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diff --git a/old/64573-0.txt b/old/64573-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4b6827d..0000000 --- a/old/64573-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6029 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The children and the pictures, by Pamela -Tennant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The children and the pictures - -Author: Pamela Tennant - -Release Date: February 16, 2021 [eBook #64573] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN AND THE PICTURES *** - - - - - THE CHILDREN - AND THE PICTURES - - - - - ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. By LEWIS CARROLL. With a Proem - by Austin Dobson, and Thirteen Plates in Colour and numerous Text - Illustrations by Arthur Rackham, A.R.W.S. Square crown 8vo, price - 6s. net. - [_November 15._ - - RIP VAN WINKLE. By WASHINGTON IRVING. With fifty-one Coloured - Plates by Arthur Rackham. A.R.W.S. In One Volume, crown 4to, price - 15s. net. - - _Times._--“It will be hard to rival this delightful volume.” - - - LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN - 21 Bedford Street, W.C. - - - - -[Illustration: _Hoppner._ MARIANNE AND AMELIA.] - - - - - THE CHILDREN AND THE - PICTURES: BY PAMELA - TENNANT: PUBLISHED IN - LONDON BY MR. WILLIAM HEINE- - MANN AND IN NEW YORK BY THE - MACMILLAN COMPANY: MCMVII - - [Illustration: (The Children)] - - - - - THE SKETCH ON THE TITLE-PAGE - IS BY ARTHUR RACKHAM, A.R.W.S. - ILLUSTRATIONS REPRODUCED BY - HENTSCHEL-COLOURTYPE - - - _Copyright 1907 by William Heinemann_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - PAGE - I. 1 - II. 15 - III. 21 - IV. 30 - V. 38 - VI. 45 - VII. 52 - VIII. 60 - IX. 67 - X. 75 - XI. 79 - XII. 92 - XIII. 107 - XIV. 115 - XV. 122 - XVI. 129 - XVII. 139 - XVIII. 143 - XIX. 152 - XX. 161 - XXI. 171 - XXII. 178 - XXIII. 187 - XXIV. 191 - XXV. 196 - XXVI. 212 - XXVII. 222 - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - _To face - page_ - - Marianne and Amelia _Hoppner_ _Frontispiece_ - - Mrs. Inchbald _Romney_ 4 - - Robert Mayne, M.P. for Upper Gatton _Reynolds_ 10 - - Beppo _Reynolds_ 12 - - Peg Woffington _Hogarth_ 16 - - Children Playing at Soldiers _G. Morland_ 18 - - The Apple-Stealers _G. Morland_ 20 - - The Fortune-teller _Reynolds_ 22 - - Mousehold Heath _Cotman_ 56 - - Lewis the Actor _Gainsborough_ 76 - - Approach to Venice _Turner_ 80 - - Miss Ridge _Reynolds_ 82 - - Sir Joshua Reynolds _Reynolds_ 84 - - The Green Room at Drury Lane _Hogarth_ 88 - - The Leslie Boy _Raeburn_ 92 - - The Cottage by the Wood _Nasmyth_ 96 - - On the Seashore _Bonington_ 154 - - The Fish Market, Boulogne _Bonington_ 180 - - Miss Ross _Raeburn_ 198 - - Lady Crosbie _Reynolds_ 214 - - Dolorès _Reynolds_ 222 - - - - - CHAPTER I - - _If there were dreams to sell - What would you buy? - Some cost a passing bell - Some a light sigh. - That shakes from Life’s full crown - Only a rose-leaf down, - If there were dreams to sell, - Merry and sad to tell - And the crier rang the bell, - What would you buy?_ - - THOMAS L. BEDDOES - - -Natalie had been left downstairs, there was no doubt about it. She -was not in her cradle, she was not in the toy cupboard, she was not -on the shelf, she was not on the dresser; she must be downstairs on -one of the drawing-room tables, and what is more, face downwards. - -This is what passed in the mind of Natalie’s mistress as she lay -warmly in her bed. She lay looking at the nightlight shadows, but -with this last thought she sat upright, and looked round her. Yes, -she must have been asleep, for the nightlight was burning brightly -and fully, as it does when it has been alight some time; not showing -that melancholy little humpbacked flame with which its vigil -commences. “I wonder what time it is,” thought Clare, “I wish I had -remembered to bring Natalie up to bed with me.” - -She lay down again, and tried to go to sleep, but one feels very wide -awake indeed if one keeps thinking of one thing in particular. You -feel even if you buttoned your lids down, they would still flutter -wide. - -There is a writer called George Herbert of whom you have heard, and -in one of his poems he says, - - I hasted to my bed, - But when I thought to sleep out all these faults - (I sigh to speak) - I found that some had stuffed the bed with thoughts, - I would say thorns, - -and rest was impossible. So it was with Clare. She kept seeing -Natalie nose downwards. - -“I’ll go and fetch her,” she said, and she was out of bed in a twink. - -Quietly she passed through her little room to the door, passing all -the familiar shadows. There was the big one cast by the cupboard, -that looked like a cloaked figure by the door. And there was the -black corner with the sharp shadow jutting out of it, that was really -only the chair-back, for she had moved the chair one night to make -sure. And there lay her little pile of clothes on the chair itself, -but even the sight of these did not make her remember to put on her -slippers, and passing all these things and so through the room, she -opened the door, and went out into the passage. - -How light she felt! as if she’d left her body in bed and was going -downstairs in her soul. The stair-rods touched the back of her heel -strangely cold; how soft and deep the carpet was. - -The floor round about the big landing window was flooded by -moonlight, and by this Clare moved, but it did not reach very far, -and soon she had to feel along the wall towards the drawing-room. -Then she saw beneath the door a thin streak of light shed on the -carpet, showing the lights had not yet been put out within. - -“I wonder if they’ve been forgotten, or if Mummie’s still in there,” -thought Clare, and she turned the handle. - -The room was partially lit by one of the lamps, and Clare ran in -to seize Natalie. There she lay, her furry eyelashes sweeping the -faultless contour of a china cheek. - -But in the far end of the room by the shaded light, some one was -seated, writing. It was the figure of a woman. Clare ran forward -eagerly, but a strange face was turned to her, strange, yet not -wholly so, in some way it was familiar. The lady was dressed in white -material, rather like stiff muslin, her face was eager, and shrewd. -She had sharp brown eyes, and as she leaned back in her chair, -turning sideways, Clare recognised her. She was Mrs. Inchbald. And as -Clare realised this a little wave of fear swept from the nape of her -neck to her heels, as she stood looking. - -“Why aren’t you in bed, child?” Mrs. Inchbald said, in measured -tones. She spoke slowly, with a controlled stammer. Clare felt as if -she were not going to like her, very much. - -“Why aren’t you in bed, child?” Mrs. Inchbald repeated. “Good -Heavens, the way the children over-run this house is something -unparalleled! Collina, Beppo, Dolorès and Leslie, not to mention -Robin and Fieldmouse; but I see now, you are one of the others. Well, -they make noise enough in all conscience. Why, I repeat, are you -not in bed?” - -[Illustration: _Romney._ MRS. INCHBALD.] - -All this time Clare had been looking at the lady, and was now quite -sure she didn’t like her. The wave of fear she had first experienced -had receded, and she had only an overmastering inclination to be -“rude back.” She knew now she was talking to one of the pictures, -and “Why aren’t you in your frame?” was on the tip of her tongue to -utter. But she knew she mustn’t say it, so she just stood and let -her eyes grow as hard as Scotch pebbles, and she Scotch-pebbled Mrs. -Inchbald with all her might. - -Evidently that lady was one of those who do not need any answer, on -the contrary who prefer conducting the talk, for she continued with a -stammering fluency, - -“I suppose there are nurses in the house; to be sure, I’ve seen -them. But it’s all this modern movement among Mothers to have their -children with them, I suppose. _The Parent’s Review._ I’ve seen it -lying about on the tables. By the way, child, your Mother reads -remarkably uninteresting books. I found mine on the table once, but -only one was cut, and that partially. Why doesn’t she read Mrs. -Radclyffe?” - -“I suppose people who live framed by themselves,” thought Clare, -“may grow rather prosy”; but she had discovered the value of making -comments inwardly. Even had she been about to speak, Mrs. Inchbald -would have given her small hearing. - -“Goodness me! I’ve heard the poor lady herself allude to her own room -as Piccadilly when two nurses, three children, somebody with a note, -the cook and the clock-winder, all focus their energies upon it at -the same time. - -“Then at dressing time it is like this: - -“‘Will you hear me say my prayers to-night?’ - -“‘And mine?’ - -“‘And mine?’ - -“‘And mine?’ - -“‘Can I have a joo-joob?’ - -“‘Don’t you think Juno was awfully interfering?’ - -“‘When do we go to Peter Pan?’ - -“‘Well, good-night, good-night, I won’t speak again really,--but -you’ll come and kiss me, won’t you Moth’?’ - -“‘Is to-morrow football?’ - -“‘O, my lips are so sore!’ - -“‘And mine!’ - -“‘And mine!’ - -“‘What have you got on, Mummie?’ - -“‘What?’ - -“‘O, your _yellow_. Well, good-night, boys!’ - -“‘When do we go on our expedition?’ - -“‘Oh! it’s _soup_.’ - -“‘I’ve got a flea-bite.’ - -“‘Have you? Where?’ - -“‘Will somebody brush the crumbs out?’ - -“And so on, indefinitely. How she stands it I can’t imagine, but -there is peace at last. And then it’s the turn of the other children; -but I’ll say this for them, they make very little noise.” - -“What other children?” asked Clare, with a sense of growing -excitement, “do you mean----” - -“I mean the picture children of course, child. Leslie, Beppo, -Collina, and the little Spencers. You interrupt me as callously as -you do your poor Mother. My next novel shall be concerned with the -amazing difference in the up-bringing of children, then and now. But -how different it all is to Grosvenor Square!” - -This caught Clare’s fancy. She loved people to criticise and draw -comparisons. “O, what?” she said. “Is it different? Of course I know -it is, but do tell me, don’t you like it? And did you like Grosvenor -Square?” - -“They knew how to live there,” said Mrs. Inchbald severely: -“everything was in order, my dear. There was a butler, with all the -punctuality of a heavenly body surrounded by his satellites, the -footmen, who could be thoroughly depended on to keep up the fires....” - -“Yes, even in the very warmest weather, Mother says. She doesn’t like -footmen, you know, except in palaces; she’d rather men were soldiers, -or ploughed fields. She doesn’t like to see them hand plates about, -which women do far more prettily; besides, men stamp so, and blow -down your back.” - -“Perhaps the furniture,” continued Mrs. Inchbald, regardless of -interruption, “perhaps the furniture was unsuited to child-life, -holding the priceless china as it did ... the move was certainly -courageous. But O, how we were loved!” - -Something in Mrs. Inchbald’s voice made Clare listen. She liked her -better now that her hard face softened so. - -“Ah, that was something like belonging! it warmed us, my dear, it -warmed us; that’s what made us alive. Do you think if your Grandpapa -had never loved us in the way he did that we should be here walking -and breathing--we, but semblances of human form dwelling in pigment -and paste? It’s only love that can make alive, and he did it. -Sometimes, after all the lights were out and the folks in bed, the -door would open and he’d enter. I can see him in his dressing-gown -and slippers, the light shining on the mahogany door; his clean white -hair, and shrewd face. His hands so swift in movement, so beautifully -kept, his beard trimmed so neatly. Did you ever see him untidy, I -wonder, or harassed, or wasting time? Never--it all went so easily, -he had the long-houred day of a busy man. Time to read aloud to -others, time to look over his old French books, time to saunter out -and play golf earnestly, and time, above all, to spend, upon us. How -he loved us. We shall never have _that_ again.” - -“O yes you shall,” said Clare, for she was warm-hearted really, for -all the Scotch pebble in her eyes on occasion--“O yes, you shall. -Why--we all, all like you we are all going to learn about you, Mother -says so; it is only Lady Crosbie who sometimes ... bores her, you -know.” - -This came out rushingly, and Clare would have withdrawn it, but -the spoken word is like a sped arrow, there is no calling either -back. Mrs. Inchbald changed completely. Her brown eyes twinkled -comfortably, and she leaned in her eagerness, right out of her chair. - -“You don’t say so? Well, I agree with her. I believe I shall get on -with your Mother, after all, though she does let you all victimise -her, and reads such dull books. But I shouldn’t have chosen the word -_bore_ exactly. I shouldn’t say Lady Crosbie ever _bored_ people -... dear me, O no, she’s vastly entertaining, my dear, to those she -thinks worth it....” - -“Well, Mother says however charming she must have been in life, it is -rather tiresome, in a picture, to be looking permanently mischievous. -She says, although Lady Crosbie is flitting off into such a lovely -landscape, she’s not really going to know how to enjoy the country at -all.” - -“My dear, your Mother’s talking about something she doesn’t rightly -know about, begging your pardon, if she calls that country. That’s -studio, my dear, sheer studio, and a very good studio landscape it -is. But all the same, your Mother’s opinion interests me; I notice -she keeps the light on some, and not so often on others. I wonder -what she thinks about it all.” - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ ROBERT MAYNE, M.P. FOR UPPER GATTON.] - -“O well,” said Clare, “once she’s made up her mind she’s not to have -bare walls (which is what she likes best to live among), she says -she likes you all, and Miss Ridge she loves. She says she knows she -was a darling, and of course she loves Miss Ross, and so do we all, -only we long to make her happy. And we like Lewis the actor, because -he’s showing off so finely, and Bimbo longs for his sword. Robert -Mayne’s got the loveliest clothes, and such a kind face, Mother -says she feels he knows everything, before she’s spoken. She feels -sure he’s a dear, and she says his face makes her feel bound to tell -him what she’s been doing; and he’s never bored by trifles. And -often when we come into the room, just for fun, Mummie says, ‘Well, -we’ve come in again; it’s very windy and cold, but the crocuses -are showing. I had a few things to do at Woollands, but it’s so -vexing, I couldn’t find a match anywhere for the blue....’ And then -she goes on, looking at him in his picture, and makes up all sorts -of enjoyable nonsense, and says get away with us, she’s talking to -Robert Mayne; and we love it when she’s in that mood; and say ‘Go on, -go on,’ and sometimes she tells us what he says to her--but, the best -of all was when....” - -“Was when ... was when....” echoed a very pleasant voice beside her, -and a hand was set on Clare’s shoulder. And, looking up, she saw -Robert Mayne standing there, M.P. for Upper Gatton. Never did she -think his face looked nicer than at that moment, or his coat so warm -and red. - -“It’s only love that makes alive,” he repeated, looking at Mrs. -Inchbald. “Was I right or was I wrong, Madam? Should you and I be -talking to this little thing here to-night if they didn’t care?” His -voice was so extremely comfortable that Clare felt wonderfully happy, -just as one always feels if people are near one that understand. You -feel stroked down and peaceful, and as if you needn’t talk much, -because they know. And you think you never need feel as if your -inside were made of red serge soaked in lemon juice, which is the -feeling that another kind of person brings about. So Clare stood and -watched him talking to Mrs. Inchbald, and enjoyed it very much. - -“I think I had the pleasure, Madam, of travelling in the van with -you, when we made the much-dreaded move?” - -“You did, Sir, and you were mightily helpful staying as you did the -needless chatter and tittle-tattle of the occasion.” - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ BEPPO.] - -“It was the morose forebodings that I felt grieved by,” said Robert -Mayne, “the faithless despair, the manufactured misery of morbid -minds. Why, what need was there to fill the children with -apprehension, to chill our own hearts with fear? You yourself, -madam,” he continued with a charming bow, “had need that day of all -your energy of character for which I have so much respect. You would -not let the weaker moods possess your heart. How I wish we might then -have shown those who were fearful, these sheltering walls, these fair -white rooms, this Home!” - -“You might show some folk the loaves upon the table, and they’d swear -they were going to starve,” said Mrs. Inchbald crisply. “The children -are well housed too, for that matter; really better than before. I -don’t think yellow satin and brocade suits children--white-wash and -brown holland, say I. And this house is as near to white-wash as the -Mother can compass. Even the drawing-room curtains, I’m told, are to -have a decidedly brown-holland appearance.” - -“But the children,” said Clare, “are they really in the house? O, do -let me see them, will you, Ma’am?” - -“It’s time I were framed, and you were in bed, my dear, so we may as -well go together”; and the brisk old lady rose in her stiff muslin -and walked towards the door. Clare just had sight of Robert Mayne -settling himself comfortably to read in an arm-chair. Then Mrs. -Inchbald led her out into the passage, and up the stairs to her own -room. But one strong impression remained in Clare’s mind, that the -passage seemed in some way different. - -“That’s not my door,” she said, as she looked before her, “and -Mother’s room is further on. I never noticed a door there before. O, -Mrs. Inchbald, is it the children’s room?” - -She stood in a long low apartment, the light shed from a nightlight -falling softly on six beds. On each pillow lay a little head. - -Clare stepped quietly beside them; how pretty they looked in their -sleep, Collina and Beppo and Leslie, Dolorès and Fieldmouse and Rob. - -There they lay, the pillows scarce dinted. How clearly she recognised -them. And as she bent over the white bed of Dolorès, Clare saw the -tear glisten wet on the rounded cheek. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - _“Who are thy Playmates, boy?” - “My favourite is Joy, - And he his sister Peace doth bring to play, - The livelong day. - I love her well, but he - Is most to me.”_ - - J. B. TABB - - -When Clare woke next morning it was almost time to rise. She could -guess the hour by the wan light of a wintry sunbeam touching the -inner edge of her window curtains, and the sound of housemaids -stirring in the house. There lay the grapes by her bedside that her -Mother had brought for her to find on waking. She put out her hand -for these, and gradually as she lay there, there came back upon her -remembrance, the strange experience of last night. - -Had she dreamed it? If so, it was a vivid dream. How sincerely she -hoped not. “Because if I’ve dreamt it I shan’t be able to go on with -it and, if it really happened, there is no reason why I shouldn’t see -all the others, and what fun that might be. I should ask what it was -Fieldmouse had just told Rob that made his eyes so round and shining, -and what it is makes dear Miss Ross so sad, and I should ask how long -Kitty Fischer has had her doves, and if they lay eggs all through the -winter like Mummie’s; and....” - -“Clare! d’epêche toi, ma mignonne, voyons, voyons, voyons;” and -Mademoiselle entered the room concerned to find Clare still in her -nightgown, and dawdling, with bare feet. But all day long, through -the hurry and skirmish of an ordinary day, through the tedium of -lessons and the ballyragging of the boys, Clare hugged her precious -secret to her heart. She couldn’t bear to speak of it, for if it were -only a dream, her longing for it to continue would be intensified. -She had seen Mrs. Inchbald and Robert Mayne, and spoken to them, and -the children in the pictures were real. If this were only a dream, -then she’d rather not talk about it; but if it were true, if it were -really true, then she’d tell Bim and Christopher about her wonderful -discovery, and to-night, this very night it would be proved. - -[Illustration: _Hogarth._ PEG WOFFINGTON.] - -Have you ever lived through a day that has some treasure of knowledge -or expectation, that lies hidden beneath everything tiresome, -beautifying the prosaic features of the day? To Clare it made it -wonderfully easy to put up with all sorts of difficulties, this -enchanting secret of hers. - -Bedtime came, and after the usual bath-skirmish all three children -were in bed. Prayers said, lights out, and the shadows in possession. -Then, because she had had a long day and was tired, Clare slept. And -when she awoke she heard her name repeated. She sat up wide awake, -and saw Dolorès by her bedside--her little bodice crossed as prettily -as in the picture, with tiny skirt, and lifted eyebrow, there she -stood. - -“Are you coming to play with us to-night, Clare? We’ve got the -drawing-room to ourselves for an hour before the party, and it’s -lovely, for the furniture is moved away. But we shall have to go to -bed when Mrs. Inchbald says so, but there’s still time before that. -Shall we go and fetch the others?” - -Clare’s heart beat quickly, but she was out of bed in a moment, -following Dolorès from the room. - -“I must wake up Bim and Christopher,” she said. “Will you wait for -me? Their room is not far away.” - -She ran off, but came headlong in collision with somebody round the -corner of the stairs. - -“Mercy,” exclaimed a sharp voice, “the children again, I’ll be -bound.” This was said with great asperity, and Clare, recovering -as best she might from a stinging box on the ear, had just time to -see Peg Woffington pass round the corner in the shortest skirt, and -jauntiest little bodice imaginable. - -“Bim said she looked cross, and isn’t she!” thought Clare, as she ran -on into the boys’ room. - -But what was her surprise to find the beds empty, Bim and Christopher -were gone. “Never mind, come downstairs,” said Dolorès; “I dare say -Leslie may have taken them down.” - -No steps of Clare’s could take her sufficiently swiftly. To be left -behind was to her something intolerable; the boys were already down -and perhaps having all sorts of fun, and she’d gone in to wake -them up, and it wasn’t fair. If you sound the letters _pr_ very -quickly for a second, it will give you some idea how quickly she ran -downstairs. - -[Illustration: _G. Morland._ CHILDREN PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.] - -Bim and Christopher were standing together talking to a group of -children, and Clare heard Bim explaining: - -“I’m so sorry; it’s my fault, but you must come, boys, another -day. You see two of my friends mayn’t play with children they -don’t know, and so I hope you’ll come again and have a game with -Christopher and my sister. My Mother wants you to wipe your boots -on the mat as you go out, and I’ll send word when next we want you. -Good-bye, good-bye, here’s a bun for each--and, wait a moment, take -all this cake, won’t you?” - -Clare’s first thought was, “Bim’s got his Wilsford village boys here, -but how has he managed it?” - -“O Bim,” she cried out, “who are they, what are you doing, why are -they going away?” - -“Wait a minute, I’ll tell you. You see, Leslie woke me and -Christopher, and said we were going to have a jolly game. I had asked -in the village boys as usual, and found out too late that Charlotte -and Henry Spencer aren’t allowed to play with them, you know. I -felt dreadfully awkward, but it’s all right _now_. I don’t know how -people can have such swabs for Mothers. Anyhow, there it is, and as -Charlotte and Henry came down first, I can’t very well go against -it. Come on, children,” he called out suddenly, and Leslie and Beppo -rushed up, their eyes glancing. But not before Clare had a glimpse of -an astonishing sight. It was this. All the dear children to whom Bim -had given cakes filed out into the passage. With her own astonished -eyes, she saw them walk up to the Morland pictures, and disappear -into them among the trees. They were “the apple stealers,” and the -“children playing at soldiers,” and as she ran up to the pictures -with all her heart in her eyes to look closer she was just in time to -hear that sound of ineffable beauty when the wind blows softly among -a myriad leaves. - -There was a cool smell of moss. - -A bough swayed under the weight of a climbing boy, and she heard a -dog bark in the distance. - -Then the branches closed over, there was a rustle in the greenwood, -and everything was still. - -[Illustration: _G. Morland._ THE APPLE-STEALERS.] - - - - - CHAPTER III - - _... That ancient festival, the Fair,_ - - * * * * * - - _Below, the open space through every nook, - Of the wide area twinkles, is alive - With heads; the midway region and above - Is thronged with staring pictures and huge scrolls, - Dumb proclamations of the Prodigies, - With chattering monkeys dangling from their poles - And children whirling in their roundabouts, - With those that stretch the neck and strain the eyes, - And crack the voice in rivalship ..._ - - THE PRELUDE - - -After the village children had disappeared into the wood, Clare -turned to join her brothers. She found them clustered round -Fieldmouse and Robin. - -“Whose fortune shall I tell now, good people?” Mousie was saying, her -upper lip drawn into a point, so that her mouth was shaped like the -tiniest V. - -“Mine, please,” said Clare, “how do you do it?” - -“O,” said Rob; “she learnt it in our great adventure; she learnt it -from the gipsies. Didn’t you know we’d had a great adventure?” - -“No, when?” - -“We were stolen by gipsies, and kept away from Mother and Father a -whole six weeks,” said Robin. - -“And then we only got back by being tied up in bags, so that they -thought we were barley.” - -“Oh, tell us all about it,” cried the others. - -And as they cared to hear it, perhaps you will care to hear it, and -so here is their story from beginning to end. - - - _The Story of the Children and the Gipsies._ - -Charlotte and Henry Spencer lived with their father and mother at -Blenheim Palace, in the County of Oxfordshire. Blenheim Palace was -the name of their home, and it may be seen to this day, standing in -all its magnificence in the midst of a great park. For Charlotte -and Henry were the children of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, -and Blenheim Palace was the gift of a grateful nation to their -great-grandfather, John Churchill, the first duke. He it is you -read of in your History books, who won the battles of Ramilies and -Malplaquet, Oudenarde and Blenheim, fighting against the French; and -his Duchess Sarah was famous for her beauty, and was the friend of -Queen