The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge Page B

circles, each circle a little narrower than the one before, until at last he was going round and round against her skirts, pressing so close that she could feel the vibration of his purring against her legs.
    Then and then only, did she dare to bend down and touch his head with her fingers . . . It was exquisitely soft . . . He did not seem to mind. He circled against her legs once more, then abruptly ceased purring, and led the way towards the half-open parlour door. With a beating heart Maria followed him through into the hall.
    Wrolf was awake but did not, this time, express any dissatisfaction with Maria’s purpose — though visiting the kitchen this time was not, strictly speaking, Maria’s purpose but Zachariah’s . . .
    Zachariah stood upon his hind legs and knocked upthe latch of the kitchen door with one blow of his powerful right paw. He went in, Maria following, and Wrolf arose and pushed the door shut behind them.
    Maria, in the kitchen, once more stood and gazed. The kitchen was glorious, flagged with great stone flags scrubbed to the whiteness of snow, and nearly as big as the hall. Its ceiling was crossed by great oak beams from which hung flitches of bacon and bunches of onions and herbs. It had two open fireplaces, one for boiling stews and cooking pies, and another, with a spit, for roasting. There were two oval bread-ovens set in the thickness of the wall, and hanging from hooks all round the walls were pots and pans, so well polished that they reflected the light like mirrors. There was a large wash-tub in one corner, and against the wall an enormous oak dresser where pretty china stood in neat rows; and an oak table stood in the centre of the room. There were several doors which Maria guessed led to the larders and the dairy. The windows looked out over the stable-yard, so that the morning sun filled the room, and the whole place was merry and bright and warm and scrupulously clean. There were no chairs, but a wooden bench against the wall, and several three-legged wooden stools. One of these stools had been pulled up to the table, and standing upon it, facing Maria as she came in, was a little hunchbacked dwarf making pastry. He gave a brief nod and pointed with his rolling-pin to the bench against the wall.
    ‘Marmaduke Scarlet, at your service, young Mistress,’ he said in a crisp squeaky voice. ‘Seat yourself, but do not articulate. I cannot indulge in conversation while I am engaged in the creation of a veal pie.’
    Yet though his manner was abrupt he seemed well disposed towards her, for there suddenly flashed across his face a smile so broad that the ends of it seemed to run into his ears, and his small round sparkling black eyes twinkled at her very pleasantly. Yet Maria was heartily thankful that Wrolf had prevented her from entering this kitchen uninvited this morning, for there was somethingabout him that told her he was not a person to be taken liberties with. She crossed to the bench, sat down, and folded her hands very humbly in her lap.
    Zachariah, meanwhile, mounted upon another stool beside the dwarf, and sat there purring and swinging his tail and occasionally stretching out a huge paw and helping himself very daintily to a piece of pastry. It was obvious that these two were affectionate and inseparable companions, and that he was privileged. And there wasn’t much difference in their size, Zachariah being nearly as big as the dwarf.
    Sitting humbly on her bench, Maria looked at the dwarf. He wasn’t looking at her now, he was absorbed in his pastry, and so she was able to have a real good stare. Never had she seen such a creature, and her lips parted slightly in astonishment.
    He must, she thought, be very old, for the fringe of whisker that encircled his whole face like a ham frill was snow white, and so were his bushy eyebrows. Except for the whisker frill, his face was clean-shaven, brown as an oak-apple, and criss-crossed with hundreds of little wrinkles. His