the food for distribution on the morrow to her beloved poor. But then her husband comes, and despite her eager puzzled questions, so frequent at first (though now she laughs and shrugs and lets it go, since he merely smiles and shakes his head!) silently, reverently the Reverend Thomas chooses a portion of cake, of fruit and wine, the best that remains, and disappears silently into the wood with his offering. There on a log or clear space of mossy turf, he lays his tribute, and

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