Anne. - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ THE FORTUNE-TELLER.] - -These children then lived, as I have said, at this great Palace, -and were dressed in red velvet and feathers, and taught to dance -the minuet and gavotte. There were no trains in their day, and no -telegrams or motor-cars. They travelled by the stage-coach if they -came up to London, and life was in many ways rougher and cruder then -than it is now. - -If a message were needed, a man had to saddle a horse and gallop -miles with it, or perhaps foot-runners were engaged. And this means -that a man, footsore and mud-stained, might arrive suddenly at your -father’s door, having run or ridden over half the country, with -a note to deliver in his hand. Charlotte and Henry knew a very -different England to what we know now in many ways; yet essentially -it was the same. The flower seeds in their garden plots grew in just -the same manner as do yours, and when they went bird-nesting they -found just the same kind of nests in the same kind of hiding-places -as you do now. The wren’s nest, made of last year’s leaves, because -it is built in a beech-wood, and the one made of green moss, because -it is built in a yew-tree; these they knew just as you know them, -because these belong to the kind of things that don’t change. So you -may imagine them, when at last they had finished their lessons, which -occupied many more hours of the day than yours, you may imagine them -running out to the hay-field, which looked to them just as you see -it, or running to the dairy, which held the same cool pans of creamy -milk. But in one way perhaps their condition was different; they -were so rarely left alone. They had always a nurse or governess or -a tutor with them; and if they were with their parents, they had to -sit so quiet in the large rooms that it was little or no pleasure to -be there. They lived in the days that Miss Taylor writes of when she -says: - - Good little boys should never say - “I will,” and “give me these!” - Oh no--that never is the way, - But “Madam, if you please.” - - And “If you please,” to sister Anne, - Good boys to say are ready; - And “Yes, Sir,” to a gentleman, - And “Yes, Ma’am,” to a lady. - -Those were the days of strict upbringing and formal manners. If a -little child wouldn’t dress quickly, she was left in her night-gown -all day; or if two little girls quarrelled over two new dolls that -they loved intensely, their mothers would send these two new dolls -back at once to the shop from which they were bought; and no matter -how many tears, no forgiveness. - -Well, as one result of all this strict surveillance Charlotte and -Henry developed a passion for being alone. The words “to escape” were -to them words of magical import, and they would sometimes lean out of -their little beds towards each other whispering long plans. It began -something like this: - -“Mousie?” - -“Yes----?” - -“Are you asleep?” - -“No--are you?” - -“No. I say.” - -“Yes?” - -“Shall we escape?” - -“O-O-Oh....” - -This was Mousie putting her lips in that particular way she has, and -running her little eyebrows up. And this was not a conversation of -one evening, it was a conversation of a hundred rush-light vigils, -the burden of a hundred corner-talks. And to run from one end of a -hay-field to another was a joy, and to look at the wide world from -the window of the family coach, was an enchantment. - -One day, as they were walking with their governess in the gardens, -something unusual occurred. Mousie cut her hand badly with a sharp -strand of Pampas grass, and the blood flowed so swiftly from the -fingers that the governess became alarmed. Hurrying the child into -the gardener’s cottage she asked for cold water and a bandage for the -wound. Robin followed, distressed and silent, while the gardener’s -wife eagerly fetched everything she could supply. - -“We must bathe it in vinegar before bandaging,” said the governess, -“and if this is beyond your power to provide, my good woman, I -will myself go and fetch some from the house. Lady Charlotte must -take no undue exertion till the wound is properly tied.” And Mrs. -Goodenough left the cottage immensely perturbed, walking past the -good gardener’s wife in the doorway, as if no such person held open -the door. - -Mousie had other manners, however, and now her whole mind was centred -on the actions of the kindly woman who had done all so willingly. - -“I’m afraid your basin is stained, I am so sorry, I didn’t know that -grass cut.” - -“And how should you, my lady? ’tis a nasty cut surely, and as for the -basin there’s no manner of harm done at all. I’m that sorry I’ve no -vinegar for your ladyship, but Peter was to buy me some coming back -from the fair.” - -“From the fair! O, what fair?” said both the children. - -“Why, Woodstock Fair,” said the woman; “the road has just been -packed with gipsy vans and menageries, and tinkers, and droves of -ponies--just packed, for the last few days! But you wouldn’t be -seeing that, being never on the common roads, as a body might put it. -But George and Peter are away to see the fun, and to bring us all -fairings.” Smiling she went to the lintel to see if Mrs. Goodenough -were returning from her quest. Mousie and Rob looked at each other, -and their eyes exchanged the same thought. - -What longing possessed them to visit the fair; they knew well enough -what it meant, for they had had a nursery maid who used to tell them; -and now to think the fat lady, and the mermaid in a bottle, and the -double-headed calf and the clowns, and the cocoanuts were, so to -speak, at their very door. How should they get there? It was no use -asking to go, for fairs were common things; only common people went -to them, that is how Mrs. Goodenough would have answered the request. -Yet go they must, thought Rob; and “Mousie,” he whispered, “shall we -escape?” - -Mrs. Brown was standing at the doorway and heard no sound of Robin’s -whisper, nor caught a glimpse of Mousie’s bright-eyed response. She -only turned away as being satisfied Mrs. Goodenough was not yet in -sight, and she might set about some household task. - -But Robin held his little black hat with the white plume across it in -his hand, and in his finest manner stepped to meet her. - -“We thank you very much, Mrs. Brown,” he said, “for your kindness. -Charlotte’s hand is no longer bleeding, and we will follow Mrs. -Goodenough from your door.” - -“Do’ee stay, my dear,” said the cottage woman. “I shouldn’t like -to see ’ee leave the cottage till Madam return: do’ee sit down by -the settle and I’ll fetch the kittens for ’ee, they are but in the -wood-shed at the back.” - -But Robin’s mind had but one thought, and Mousie’s hand was clasped -in his. - -“Come away, come away,” he said, “Mousie, we’ll escape, we’ll escape -to the fair.” - -Do you think Mousie needed any further instigation? wasn’t the lovely -freedom implied in the word “escape” enough? They had no one round -them to whom their naughtiness would give pain; displeasure had till -now but followed the commission of a fault. It is only when children -really love those around them, that they hold some rein upon their -fitful desires. Only when they stop to say: “Will it grieve Mummie if -I do it?” is there a chance of their denying themselves. - -Robin and Mousie knew only severity, so their inclination was a -thing to be pursued, especially if it outweighed in pleasure the -chastisement it might bring. They were soon running down the drive, -and dodging among the bushes, clambering over fences, dropping into -ditches, in the best manner of a runaway thief. How their hearts -pounded against their ribs, how their cheeks glowed from running. And -how wonderful it was to be alone; and to be so excited and happy. - -Sometimes a rabbit would dart away among the bracken, its white -scut bobbing up the hillside. And once when they sat down to rest, -shielded by the high undergrowth, a large heron rose majestically -from near. - -“How lovely it all is,” sighed Robin; “at last we’ve escaped.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - _The bramble, the bramble, - The bonny forest bramble, - Doth make a jest - Of silken vest, - That will through greenwood scramble._ - - T. L. PEACOCK. - - -It was not long before Robin’s pretty red coat had a good many holes -in it. The lace was torn away from his throat and his flying cape, -and that delightful little hat of his had disappeared altogether. -Mousie was the best off in the matter, for her skirts had been kilted -before starting. That is to say, the puce-coloured overskirt that -she generally wore rather long, had been turned up round her waist, -showing the cream-coloured petticoat. - -It was an early fair and took place in the month of September, so -they had good weather for their exploit. While they were resting, -rather weary, yet trying still to think it was pleasant, they heard -strange voices among the trees. It sounded as if a man and a woman -were quarrelling, and something about the sound made the children -afraid. The man’s voice rose very roughly above that of the woman’s, -and she seemed to be in pain. “Not if you strike me dead; I won’t do -it, Bill, not if you strike me dead.” - -“Then take that, and cease your misery, and leave your betters to do -the work they’ve planned.” - -And there followed the sound of blows and a clamour, half a strangled -sob or cry, then a thud as if some one fell heavily. And silence for -a time. And then there was the sound of footsteps slowly withdrawing -through the dead leaves of the wood. - -There was something dreadful to the children in this, something very -frightening. Was somebody really lying there, quite close to them and -quite still; somebody who had been talking and moving about just now, -and who now made no movement whatever? What had happened? Had that -dreadful man gone away? O, should Robin go and see? “No, no,” cried -Mousie, hiding her face close to him, “no, no; let us go home, let us -go home.” - -But Robin was made of sterner stuff, and Mousie’s fear only served -to strengthen him. He found many brave things to say to her. Very -soon he was upright and stealing through the trees, peeping and -peering as he crept forward. Then he saw the figure of a woman lying -quite still upon the ground. She had long black hair, and brown -clothes on, and her face looked as if she were asleep. It was so -white and pretty that Robin didn’t feel afraid of her, so he went -quite near to look. And he touched the hand and thought how cold it -was, and Mousie soon came creeping up. - -Then the best thought that could have come to Robin, made him say: “I -think she’s only asleep, because I saw her eyelids move. Run to the -brook Mousie, and dip your hands in and bring as much water as you -can.” And together they brought water, and patted the white face with -it, and Robin laid his wet hands on the pale lips. And after a time -the woman opened her eyes, very languidly and raised her head, and -looked about her. And when she saw the children her eyes asked the -questions her lips could hardly frame. - -“You’re better now,” said Robin. And, Mousie, said, “I didn’t think -dead people could come alive.” But the woman said: “Where’s Jasper?” - -“If you mean the man who was, who was ... talking to you,” said -Robin politely, “he went away into the wood ... afterwards.” - -“That was Bill, that was,” murmured the girl, “I remember now.” A -sudden light came into her dark eyes, making her look scared and -hunted. - -“O, ’twasn’t to serve men like Bill that I come into the world, with -his foul tongue, and his black heart, and his lies and cruelty and -wickedness. ’Twasn’t to serve men like Bill, I tell yer! O my Gawd, -why didn’t I die?” - -“Because Robin told me to fetch water from the brook,” answered -Mousie, “and directly I put the water on your face you came alive -again.” - -The girl rose slowly from the ground, and stood for a moment -uncertainly, then she put out her hand to the children. - -“Where do you come from, you innercents?” she asked, “dropped out o’ -the clouds, eh? or may be fairies?” - -“We’re not fairies, thank you,” said Robin. “I’m Henry Spencer you -know, and this is Charlotte my sister, I’m eight and she’s nine, and -we are on our way to the fair.” - -“Then you kin take this here bit o’ paper for me. Keep straight along -the road, and you’ll get a lift from a cart or a waggon, and do you -take this bit o’ paper to the door of the mill by the stone bridge -in the valley; and say it’s from Freedom Cowper.” - -She swayed as she spoke, and Robin thought she was going to die -again, for her eyes half closed, and she leaned against a tree. But -soon she was speaking urgently, “O Gawd in Heaven, take the paper, -give it to the man ... at the mill ... run, for I hear my folk comen, -and they’ll never let you go, they’ll never let you go.” - -There was a distant sound of footsteps, a far stir in the leaves. -Robin and Mousie fled from the girl away among the trees, to the -little wattle that surrounded the woodland, and scrambling over as -best they might, they lay down on the further side. - -They heard voices talking, and the girl’s voice hardly audible, and -then footsteps going further and further away. At last there was -silence and, their courage returning, they arose and pursued their -way along the road. - -But not now, alas, with a joyful anticipation. How willingly now -would Mousie have seen home’s familiar aspects, and Robin was far -hungrier than he had ever been. For it was now about six o’clock in -the afternoon, and they had made their escape about eleven, and they -had walked and scrambled for seven hours, and had a severe fright as -well. - -But Robin held the bit of paper, and perhaps the idea of a lift in a -waggon, made him urge Mousie along the road. - -It was not long before they heard the sound of wheels behind them, -and a hooded farm-cart appeared. - -“Please give us a lift,” cried out Robin, and they were soon up -beside the driver. - -“We want to be put down at the mill, please, by the stone bridge in -the valley.” - -“Whoi that be farmer Dreege’s mill,” said the man; “but Farmer Dreege -he be at the fair surely; there’ll not be a soul about I’m thinking, -without Jasper Ford be left to mind the place.” - -“Yes; that’s the man we want to see, Jasper Ford; we’ve got a message -for him.” - -But the driver of the cart was a man who minded his own business, for -he said nothing more. He seemed content to drop the children with a -nod, at their destination, when they reached the mill by the bridge. - -Robin knocked at the door stoutly. A young man opened it, and stood -looking quietly out upon them. He had the swart face of a gipsy, and -the dark hair and flashing teeth; but his eyes were set well under -a broad brow, and looked out kindly upon you. So that Robin had no -trace of fear and said: “This piece of paper’s for you, if you are -Jasper Ford?” - -Jasper read and re-read his bit of paper, the first time half-aloud; -he was so earnest in his eager interest, so careful to decipher each -word: - -“_Warn Doctor Thorpe’s household, rick-burning to-night, and robbery. -Freedom._” - -“Rick-burning to-night, and robbery! That means when the folk are -all out to quench the fire, Bill and his lot will have the house to -themselves. O, Freedom, if you would but have listened to me, and had -nothing to do with the gang. But the Doctor, who Freedom owes her -life to----” and Jasper thrust the paper in his pocket. “I must go, -d’ye hear, youngsters? I must go now. Do ye sit and rest, and eat -your bread and sop here, and I’ll come back and get your names from -you when I return.” - -“But tell us,” cried out Robin as Jasper turned to leave them, “tell -us, how long does the fair go on; is it all over?” - -“The fair? Why, the fair’ll go on till ten o’clock at night, -youngsters: but you’d better be in bed by then.” - -Mousie and Robin, well refreshed by food and drink, felt all their -former zest for adventure returning. - -“O, we’ll go to the fair, Mousie; it’s only half a mile further, and -we’ll see all the shows after all.” And putting down the mugs and -plates they had eaten from, Mousie and her brother left the mill. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - _Vessels large may venture more, - But little boats should keep near shore._ - - BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. - - -The children set out with renewed pleasure, enheartened by the rest, -and food. - -Soon they heard a strange medley of sounds that their beating hearts -told them came from the fair. Men’s voices shouting, the sound of -wheels and stirring, a clamour of many musical instruments, each one -not having anything to do with any other, and then they saw lights; -and very shortly they were surrounded by a crowd of humanity, and an -overwhelming sense of excitement and unrest. - -The next time your father takes you to the Tate Gallery look at Mr. -Frith’s picture of the “Derby Day.” It will give you some idea of -the crowd of busy people and pleasure-seekers that Mousie and Robin -suddenly found themselves among. The lights were being lit along the -little booths, blending strangely with the summer twilight, and Robin -saw acrobats in spangles and scarlet climbing and leaping before -their master’s show. He heard a roar of laughter and applause at a -fellow grinning through a horse-collar, for there was a competition -as to who could make the most excruciating grimaces, his visage -embellished by this frame. The crowd was to determine who was the -winner, and there had been already four competitors upon the little -stage. This one was acquiring by his efforts immense applause, as -he seemed to be able to twist his face anyhow; he stretched it -longer than you would think possible; he would open his mouth and -raise his eyebrows, so that his chin dropped still further and his -forehead shot up into a point. Then, while the crowd was shouting -encouragement, he would collapse his face suddenly, and all the -length of it would fold into wrinkles, like the gurgoyle on the -church tower at home. His very head seemed to flatten, and his ears -grow out. Certainly he was a master of the art, and the children -watched in amazement till their interest was taken by some other -marvel of the fair. But Captain Marryat has described all this so -well in “Peter Simple.” Why should we not have his words here? - -“The coloured flags flapping in all directions, the grass so green, -the white tents and booths, the shining gilt gingerbread. The variety -of toys and the variety of noise, the quantity of people and the -quantity of sweetmeats; little boys so happy and shop people so -polite. The music at the booths and the bustle and eagerness of the -people outside was enough to make one’s heart jump. There was Flynt -and Gyngell, with fellows tumbling head over heels, playing such -tricks, eating fire and drawing yards of tape out of their mouths. -There was the Royal Circus, all the horses standing in a line with -men and women standing on their backs waving flags, while trumpeters -blew trumpets. And the largest giant in the world, and Mr. Paap the -smallest dwarf in the world, and a female dwarf who was smaller -still. The learned pig, the Herefordshire ox, and finally Miss -Biffin, who did everything without arms or legs.” - -So writes Captain Marryat. What a gay scene he paints. All honour -to him for one of the best story-tellers. May all children read his -books. - -Just as Robin and Mousie were leaving Miss Biffin’s bower they heard -shouts of “Fire! fire!” and suddenly the crowd of strollers and -sight-seers all moved with one accord. Mousie and Rob were shoved -and jostled till they were borne along in the rush of people, as -helpless as a couple of corks on a Scotch burn. - -When they passed out from the narrowed alleys of the fair, made by -the lines of booths and side-shows, the press became less great, and -they were able to keep clear of the rush. - -How frightened they were at this sudden stampede; and now, to add -to their dismay and the general excitement, they saw a fierce -conflagration among some ricks. These ricks were standing about four -fields’ distant, and what at first had been one fitful tongue of -flame climbing stealthily the side of the dark mass, swiftly grew to -be sevenfold and leaping. And from sevenfold it spread like molten -gold over the stack, as if fire had been poured over it. And now -a strange rushing sound grew out upon the air, and the stack was -brilliantly illumined. The figures of the onlookers were cut out -black against the glare. Then a heavy scroll of smoke mounted up into -the divine beauty of the night sky, defiling it with thick vapour. -Now and then there would come a lull in the fierce demolition, as if -even the insatiable maw of the fire were momentarily replete. Then -again it would break out all the more fiercely, and a bevy of sparks -would swing out, and sail away against the darkness, like a great -swarm of golden bees. The flames would mount ever higher and higher, -and the rushing sound grow, and grow. How the antlered flames leaped -and roared into the night sky, what a fierce light they shed on the -surrounding world. How black and jagged the shadows were, how vast -the columns of drifting smoke. The great elms in the hedgerow stood -changed in the strange light, their lofty stillness intensified by -the clamour, and all the depths of their cool leafage showing grey in -the strong light. - -The birds flew into the very faces of the onlookers, witless of their -direction, and the rats ran from the burning hayricks among the -crowd, blinded by the glare. - -To Rob and Mousie, who had lived such sheltered lives, it was as if -they had been transported to some other planet, to a world of tumult -and alarm. They had no words to express their pitiful state; they -stood dumbly clinging together. - -And then two figures came towards them as they stood somewhat in the -shadow--the figures of two men. - -“The mischief’s done right enough, but it’s all for nothing, and -we’ll get nothing for our trouble. We’re lucky if we gets quit of -this; they’ve got news of it after all. I’ve been to the side-door -and the front-door, but the whole place is barred; why, the very -windows have their shutters up, and the great bulldog in the yard -that Freedom said she’d poisoned, standing right up against the -opening, showing his teeth. There’s been foul play somewhere; -we’ve been split upon; and if I can lay my finger on who’s done -it, I’ll----” his speech lost itself in a string of oaths and -maledictions while he trod heavily forward to where the children -stood. And as he turned his great ugly visage upon them, Mousie -screamed, “It’s the man in the wood, Robin! it’s the man who killed -the woman in the wood!” And before Robin could say a word in answer, -he felt a great blow, as if the earth had jumped up and slapped him, -and he knew nothing more. Then one of the men caught the frightened -Mousie and tied a cruel bandage so quickly round her that she could -neither scream nor speak, and another picked up Robin where he lay -quite still upon the ground, and between them they carried the -children away swiftly. - -The men walked till they came to a belt of trees, far out upon the -Down. Here they set their burdens by the embers of a fire of charred -wood. Two or three rail-backed ponies were picketed out upon the -green, and a great van loomed dark in the half-light. Several rough, -unkempt faces peered at them, and dark forms crouched about the fire, -stirring its embers to a fitful flame. - -Mousie and Robin were in a gipsies’ encampment, and the very thick of -their adventure about to begin. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - _How can a bird that is born for joy - Sit in a cage and sing? - How can a child when fears annoy - But droop his tender wing - And forget his youthful spring?_ - - W. BLAKE. - - -It was late the next day when Mousie opened her eyes. She had lain -sensible of discomfort for some time before she wholly woke, and now -a sense of movement and the gritting of wheels on a road shook sleep -finally from her. She raised herself and looked round. She was lying -in a little box-bed, only just large enough to hold her. A rough -sheet was thrown across her of the dingiest nature, and the muscles -of her neck and shoulders ached when she turned about. And there in -the corner of the van, lying on the floor with his head on a bundle -of clothes, lay Robin. A very old woman sat in a chair beside him, -and every now and then she would bend down and look earnestly into -his sleeping face. - -“Robin, wake up,” cried Mousie; “Robin, where are we?” - -“Whist there, with your wake up,” said the woman in a low voice. “Be -silent, will ’ee? rousing him from the first bit o’ quiet sleep he’s -had the whole night long.” - -She looked at Mousie long after her half-whispered words were -uttered, scowling from under her shaggy brows; and the child kept -her eyes fixed on the old woman’s evil face. She had never seen so -sinister and wrinkled a countenance--it held her spell-bound; she -dared not so much as move in her box-bed. Slowly the van ground along -the flinty roads, sometimes lurching this way and that, sometimes -almost overturning in the stony inequalities. The old hag moved -about, but was never far from Robin, bathing his temples with a -moistened rag, or forcing the pale lips asunder, and giving him a -spoonful of brown liquid. Then Mousie saw that Robin moved languidly, -and every now and then opened his eyes. That he should be awake and -not seek her seemed strange, but so long as the old hag watched over -them, she dared say nothing. - -Then the van stopped, and the door was thrown roughly open. The old -woman climbed down the steps into the fresh air. - -“Now then, get up, and let’s see what you’re good for,” she said -crossly, as she looked back threateningly at Mousie, and disappeared. -The child rose from her box-bed and followed. - -The delight was great to feel the warm clear sunlight round her, as -she stepped out on to the soft grass. They were in a wide track with -ragged thorn hedges, and two or three gipsies were unharnessing the -horses. Freedom, the girl who had swooned in the wood, was building -a fire with sticks and great branches. Mousie ran eagerly towards -her, but to her surprise Freedom seemed hardly to recognise her, and -Mousie shrank back before the strange void of her face. It was as if -she moved in her sleep, barely conscious of her surroundings. - -The gang consisted of seven gipsies, three men and three women, and a -boy. There was Bill and Mr. Petulengro, a shrivelled old man, whose -grey hair toned ill with the deep brown of his complexion. There was -a younger man than Bill, whom they called Farrer, and the boy Abel. -The other woman, Maria, had a baby in the shawl at her back. - -Soon the men had picketed out the ponies, and gone their various -ways, leaving Freedom, the old grandmother, and Maria, in charge of -the encampment on the Down. - -Mousie was made to do the old Grannie’s behests. She had to clean -the utensils, see to the fire, haul out the murky rags that made -their tents, and generally fetch and carry. She got more scoldings in -half-an-hour than she had in a month at her own home, and there was -no time to look peaky over it. - -“Just ’ee set that sack down where ’ee took un from, and come ’ee -here, and peel these potatoes, and if ’ee cut deeper than the rind, -I tell ’ee I’ll cut into ’ee! Oho, my sweet pigeon, and it’s fine -ladies we are, and the likes as I never see; and when you’ve done the -potatoes do ’ee cut up that hill in double-quick time and bring me -back some tent-pins, and if ’ee gather crooked ones, I’ll prick yer -skin with them, I promise ye--I’ll prick yer pretty skin for ’ee! -I’ll prick yer skin!” - -She leered, and scowled, and coughed, and spat, while she shambled -about talking, sometimes pinching Mousie’s cheek with her clawlike -hand, or raising her skinny arm as if to strike her. It was a new -experience for Mousie, and had she been given less to do, would have -frightened her severely. As it was she just obeyed, and dared not -question, far less object or make delay. Meanwhile Maria sat on the -steps of the van, crooning over her baby. And the words of her song -were these:-- - - “Holly stands within the hall, faire to behold; - Ivy stands without the door, she is full sore a-cold. - - Holly and his merry men they dancen and they sing; - Ivy and her maidens, they weepen and they wring. - - Ivy hath a smooth leaf, she wraps it like a cloak - Round about the ash-tree, round about the oak. - - Holly hath his berries as red as any rose. - The foresters, the hunters, they keep them fro’ the does. - - Ivy hath her berries as black as any sloe. - For wayfarers a bitter wine as any they may know. - - Holly hath his birds, a full faire flocke-- - The nightingale, the perpinguy, the gentle laverocke. - - And Ivy, good Ivy, what birds hast thou? - None but the howlet that crieth Whoo, whoo.” - -Mousie heard these words as she peeled the potatoes, and liked the -list of the birds’ names. She didn’t know, however, that she was -listening to a song hundreds of years old, a song that has been sung -by voices long since dead and silent. Yet there was the holly-tree -in the hedge, as lusty as ever, his strong spiny leaves giving back -the sunshine, each one a polished green. And below at his feet, -creeping through a wattle and wrapping an old ash pollard, was the -insidious ivy. - - “Ivy and her maidens, they weepen and they wring.” - -There are some characters like Ivy, gentle and clinging, yet as -terribly strong. They cannot stand alone, others must support -them--yes, till the weight kills. And Ivy, the dependent, takes this -service. At first tentatively, even timidly--one tender little trail -innocently feeling its way up the great stem; no one would think -there is any mischief here. But Ivy must know while she weaves her -mats and meshes, that she kills to live. For all the fruit she bears -is bitter. - -Throughout that day Robin lay sick and ailing in the gipsy’s van, and -when Freedom came back from a long errand, she climbed into the van -and stayed there, speaking to no one. - -Towards evening the men returned, and old Granny prepared the dinner. -Mousie liked the tripod with the heavy kettle hanging from it, -and the smell of the burning wood. Then Freedom stepped out again -carrying Robin in her strong arms, and brought him to the camp fire. -But when Mousie looked at him she cried out, for he was as brown as -a nut all over. His little face and neck, and his hands and arms, -and his feet and legs, all stained with walnut juice, and his curls -cropped like a convict. This was Freedom’s doing, and Mousie’s heart -sank when she realised it, for she had silently counted on Freedom as -their friend. How should they ever get home again if Freedom wanted -to hide and disguise them? - -However, as the days went on, the children learnt to look on her once -more as in some sort an ally, partly because she got almost as many -harsh words as they, partly, because when no one was looking, she -would do them a kindness if she could. - -And so the hard days passed over, full of work and blows, and -chidings; ugly with the sound of oaths, and rough voices, and coarse -food. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - _I love to rise on a Summer morn - When birds sing on every tree. - The distant huntsman winds his horn, - And the skylarks sing with me. - O, what sweet company!_ - - W. BLAKE. - - -One day the children went on a long expedition with Freedom. It -was to a neighbouring race meeting. They started in the early -morning, and it was a treat to them to escape for once the morning -maledictions of Granny Petulengro, and the rough service of the camp. -Freedom liked to have them with her, and it was the one day in all -their long adventure that the children looked back on with delight. - -It was nice to be with some one who was not always rating, and -Freedom was a good companion for a walk. She stepped free and -lightly, a slim brown hand always ready to help any one over hedges -or ditches, and, once away from the camp, the lines about her mouth -fell into peace and happiness; and she would sing now and again-- - - “Full many a night in the clear moonlight - Have I wandered by valley and Down, - Where the owls fly low, and hoot as they go, - The white-winged owl, and the brown. - For it’s up and away, e’er the dawn of the day, - Where the glowworm shines in the grasses, - And the dusk lies cool on the reed-set pool, - And the night wind passes.” - -She showed them how to gather the gipsies’ tent-pins, which are the -thorns that grow on the sloe bushes. And she picked the thyme, that -grew in scented cushions on the turf, to make tea from it later in -the day. She saw squirrels before they did, and beetles whose noses -bleed a bright ruby drop when you touch them--not because you’ve -touched them too hard, but because that is their weapon of defence -when in danger, and they do it to frighten you away. - -And she showed them the larder of a butcher-bird, the bird who -impales the things he is going to eat on the sharp points of thorns. -Beetles and nestlings, and shrew-mice, and it’s interesting to find -a strike’s larder, because it’s not a thing you very often see. - -And so on through the lovely day in September they walked on, or -sang, or rested, or lay quite flat, and looked up through clinched -eyelids to see who could best bear the light of the wide blue sky. - -When they arrived at the race meeting, Freedom caught back her hair -under a yellow kerchief, which she tied round her head, and the real -fun of the day was over, for the children found themselves once more -in a crowd. Freedom kept them closely with her, so that they might -not get lost, and they were interested in listening to her telling -people’s fortunes. Have you ever heard a gipsy tell a fortune? It is -something like this. You must imagine a very rapid utterance, and a -face thrust forward. An almost closed lid, veiling a very sharp eye, -the face set sideways looking upwards, and a wheedling tone of voice. - -“Shall I tell the pretty lady’s fortune? Bless her pretty heart, just -cross the gipsy’s palm with a silver coin, my dear, and let the gipsy -tell the fortune of the pretty lady, so her fate shan’t cross her -wishes, but everything come true just as the lady (bless her pretty -heart!) will be joyful and thankful for the good fortune to be. And -remember the poor gipsy girl when she gives her hand into the hand of -her true lover, the sweetheart who has vowed to be true. It’s just -a coin that does it, thank you, my lovely lady, cross the gipsy’s -palm with a silver coin, and the good luck will follow it.... Thank -you, my dear, thank you, place your hand on mine and let the lines -tell the gipsy girl what never a print book can’t reveal, but only -the stars as does it; yes, my dear; there’s a ship coming, a long -journey, I see a distant land, but there’s happiness in store for -those as believe it, though for those as sets their hearts agen’ it, -it may be far from otherwise. - -“I see a beautiful young man, a bee-utiful young man, O, but the -strength of him, hasn’t he got an eye like a hawk, and a chin to him? -There’ll be never no turning him from the pretty lady as he loves, -not though others may say whatsoever they likes, but he’ll come -straight as a beam of the morning, though I see a dark lady and two -enemies what will do what they _can_, but don’t you believe ’em, my -dear, never you believe the written words of crooked tongues, but -you trust the gipsy girl, my dear, and she sees troth plighted, and -love united, and a golden blessing, brighter than the stars; and a -clergyman standin’ by and all. - -“Now, there’s a letter to you coming, my dear, but don’t take nothing -written on a Thursday, for the dark lady’s in it, and you must turn -from your enemies if you trust the poor gipsy girl, for you’re one of -those as may be led but can’t be druv, not though they stand never -so. But three moons must shine before you hear what the gipsy girl -sees in your pretty hand, but just cross the palm with another bit o’ -silver, my dear, because then she can do it better with the cards, -my dear, and bring the good fortune that tarries. Bless your heart, -and thank you, my dear, and may you never go sorrowful, but find the -lucky shoe-leather that’ll take you where you will.” - -And so it goes on. The wheedling voice, the cringing manner, the -crazy medley of sound and sense, with here and there a pretty phrase -that is the garbled garrulity of the gipsy. - -Perhaps it was this that made the children glad when the hours spent -among the crowd were over. It was not pleasant to see Freedom change -herself into this semblance of one of the most artful of her thieving -tribe. But we know that she was bound over by the masterful nature of -Bill, under whose tyranny she suffered, belieing indeed her beautiful -name. While she belonged to the camp she had to work for it, and -to-day had she returned from the race meeting without any money, Bill -would have been furiously enraged. She looked back to the days when -Jasper had been one of the camp--Jasper who had broken away and had -begged her to go with him. But a foolish waywardness had turned her -to the stronger mastery of Bill. She had not seen or exchanged words -with Jasper since then, with the exception of the written message -sent by the children on the evening of the fire and the fair. But all -this time she had been growing fonder of the children, and there was -a plan for their release maturing in her mind. - -[Illustration: _Cotman._ MOUSEHOLD HEATH.] - -She knew that Bill was making for a wide common in the county of -Norfolk, called Mousehold Heath. You may see the place in the -picture, by Cotman, over the drawing-room mantelpiece. And if -you look into it you will see it is an open common with several -windmills, eight sheep, some poplars, and a white donkey, and a road -of a warm red, that goes up the hill with a sudden jag in it, towards -a row of cottages set on the crest of the hill. - -It took the gipsies some time to reach this place. They had loitered, -and lingered, and trespassed, and poached their way through four -counties, only the poorer by the boy’s coat, which had been left in a -farmer’s hands one night while its owner was stealing hens. - -Both children were stained brown, and clad roughly, in old unsavoury -garments, and nearly all their high spirits and gaiety cuffed out of -them by the old crone. We will not dwell on this part of the story, -for at last there came a break in their dark sky. - -Mousie woke one night to find Freedom bending over her, whispering. - -“Listen, dear; it’s Freedom talking. Don’t answer now, but just -move your hand if you understand. We mustn’t wake Granny, and old -Petulengro is close outside. When you go with Robin to-morrow to -fetch the water, leave the pitcher and make straight for the mill. -You’ll see it standing high above ye, and never stop running till you -reach the lintel, and there knock, and say ye come from me. I’ve told -Robin; do ye understand me? Once in the mill, we’ll get ye home.” - -The words seemed to dance and sing in Mousie’s ears. “Once in the -mill, we’ll get ye home.” She saw them gold and shining before her, -and “O Freedom, dear,” she said, “O Freedom!” - -But Freedom had stepped out again beneath the stars. Only old Granny -snored and grunted, in her corner of the van. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - _Anything is worth what it costs; if it be only as a schooling in - resolution, energy, and devotedness; regrets are the sole admission - of a fruitless business; they show the bad tree._ - --G. MEREDITH. - - -That day could not dawn too early for Mousie. She lay, after -Freedom’s whisper had ceased, staring upon the darkness with wide -lids. Her stay among the gipsies had deepened her nature in some -measure. Before this the course of her being had been like that of -a little burn, full of kinks and babblings, frothing round some -obstructing but tiny stone, now conveying a straw as importantly as -it had been a three-decker, now leaping in the sunshine doing nothing -at all. But she had moments now of much thinking, and had gained -some of that self-control, that comes to those who have faced the -realities of life. - -Soon the camp was stirring, and she rose from her box-bed. She saw a -look in Robin’s face that had not been there yesterday, and her heart -gave a great throb. - -“Where are the childer?” screamed the old Granny, who was always at -her crossest in the morning, spoiling the shining hours with her -rasping old tongue. - -“Where be the childer? Off with yer! off with yer, I tell ’ee; and -if ’ee don’t fetch the water in double-quick time, it’s Granny -Petulengro that ’ull know it, and make _you_ know it, ye lazy, -loitering varmints, yer good-for-nothing brats! Now then get off wid -’ee, I tell ’ee; get off wid ’ee, ye brazen everlastin’ nuisance. -I’ll come after ye, I will!” She stood and shook her fist, muttering -angrily. - -Robin and Mousie took up the pitcher and ran swiftly. They climbed -over the little fence and bent their steps towards the brook, then -hardly exchanging a word between them, they set the pitcher down, and -crossing to the other bank, they sped up the rough hillside. How far -off the hill looked--it seemed to recede before them. They ran and -ran, till at last they had to slacken their pace, but now the mill -seemed nearer. O, how thankful they were when they came up to it, -and heard the clank and lumber of the great sails going round in the -fresh wind. - -They flung themselves against the door that was to shelter them; they -battered in their eagerness. And then the door opened, and Jasper -Ford appeared. He drew them in with kind broad hands, that seemed -full of pity and protection, and Mousie fell sobbing against his -shoulder. The mill seemed full of people, about six pairs of eyes -were looking on, expressing various degrees of sympathy. - -Mousie and Robin were given something to eat, but every footstep -outside was a terror. Then Jasper told them what was about to happen, -that Freedom and he together had planned their escape. There was to -be no time lost in getting the stain off, the hour of their departure -was close at hand. Only Jasper required one thing of them--implicit -obedience; and they were to trust him through all. Even if it seemed -sometimes long, and as if he’d forgotten them, they must still trust -him, and wherever and however they found themselves, they were to -wait patiently and still. - -Of course both children said “Yes,” and Mousie hugged Jasper, and -thought how good his mealy coat smelt, and said “yes” a hundred -times more. - -And then Jasper took out two sacks and tied the children up in them, -and in half-an-hour’s time they were placed with about twenty other -sacks in a long waggon, that came to the mill. - -So once more they were upon the road driving. And Mousie and Robin -spent the next hours learning to weave that garment of the soul -called Patience, that hardly any children, and very few people, know -anything about. - -In the afternoon of that same day they reached Downham Market, and -here Jasper was to deposit his empty sacks and return next day with -them replenished, to Mousehold Mill. But in the meantime he must find -a sure retreat for the lost pair, for it was thought Bill would come -seeking them; but if once beyond a certain point, they might consider -themselves safe. - -Jasper’s first duty was to go to the Inn, where they kept -post-chaises, and hire a messenger mounted on horseback, to take a -note. He had money for this--the good people at Mousehold Mill had -provided it when he told them the case. This mounted messenger was -to ride straight to the town of Woodstock, taking with him a small -packet, neatly sewn in canvas to be safe. This parcel contained -Mousie’s head kerchief, and one of Robin’s little shoes--two things -that had been stored away by Freedom all this time. On a slip of -paper were written the words:-- - - “That which was lost is found. - Apply to Master Larkynge, - The Wheatsheaf, Ely.” - -When the messenger had mounted his grey, and was well upon the road, -Jasper had a difficult matter to settle. He had to decide the means -to get them farther on their way towards Ely, for he himself had to -return in the early morning to Mousehold Heath. And to do this he -decided to hire a cart and drive them far on into the night, till he -reached a turnpike cottage. Here an old hunchback lived to whom he -had shown kindness. This turnpike cottage was on the public road, and -the carriers’ carts passed it. He intended hiding the children with -the hunchback, and commissioning him to put them into the carrier’s -van on the morrow, with the message that they were to be left at -Master Larkynge, till called for, at the “Wheatsheaf Inn.” - -It was a lovely September night when Jasper drove the children from -Downham Market in the hired gig. The moon rose large and full above -them, but Mousie didn’t see it, for she was sound asleep at Jasper’s -feet on a warm sheepskin. - -Robin sat beside Jasper and counted the glow-worms till his eyelids -began to droop. - -And as they drove along the silver’d highway, the gorse bushes black -against the grey Down, and the woods lying like great dark mantles -thrown across the wold, Jasper sang. Surely a stanza of Freedom’s -song, Robin thought. And the words of his song were these:-- - - “Full many a day, have I found my way, - Where the long road winds round the hill. - Where the wind blows free, on a Juniper lea, - To the tune, and the clank of a mill. - For the miller’s a man who must work while he can, - With the rye, and the barley growing, - While the slow wheels churn, and the great sails turn, - To the fresh wind blowing.” - -At last they arrived at the turnpike cottage. The steam from the -heated horse rose in clouds upon the night air, and the cart moved to -his flanks heaving. - -Jasper roused Mousie, and the door opened to his knock. A little -bent old man with a great hunch on his back appeared with a lantern, -a lantern that served more to blind every one than to help them to -see, as he held it up inquiringly into their faces, narrowing his own -eyes, to make out what manner of folk these were. Then Jasper carried -the children in, dazed and sleepy, to the tiny room. And soon they -were sound asleep in a bed in a corner of the cottage, for there was -no upstairs whatever. - -Mousie woke just enough to feel happy all over, with the comfortable -knowledge that Jasper had really come and taken them away. So -thankful did she feel that she tried with drowsy nodding head, not to -forget her prayers. - - “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, - Bless this bed that I lie on. - Four corners to my bed, - Four angels at my head, - One to watch, one to pray, - And two to bear all fears away.” - -And they blest it, for she slept profoundly. She dreamed she was -playing with a white kid, on the lawn at Blenheim. - -And it was daylight when she woke. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - _There is no private house in which people can enjoy themselves so - well, as at a capital tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty - of good things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much elegance, - ever so much desire that everybody should be easy; in the nature - of things it cannot be: there must always be some degree of care - and anxiety.... Now at a tavern there is a general freedom from - anxiety. You are sure you are welcome: and the more noise you make, - the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, the - welcomer you are.... No, Sir, there is nothing which has yet been - contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a - good tavern or inn._ - --SAMUEL JOHNSON. - - -The children were so glad to be free from the arduous service of -Granny Petulengro, that all through the early hours of the morning -they were hardly aware of the anxiety that filled the hunchback’s -heart. He feared lest the gipsies should appear before the carrier. -Mousie could not restrain her eagerness to run hither and thither, -but he would not let the children out upon the road. Once inside -the carrier’s hooded van he thought they would be safe, and though -they were, properly speaking, no concern of his, his friendship was -such for Jasper that he wished with all his heart to serve him. And -a very good heart it was that beat within his shrunken body; a heart -that would serve well to remind one, of the jewel hidden in the -uncouthness of the toad. - -At last there sounded a distant rumbling of wheels, and soon the -hunchback was out upon the threshold. The children were bundled into -the waggon in the sacks Jasper had brought with him, but they were -not tied up as before. The sacks were to be secured round them only -if any of the gipsy gang appeared. And so they started off once again -upon their travels. But home was getting nearer and nearer. - -After a wonderfully slow drive with old Thorn the carrier, who -glowered out upon all wayfarers from the shadow of the hood, they -reached the town of Ely; and here they were taken to Master Larkynge, -at the sign of the Wheatsheaf. Thorn had been well paid by Jasper for -his share in it, and asked no questions as to who the children were, -yet both children were glad to see the last of him; he had none of -the hunchback’s gentleness, or the kindness of Jasper Ford. - -There are some folk made of very common clay, very rough pottery -turned on the potter’s wheel. People who go through life, morally -shouldering their brothers out of the path, as it suits them. Old -Thorn was one of these. Every movement of his body was one of -determined aggression. When he stepped ponderously forward, his -shoulders seemed to say, - -“I’m coming along this way, and nobody’s not agoing to do nothin’ to -stop me.” And when he looked round upon his audience after he had -said anything, the lines about his mouth said, “And now anybody wots -got anythin’ to say to the contrary had better keep it to hisself, -that’s all.” - -The horses of his carrier’s van seemed to know him. They would start, -lifting their heads suddenly, to get beyond his reach. And as he -dealt largely in extraordinarily bronchial expletives, he had not -proved a very pleasant guide. - -The Wheatsheaf was a different matter. Here all was cheerfulness -and order. A great fire leaped and roared upon the hearth, piled -bright with burning wood. A high-backed settle was turned towards the -warmth, and the rosy light played upon the red-brick floor, and the -whitewash. Do you know certain rooms that express as you enter, “Come -in, come in, and sit down and be comfortable.” And every chair says -“Welcome” to you as you arrive? Well, the kitchen of the Wheatsheaf -was just such a room. And every one, from the raven who stole the -bones, to the cat who frightened him away to eat them herself, knew -it. Prue, the daughter of Master Larkynge, wore a white cap with a -full frill to it, and an apron with astonishingly small pockets. And -there was pewter to drink from, and there was a humorous Ostler, and -a painted sign that creaked as it swung, showing the most prosperous -sheaf of corn ever garnered. Certainly everything about it spelt -hospitality. - -In these snug and enviable surroundings, were Robin and Mousie put -to bed, in a wide four-poster with dimity curtains, and rough white -sheets, that smelt of hay and lavender. - -And because they were excited, and not very tired, Prudence sang them -to sleep. She was very pretty, and rather sentimental, so she chose a -very sad song. But if you want children to go to sleep, you had best -not choose a song with a story in it, because they keep awake to know -what happens. But Prue didn’t know this, and being very fond of the -tune, sang it to the very end. And the words of her song were these:-- - - “Cold blows the wind to-night, sweetheart; - Cold are the drops of rain. - The very first love that ever I had - In greenwood he was slain. - - I’ll do as much for my true love - As ever a maiden may, - I’ll sit and watch beside his grave - A twelvemonth and a day. - - The twelvemonth and a day being up - The ghost began to speak: - ‘Why sit you here by my graveside - From dusk till morning break?’ - - ‘Oh think upon the garden, love, - Where you and I did walk. - The fairest flower that blossomed there - Is wilted on its stalk.’ - - ‘Why sit you there by my graveside - And will not let me sleep? - Your salten tears they trickle down - My winding sheet to steep.’ - - ‘Oh think upon the spoken troth - That once to me you gave. - A kiss from off your clay-cold lips - Is all that I shall crave.’ - - Then through the mould he heaved his head, - And from the herbage green - There fell a frosted bramble-leaf, - It came their lips between. - - ‘Then well for you that bramble-leaf - Between our lips was flung. - The living to the living hold, - Dead to the dead belong.’” - -This is certainly a sad song, but you should know the tune, to really -feel its melancholy. It had far from a soporific effect on Mousie and -Rob. - -“Did he like being there?” - -“Why did he stay?” - -“What was his head like?” - -“Who flung the leaf?” - -But then Mistress Larkynge looked into the room with a flat candle in -her hand, and a frilled cap like Migg’s. And she said, “Mercy on us, -tell me one thing, _is_ it thieves?” - -And she roundly rated Prudence for keeping the children awake, and -disappeared again in a very bad temper--her white bed-jacket was -like the one Mrs. Squeers wears--and her mouth full of anything but -thimbles. - -Then at last the children, frightened lest Mrs. Larkynge should -return, lay down and really went to sleep. And when they awoke, it -was on the day on which their parents came to the Wheatsheaf, to -fetch them. - -That was a joyful day. They had had enough of escaping. And when at -last they found themselves once more at Blenheim, it is wonderful how -pleasant it was. Even Mrs. Goodenough’s nose seemed the right shape, -and their parent’s love and protection things to be grateful for. -They were both of them in many ways the better for their adventure; -it had brought out sound qualities in each. - -Years after, when Robin was a grown man and Mousie a pretty lady, -they went to Mousehold Mill to revisit it. And the white donkey was -still alive, only being so much older, he carried his head even more -despondently than before. The door was opened by Jasper, the same -kind Jasper, only a little greyer, but all the nicer for that. And -beyond by the fire stood Freedom, her hair as black as ever it was in -the earlier days. - -With the money the children’s father had given Jasper for his -kindness, he had been able to set up for himself, and eventually he -had married Freedom. Years afterwards, when the old proprietor of the -mill had died, Jasper had bought it, and gone to dwell there; for -although he came of gipsy stock, he had lost the love of wandering. -And Freedom was a happy wife, as she deserved to be, and had many -wonderfully brown babies. - -Jasper would often stand at the open door in summer time, with his -hands in his pockets and an eye on the cloud drift, and now and again -as he worked, he would sing the song Rob heard him sing that night in -the moonshine. - - “For the miller’s a man, who must work while he can, - With the rye and the barley growing, - While the slow wheels churn, and the great sails turn - To the fresh wind, blowing.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -The story finished, all the children bounded along the passage, -laughing and leaping as they ran. They found the drawing-room lit, -and a company assembled. It took Clare’s breath away, and at first -she felt excited. Then she espied Mrs. Inchbald at the end of the -long room, and ran towards her. - -Mrs. Inchbald saw her approaching, and “La, child, what are you -doing?” she said, “remember your minuet. That is not the way to move -in a drawing-room, my dear.” - -But Clare didn’t know a minuet. She lives, it is to be deplored, -in the day of barn-dances, kitchen lancers, and general slouchback -deportment. When little boys walk with their hands in their pockets -(a most ungentlemanly attitude), and little girls stand with their -heads set on their shoulders as if they were Odol bottles, poor -things, and made that way. - -“How well Mrs. Jordan stands,” said Mrs. Inchbald; “look at her, my -dear, and learn to throw the small of your back in and to poise your -head.” - -Clare was getting good at keeping silence when censured, so she -stood still while Mrs. Inchbald spoke. She was, moreover, immensely -interested in watching the animated groups around her; she saw Bim -as pre-occupied as possible, admiring Lewis, the actor’s, coat. -Christopher was looking at a large russet-coloured leather book -spread open before him, which Clare recognised as the portfolio -belonging to the Misses Frankland; and as she looked round the room, -in they came, those two pretty creatures, Amelia and Marianne. They -sat down, with Christopher between them, and showed him their book. -“Then they also live here? That accounts,” thought Clare, “for that -dog I heard barking and whining just before I woke up this morning.” - -But now the room was filling so quickly her eyes kept falling on new -old friends. One group in particular attracted her attention; it was -so very lively and vivid in effect. Yes, it was Barry, and Quin, and -Miss Fenton--Miss Lavinia Fenton of the expressive hands. And towards -this group Lewis, the actor, was striding, and Mrs. Jordan was -among them too. - -[Illustration: _Gainsborough._ LEWIS, THE ACTOR.] - -Clare was glad to see Kitty Fischer. You would hardly guess how -pretty that grey dress of hers looked among all the brighter colours -there. - -Lady Crosbie was talking to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Robert Mayne -gave his arm to Miss Ridge. She looked prettier than ever, chief of -the roguish school, and Robert Mayne looked amused and comfortable. -Her face twinkled when she spoke. - -Miss Woffington’s manner was decidedly crisp. Something had gone -wrong, or perhaps her bodice was too tight? It certainly appeared -excruciating. However that may have been she made remarks with edges -to them, and when she had spoken, her lips went together as if they -closed on a little slice of lemon just inside. - -Miss Hippesley dropped her blue scarf, and Clare had an opportunity -of showing her good manners, returning it to her before any one had -seen it fall. For a long minute the quiet, clinched eyes rested on -hers, and Clare noticed the pretty hands, as in the picture. - -“Where did you get your honeysuckle?” she asked; “I’ve never seen it -sold in London.” - -“I got it from the old house in Kensington,” said Miss Hippesley. -“Come along, child, with me. I dislike these crowded evenings, when -every one comes. I should not have accepted had I known it was going -to be so--mixed.” - -“O, but,” said Clare, who had heard many fragments of conversation, -“Mrs. Inchbald says that every one comes when they know Doctor -Johnson may be coming, no matter where the house, or what the -company.” - -“Doctor Johnson?” repeated Miss Hippesley. “Ah, that is another -matter; I did not know he was expected here to-night. Who brings him, -child?” - -“Mr. Robert Mayne knows him well, I heard Mrs. Inchbald saying, and -every one seems so glad and happy. Do you really want to go away?” - -Miss Hippesley smiled: “I shall not stay very long, I dare say, but, -as I am here, I shall do my best to be agreeable.” - -Clare was afraid she had been forward, but she soon was reassured, -for Miss Hippesley smiled on her, as she rose. Seeking out Lady -Crosbie, the two withdrew, to a seat somewhat removed, from the -company. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - _The lyfe so short, the craft so long to lerne, - Th’ assay so hard, so sharpe the conquering._ - - CHAUCER. - - -“Whether you like it or not, depends on what you require in a -picture.” Robert Mayne was speaking to a circle of friends. “If you -like narrative in a picture, then you will like the pictures by David -Wilkie, which tell a story, or rehearse a scene. They have life-like -imagery, and humour, and a master’s knowledge of composition, in the -sense of grouping effects. But poetry? None. I ask for poetry in a -picture, just as I require painting in a poem. But of narrative I -desire none. Let narrative be for prose.” - -At this there was an outcry, for Wilkie was a great favourite with -his contemporaries. And Robert Mayne was called on to cite instances -that illustrated his contention, that poetry should be in picture, -and painting be found in verse. - -“I do not say there should be; this is what I ask.” - -“But you must define poetry, Sir,” said Miss Ridge, “or, at least, -what it means to you.” - -“Poetry, Madam, is the perception of what is beautiful, not the -perception of what is humorous or sad. And I find this poetry in -the pictures by Cotman, because he shows the wide sky, and the warm -red earth, and poplars topping the horizon. The limbs of trees, and -the flight of clouds, and quiet field labour. Such pictures give a -‘temperate show of objects that endure.’ And this must please those -who seek the perception of the beautiful. Can you compare such a -picture to one that shows a village tavern, a debtor’s prison, -or an errand-boy? Equally true, you may reason. It may be. But -beautiful--no. - -“Look at the pictures by Bonington; cannot you see the sands glisten, -and hear the waves? And the fishwife who is walking there, do we not -know that as she steps the sands press white beneath her, to darken -as the moisture re-asserts itself beneath her footfall, by the margin -of the sea? And the sea-piece by Turner. There is the sting of the -brine in it, the very sound of the wind in the rigging. And the -picture by Constable. Isn’t Fuseli right when he exclaims, ‘Come, let -me fetch my umbrella; I’m off to see the Constables,’ for isn’t -the rain just about to be freed from that sagging cloud, that has -those planes of blue behind it? - -[Illustration: _Turner._ APPROACH TO VENICE.] - -“And then the pictures by De Wint and Turner. So huge in design, so -simple in mass, yet if one looks into them, one finds sheep, and -cows, and tiny horses in the distance, towing barges along canals. -And in some corner of foreground, deep woods, and white doves, simply -swinging through the air. Or, perhaps, a man on a horse riding up -a lawn, with greyhounds at his heels, or tall foxgloves in deep -shadow. Then in Turner’s pictures, his Venice scenes; small figures -getting into barges--just a dab of the brush, and a dot of pink for -the head--and all the vast canal with the sun dipping into it. And -towering ships, away in the haze. - -“Or, again, early morning, and a fisherman putting out on a lake -to fish. The sun is just getting up over the hills, where you know -the deer are feeding, and everything is grey, and drowsy with dew. -The men are so quiet, you can hear the dip of an oar, a murmur of -voices, perhaps the clank of a can at the bottom of the boat, or a -chain running out. Only these men are about, and a coot or two. The -cottages on the hill are still asleep; they have all the quietness -of early morning. And these men, they are two dots of black paint! -These are the pictures with poetry in them. Yes, these--and one -other.” - -“Which is that?” asked Miss Ridge, listening prettily, but with her -charming eyes roving the room. - -“It is a picture by a man named Watts, after our time, doubtless,” -said Robert Mayne; “it has its place here on these walls. It shows -the descent of Diana to the sleeping Endymion. The lovely form -conveys the arch of the crescent, the silver moon, and the brown -earth.” - -It is true Miss Ridge was interested; she was a woman who might coo -soft, understanding little noises about a picture, but all the time -be arranging her hair by the reflection in its glass. So Robert -Mayne’s conversation was not altogether understood by her. Yet in -herself, she was so entirely satisfactory, there was no immediate -need for her to be anything else. - - “It is for homely features to keep home; - They have their name thence, coarse complexions - And cheeks of sorry grain have leave to ply - The sampler, and to tease the housewife’s wool. - What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that, - Love-darting eyes, and tresses like the morn?” - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ MISS RIDGE.] - -But now there was a stir and a re-grouping at the far end of the -room, and Clare saw a remarkable figure enter. It was that of an -elderly man of great bulk, but the character of whose head and -countenance was such, as to make you oblivious of his corpulence. He -wore a brown suit of clothes and black worsted stockings, ill drawn -up, and an unpowdered wig, slightly too small for him. You must ask -your Mother to take you to see his picture in the National Portrait -Gallery; it gives the forceful expression so well. This person was -none other than Doctor Johnson, who made the Dictionary, wrote the -“Lives of the Poets,” and “Rasselas,” famous in his own day, and -ours, for the extraordinary power and precision of his speech. - -He was followed by a gentleman to whom we owe a great debt of -gratitude, for he kept a faithful, and painstaking diary, in which -he recorded the sayings of Doctor Johnson. And this is one of the -books you will learn to treasure when you are older, nor find its -six volumes a word too long. This man’s name was James Boswell, of -Auchinlech. - -The entry of the distinguished guest caused a general rearrangement; -the company fell into new groups and knots of talkers, just as the -kaleidoscope will scatter its fragments, to re-form into some fresh -design. Mr. Mayne walked forward to receive him, for the Doctor was -here at his invitation, and then Clare saw Sir Joshua Reynolds in his -wake. The actors and actresses closed round Doctor Johnson, for he -was a great favourite with them, often frequenting the Green Room, -being very easy and facetious, in their company. So for a time the -ungainly figure, moving with a constant roll of the head, was hid -from Clare’s view; but she heard his voice uttering characteristic -phrases of astonishing finality. When he spoke, you wondered if there -could be anything more to be said on that subject, ever again, by -anybody. There dwelt the apotheosis of the _pûnkt finale_ in his -speech. Oliver Goldsmith said of him, “It is ill arguing with Doctor -Johnson; though you may be in the right, he worsts you. If his pistol -misses fire, he clubs his opponent over the head with the butt-end of -it.” - -Here are only some of his many utterances recorded for us by Boswell. -I will tell you a few. - -His profound reverence for the hierarchy made him expect from Bishops -the highest degree of decorum. He was offended even at their going to -restaurants, or taverns, as they were then called. - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.] - -“A Bishop, Sir, has nothing to do at a tippling-house. It is not, -indeed, immoral in him to go to a tavern, neither would it be -immoral in him to whip a top in Grosvenor Square.” - -Mrs. Thrale, a friend of his, once gave high praise to an -acquaintance. - -“Nay, my dear lady, don’t talk so. Mr. Long’s character is very -short. He is a man of genteel appearance. He fills a chair. That is -all.” - -He was chilled by wordy enthusiasm. He knew it to be possible to -blast by praise. - -“Where there is exaggerated praise every one is set against the -character.” - -This, I think, would fit some of the exponents of the gushing speech -of our modern social day. - -“Sir, these are enthusiasts, by rule.” - -Yet, very near the time of his decease, how humbly did this great man -receive the diffident expression of regard from some person unknown -to him, in which he found the sincerity he prized. “Sir, the applause -of a single human being is of great consequence.” - -“Depend upon it,” said he on one occasion, “if a man talks of his -misfortunes, there is something in them that is not disagreeable to -him. Where there is pure misery, there is no recourse to the mention -of it.” - -He must have loved folk of simple bearing: “Sir, he has no grimace, -no gesticulation, no burst of admiration on trivial occasions. He -never embraces you with an over-acted cordiality.” - -Once, on hearing it observed of one of their friends that he was -awkward at counting money, “Why, Sir,” he said, “I am likewise -awkward at counting money; but then, Sir, the reason is plain: I have -had very little money to count.” - -Though he used to censure carelessness very strongly, he once owned -to Boswell that, just to avoid the trouble of locking up five -guineas, he had hid them so well that he had never found them since. - -Talking of Gray’s Odes, which he did not care for, he said, “They are -forced plants, raised in a hot-bed; they are but cucumbers, after -all.” A gentleman present, unluckily for himself said, “Had they been -literally cucumbers, they had been better things than odes.” - -“Yes, Sir,” said Johnson, “for a hog.” - -Once Johnson was in company with several clergymen, who, starting a -war of wits, carried the conversation to an excess of conviviality. -Johnson, whom they thought to entertain, sat moodily silent. Then -bending to a friend, he said, by no means in a whisper: “This -merriment of parsons is mighty offensive.” - -Talking of a point of delicate scrupulosity of moral conduct, he -said: “Men of harder minds than ours will do many things from which -you and I would shrink. Yet, Sir, they will perhaps do more good in -life than we. But let us help one another.” - -Clare’s eyes were now attracted to the animated group of players, at -the far end of the room. Barry, the actor, was standing in a fine -attitude, dressed in his brown velvet suit. The calves of his legs -were resplendent in silk stockings, and he was repeating lines from -the part of Romeo to his listening friends. Now and again a little -ripple of applause rose and spread among the group, but the gentlemen -did not seem so enthusiastic as the ladies. Old Quin was distinctly -adverse, and sat, with quite three dissenting chins, rolling his -eyes in a ferocious manner. There sat Fielding, the writer. Clare -had often heard her Mother read his name aloud from the frame, and -say how much she liked the shape of his nose. So she looked at -this feature particularly. It was certainly a very long nose, and -aquiline; what physiognomy books speak of as the “cogitative nose.” - -“Some day I shall read ‘Tom Jones,’” said Clare to herself, “and I -expect I shall like it as much as Mother does. But I shall read it in -comfortable print, not in the edition that makes one say fowls for -souls all through. O, there’s Miss Ridge. _I_ see her.” She threaded -her way in and out of the company till she came to that bird-like -person, Miss Ridge. She had the pale ribbon in her fawn-coloured -hair, and the little shadows round her nose and the corners of her -mouth, were just as exquisite in real life, as in the picture. - - “Ring-a-ring a-roses - A pocket full of posies,” - -she was saying, holding Christopher and Bim by the hands. But Bim -thought this childish, and asked her if she couldn’t sing “Bonnie -Dundee.” “Sing ‘Bonnie Dundee’? I should think so; I can sing twenty -‘Bonnie Dundees.’ But what’s this caravan expedition on which you say -you are going with your Mother? I’ll tell you! we’ll go for a walk -one morning. I’ll take you to the Lock on the Stour, and we’ll have a -pocket-lunch on the bit of green field where the big burdock-leaves -grow. We’ll watch the boy opening the lock, and we’ll go and see -Dedham Church, and pay a visit at the cottage, for I know the people, -and you’ll be able to climb into the large pollards.” - -[Illustration: _Hogarth._ - - MISS PRITCHARD. MRS. PRITCHARD. BARRY. FIELDING. QUIN. LAVINIA FENTON. - THE GREEN ROOM AT DRURY LANE.] - -“O, that would be lovely,” cried the children. They are not the sort -of children who look you up and down, when you suggest a plan, but -they are down your throat in a minute, so to say, and you are lucky -if you can finish your sentence. - -“Oh, yes.” “When?” “Let’s do it to-morrow!” “Can I take Pont?” “We’ll -bathe, won’t we?” “Oh come and sit down.” “What are the people called -who live in the cottage?” and so on, and so on--you can imagine it. - -But Miss Ridge reverted to the caravan. - -“Well, we’re going to start about the 15th of April,” said Bim in -reply, “and Mummie and Clare are going to cook, and Christopher and I -shall be armed, of course--two petronels, a pocket-knife, a musket, -and bows and arrows.” - -“I’ll come too,” said Miss Ridge. “I could sweep the van out. I shall -be in nobody’s way, and whenever your Mother comes round the corner, -I’ll jump into the nosebag.” - -But now there was a general movement towards the door, and from -among many people across the room, Mrs. Inchbald beckoned. - -“You must go across to the schoolroom,” she said, “the others have -been in bed sometime now.” - -Just at that moment a vision of Lady Crosbie flitted across the open -doorway, the very incarnation of flying movement, and grace. - -But Mrs. Inchbald looked only one word, and that was “bed.” It was -written all over her face, and up and down it, and Clare knew quite -well there was to be no story that night, and certainly no reprieve. - -“You shall hear it to-morrow evening when we have a quiet time to -ourselves,” said Mrs. Inchbald. And she bundled them all three, -through the swing-doors, and up the stairs, and into their rooms, in -a moment. - -Clare crept into her bed; she felt tired all over. Passing before -her eyes in charm and beauty, she saw again in recollection, Miss -Hippesley, Mrs. Billington, Lady Crosbie, and Miss Ridge. Barry -strutted before her, chatting in brisk self-satisfaction, and once -more Miss Lavinia Fenton raised her hands and eyes. - -“I wonder why Peg Woffington said Doctor Johnson had snuff on his -shirt-front,” she said to herself, sleepily, “and that his linen -wasn’t----” But she didn’t finish the sentence even to herself. She -knew it was but a poor mind that dwells upon the weaknesses of great -men. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - _I saw these glassy messengers of pain - Drench her cheeks damask in a watery rout, - Of salty rush and follow. - Till one, - A Laggard in its sorry chase - Gather’d more slowly on the china’s pale curve - Where it hung trembling, in a globy dance - Its little weight, its anchor._ - - DREAM LINES. - - -Two or three days passed over without the children seeing anything -more of the life of the pictures. They had gone to bed that night -after the party, with the promise of a story held out to them, to -soften the pang. Yet morning came after morning, and always found -them with the usual everyday life. Lessons through the day, walks, -and readings aloud in the evenings, and nothing more to reveal that -hidden life. Now Clare could almost think it had been a dream. Yet -the boys vowed it was real, and Bim had proof of it. - -[Illustration: _Raeburn._ THE LESLIE BOY.] - -“Don’t you think there is a deepening of the shadow in the face in -the Raeburn in the drawing-room?” said the children’s Father one -evening. “The Leslie boy, I mean.” - -“I think there is,” said their Mother; “it has a glass. Can the dirt -get in?” - -Bimbo listened, and the recollection of a fight with Leslie, came -vividly before him. Leslie had a black eye distinctly, and Bim’s -fist had blacked it. So how could there be the least doubt that the -picture people were alive? They must just wait, they told each other; -and so the days passed on. - -One night Clare heard a sound in the passage. It was that of a silk -skirt brushing past the doorway, whispering crisply to the stairs, as -its folds swept by. She was out after it in a moment, and saw Miss -Woffington pass through the swing-doors on her way to the hall. - -“They’re about again,” said Clare to herself joyfully, and she flew -to the boys’ room. This was empty, and their voices were in the hall. - -“I’m not going to racket with the children,” she said, “they’ll come -directly they know Mrs. Inchbald promised stories; but I wonder where -Miss Ross is all this time?” As she passed the drawing-room Clare -looked in, and Miss Ross’s frame was empty. - -“Then I shall see her, and talk to her,” said Clare; “when she speaks -she may not look so sorrowful.” She ran swiftly to the far end of the -room, where already a small company had assembled. - -There she found Mrs. Inchbald, Marianne and Amelia, Miss Ross and all -the children, and Miss Ridge. - -“Just the right people,” she thought, as she sat down among them. -“Lady Crosbie is too busy, and has too wide an acquaintance, and Mrs. -Jordan is too airified, and Miss Fisher might have other things to -do. These are the ones who are just right, and look as if they could -tell stories if they chose.” - -But a good deal of time is lost in real life in unnecessary -conversation; so we’ll learn by that, and not lose any more here. -I’ll just go straight on to Mrs. Inchbald’s story, as she told it -that afternoon. - - - _The Story of Mother Midnight, or the - Witch of Wendlestone._ - -“The scene of my narrative,” commenced Mrs. Inchbald, “lies before -you, my dears. Which of you can find me a small forest cottage, a -river, a white cow, a church, and an oak-tree?” - -“I can.” - -“I can.” - -“I know.” - -“There it is.” - -“The picture by Nasmyth,” cried ten voices all at once. - -“Well, that small cottage once sheltered the unhappy head of the -unfortunate subject of my tale. Unfortunate, yet not so at the last. -Let us be happy in thinking, that after years of persecution and -winters of privation, when the coldness of her fellow-creatures’ -hearts was only equalled by the rigour of the pitiless winter snow -that threatened to cover her humble lodge, let us be happy to -remember, I repeat, that this woman lived to know the protection of a -friend.” - -Mrs. Inchbald paused. She was fond of telling stories. It was good -practice for her art. She never gave up a life-long struggle with -a stammer, that tripped her up constantly in short sentences, or -conversational phrase. This stammer, however, was utterly routed -by her fine-sounding and ornate sentences of narration, which she -declaimed in a magnificent voice:-- - -There was an age of superstition which blackens history’s page. -During the period immediately following the Reformation, fear of -witchcraft in England was so great, that many innocent lives were -sacrificed needlessly to assuage the malignant ignorance of the time. -It is true that other countries were even more to blame than England, -a greater number of innocent people being put to death in Germany, -Italy, and France. Yet for all that, our crimes are sufficient to -make us shudder in reading of them, and thankful that such things can -never recur. - -Let us imagine that there is a village called Wendlestone, and that -it lies a distance of a mile and a half, from a large wood. There -is a common on the confines of this wood, and here the dwellings -of squatters, as they are called, may be seen. This means, that a -man building his own hut, and driving some humble trade, such as -knife-grinder or tin-waresman, might live here free of rent. One -of these dwellings is the little house you see in the picture by -Nasmyth, and here in the year 1545 an old woman lived. She had a -tiny patch of garden, and a donkey which she drove to market with -some small load of vegetables and eggs. Or more often some medicines -that she compounded from herbs, with which she administered to the -ailments of the country people. She was reticent, quiet, and of -a stern cast of countenance, and had lived here for many years. Her -people had not belonged to Wendlestone, and no one knew her origin; -perhaps this first led people to look on her with distrust. - -[Illustration: _Nasmyth_ THE COTTAGE BY THE WOOD] - -She had herself put to rights the little tumble-down house, which let -the weather in when first she appropriated it. And she had, by her -industry and thrift, managed to make a comfortable living, cutting -the rushes from the riverside, and thatching her own roof. Often you -might see her, crouched low and bent by rheumatism, a straw hat tied -beneath her nut-cracker chin, and her red cloak battling with the -weather, while she gathered sticks from the woodlands, or took her -donkey laden to the town. - -“There com’ Granny Gather-stick,” the children would cry. “Some say -as she d’ fly by night.” And they would scamper into their cottages, -and peer back from their mothers’ apron-folds. - -You have only to live in a village for a year without going away from -it, to understand how busy people can be manufacturing stories about -each other. Given plenty of time, and every one knowing every one -else, there is sufficient irresponsible mischief in the average human -heart to bring about the same result as deliberate malice. - -How many of our friends are there, I wonder, who have not at various -times given utterance to some thorny thrust, or spiky supposition, at -our expense, loving us, nevertheless, quite warmly all the while? It -is a valuable training to be early taught the eleventh commandment: -“Thy neighbour shalt thou not discuss.” Detraction, defamation and -dislike may be grouped under the comfortable word “Gossip.” We often -flatter ourselves it is the human interest that we feel. - -And so it came about that on Granny Gatherstick centred the gossip of -the village. She was first looked on with suspicion, because they did -not understand her, and, with ordinary minds, to fail to understand -generally means to dislike. Passive dislike grew to fear, and from -fear of her grew lies and wicked charges, of which the unfortunate -woman was wholly innocent. - -“Whoi doan’t her be satisfied wi’ the ways of other folk? Whoi can’t -her be in her bed at night time, sem as other folk, ’sted o’ flitting -about a’ gathering of them nesty pisonous stuffs? d’ be only when -the moon’s full, that she d’ stir. Noa, noa, say I, let folk keep to -folk’s ways, and then there won’t be nothen’ said about un. If a body -come to get the name of Mother Midnight, it’s not for nothen’, of -that you may be sure; I don’t hold wi’ such ways.” - -This was what was felt generally among the village folk, and, if you -come to think of it, it is not only among the uneducated that such -feeling prevails. How seldom people are allowed in this life to take -their own way unmolested. Even children playing together interfere, -and scold, and bicker about trifles, and family life among grown-up -people may be devastated by the same pest. - -Let us early write on the tablets of our heart: “Let others lead -their own life, in their own way.” Then shall our ways be ways of -pleasantness, and all our paths be peace. - -One day a little boy and girl were playing in the woodlands, which -you see painted in that picture before you now. They were friends, -not brother and sister, and their names were Martin and Faith. They -were wood-cutter’s children, and often they played together, for -their homes stood near each other in the wood. - -There was no authorised village school. You must remember I am -telling you of English village life, some three hundred years ago. -Children of humble parents were brought up to learn to plough, and -reap, and carpenter; they hardly ever were taught to read, or write. -Such as could do so in those days were called “clerkes,” and some -day, you will read a ballad that tells how Clark Saunders loved May -Margaret, and you will find it one of the most sorrowful stories, -ever written down. - -So it came about that these children spent hours in the woodlands -with the flowers, and animals, and insects for companions. And their -books were the clouds and streams. - -It was in the month of October when the acorns lie freshly fallen. -There is something arresting about an acorn; the form is beautiful, -the texture glossy, there is perfection in the cup, and completeness -in the whole. Who could pass under an oak tree in autumn without -picking up a fallen acorn, and turning it in the hand? Faith was -threading these, and Martin wandered into the wood. He was away a -long time, and Faith was telling herself stories, as she loved doing -when she was alone. - -“Now it happened the water was very crystal-clear at this part of -the river,” she was saying, “and flowed between tall sedges, and -forget-me-nots, like angels’ eyes. And the river was so clear because -it was the home of a very beautiful Water Nixie who lived in it, and -who sometimes could emerge from her home, and sit in woman’s form -upon the bank. She had a dark green smock upon her, the colour of the -water-weed that waves as the water wills it, deep, deep down. And in -her long wet hair were the white flowers of the water-violet, and she -held a reed mace in her hand. Her face was very sad, because she had -lived a long life, and known so many adventures, ever since she was -a baby, which was nearly a hundred years ago. For creatures of the -streams, and trees, live a long, long time, and when they die they -lose themselves in Nature. That means that they are for ever clouds, -or trees, or rivers, and never have the form of men and women again. - -“All water-creatures would live, if they might choose it, in the -sea, where they are born. It is in the sea they float hand in hand -upon the crested billows, and sink deep in the great troughs of the -strong waves, that are green as jade. They follow the foam and lose -themselves in the wide ocean-- - - ‘Where great whales come sailing by, - Sail and sail with unshut eye,’ - -and they store in the Sea King’s palace the golden phosphor of the -sea. - -“But this Water Nixie had lost her happiness through not being good. -She had forgotten many things that had been told her, and she had -done many things that grieved others; she had stolen somebody else’s -property--quite a large bundle of happiness--which belonged elsewhere -and not to her. Happiness is generally made to fit the person who -owns it, just as do your shoes, or clothes; so when you take some one -else’s it’s very little good to you, for it fits badly, and you can -never forget it isn’t yours. - -“So what with one thing and another, this Water Nixie had to be -punished, and the Queen of the Sea had banished her from the waves. - -“The punishment that can most affect Merfolk is to restrict their -freedom. And this is how the Queen of the Sea punished the Nixie of -our tale. - -“‘You shall dwell for a long time in little places, where you will -weary of yourself. You will learn to know yourself so well, that -everything you want will seem too good for you, and you will cease to -claim it. And so, in time, you shall get free.’ - -“Then the Nixie had to rise up and go away, and be shut into the -fastness of a very small space, according to the words of the Queen. -And this small space was, a tear. - -“At first she could hardly express her misery, and by thinking so -continually of the wideness and the savour of the sea, she brought -a dash of the brine with her, that makes the saltness of our tears. -She became many times smaller than her own stature, even then by -standing upright and spreading wide her arms, she touched with her -finger-tips, the walls of her tiny crystal home. How she longed that -this tear might be wept, and the walls of her prison shattered. But -the owner of this tear was of a very proud nature, and she was so sad -that tears seemed to her, in nowise to express her grief. - -“She was a Princess who lived in a country that was not her home. -What were tears to her? If she could have stood on the very top -of the highest hill and with both hands caught the great winds of -heaven, strong as they, and striven with them, perhaps then she might -have felt as if she expressed all she knew. Or, if she could have -torn down the stars from the heavens, or cast her mantle over the -sun; but tears! would they have helped to tell her sorrow? You cry -if you soil your copy-book, don’t you, or pinch your hand? So you -may imagine the Nixie’s home was a safe one, and she turned round and -round in the captivity of that tear. - -“For twenty years she dwelt in that strong heart, till she grew to be -accustomed to her cell. At last in this wise came her release. - -“An old gipsy came one morning to the castle and begged to see the -Princess. She must see her, she cried. And the Princess came down -the steps to meet her, and the gipsy gave her a small roll of paper -in her hand. And the roll of paper smelt like honey as she took it, -and it adhered to her palm as she opened it. There was little sign -of writing on the paper, but in the midst of the page was a picture, -small as the picture reflected in the iris of an eye. The picture -showed a hill, with one tree on the sky-line, and a long road wound -round the hill. - -“And suddenly in the Princess’s memory a voice spoke to her. Many -sounds she heard, gathered up into one great silence, like the quiet -there is in forest spaces, when it is Summer, and the green is deep:-- - - ‘_Blessed are they that have the home longing, - For they shall go home._’ - -Then the Princess gave the gipsy two golden pieces, and went up to -her chamber, and long that night she sat, looking out upon the sky. - -“She had no need to look at the honeyed scroll, though she held it -closely. Clearly before her did she see that small picture; the hill, -and the tree, and the winding road, imaged as if mirrored in the iris -of an eye. And in her memory she was upon that road, and the hill -rose beside her, and the little tree was outlined, every twig of it, -against the sky. And as she saw all this, an overwhelming love of the -place arose in her, a love of that certain bit of country that was so -sharp and strong, that it stung and swayed her, as she leaned on the -window-sill. - -“And because the love of a country is one of the deepest loves you -may feel, the band of her control was loosened, and the tears came -welling to her eyes. Up they brimmed and over, in salty rush and -follow, dimming her eyes, magnifying everything, speared for a moment -on her eyelashes, then shimmering to their fall. And at last came the -tear that held the disobedient Nixie. - -“Splish! it fell. And she was free. - -“If you could have seen how pretty she looked standing there about -the height of a grass blade, wringing out her long wet hair. Every -bit of moisture she wrung out of it, she was so glad to be quit of -that tear. Then she raised her two arms above her in one delicious -stretch, and if you had been the size of a mustard-seed perhaps you -might have heard her laughing; then she grew a little, and grew and -grew, till she was about the height of a bluebell, and as slender to -see. - -“She stood looking at the splash on the window-sill that had been -her prison so long, and then with three steps of her bare feet, she -reached the jessamine that was growing by the window, and by this she -swung herself to the ground. - -“Away she sped over the dew-drenched meadows till she came to the -running brook, and with all her longing in her outstretched hands, -she kneeled down by the crooked willows among all the comfry, and the -loosestrife, and the yellow irises, and the reeds. - -“Then she slid in to the wide, cool stream.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - _But now her nose is thin, - And it resteth on her chin - Like a staff. - And a crook is in her tack, - And a melancholy crack - In her laugh._ - - O. WENDEL HOLMES. - - -Faith had finished her story, and looked up. It was surely some time -since Martin had moved away? She looked round and found she did not -recognise her surroundings: wandering along with Martin, she was -accustomed to leave the leadership to him. Now that she was alone -she had not the smallest idea which way led to her father’s cottage; -so she called Martin’s name. Out it went upon the soft September -air, the long-drawn “Martin” of her call. Then again, and again. And -at the third or fourth time of hearing her own voice wandering far -into the deep, still woods, Faith began to fear. To fully realise -your loneliness, if you are feeling lonely, you have only to call -aloud some familiar name several times, and receive no reply. It is -curious how uncomfortable the silence following may grow. Faith soon -was looking over her shoulder, then hastening her steps, stopping -altogether, only to break into a little run; and soon her thoughts -were filled with stories of these very woods. Wasn’t it here that -Dan’l Widdon, and Harry Hawk, had been walking on their way home -from the fair, when they heard the sound of skirling and groans? and -surely it was by this dark stream that her old Grandmother had seen -the wan face of a drowned babe, float up beneath her pitcher, like -some pale lily, while she stooped to draw water from the stream? Oh, -why had she let Martin wander away? surely it is in these thick woods -that Mother Midnight has her dwelling, she who can change into a hare -if she will, who flies out when the wind huffles, and flaps her cloak -at your window pane? She keeps toads in her bosom--yes, the children -say so, and she gathers sparks from her black cat to make charms.... -Faith’s heart was pounding in her ears, and she stood petrified, for -now a figure flitted by among the trees. There was not so much as -the snap of a dry twig beneath the tread to reassure her, and it was -a cloaked figure; yes, there it was again. A cloaked figure, deeply -hooded, leaning on a stick; now Saints and Martyrs preserve us! it is -the witch herself. - -“Who be you, my dear?” - -It was said in a voice that had the sound of a wicket gate with a -rusty hinge to it. - -“I be main glad to see but a little maid before me--I, who have to -live among the shadows, and to hide from the light. When I heard your -footfall on the dead leaves I had to shrink away, for how should I -know if it might not be the persecutors? but it’s you that seem to be -feared, my dear, it’s you that seem to be feared.” - -Faith was reassured, although still frightened. “Arn’t you Mother -Midnight?” she asked. - -“Well, by some called Mother Midnight, it be true. But only poor old -Granny Gather-stick all the time.” - -Her nose and chin almost met, and her face was a network of tiny -wrinkles. Her mouth was like the hole to a wren’s nest, except when -it was closed, and then it shut down into a straight, hard line. Her -eyes were set deep under a furrowed brow, and her grey elf-locks blew -about her. - -Not a very pleasant appearance you will say; perhaps not, but then -her voice was another matter. - - It sounded to me as though, cracked and rude, - Years had but softened, nor made it shrill, - As a time-worn flute makes the music crude, - Yet the spirit of music haunt it still. - -When Faith listened to her talking, her fear disappeared. And Granny -Gather-stick liked to talk. - -“Do’ee come up here, my dear, and tell me where ye d’ live, and you -can sit before my fire,” she said. - -“Is your cottage near here, then?” - -“Only a step or two across the water, but not my own cottage, child, -that you see from the road. No, this to which I be going is just one -of my homes. For those who live in hiding must make a shelter where -they can.” - -“Why do you live in hiding?” asked Faith. - -“Because of the evil in men’s hearts, my dear. Not content with -killing each other, and quarrelling, and drinking, and all the many -sports and wickednesses that inflame the hearts of men, they must -even turn aside from their gay paths to hunt a poor old woman, and -to spin lies about her like a net.” - -As Granny Gather-stick said these words, Faith saw she had her -hand against the hole of a tree that grew beside a thick tangle of -underwood. And drawing a little bolt aside, a tiny door opened that -appeared like a hurdle set thick with bramble and autumn leaves. - -Faith stepped after Granny into the opening, and found herself in -the dearest little room imaginable. It was about the size of a -large cupboard, and the walls were hurdles with brambles and leaves -outside, but hung with rough matting within. A hole in the roof let -out the smoke of the log fire, burning low in a heap of grey ashes -on the ground. The floor was swept clean and bare, showing the brown -earth hard and trodden, and a log or two served for chairs; and in -the middle was a little round table, holding a cup and a plate. A -tripod held the kettle, and on the plate upon the table lay a great -golden piece of honeycomb, its sweetness stealing slowly from its -sides. - -Faith exclaimed with pleasure and sat down upon a log. “Granny, what -a lovely little house.” As she spoke she heard Martin’s voice calling -her. Nearer and nearer the sound travelled, till soon he was by the -door. - -“Now call to him, my dear, and let us see if the birds have given -Granny a good hiding lesson.” - -“Here I am!” called Faith. - -“Where?” - -“Here!” - -“Where?” - -“Find me.” - -Martin’s steps went hither and thither through the wood, till at last -Faith opened the door, and soon they were all three in the tiny hut -with very little room surrounding, but happy, listening to Granny’s -talk. She sat at her table sorting herbs. “Milkwort or Hedge-hyssop -against the cough. Borage brings courage for purging melancholy, and -to fortify the heart. The Plantain for its healing juices. St. John’s -Wort against lightning and evil charms. Colchicum for rheumatism, -and the like.... Here are Black Archangel and Key-of-Spring, -Love-in-a-tangle, and Witch’s-tree; Grave-of-the-Sea and Golden -Greeting, Lad’s-love, and Rue. - -“Here be Arum roots; I put these aside--they be for stiffening lawn -with the starch I make from them--starch to stiffen the fine ruffs of -the great lords and ladies; and the Arums themselves we call Lords -and Ladies hereabout, though some call them Wake Robin, too. - -“Hedge Woundwort or Sickleweed, or Carpenter’s Herb, that has ‘All -Heal’ for a name. The Iris, called by the gipsies the Eye of Heaven, -pleasant to the skin when made into a paste, as I know how. And -here’s Corn Fever-few to cool the blood, and Rest Harrow to restore -reason.” - -The children watched her dividing and tying them into bunches with -thread, then suspending the fragrant sprigs against the hurdled walls -to dry. Her hands moved nimbly, and her voice sounded pleasantly, as -she murmured the names of the flowers, while she worked. - -And so it came to be a happy custom with the children to seek her -out in her cottage, or in her wren-houses, as they came to call her -little hidden huts. And she would have a story for them. Sometimes -they were rhymed ballads, of the kind such as Tamlane, or the Merry -Goshawk, sometimes they were the stories of her dreams. - -She would say, “You midden believe all that old Granny tells, my -dear, when she tells her dreams. Sometimes I d’ think they may be -what happened to me long ago, but what can I know about it? Why, -once I was given King Solomon’s Seal for my wisdom, in a dream.” - -“When was that?” cried the children; “please tell us!” - -And in the next chapter you may read the story in her dream. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - _And all my days are trances, - And all my nightly dreams - Are where thy dark eye glances, - Are where thy footstep gleams. - In what ethereal dances, - By what eternal streams._ - - E. A. POE. - - -I dreamed I was in a great garden full of flowers, and beautiful -trees. The lawns were smooth, with never a daisy to break the green -of them, and the shadows in the moonlight lay dark upon the ground. - -“For I was there at night, and there were many others with me, -dream-people, who I couldn’t see. But I knew we were all gathered -together to be put to some great test. I can see the night sky now -above me, as I saw it in my dream, with the moon like a shining -shield, and never a star. - -“And the test we were put to was to count the flowers of the -Solomon’s Seal. - -“Do you know the plant, and the beauty of it? The flowers hang down -in little bunches from a green stem that makes a rainbow span. I -saw the white flowers as I bent down to seek them, and ten of them -I counted as they hung there. And all the time that I was counting, -there were small voices about me, like thin breaths of air. - -“‘Count us, count us,’ they were saying; ‘different and yet the same; -count us.’ - -“It seemed to me there might be some more flowers hidden among the -leaves. And I turned the leaves back with my hands, seeking. I can -feel the coolness, and the firmness, of them now. But I could find -no more flowers than those ten. Yet the thin voices were still -whispering, ‘Count us, count us.’ - -“Then in the great clearness of the moonlight I saw that everything -in the garden had its shadow, every flower I had counted was -shadowed black upon the ground; and together I made twenty, and the -clamouring of the voices ceased. Then in my dream it seemed to me -the time had come when we must answer. We must have been standing -in a long line, for I heard the voices of the many who were there, -coming nearer and nearer, like a soft wind blowing through a wood. -‘Ten--ten--ten--ten,’ sounded the answers, and some one who seemed -to be standing at my shoulder said ‘Ten.’ But when my turn came, I -was filled with the strength of a great spirit, and cried out so that -my voice filled all the hollow of the sky. - -“‘Twenty, I make it!’ I called out--‘Twenty! for substance is shadow, -and shadow is substance, and what is--seems, and what seems--is.’ - -“I d’ know, I’m sure, if that makes sense or not, my dears; but I was -given Solomon’s Seal for my wisdom.” - -The children sat quietly while she told her story. Even if they did -not understand, they liked her voice. The logs glowed warmly beneath -the hanging kettle, and the feather of steam would float out, and -curl upwards from the kettle’s spout. But best of all her stories -they liked one that told of a strange adventure in her dream. - -“That was when I was travelling in a distant land, my dears, when I -was cast out for dead upon the desert. But the life in my spirit was -hidden and secret, and the flame was not blown out. I was sent on a -great mission away in a foreign land; I had papers with me, and I -knew in my dream if I were discovered, it would be my life they would -take. Then as my dream went on, I knew I was betrayed into the hands -of my enemies, and on the morrow I was to die. - -“That was a great land I was in, a land of dead races; a land of -desert sand, and ruined temples, and bright colours, and blue skies. -I and many others were to come by our deaths in a strange fashion. It -was this, look. - -“We were all taken up to stand on the great head of a statue. -Terrible it was in its sightless eyes, its heavy plaited hair, -and its paws of a creature. But I had no time to feel afraid, or -astonished. I was there to die. So large was this great statue that -as many as thirty people, or more, could stand upon its head, and -those who had to die were to leap from the head, down into the depths -below. And as I stood there with the other prisoners, I looked, and -saw the people walking about in their colours, far down, like spilt -beads upon the earth. Every one that leaped from that statue had to -cry aloud some great load cry. And I saw them leap and fall, crushed -upon the earth beneath us. - -“Then it came to the turn of two before me, then one before me, then -it was my turn to leap. And suddenly I felt the spirit surge within -me, and I thought, ‘They shall see that I, at least, know how to -die.’ And I sent my voice out so that my throat almost burst with the -strength of it, and I leaped. - -“The air tore at my ears as I fell, and there was a rushing sound, -and the sun reeled in the sky before me, with blood-red bars crossing -the yellow of his light. Then the ground seemed to rise up and smite -me, and I lay all bruised and broken from my fall. I felt the blood -burst out in warm gouts in breathing, and I said, ‘I am broken to -pieces. I am dying. Soon I shall be dead.’ And then I became aware of -a voice speaking to me, as if through grey clouds that were around -me. ‘Lie still,’ said the voice, ‘and they will think us dead like -the others, and by this we may escape; lie still.’ - -“I knew then I was not dead but broken, and I dreaded moving because -of the sickening sense of the red stream that welled from my open -lips. - -“Only my spirit was kept from fainting by the sound of that voice. -‘Life,’ it whispered; ‘we are not dead. Life.’ - -“And surely for hours the bodies fell from a height around us, and I -lay listening to the sound. And when at last that sound was finished, -they brought carts to take us away. I was thrown in among the dead -bodies--taken up and thrown in, like any refuse that must be carted -away. My dears, this happened long ago; this happened--God knows -it was no dream. And I lay in that earth with the dead around me, -the dead already cold. Eyes glazed and open, lay near me, and hands -with the fingers stiff upon them, thrust out against my face. Flung -in they were, these dead bodies. Is there anything worse than to be -alive among the dead? - -“So I lay under this load of corpses, now straining my head to get a -crevice to breathe through, now striving to rid myself of some cold -body lying on my face. - -“At last the carts started. Slowly they were driven from the town. -Through a long night journey we travelled till we came to a stand. -I heard the men come round, and release the pins that hold a cart -steady, and when these were loosened, the heap of corpses was shot -out upon the ground. - -“Once more upon the earth I lay with the dead around me, and I saw -the carts making their slow journey returning to the town. The wheels -sounded more and more distantly, till at last all was still. - -“And the sky changed from grey dusk to the flush of dawn, then a long -streak of red, and I lay watching it. And in that dawn my companion -and I, rose up from among the dead bodies, and took our way across -the plain. - -“We exchanged no words; we had but the one thought between us--to -leave the dead, to get away. - -“And directing our steps across the open desert, we walked silently, -the sand muffling our footsteps as we went.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - _But I hae dreamed a weary dream - Beyond the land of Skye; - I saw a dead man win a fight, - And I think that man was I._ - - OLD BALLAD. - - -The days passed happily for the children in their almost daily -companionship of the old woman. They liked to work for her. They -would clean the cottage, or wash the china, hanging all the cups -again by their handles on the hooks of the dresser. And you may roam -through pleasures and palaces and never, to my mind, happen upon a -prettier decoration to the wall of a room, than cups thus suspended -in a row. - -When Granny Gather-stick returned from her expedition to the -neighbouring market-town, she would find all comfortably prepared. -Her tea in making, the table spread, a fire of logs, with the cat -purring before them, and two children glad of her return. - -After she had refreshed herself and was rested, she told them more -stories of her dreams. One was called “The Story of the Greatest -Sufferer,” and in nearly all her dreams kings and queens figured--she -could give no reason why. - -“I thought I was reading once in a book the story of a king. The -king worshipped many gods, but in his heart he longed to know who of -all his gods was the greatest, and the worthiest of praise. Now it -happened this king had a dream, and in his dream it was told him he -should worship none but the highest, and that he who had suffered -most was the highest, and the worthiest of praise. And it was further -told him that on the morrow all those who had suffered would come -before his throne, and when he who had suffered most should appear -before the king, the stars would fall from heaven in a golden rain. - -“Now, my dears, it seemed to me that I ceased reading and I lived -in the story, and saw and felt the rest. I saw a crowd assembled -around an empty space of great magnitude, and I saw the king and his -courtiers round him, robed in purple with a golden crown. I knew we -were all there to see the Sorrowful; and first I saw the figure of -a man. Slowly he came, and he was clad in black velvet, wearing -his hair long, with a pointed beard. And all the people watched -his sorrowful countenance. ‘Deeply as you suffered,’ my heart said -within me, ‘you cannot deem yourself to be the highest.’ But no -word was said. And while we all watched him, he passed out of sight -waveringly, as if he were no real person in the flesh. - -“Then I dreamed the heralds blew their trumpets, and the crowd moved -across the scene. This time I saw the figure of a woman, and, dear -heart, when I looked upon her my spirit was like to faint. - -“‘This is Sorrow herself,’ I kept saying in my dream. ‘Yes, this must -be Sorrow.’ And I saw others thought the same as I, for the crowd -looked upward. But the stars were firm, and the king asked, ‘Are -there any more to appear?’ - -“‘There are no more,’ answered the courtiers; but I saw a woman -approach the throne. - -“‘There is one more, and you must see him,’ she cried; ‘there is one -more.’ - -“The courtiers would have thrust her aside, but the king said, ‘Let -all those appear, that have suffered.’ - -“Then it seemed to me that I was looking over a vast sight of -country, a wide view, such as there is from the Windmill Hill at -home. And there in the air I saw lying, and yet not falling, a naked -child. - -“I knew it was Christ I was seeing--I knew it was Christ. And while I -was just standing looking, all the stars fell from heaven in a shower -of golden rain.” - -There was silence, and the children watched a bevy of sparks race up -the wide chimney, the laggards among them creeping glowingly, among -the black soot at the chimney back. - -Then the old woman said:-- - -“That was a good dream; but I have had others that were not so good.” - -“Tell us!” said the children, “tell us!” - -And the old woman began the “Story of the Five Queens.” - -“There was once a king who had five queens, and he took to himself -yet another queen, and this woman was proud and cruel. She would not -brook rivals, wishing to reign alone. So she sought out the ancient -laws of that country, among which she knew she would find something -to fit her mind. For in these laws it had been written, that where -the king ceased to love his queens, those queens must die. - -“And now in my dream the story grew around me, and I lived within -it, as is the custom in my dreams. I heard and saw the people -speaking and moving of whom I tell. - -“I was in a darkened chamber, silver lamps hanging from a low -ceiling, the air heavy with sweet essences, and I was one of the -queens. - -“We were gathered in this room to kill ourselves, but within my -heart I knew I intended to do no such thing. For while they pricked -themselves with a poisoned needle, I was going to pretend to do so, -and when they had died I meant to make my escape. Determining thus, I -had thrust my poisoned needle deeply out of sight into the earth, in -the garden of the palace. - -“Now in my dream I looked around me. There was no sound in the room -but a soft moaning, and I saw shrouded forms lying on low couches, -wrapped round with silk. - -“I lay on a great bed, and close beside me lay the youngest queen, -and I dreamed that her name was Ayilmah. Her voice was speaking to me -very quietly, in the dusk of that darkened room. - -“‘Where hast thou pricked thyself?’ she was saying. - -“‘In the slender part of my wrist,’ I answered, lyingly, and I -dreamed she expressed great sorrow at my words. - -“‘Oh, why hast thou done it there?’ she cried. ‘Dost thou not know -that the pain will grow and grow, till at last it will get past -bearing. And death tarries while the pain grows. Why didst thou do it -there? Dost thou not suffer exceedingly?’ - -“And I, in my dream, replied once more lyingly: ‘My life is already -so numb within me that I feel no pain.’ Then I thought she put her -hand into mine to comfort me, and even as her fingers closed round -mine, I felt her hand’s warmth, and the movement of it, cease. -Hurriedly I slipped my hand higher, and I found her arm was chill, -and now the rounded fingers in mine were cold like small columns of -polished jade. - -“Then I knew she lay dead beside me, and suddenly I was filled with a -great awe. I started up and cried, ‘Listen, I have done you a great -wrong.’ But everything was very quiet. There was no answer to my -words. - -“Then I knew that in that room I alone was living, and a great horror -overwhelmed me, a great fear. - -“I moved from the couch where I was lying, my feet caught and held, -by the wrappings of the bed. - -“Freeing them, I crept through the warm, scented darkness, between -the couches of the queens. Very quietly they lay there in the -stillness, and the light the silver lamps gave out through their -fretted sides, was so dim that I could barely see the heavy curtains -hiding the walls. I drew the curtains aside, seeking an outlet, but -everywhere my hands fell on the smooth surface of the wall. - -“Then I knew that what had been a chamber for the living had been -sealed into a tomb, for it had been thought, that knowing the law, -the five queens had dealt faithfully. And with this knowledge my life -maddened within me, and I tore the curtains down. Stumbling over -the heaps of fallen draperies I sped forward, seeking with frenzied -hands. I laid both hands flat out against the wall, passionately -seeking. - -“But there was no opening, no door. - -“Only the dead were free. And I, who had planned so cunningly. - -“The silver lamps moved slightly as they hung.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - _Forsooth the present we must give - To that which cannot pass away, - All beauteous things for which we live - By laws of time and space, decay. - But oh, the very reason why - I clasp them, is because they die._ - - CORY JOHNSTONE. - - -The children only half liked these stories of Granny’s. They cared -more for her flower-lore. For while she spoke of her more horrible -dreams, she became possessed by their spirit, and they could then -better understand her causing fear in the breasts of others, and -therefore suspicion and dislike. Best of all, they liked to get her -to sing to them. Her voice was like the fitful pipe of the keyhole -when the wind blows through, yet all the words sounded clearly. And -the words of one of her songs were these:-- - - “The holly and the ivy - Are both now fully grown, - Of all the trees in greenwood - The holly bears the crown. - - _O, the rising of the sun, - The running of the deer, - The playing of the merry organ, - Sweet singing in the quoir._ - - The holly bears a blossom - As white as lily-flower; - And Mary bore sweet Jesus - To be our Saviour. - - _O, the rising of the sun, - The running of the deer, - The playing of the merry organ, - Sweet singing in the quoir._ - - The holly bears a berry, - As red as any blood; - And Mary bore sweet Jesus - To do poor sinners good. - - _O, the rising of the sun, - The running of the deer, - The playing of the merry organ, - Sweet singing in the quoir._ - - The holly bears a bark - As bitter as any gall; - And Mary bore sweet Jesus - To redeem us all. - - _O, the rising of the sun, - The running of the deer, - The playing of the merry organ, - Sweet singing in the quoir._” - -You may know the tune of these words, for it is to be found in the -Carol Book. It is lovely, and when it comes to the lines-- - - “O, the rising of the sun, - The running of the deer,” - -there is warmth in the music, and the notes give the sound of light -feet pricking through dry leaves of the russet floor of woodlands. - -And here is another of her songs. This one she would sing as she -plied her spinning-wheel, and the last two lines, if you notice, -have a pleasant recurrence in their sound. Something sustained and -continuous, like the whirring of a wheel:-- - - “Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? - O sweet content! - Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex’d? - O punishment! - Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex’d - To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? - O sweet content! - Work apace, apace, apace, apace; - Honest labour bears a lovely face. - - Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring? - O sweet content! - Swim’st thou in wealth, yet sink’st in thine own tears? - O punishment! - Then he that happily wants burden bears, - No burden bears, but is a king, a king. - O sweet content! - Work apace, apace, apace, apace; - Honest labour bears a lovely face.” - -Soon the children grew able to help in the preparation of the herbs. -They learned to know their names and uses. After Granny had sorted -the sweet-smelling sprigs Faith would tie them, and prepare them for -drying or soaking in hot water, as it might be. - -“This is good for burns,” the old woman would say as she sorted them. - -“And this for the palsy. But did you ever think what a precious herb -that would be, could one but find it, that would save folk from -growing old? There are pastes and ointments against wrinkles, there -are soft washes for the skin, but there’s nothing that grows that -can save the hair turning grey at the end of a lifetime--no, nor a -flower, or herb, that can give back the flower of youth. And that -brings to memory a strange dream I had; but this time it was read to -me from a book. The words weren’t mine, my dears; and the voice that -read it to me was strange to me; and the book that held the story was -bound in covers of horn. There’s meaning here for those who can find -it, for I’ve heard there are two gates that our dreams pass through. -If they pass the Gate of Ivory, they are false dreams, but if they -pass through the Gate of Horn, they are true. - -“Now the voice that was telling me this story was gentle, and I -seemed to have been listening to it for a long, long time. - -“Once there reigned a king over a great country, it was saying, ruler -over many tribes. He had wise councillors and many riches, but the -chief of his treasure lay in a house apart from the palace, where he -passed the choicest of his days. Here dwelt the nymph Ia, by whom he -set great store. Deeply versed was she in the art of witchery, the -sound of her voice was like bells harmoniously according, and when -she danced her feet moved like white pigeons over the floor. In this -house there was a great store of rubies, so that a man might take -them up in both hands, yet was the casket filled. Gold was here, and -ivory, chrysoprase, jasper and chalcedony, and curious images from -other lands. Robes of great price were here, robes that might have -been woven of the sea in moonlight, or fashioned of the night sky, -pointed with many stars. - -“And all these things the king gave willingly, for he loved Ia as the -light of his eyes. - -“Now it chanced a great cloud hung over this country, a cloud of -adversity and evil days. Sorrow was there in the land, for a war -wasted it, moreover a famine wrought further misery in many homes. -Only in the House of Dalliance might the king fly the evil hour, -forgetting here the sorrow of his realm. - -“One day his servants came into his presence saying one craved -audience of the king. - -“‘An aged woman who promiseth a remedy is here.’ - -“‘Then let her come before us,’ the king made answer. - -“And there entered an old woman, at his word. Heavily she leaned upon -a stick in walking, and the wrinkles in her face were as the ripples -in the sand, when the tide is far sped. Her eyes were dim with the -years that bowed her, and her hair fell in meagre locks of grey. - -“‘Heaven save you, mother,’ quoth the king, as she entered. ‘What -words of wisdom find you in your heart to-day?’ - -“The old woman bent her head before him, signing to him to send the -courtiers from the room. And when they were alone together, ‘What is -the need of your land, O king?’ she asked. ‘In what measure may you -stay the evil?’ - -“And the king made answer: ‘I had thought thou broughtest counsel, -mother, and now thou openest thy lips but to question me. Many years -has a war vexed this country, and a famine wasteth many homes. The -treasures of State are empty, and now I know not where to turn for -gold. Had I half the bulk of the country’s customary treasure, -peradventure I might stay the war; but seeing this is exhausted -through years of adversity, we must bethink ourselves of other means.’ - -“‘Yes, verily, other means,’ replied the old woman; ‘and the wisdom -that lieth nearest is the wisdom that is overlooked. Yet do thou -listen: I have knowledge of a means by which the evil may be stayed.’ - -“‘Speak, and may God enlighten thee,’ said the king. - -“The old woman continued: ‘Hast thou no store of treasure in the -House of Dalliance? Shalt thou not give this utterly to thy country’s -needs?’ - -“The king held silence as she spake thus, marvelling that any one -dared so venture. To live without days in the House of Dalliance -would have been to him the wisdom of a fool, sacrificing the only -means of comfort, he knew for his wearied mind. - -“Well he knew the store of treasure in that house bound the nymph to -him, for light was she as a weaver’s shuttle, and her thoughts little -longer in the same place. And as he thought thus, he became greatly -wrath with the old woman, so that he cried out, ‘Who art thou, who -darest so to speak to me? Who art thou, I say?’ - -“And very quietly the words came in answer, ‘It is the nymph Ia who -speaks to thee--it is Ia who speaks.’ - -“Then the king would have laughed aloud at the old woman, but -something in her countenance held him back. For as he gazed on her he -saw, as a man may see the picture of the skies in summer, dimmed and -wrinkled in the broken surface of a pool, even so in the countenance -of the old woman did the king see Ia’s youth. - -“And as he gazed the truth came to him, and he shook, as one who -after long watching, sees dawn break on a frozen sea. For he knew the -day would come when the nymph la would look even as this old woman -before him. When her eyes, deep and fringed as the forest pools, -would be no longer bright with the splinters of stars in them, but -sunken, aye, sunken and filled with rheum. And the sound of her voice -would be scrannel, and the swiftness of her feet fail. And what would -his treasure avail him, with the core of his treasure gone? - -“And again he thought upon his country and the necessity that was -knocking at his door. And he beheld with the eyes of his soul, this -sacrifice, growing and shining, with the years. He saw it take -radiant form unto itself, and rising above the fears of a little -moment, he beheld it mount gloriously to the habitations of eternity, -clapping its hands for joy. - -“And as he beheld this, his heart cried out suddenly within him, for -the good that is born in men’s souls is born in pain. - -“And with that cry the king stirred in his sleep uneasily. And lo, it -had been a dream. - -“He was alone in his chamber in the palace, his great dog slumbering -by the fire, nose couched up on slender paws. - -“And the perched macaw at the king’s elbow, bowed and scrambled at -its chain. - -“Only the remembrance of the king’s dream stayed with him, till he -loathed the tag of an old rhyme. - - “‘If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains, - If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains.’ - - * * * * * - -“But the king, did he make common store of his treasure, and loose -his soul for ever from the nymph?” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - _For mine enemies have constrained me, as a bird, - without cause._ - - THE APOCRYPHA. - - -It happened one day Granny had been longer than usual, and the -children sat waiting her return. When she entered the cottage it was -with a hurried step and her hood drawn over her countenance. She -stood listening with a scared face by the closed door, and had no -word for the children. But gradually as the afternoon wore on, and -she sat at her herb-bundles, she became quieter, and more at rest. - -“Folk’ll come to me fast enough when they’re ailing,” she said to -Martin. “‘Have you got anything to cure the dizziness?’ they’ll say. -‘So soon as ever I do go to stoop down to reach anything, I come up -all over the hot blooms,’ they’ll say. - -“And I always give them something to take for it, but they won’t -willingly come into my cottage for all that. - -“‘What do you fear?’ I say to them. ‘Come inside, now, and sit down.’ - -“But they’re off. Though they stop till they get their medicine. Ah, -I sometimes think if ever I were overtaken by the persecutors, how -many of those I’ve doctored, would stand by me in my need?” - -“Who do you mean by the persecutors?” asked the children. - -“Why, the folk who hunt the witches, my dears, those who, having evil -in their own hearts, see it in others. Folk who read the Scriptures -only to chastise their fellows by the twisted Word.” - -She turned to stir the smouldering wood, and as she turned the -children heard a distant sound. It was a sound that grew and -gathered, and was composed of many cries. Granny Gather-Stick faced -the children. - -“They are here, even as we speak of them--Lord, Lord, be Thou my -Friend.” - -A sense of fear seized the children as the confused sounds grew -louder. - -Have you ever heard an angry mob? It is a dreadful thing. There is -malignant strength in the sound, confusion, and alarm. - -Nearer and nearer it came, and the old Granny turned to the -children, her eyes like coals in her white face. - -“They’re upon me this time; they can’t miss me, for the smoke is -rising. I ventured it, and lit my fire, though I knew they had been -seeking me. And now they are here.” - -She stood erect in her little hut, her hands clasped upon her bosom, -the dark hood fallen from her grey hair. - -“To the horse-pond with the hell-cat, to the horse-pond! Drown her! -drown her! Out upon her for her sorcery! Sink or swim--sink or swim!” - -The boughs cracked and rustled as the crowd pushed on, surrounding -her hiding-place, and the wood was filled with cries. Suddenly, -with a crash the little dwelling was shattered round her, and in an -instant she was seized by rude hands. For a moment the children saw -her borne high among the crowd, dragged, wrenched, torn, hustled, -from one grasp to another, till they could no longer bear the sight. - -“O Martin!” cried Faith, as the crowd that had at first swept them -with it, passed beyond them and left them by themselves. “How can we -save her?” - -They stood staring at one another, their eyes wide with the anguish -of their hearts. - -“They mustn’t kill her, we must save her. Quick, to the house of -Master Coverdale.” - -No sooner said than done. They started running swiftly through the -forest. The dry twigs snapped beneath them as they ran. They knew of -Granny’s danger, they also knew of the one man to whom they could go -for help. If only they might not be too late--that was the fear that -winged their footsteps. - -Through the greener open spaces they went, now threading their -way through the more closely growing trees, now creeping through -the undergrowth and brushwood. Bending back the tough boughs that -laced themselves before them, and skirting the impenetrable brakes. -Sometimes the roots of ribbed oak trees would catch their steps, -or the brambles take their garments, but they did not stop to -disentangle, or to rub their bruises. On they ran, forcing their way -impetuously, where in a cooler moment they might have hesitated to -pass. - -And at last they reached the open, and saw the gables of the -Manor-house, where dwelt the man they sought. - -It stood, away in the green fields by the river, the gables showing -grey through the foliage of the trees. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -The Manor-house was a small gabled building, set deep among orchards -and lush grass. It was built of flint and stone in chequers, and was -one of those buildings (you see them close to old mills and barns, in -the southern counties) that have a face. Yes, a countenance bearing -an expression of their character, whereas most houses have merely -outsides. - -This house, when the moon shone on it, looked mysterious and unreal. -The windows gleamed silver green, like old armour, dinted, and the -whole fabric appeared as though it had no true context with the earth. - -But when the day bathed it in golden sunshine, laying the shadows -of its gables sharply black against its roof, then it appeared -positively to hold the ground it stood on, and would stand so -square at you, as to almost dominate the bright garden that bunched -it close. Its walls would give back the sunshine in warm washes -of colour, while the pigeons crooned and sidled on the roof. The -house-martins built their mud nests against it, more wonderful than -the nests of swallows, for they choose the sheer wall for nesting -purposes, whereas the swallows must build upon a ledge. To and fro -these house-martins would fly, weaving a black-and-white flicker of -pointed wings, with sudden encounters, and sweet creedling beneath -the eaves. And in front of the house on the lawn there grew a -mulberry tree, with a great limb laid down upon the ground, so that -it looked as if it felt how old it was, and liked leaning that way, -to rest. - -The cows wrenched the long grass in a meadow so close to the windows, -that any one within doors could easily see them and be rested by -their movements of reposeful content. Beyond this paddock again was -a church, with a roof orange with lichen-growth, and grey walls, -ivy-clad. - -So now you may imagine this Manor-house and its surroundings, and -call it by any well-loved name you like. - -In this house dwelt the man the children were in search of, a man -named Miles Coverdale. He was a doctor of learning, not of medicine, -and lived a quiet life among his books. He it was who translated the -Bible, carrying out the work that William Tyndall began. The people -loved him for his charity and neighbourliness, and would often bring -their disputes to him, content to abide by his word. - -Martin, arriving at the door, pulled with all his might at the bell. -A little rusty, buried tinkle sounded grudgingly, far away in the old -house. He pulled again--wasn’t every moment of importance? But the -bell only gave the same inarticulate reply as if it had just turned -round to go to sleep again, and couldn’t be troubled to sound. - -There are moments in life when we put forth the strength of Thor to -attain some object, and the giant of circumstance, just as did the -giant in the Norse legend, merely says, “Was that an acorn brushed my -brow?” - -At last, however, the door opened, and a shrill voice began to scold. - -“Now then, just you step away off this threshold, and don’t come -ringing off the roof of the house, enough to make the rafters fall to -pieces! Any one would think the rats and mice were enough, let alone -children to make a racket. Lord bless us and save us, and mud enough -on the shoon to muck the whole place up, let alone the door-mat and -the stonen steps. Now, do’ee just go right away with ye, and doant -let me so much as see the corner of your----” - -“Now, now, now,” said a quiet voice behind the shrillness of the -other, “what is it, Keziah? Your kitchen’s feeling lonely without -you; I’ll attend to this.” - -And the children saw the fine face, and kind smile of Miles -Coverdale, as he stood behind his shrewish old serving-maid. Keziah -turned, muttering some cross apologies, and disappeared down the -stone passage, leaving, like the widening wake of a ship in quiet -waters, a trail of grumbling talk. - -But the children at once began to tell their story, and they had come -to the right house. Soon all three were entering the village. Faith -sickened as they neared the angry sound again, and saw a crowd by the -edge of the horse-pond. - -“Now we’ll teach ’ee how to count the stars, Mother! They be all -shown in the water come nightfall, and the toads, and the loach, and -the newts can feed upon ’ee, and come by their own,” said one voice. - -“Sim as if the very water wouldn’t look at her, she be that dead -heavy to bear,” said another. - -“Who be it, then,” cried a third, “as come over Double-Dyke Farm and -witched the cows dead?” - -“Who was it charmed my churn so the butter wouldn’t come?” cried -a shrill voice; “no, not if I turned me arms off! Ah, the nesty, -spiteful crittur, she knowed as how my daughter wasn’t near; she -thought she’d make me lose my butter.” - -“Sink or swim, sink or swim,” cried other voices; “to feed the evil -sperrits and the mud-worms, we don’t want no better than she.” - -There was a scramble, a clumsy rush forward, and Martin saw old -Granny half lifted, half dragged, amid the tumult, her eyes closed, -her mouth set. The blood was welling out upon her forehead, dyeing -the whiteness of her hair. Never before had he felt such sudden -strength of wrath within him. He leaped forward with a cry. But the -doctor was already speaking to them, already the voices of the crowd -were lessening; they were inclining to attend. - -The children held their breath while they heard his voice raised in -expostulation; and soon it was the only voice heard. - -“You may not understand why I am here speaking to you, you may think -me wrong. But I have lived among you now for thirty years; and in -all that time I have loved this village, and its folk, and there -is not so much as a tree that I have not, at one time or another, -blessed for the shade it has given, or a stream that I have not -walked beside, and loved for its kindly uses and clear way. And all -through these years there has come nothing before me of the cruelty -of human nature. Its folly I have seen, and its sorrows, its failure -to fulfil its own wayward desires, for even in the stress of vigorous -life, man does not often rightly know what he would have. But I have -one desire now before me, and these are the words of an old man--the -words of one who says, how shall I go down to my grave comforted if -I see this woman killed? This woman who has dwelt as my neighbour -all these years, who has given to such as have asked, of her store -of knowledge and wisdom. Are there not many here among you who have -known her help? Has she not ministered to your children? Drown her, -and you are allowing the very spirits you think her possessed by, to -strive and gain an evil victory in your souls. Show mercy to her, and -God Himself will be with you, and I shall not have asked a kindness -of you now, in vain.” - -The village folk muttered among themselves, some turning as if about -to go. Others stood in knots, appearing dissatisfied, and repeating -the charge that she was a witch. But a voice here and there asserted -itself, chiefly the voices of women, and these spake good. - -“She gave me good yerbs, when my little maid lay dying; ay, and I -went to her--she didden come to me.” - -“She never put her hand to anybody else’s business, as I know on, not -unless they d’ go and ask her to. It’s all sorts that go to make a -world, that’s certain. She midden have our ways, and we midden have -hers, but there! she be flesh and blood, and I d’ know as how she’d -have hurt a body, not if a body went to leave her to herself-like.” - -“Well, I know one thing,” cried a shrill voice, “she washed my baby -what died o’ the plague-spots, yes, washed ’un and lay’d ’un out -fine, when there wasn’t so much as one of ye who’d come nigh me, and -me like to die.” - -This woman thrust her way through the crowd; she was young, and her -eyes were alight and eager. She went to the prostrate figure of the -old woman lying upon the ground. - -“Look up! look up! Granny--see the sky and the birds! Look up, poor -soul, you midden die, no, no, not to-day, nor yet to-morrow; we’ve -got place for more o’ the likes o’ you. You come round again, poor -soul, you open your eyes. Lord! Lord! you midden die.” - -She said this in a kind, comfortable murmur, her hands laid on the -old woman’s brow. Now supporting her head, now chafing her listless -hands, as she lay where they had left her, by the water. And the -great tears of love and pity ran from her eyes, falling on her -tattered garments. - -Miles Coverdale waited till the last lingerer in that angry crowd had -left the scene, and even after they had all dispersed, he stood lost -in meditation. - -“Why do the heathen so furiously rage together, and the people -imagine a vain thing?” he murmured, as he turned his steps towards -the Manor-house. Then the children heard the heavy oak door shut -behind him, as he disappeared from their sight. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Inchbald ceased speaking, and there was silence for a space. -Then someone asked-- - -“What became of the old woman?” and somebody else said, - -“Did she die?” - -Mrs. Inchbald replied-- - -“Look at the Nasmyth, and you will find the answer there, my dears.” - -The children rose, and crowded round the picture, looking at it with -interested eyes. And what did they see? - -They saw a figure in a red cloak and a yellow kerchief, on the -river-path leading to the pointed house. - -And they cried out severally-- - -“She’s still there!” - -“She didn’t die!” - -“I see her!” - -And if you look you will see they are right. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - _Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, - Silver buckles at his knee, - When he comes home he’ll marry me, - Pretty Bobby Shafto._ - - _Bobby Shafto fat and fair, - Blessings on his yellow hair, - He’s my lover ever dear, - Pretty Bobby Shafto._ - - OLD SONG. - - -One afternoon you might have seen Clare running downstairs swiftly, -her legs twinkling, like the water-wagtail’s as he spins over the -lawn. - -For news spreads quickly in a household of children, and rumour -had it that Mrs. Inchbald was sitting in the drawing-room, and an -idea of stories was about. Clare met Bimbo here, and Dolorès there, -and a little farther on she gathered Leslie, Beppo, and Collina; -finally she swept up Robin and Mousie and Christopher, who followed -in her wake, and together they all poured into the drawing-room -helter-skelter, to see if this rumour were true. - -Mrs. Inchbald sat by the fire with her knitting, and Miss Ross -stood by her side. Her long black dress fell in soft folds, and the -firelight touched and was reflected in the loose coils of her dark -hair. She looked supremely sad, as in her picture, only the quiet -movement of her eyes as she turned towards the children, lent a -greater animation to her face. - -Soon all the children were gathered round the hearthrug chattering -like pies, and loudly choosing various stories. - -“I think the Smugglers’ Cave.” - -“No, I think Turn-Churn Willie.” - -“No, no, about highwaymen.” - -“Another witch story, please.” - -“No, smugglers, smugglers.” - -“And smugglers it shall be,” interposed Mrs. Inchbald, in a voice -that allowed no arguing. - -And then and there she began the following tale:-- - -I must ask you, dear children, to wing your imagination and come with -me to a tawny-cliffed village on the coast of Kent. When the tide -is far out there are miles of sand, and here when the sun sets in -November, you may see a beautiful effect of colour. The flaming skies -are duplicated in the moistened sands, so that the whole firmament is -imaged in the earth around you. - -Again, on summer evenings, these sands will reflect the long shafts -of amber light, so that the failing day will take new life from them, -seeming to recover once again its golden morning beams. - -Look at the smaller picture by Bonington, and you will see what I -mean. The sands stretch beyond you inimitably, steeped in the rosy -and golden colours of the sky. - -In the year 1819, the practice of smuggling had reached a point of -such craft and effrontery, that only by special methods did the -authorities hope to check its course. They realised that in having -local spies, in getting help from the village people themselves, lay -the best chance of permanently quelling it. - -So it happened that as one Daniel Maidment was digging in his garden, -situated in the village that I have described, a spruce and very -dapper gentleman on horseback reined up beside his gate. - -“Good-morning to you. Am I addressing Mr. Daniel Maidment of the -village of Stowe-i’-the-Knowe?” - -[Illustration: _Remington_ ON THE SEA-SHORE] - -“That’s my name, and that’s my village,” answered Daniel, and he -stood leaning on his spade. - -“I have a little matter of business with you, my man,” continued -the stranger in that particular voice in which some people talk -to children, or use when they address such as they consider their -inferiors. - -“You may find it to your advantage to give me your attention for a -little while. With your permission, I will walk into your house.” - -The rider dismounted, and tying his horse to the gate-post, went up -the gravel path to the cottage door. - -Daniel followed, and set a chair by the table, at which an old woman -sat making lace. Her eyes were blind, as you might see by their wide -dimness, and by the extreme serenity of her face. This is a quality -that accompanies blindness. All signs of anxiety, of transient -expression, are smoothed away, and all fretful activity; the features -are set in the beauty of a great repose. - -But her hands plied with swiftness the work on a lace pillow, with a -pleasant recurrency of sound the wooden bobbins flew round, and about -the shining pins. - -“If your mother is deaf as well as blind,” recommenced the stranger, -in a tone fitted to reach the deafest ears, “there is no reason at -all why we should disturb her, my good fellow; but my business is of -a private nature, and it would perhaps be better if we were alone.” - -He stood with his hands under his coat-tails, and waved a high and -foolish nose over the chimney ornaments as he investigated the -spotted spaniels, the china paladins on white and gold chargers, and -the pretty shell boxes that ornamented the mantelpiece. But when he -turned he found the old woman had softly risen, and passed out. - -“If you will kindly state your business with me, sir,” said Daniel, -“I shall be pleased to attend.” - -The stranger cleared his throat, and began importantly:-- - -“I am commissioned by the authorities serving under his most gracious -Majesty the king, to investigate this district thoroughly with a -view to checking the illicit trading that is carried on. Time and -again the hand of the law has been held, and its object baffled by -the collusion of the villagers with the smuggling trade. It is only -possible for us to secure an advantage if we are helped by those on -the spot. - -“It is an open secret that the landlord of the ‘Mariner’s Rest’ -keeps a receiving house; but such is the organised system of signals -and alarms that hitherto we have found it impossible to surprise -their vigilance. Your character, Mr. Maidment, I find on inquiry is -unblemished as regards this matter as yet. I repeat, as yet--I have -no desire to go into the past. Your trade as a fisherman enables -you to know this coast, and the people who live along it, more -thoroughly than any one coming as a stranger upon the scene. Will -you work with the law? May we look upon you for such service as will -conform to a better governing of the country’s trading? Will you help -in abolishing an evil that is growing more and more flagrant and -unbridled, every year?” - -Daniel understood very well what was wanted of him. He had lived for -years on the outskirts of smuggling, fully aware of his neighbours’ -activity in the trade. Was he to turn spy upon them? It is true he -had no near friends concerned in it, but it was hardly the kind of -part he would choose, to watch and tell. - -He looked across at this gentleman with a level gaze. How cordially -he disliked him. From the flat lock on his forehead, to the very -points of his smart, disagreeable boots. He felt this feeling of -dislike grow within him, as if it literally spouted bitter juices up -his veins. Then he said-- - -“What do you want with me? Do you want me to turn spy?” - -He moved abruptly to the window, thinking, his hands deep into his -pockets as he stood, and his hand rustled against a letter in his -pocket that brought him suddenly to a standstill in thought. He drew -it out and stood looking at it. Then he went out at the cottage door, -and down the path. - -The stranger never did a wiser thing than when he remained in the -cottage. He stood looking into the fire waiting for Daniel to return, -and out in the garden Daniel opened the folded sheet of paper, -written closely in a neat hand. - -“O, my dear,” ran the words of the letter, “how well I love you, and -how often I think of you, God alone knows, for I shall never find the -poor words to tell you. Only I pray every night that I may soon see -you, and that this long waiting may cease. But it isn’t only right -but what our love should be tested, I know that, and God doesn’t send -us trials for nothing. - -“You know what I spoke to you about last time when we were walking -on the Common. Do you remember how the gorse was out, and how I -begged you to get free from everything that wasn’t honest--how it -isn’t like you to have dealings of that kind? I know it hasn’t come -very nigh you yet, Daniel; I know you won’t let it part us. There’s -always plenty of things in this life ready to come in between -goodness and turn lives crooked, if they can; but we won’t let them -hurt our happiness, will we?--not we two. Only the other day I was -thinking about you, and I took the Book and let my hands wander among -the pages for a sign. And I said, ‘This’ll be for Daniel,’ as I was -doing it, and I looked down and read. And the words were: ‘Love the -brotherhood, obey God, honour the king,’ and that was a sign, Daniel, -and it was for you.” - -The wind blew softly through the cottage garden, bending the bushes -of chrysanthemums by the wall. It rustled among the nasturtiums, and -away out into the field beyond. And the words of the letter kept -repeating themselves in Daniel’s brain, “Obey God, honour the king.” -And now they were not only written words, but they brought the tone -of a voice with them. - -He re-entered the cottage and faced the stranger once more. - -“I can’t do what you’re asking of me,” he said, “but at least I -shan’t work agin you, I’ve made up my mind. You may depend upon me.” - -“That’s well; then I’ll say good-morning to you, Mr. Maidment. I will -leave you this address if you should have any written communication -you may want to send.” - -He unhitched his horse’s reins from the gate-post, and mounting, went -at a swinging trot down the road. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - _Under the salt sea’s foam it lay, - At the outermost point of a rocky bay, - A sandy, tide-pooly, cliff-bound cove - With a red-roofed fishing village above - Of irregular cottages perched up high - Amid pale yellow poppies next to the sky. - Shells, and pebbles, and wrack below, - And shrimpers shrimping all in a row, - Tawny sails and tarry boats, - Dark-brown nets and old cork floats, - Nasty smells at the nicest spots, - Blue-jersey’d sailors, and lobster pots._ - - J. H. EWING. - - -A log fire burnt clearly on the wide stone hearth of the “Mariner’s -Rest.” Two men sat smoking. A narrow table held their pots of beer, -and they had a dingy pack of cards between them. One of these men -had lost the third finger of his right hand, and the sinews having -contracted, the maimed hand had the rigidity of a claw. This man was -alert in expression, his eyes restless. The receding chin suggested -the rodent type, and his ears set back on the narrow head completed -it. - -Opposite him sat Daniel Maidment, and his was an open face, with -broad beard, honey-coloured. He wore a blue flannel shirt, falling -open at the collar, and a red belt. His hands were brown as mahogany, -and he wore gold rings in his ears. - -Over these two men stood Master Crumblejohn, the landlord, and -watched the game. - -“Dan hasn’t the luck to-night he had yesterday,” said the rat-faced -man, in the tone of voice that whines at you, “Dan hasn’t the luck. -Not but what you play very well, Dan, my boy--not but what you play -re-markably.” - -Daniel rose from the table, pushing a small pile of silver and copper -coins towards his companion in the game. - -“You’ve got the luck, Rat. I believe it’s that monkey’s paw of yours -that gets the cards witched the way you want them,” and he raised his -tankard. - -Crumblejohn watched him as he stood draining it, and in the moment -that Dan’s face was covered, the landlord looked at the rat-faced -man. Some intelligence passed between them. A message slid from the -lowered lid of old Crumblejohn to the shifty, watery eyes of the man -called Rat. Daniel replaced the tankard, and saying good-night to his -companions, left the room. - -Crumblejohn rose and barred the shutters and locked the outer door, -then closing the door of communication between the inner parlour and -the kitchen, he sat down again to smoke. - -“We’ve got a big job on hand, and it’s likely to miscarry if we can’t -get a message over. How do you think Dan’l is working out in the -matter?” he asked of his companion. - -“He won’t come in,” Rat replied in his whingeing voice. “And if you -think you’ll get Dan’l into it you’re much mistaken, my friend; -what’s more, we must keep an eye on Dan’l.” - -“Keep an eye on him?” said Crumblejohn, “a more guileless crittur you -couldn’t find, to my thinking. Keep our eye on Dan’l?” he repeated. - -“What d’you think he’s hanging about here for, living as he does two -villages off?” said the other. “D’you think he comes here for the -hair and hexercise? No, he’s deeper than what you take him for, is -Dan’l--you take my word for it. What news of the Lambkin, eh?” - -“Nothing but this,” answered Crumblejohn, stretching a bit of rag -upon the table. Both men leaned closely over it, deciphering with -difficulty the ill-written message it contained:-- - -“_Fresh lot to be shipped 18. If change of place, send lad._” - -“When did you get this?” asked Rat. - -“It came by pigeon late yesterday,” answered the landlord; “and it -must have been blown out of the track, for look at the date of it. -The excisemen are looking about pretty closely, but there’s nothing -for their finding now. But here’s to-day the 14th, and to-morrow the -Captain’s wedding, and the fresh stuff coming over, unless we stop -it, and every hole and corner on the watch.” - -“It isn’t cards that’s Dan’l’s only game, Crumblejohn,” said the -rat-faced man. “We must send the lad over--but what about the boat?” - -“On the other side with Lambkin,” said the landlord. - -“Pigeons?” - -“Not safe enough. I’ll send a pigeon, but I must send the lad too, -for they’re on the track of this here business, and unless we can -beach it by Knapper’s Head, this matter must stand over for the time. -Now, if we was going to get Dan’l into it, as I thought we should, -we could have got his boat for the business. Lord, how handy now -that boat would ha’ come in. But I gathered you hadn’t seen your -opportoonity this evening; he didn’t give no manner o’ sign?” - -“Give no manner o’ sign, do you put it? Why the man’s working for -the excisemen, and if you’d half an eye you’d have guessed it, but -leastways you was mum. No, don’t you put no trust in Dan’l for our -little trade, master; and what’s more, there mustn’t be any stuff in -the cave till he’s off the track, for he knows this coast as he knows -his own pocket, and if he’s paid for it, he’ll make it his business -to find out even more than he knows.” - -“Then how’s the boy to go?” mumbled old Crumblejohn. He disliked his -friend’s superior cunning, yet he was sufficiently harassed to be -dependent on it now. “How’s the boy to go, I ask yer? Captain Bluett -don’t want no cabin-boy, for I asked it ov’ him; the places on the -vessel is all filled.” - -“Oliver shall go all the same, captain or no captain,” whined the -rat-faced; “and you may be thankful as I’ve got my full wits if I -haven’t got my full fingers. The captain’s lady goes with him?” - -“So they say. Married here to-morrow, and no end of a business, and -straight off to France with her husband in his ship.” - -“Where’s she bound?” - -“Boulogne.” (Only the landlord called it Boo-lone.) - -“Boo-lone?” repeated the rat-faced, “the very place where Lambkin’s -waiting for a word, and you stand there asking me how we’re to get -the lad over, with a vessel making for the very port? No, no,” he -murmured, looking into the fire, “you ’urt me, Crumblejohn, you ’urt -me when you go on like that. You can be stoopid for a whin, and you -can be stoopid for a wager, but it ain’t natterel to be quite so -stoopid as you are; it ain’t natterel, and it ain’t safe.” - -“Well, hang it all, a snivelling, whining ragpicker as may be -thankful to be sitting by a fireside in a comferable house, comes and -talks to me about stoopid”--Crumblejohn’s wrath broke suddenly into -an angry incoherency of words--“comes talking to me about stoopid, -I say, well, sir, stoopid yerself, sir, if yer can’t keep a civil -tongue in yer head, talking a matter over comferably with a friend, -stoopid yerself, Ratface, and be d--d to yer.” - -The man with the maimed hand sat smoking while Crumblejohn spluttered -and swore. - -He could afford to sit there till the anger passed over, for by -reason of his superior cunning, he held the landlord in the palm -of his hand; and he knew Crumblejohn knew this. So he sat quietly -waiting, his crafty eyes upon the fire while he smoked. - -After a bit Crumblejohn became quieter, and asked sarcastically if -Rat had got any suggestion since he was so thunderin’ clever, and -if so, would he mind spitting it out as time was getting on, and if -there was going to be any getting the lad on to the captain’s ship -artful-like, they’d best be preparing the way. - -“Now you show yourself to be the sensible man wot I’ve ever took you -for,” replied the rat-faced, “and here’s my little plan according. -To-morrow, being the wedding-day, you begs leave to have a word with -the bride. You suggests a barrel of apples for her acceptance with -your werry best compliments, and if you make so bold as to ask, does -the lady stay at Boo-lone, or does she travel? Mistress Bluett, -as is to be, answers according, and you congratulates her on her -opportoonities of a seafaring life. - -“You says you have a favour to ask her, and you knows of a poor -sail-maker at Boo-lone; and might you make so bold as to beg Mrs. -Bluett to let a sack of sail-yarn, odd pieces and leavings, in short, -a package o’ mixed goods, go on board the captain’s vessel, and be -left at Boo-lone? You’d take it werry pleasant of her if she’d be -agreeable, and you tip her a little tale of the hunchback and his -mother, and the hard life they have of it, and how you knows of ’em -through being so werry particular to recognise the King’s laws in -the matter of liquor, your sister’s husband being in the trade. One -thing and another, you’ll have this bale o’ goods all ready, and -your speech about it said, just about the moment of starting, when -folks’ thoughts are swinging like bees in a wind, and they’re already -more in the place they’re going to, than where they’re standing at -the time. And what with the good-byes and the God-bless-yous, and -the village crowding down to see them off, and you or me carrying -the package, and the lad all the time inside it, as tight as a -cauliflower, and thanks to you and starvation weighing about half his -size, and so on to the boat with a jack-knife in his pocket to cut -his way out again, according to instructions and stripes.” - -The whining voice ceased, and the two men sat in silence. Then -Crumblejohn moved uneasily in his chair. - -“A power o’ talking, Rat,” he said, “you’ve allowed me, a power of -talking.” - -“And it’s talking you’ve got to do this time, Crumblejohn; don’t you -make any mistake. You’ve got this lot out of the cave all right, and -you’ve got the vaults filled up in time before the company. But if we -have another run of goods before we get this lot up-country, there’ll -be more trouble than you nor me can do away with. I haven’t read -Dan’l’s letters in his coat pocket for nothing, when he was washing -himself at the pump.” - -Crumblejohn enjoyed this immensely. - -“Ye don’t tell me he carries his orders about with him for all the -world to see? A wal’able servant of the Crown, ’pon my honour. Rat, -you’re a wily one.” - -“And wily-er than you’d suppose, for Dan’l warn’t such an innercent -as you’d be ready to think. He didn’t keep his letters so careless -neither. But I’ve been watching him, and what I learned when he -was at the pump ’s only a trifle to what I’ve learned by signs and -tokens.” - -The inn-keeper knocked the ashes from his pipe. Then he rose from his -chair, ponderously. - -“I wish you hadn’t given me such a power o’ talking, Rat; wish I -mayn’t break my neck over it, wish I mayn’t break my neck.” - -He walked across the sanded floor and unlocked the door cautiously, -and the rat-faced man slipped past him into the night. - -But how did he manage to muffle his footsteps, so that Crumblejohn -heard no sound of him upon the road? - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - _Five and twenty ponies - Trotting through the dark, - Brandy for the parson, - Baccy for the clerk, - Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, - And watch the wall, my darling, - While the gentlemen go by!_ - - R. KIPLING. - - -On the day on which the last run of goods had been cellared, Master -Crumblejohn stood looking with pride, at the swift succession of -casks that were being rolled briskly along his stone passage. He wore -a leather apron, a good stock collar, and his hair tied in a queue, -with a black ribbon in his neck. He had big buckles to his shoes and -a canary waistcoat, and a brown coat upon his back. - -Everybody knew the history of his liquor. In these days of a thriving -back-hand trade with the wines, many houses that stood fairly with -the Justices, got their supply in a manner that would have brought -humbler folk to punishment. But if inquiry was pushed in regard -to the “Mariner’s Rest,” the landlord had a good book to show the -authorities. - -Everything in his cellar was duly entered and paid for; he would -show the King himself round if his Majesty chose to call. This was -a favourite jest of Master Crumblejohn’s when in lighter mood, and -it would be said with a nodding head to clinch matters, and between -quiet puffs of a long clay-pipe. - -It was hardly the fault of the excisemen if they didn’t know of a -certain trap-door in the cellar, a door sufficiently hidden to be -unguessed, which led down to a vault below the basement. Now this -was how the illicit trade was carried on. There had to be people -party to it on each side of the water, and a fishing boat or lugger, -for the transport of the goods. Most of the innkeepers, and a great -many others, were in sympathy with the smugglers, and the practice -was spread in so fine a network of collusion all over the country, -that it was a matter of great difficulty for the authorities to cope -with it at all. When the liquor first came over, it was deposited -in some cave, or buried in some sandy cove along the coast. Here it -was left till notice was sent by the various receiving-houses that -they were ready for the housing of the kegs. Then, when the attention -of the authorities had been drawn off to some other quarter, -night parties would be set on foot; and where the countryside was -sufficiently lonely, the kegs were carried upon men’s shoulders and -received by the landlord, and hidden in his vault. In some places -these lawless gangs were both armed and mounted, and thus conveyed -the goods far into the interior, distributing them among the various -receiving-houses by the way. There was hardly a house that had not -its place of concealment, which could accommodate either kegs, -bales, or the smugglers themselves, as the case might be. Sometimes -the kegs would be stuffed in hay trusses, and carried disguised as -fodder along the road, to be lodged secretly by the light of a stable -lanthorn again, in some straw ricks farther inland. - -You probably know the story of the Wiltshire men who hid the kegs in -the dew-pond? They were surprised one moonlight night, standing with -rakes in their hands by the excisemen. Suspicion was at once aroused, -and they were questioned. - -“What are you doing there?” - -“We be raaken the moon out of the water, Masters.” And the excisemen -rode on, thanking their stars they were not as these country loons. - -But the answer showed that on occasion stupidity may be used as a -cloak to cover guile. - -Now, in the case of Crumblejohn’s gang of smugglers, they stored -their kegs, or ankers, in a cave. Here they left their liquor as -short a time as possible, lest it should be discovered by those on -the look-out. But this cave led up to the vaults of the inn-cellars, -and very swiftly could these kegs be rolled along the tunnelled -passage in the cliff. - -A boy was working strenuously at the keg-rolling, Oliver Charlock by -name. He was the odd boy and general servant of the establishment, -and had more kicks and fewer crusts than were his share. Crumblejohn -stood looking at him as he worked; if he stayed but a moment to -stretch his back, or to rest his arms, he was reminded of his -business. - -“Do you think I keep servants, giving them board and bed, to see -them a-lolling back agin’ my walls and postës, a-playing the fine -gentleman abroad? No, no, Oliver Charlock, you remember what you’re -here for, and where you comes from; and let me see all them kegs -in their places, or back you goes to your field, and finds another -master.” - -Oliver was nobody’s child, and had been picked up in a field of -charlock. Just where the rough margin of the field joins the yellow -flowers, he had been found by the old parson ten years before the -time of which I speak. But when the Rectory changed hands, and the -old housekeeper died, who had reared him, he was left friendless. - -Then Crumblejohn had taken him as an extra lad at the Mariner’s, and -henceforth life opened for him at a different page. He slept in a -rat-riddled garret on a worn-out wool-sack on the floor. He rose at -dawn and worked till the bats were out, bearing hard words for his -services. Repeatedly was he admonished by Mr. Crumblejohn to recall -where he came from, and other sour-faced remarks. As nobody knew -his origin, least of all the boy himself, this might seem a useless -question; but for Crumblejohn it held point in tending to depress any -growth of self-esteem in Oliver, and was calculated to nip incipient -ideas as to wages in the bud. - -“Little warmint what had nobody to chuck a crust to ’im, found in -a furrer of a field. I gives ’im board, and I gives ’im bed, and I -expects such-like to work for their wittels.” - -And work Oliver Charlock did, and not only at keg-rolling. When the -vigilance of the authorities forbade the more usual signal of a fire -being lit on some prominent point inland, he had been sent before now -as emissary between the English smugglers, and Lambkin, in France. -Lambkin was a man named Thurot. He was a Channel Islander, and you -may read of him as rising to great prominence in the smuggling -annals of his day. He was known also as O’Farrell, and was an Irish -commodore in the French service for a time. He was but twenty-two -when he met his death, yet he was a terror, we read, to the -mercantile fleet of this kingdom. Whatever opinion we may hold as to -his right or wrong doing, there is a light about his name, because he -led a life of great romance, and daring. - -Before leaving, Thurot had arranged with his confederates the place -of the intended run of goods. Now, however, that Ratface suspected -Daniel Maidment was spying on them, it became imperative to get the -message over in some dependable manner, to intimate a change of -place for beaching this next run. So a rag message had been written, -and Oliver had to bear it, and as Crumblejohn stood watching the -keg-rolling, it was with the comfortable assurance of some anxiety -having been removed. Very soon he would be standing there, watching -yet another lot rolling into his capacious cellars. Already the gold -chinked in his imagination, that was to fill his pockets so well; -and the rings of smoke from his clay pipe rose, to float up and fade -lingeringly, before his meditative eye. - -But the “best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley,” and there -was something in store for Master Crumblejohn, the mere possibility -of which, his slow wits had never dreamed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -Two days later there were few people situated more uncomfortably than -Oliver Charlock, of the “Mariner’s Rest.” For he was in a hamper, a -variety of sail-cloth, and oddments of material packed on the top of -him, and his knees into his chin. Scant air, no place for shifting, -sometimes knocked this way, sometimes bundled that; shoved, huddled, -bumped, and stowed, wherever man’s hand chose to shove him, or in -whatever direction the ship rolled. - -The discomfort grew to such sickening pain that his senses almost -left him, while his partial suffocation threatened momentarily to be -complete. - -But at last he was on the Boulogne Quay; he knew it, for the bale had -been left quiet. He cut his way through the cords and fastenings; he -loosed his sacking and finally threw open the hamper lid. The fresh -sea-wind fanned his forehead; at first that seemed all he needed, or -knew. To move was such agony, it must be done only by degrees. And -it was good to lie still with the air on his face, and to see the -clouds float by. - -It was about five or six o’clock in the morning. Looking towards the -town he saw evidence of the fish-market of Boulogne. Women walked -here and there with shrimp baskets on their shoulders, and some -trawlers and fishing-smacks were coming in. The high French houses of -the old town looked like ghosts of houses in the grey dawn, and the -sands stretched away unbrokenly, in opalescent light. - -Oliver stepped out freed from his prison, and walked lamely towards -the town. He knew his work pretty well; he had no need to think about -it. He had merely to walk about on the quay, or mingle among the -people in the fish-market, and sooner or later the man he knew as -Lambkin would come up and take from him the written rag. The message -was written on a rag, because had he been searched, no letter would -have been found upon him, and this rag was wrapped round his finger -or his wrist as it might be, and generally had some stray drops of -blood on it, as if it bound up a slight wound. - -But on this occasion the hours passed, and there appeared no Lambkin; -and now the Boulogne fish-market was in full activity. Groups of -peasants chattering, old women gesticulating, everybody talking, -nobody listening, bargaining, chaffering, dealing, and vending, going -on among a vivid crowd. Look at the picture, and you will see this -busy scene. Oliver wandered among the throng for a little, buying -some food at an old woman’s gingerbread stall, for Crumblejohn had -provided him with a few French coins. Now that his stiffness was -lessened and his hunger appeased, he was enjoying himself. It was -good not to be cleaning boots, and mopping the stone floors of the -Mariner’s Tavern; laying the fires, and opening the windows to let -out the spent air of last night’s company, the fumes of stale tobacco -and spilt beer; now, all the scent of the morning was about him, and -the tang of the sea breeze. - -Soon his eyes were attracted by a small hunchbacked boy who was -sitting at a little table. He had a pointed wicker cage with a pair -of doves in it, and on his table were many simple contrivances of -home-made nature. These were set out on a small square of red baize. -The people smiled at the hunchback as they passed him, and soon -Oliver saw that he was preparing to give a show. The fish-market -was now over, and some people from the town were walking on -the quay. For these the hunchback waited, and soon he had a small -crescent-shaped crowd. - -[Illustration: THE FISH MARKET, BOULOGNE] - -He took the doves out of their cage, and spoke lovingly to them, -kissing their soft necks. They pattered with pink feet over the table -cooing and bowing, and he put some peas before them, which they -picked up eagerly with slender bills. - -“These doves, ladies and gentlemen,” the hunchback began in French, -“are the celebrated Joli and Jou-Jou of Boulogne. Long have they -been the delight of visitors to our pretty town. Once more they bow -before you, and beg you, in all courtesy to watch their well-known -performance in the chaise, in the ring, and on the pole.” - -With a bow he finished his speech to the onlookers, and commenced -with deft fingers to arrange a small trapeze. He placed a dove on -it, and then attaching the upright posts so that they could not -turn over, he set the bird swinging on the bar. Nothing could have -exceeded the innocence of the performance, for the birds did nothing -at all wonderful, or in any sense trained, but the air of the showman -and the simplicity of the performance must have endeared it to any -one of feeling in the crowd. - -“Joli, now wilt thou attend to thy master, and place thy pink feet -firmly upon the ring? Thou knowest it is but a little time, my Joli, -and thou shalt be, once more, pecking the peas.” - -He lifted the dove from the table, while it made every movement of -revolt, but only foolish feathered revolt, swiftly quelled. Slowly -round and round the bird revolved in the ring, staying there simply -because it had not the wit or will to flutter out of it, and the -hunchback swung the ring quicker and quicker so that the onlookers -murmured applause. - -Then it was Jou-Jou’s turn to be harnessed to a tiny charette made -from a wooden box, painted in red and blue. Joli sat within while -Jou-Jou pattered round drawing it, guided by the hunchback’s hand. - -Soon Oliver heard an English voice among the spectators. - -“Oh, look at those doves, Papa,” it said. “I want to stop and look.” - -A very smartly dressed little girl pressed forward, brushing aside -other people. She had an eager face, and looked discontented. - -“What do you call the doves, boy?” she asked in French, in a sharp -voice. - -“Joli and Jou-Jou, mademoiselle.” - -“Who taught them to do their tricks, boy?” - -“It is I who taught them, mademoiselle.” - -“I want to buy them; will you tell me how much money they would cost?” - -“They are not for sale, mademoiselle.” - -“But if I want them?” said the little girl imperiously; “and if I -give gold for them, of course they will be for sale. Here, Papa,” she -cried out suddenly. - -“I want these doves, please; you know you said you would give me my -birthday present in advance, and I don’t want the goat-carriage now. -I’m sure the little boy will be glad to get two gold pieces; we will -give him one for each dove; look how ill and starved he appears! and -his clothes, I never saw such tatters. You can send the doves round -to the Hotel d’Angleterre, do you hear, boy? and we shall give you -two, perhaps three, whole gold pieces.” - -She opened her eyes very wide, and nodded her head at him, so busy in -her shrill speech that she was quite blind to the expression on the -face before her. You have no doubt read the Fairchild Family? Well, -when I tell you she was first cousin to Miss Augusta Noble, and very -like her too, wearing the same kind of clothes in the same arrogant -manner, you will be able to conjure her before the mind’s eye very -accurately indeed. - -“You will get perhaps three whole gold pieces!” she repeated, “but be -sure to be there before to-morrow at noon, for we leave on the day -following. - -“Papa,” she cried, springing towards her father, “I’m sure to get -them, I know I shall: and they can go in my nice, new, great, big -aviary.” - -In a turmoil of noisy, selfish conversation, she took her excited -little person off the scene, bustling through the crowd, and taking -her own world with her, in the manner of children who will sometimes -burst into a room speaking, never thinking to see if people are -talking, or reading aloud within. - -And so she went away down the quay, leaving a sense of disturbance -behind her. Evidently bound to grow up, poor thing, into one of those -people who cause every one to live in a draught around them. - -Oliver stood for some time listening. He had no further orders than -to remain on the quay in such a manner as that he might readily -be seen. He decided he would stay here at all events till sunset, -should the French agent by some chance have been delayed. So he stood -watching the little hunchback’s quick movements as he caged his -doves, packed his tressle-table, and walked away towards the town. - -And now Oliver was left to watch the clouds and sea-gulls, and to -wonder what life would feel like, if it were happy and free. - -The slow hours passed, and he grew hungrier and thirstier. He sought -through his pockets and found a crust. And then because he had -passed such an uncomfortable night, and he was tired, he lay down, -with his head on a coil of rope, and looked drowsily at the wide and -glimmering sea. - -Here and there, hidden away in his memory, there lingered some stray -phrases and couplets learnt long ago. These he treasured, though he -hardly knew he did so, for the sense of comfort they bestowed-- - - “Thou whose nature cannot sleep - On my temples sentry keep. - While I rest my soul advance, - Make my sleep a holy trance. - These are my drowsy days, in vain, - I do but wake to sleep again. - O, come that hour when I shall never - Sleep again, but wake for ever.” - -The light faded. Grey clouds banked themselves where the sun was -westering, prodigal of his gold. - -Oliver slept. - -He was woken by a hand laid upon his shoulder, and stumbling to his -feet, he saw the man Thurot, standing beside him. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - _Read rascal in the motions of his back, - And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee._ - - TENNYSON. - - -When Ratface left the “Mariner’s Rest” that evening, he walked -skirting the hedgerow, his thoughts busy with a new plan. For some -time he had been suspicious of Daniel Maidment, but now, reading the -evil of his own character into that of another, he suspected him of -an intention to betray the smugglers to the excisemen. - -He had read the letter from the sweetheart, and seen the pencilled -address on the slip of paper in Daniel’s pocket. It conveyed no -meaning to him that this bit of paper was torn across, and all but -in two. Like most of us he judged others by his own knowledge of -himself; and so he decided to anticipate Daniel, and turn King’s -evidence himself. He saw many signs around him of an increase -of vigilance on the part of the authorities. Crumblejohn’s -muddle-headedness and Thurot’s dare-devilry in conjunction, made him -decide now was the time for him to leave the smuggling gang. - -There would be a good reward, so he argued, and he’d risked his -neck often enough with them, and now if somebody was to get the -money, that somebody must be he. So he went straight away to the -address given, a walk of some twelve miles through the night, and -slept through the early hours of the morning, in a cart-shed in the -farmsteading. - -About nine o’clock next day he was ringing the door-bell of the -supervisor of Customs for the counties of Sussex and Kent. - -Before the coastguards were organised, the inland branch of -preventive service was carried on by the riding officers, one of whom -we have seen speaking to Daniel Maidment, as he dug in his garden -that day. - -At this time, a stretch of some two hundred miles of coast-line would -be given in charge of fifty riding officers, and utterly inadequate -until reinforced by soldiers, this force proved to be. For by -lighting false signals, nothing was easier than to draw the riding -officers off on some wild-goose chase, while the smugglers beached -their cargo undisturbed. - -It was not long before Ratface was shown into a room where the riding -officer was seated, writing. - -“Your business?” - -“My business is to tell you what you and your men have been wanting -some time to know, sir. And if you makes it worth my while, I’ll give -you information what’ll help you to clap your hands upon as pretty a -shipload of ankers and half-ankers, as you’ve ever heard on.” - -“Where do you come from?” - -“Stowe i’ the Knowe.” - -“Do you come from Daniel Maidment?” - -“Ah, I thought I should hear that name now. No; Dan’l ain’t a -pertickler friend of mine.” - -“What is your information?” - -“My information is accordin’ to the information money.” - -“And that again, as you must know, depends on the value of goods -seized, and not on this alone. A full seizure reward cannot be earned -without a good proportion of smugglers being captured. Twenty pounds -for every smuggler taken, and full seizure money if the boat, as -well as goods, be ours. Where is this intended run to be made?” - -“On the night of the 18th, as soon after dusk as possible, at the -Grey Rock, off Knapper’s Head.” - -“And who are the chief smugglers concerned?” - -“Obadiah Crumblejohn of the ‘Mariner’s Rest,’ Thurot, known as -Lambkin, freighter and owner of the smuggling galley _Lapwing_, to -row sixteen oars. Cargo, brandy and silks.” - -The revenue officer made full notes, then he looked at Ratface as he -stood blinking those restless eyes of his, scraping a lean cheek with -his maimed hand. - -The officer rang the bell, and the door was opened by a servant, who -showed Ratface out. - -“There is something in our appearance being an index to what we are,” -thought the officer, as his eyes followed Ratface. “Certainly, the -other day, I went to the wrong house.” - -Then he turned to the notes that he had taken, and his glance -lingered on the entry of Thurot’s name. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - _Where now are these? Beneath the cliff they stand - To show the freighted pinnace where to land; - To load the ready steed with guilty haste; - To fly in terror o’er the pathless waste; - Or, when detected in their straggling course, - To foil their foes by cunning, or by force, - Or yielding part which equal knaves demand - To gain a lawless passport through the land._ - - CRABBE. - - -It is a soft moonless night in October. The darkness seems filled -with that calmest and most sufficing of all sounds, the sea, breaking -on a sandy shingle, with the long-drawn hush of the retreating wave. -Yet if you listen you may hear another sound. A footfall on the sand -occasionally, and the sound of men’s voices, lowered. - -For Crumblejohn and Ratface have sent round the message that -tub-carriers, a full force of them, will be wanted on this night of -the 18th, at Grey Rock, off Knapper’s Head. And the tub-carriers are -already assembled, numbering about twenty-five villagers, and half as -many boys. - -A light flares up against the night-sky at some point along the -coast, far away. - -It stars the darkness, a crumb of light. Then it grows slenderly, and -sinks once more to waver upward, and then the night engulphs it all -but a creeping thread of light that holds it own. - -“You can light that pipe o’ yourn, master.” - -“Whoi doänt yon light bleäze then? Be ’ee sure they gave the right -beacon word? Who done it? Whose work wer to see to yon?” - -“It was Ratface that see’d to that. That’s why he beänt here -to-night. He’ll see the light’s all right.” - -Even as the words are spoken the spark broadens, and shoots up into a -tongue of flame. And now the caution of the tub-carriers appears to -lessen; pipes are lit, with a hand to shade the glow, and there is a -restless movement of swingles changing hands, or being laid down upon -the sand beside their owners. - -These are the flail-like implements, that with the long ash -bludgeons, are the weapons of the yokel’s defence. Crumblejohn has -a large retinue, a goodly force on which he may depend. Beside the -villagers, there is the riding force of smugglers, a company of some -thirty or more; innkeepers, tradesmen, farmers, who band together to -ride with the goods far inland. The villagers, he may call out with -little or no trouble, and as porters of the kegs they are enough; but -to-night the riding gang has been summoned, Ratface was to see to -this, for this run of goods is exceptional, and only mounted men can -manage the bales of silks and other goods. - -A dark object looms near. There is the sound of muffled oars, a word -is passed along to the carriers, and almost before the boat-keel -grates the beach, she is surrounded. Each man seizes and slings -a brace of kegs around him; there are words of command from the -freighters, a sound of trampling feet, of shipping oars, and the -hurried breathing of an eager crowd, working in the dark. - -And then a lighter sound, the jingle of bridles, and horses hoofs -upon the sand. - -“The mounted gang,” mutters Crumblejohn, as he stands upon the -shingle, looking down upon the tangled crowd of jostling men. - -Here and there he sees a lantern, and the light of one bald, flaring -torch, held high in the prow of the boat by Thurot. The torch flares -vividly, the flame is taken sideways by the wind. It throws its -jagged shadows; the sea crawls grey round the beached boat. - -And then a pistol-shot cracks out upon the air, followed by another, -and another, and the man who stands high in the boat with the torch -uplifted, falls heavily among the crowd. - -“God ...”--it is Crumblejohn who stumbles forward; “God....” - -The air rings now with the sound of fire-arms, there is a stampede -among the villagers--they are caught and bound. One man in a mask -runs here and there in the crowd, a demon of agility. He is followed -by a man on horseback, and wherever he leads, the smugglers are -thickest. He passes the villagers, he lets these go by; but of the -sixteen men that were in the galley, he has crept, and run, and -striven among them, and always at his heels the man on horseback, -whose followers secure the chief men. They overpower them, three -to one, wherever the man in the mask has given the signal. And the -swingles, the ash bludgeons, these have been turned against the men -who bore them, wrenched from their hands. And where a stand among the -men has been attempted, the mounted officers have ridden them down. - -The night, so dark and quiet, has been given over to confusion. -Oliver Charlock crouches low in the smuggling boat. - -And now the tumult lessens. Most of the villagers have fled, and -ten men of those who had manned the _Lapwing_ stand bound upon the -beach. Crumblejohn has long since staggered off, and subsided, blue -with fright, in a ditch, to be picked up by the Excise men some fifty -yards or more from the scene of the encounter, to be marched more -briskly than his failing senses would have thought possible, along -the road, hands bound, to his own Inn. - -And Thurot, the gallant Thurot, with arms flung wide on either side -of him, lies dead, in his faded uniform, beside a blackened torch. - -But there is another corpse. It lies distressfully. The form is -contorted, so that you may barely see the masked face. - -Yet it should not be difficult to identify this body. - -There is a finger lacking to the right hand. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - _O day, pass gently that art here again, - Turn memory’s spear, and may thy vespers close - Upon a twilight odorous of the rose, - Drooping her petals in the falling rain._ - - _There is no virtue in remembered pain, - The past is sleeping. Watching its repose - I shudder, lest those weary lids unclose, - And I be folded in its coils again._ - - -One evening the children were gathered in the drawing-room, and Miss -Ross sat among them working at her tambour frame. She wore a slender -gold thimble set with corals, and in a slanting, almost obliterated -handwriting, the posie, “_Use me, nor lose me_,” was writ around its -base. This thimble had been her mother’s, and when her work was done -for the evening, she would shut it away in a narrow case that held -her scissors, and needlecase, and bodkin; and this case was lined -with velvet that had faded to the colour of silver weed when the -wind reverses it. - -“We should feel indebted to Mrs. Inchbald,” she was saying, “for -telling us so spirited a tale. I found my share of entertainment in -watching your faces the while. Bimbo, I take it, will do well in life -to set himself a fine example, for his sympathies are sufficiently -fluid to shape themselves according to their groove. Let him see that -they flow in a fine mould. While Mrs. Inchbald spoke of Ratface, his -chin receded, his eyes narrowed, and I momentarily expected his ears -to change their position on his head. Later, when she sketched for us -the brave Thurot, his very shoulders broadened, his eye lightened, -and his jaw set square. None of you, I noticed, found it in your -heart to compliment her on the picture of Miss Augusta Noble’s -cousin, the spoilt child.” - -“I wish I’d asked her, though,” said Christopher, “what they did to -smugglers when they were caught.” - -“I can tell you,” said Miss Ross. “They were forced for five years -into the service, as either soldiers or sailors; but as they nearly -always deserted, this was changed, and smugglers were sent to prison -instead. As for the smuggling vessels, when these were taken, they -were sawn through in three places.” - -Bimbo groaned aloud. - -“Nothing nice happens nowadays,” he said. “No smuggling, no -highwaymen, no pirates; _nothing_. People go about in top hats.” - -“There are burglars still,” said Clare. - -“I was much afraid of robbers when I was a child,” said Miss Ross. -“When the nurses withdrew, and I was left alone to go to sleep, I -became immediately so convinced of the presence of a robber close to -me, that I invented a way of softening his heart. I took to saying -my prayers aloud. ‘O bless my mother and father,’ I would say, ‘and -teach me to live dutifully towards them in word and deed; bless my -brothers and sisters, my playmates and friends;’ and then, slightly -raising my voice, I would say, ‘and O, bless the thief now in the -room.’ I used to think he could not possibly harm me if he heard -himself prayed for, and I did not stop here. I would explain to God -that I felt he only stole because he hadn’t thought much about it, -and that if God blessed him and made him happy, he would give it up. -And so my thoughts being distracted by inventing excuses for the -robber, my fear would gradually decline, and I would fall asleep. - -[Illustration: _Raeburn_ MISS ROSS] - -“But I have never found among grown people,” she continued, “a just -appreciation of this torture children may undergo in their fear of -being alone in the dark. It is better in your days, my dears, I have -noticed this. You may have night lights, and your doors are left -wide; but in my generation these qualms were all brushed aside.” - -“Do go on telling us about when you were little,” said Clare. -“There’s hardly any story I like better than when grown-up people -will do that.” - -“I was not an amusing child,” answered Miss Ross, “and nothing very -much happened to me. But I suppose children are the same in all ages, -as to what they like and what they think about, and in the manner to -them in which life appears. Have you ever looked back at the house -you live in from a distance, and caught yourself saying, ‘I must just -run back, and find the house without me.’ The instant recognition of -its being an impossibility is less real than the impulse itself. - -“I used to think, too, if I only could see when my eyes were shut -everything would appear different. So I would lie pretending to be -asleep, and then suddenly jerk my eyes open, thinking I should catch -everything strangely changed. But there invariably was the cupboard -and the dressing-table, and all the familiar objects just as they had -been. I endowed them with a sense of mockery at my efforts, and of -being immeasurably subtler than I. So I would lie quite still, and -stealthily lift a lid. But no, they were always the same. This did -not convince me they did not move. On the contrary, I would say to -myself with a sense of vexed despair, ‘I shall never, never know what -things look like when I’m not seeing them.’” - -Clare said, “Mummie believes, you know, that if you think about a -thing a great deal--something, I mean, that isn’t really alive, as we -are--that you endow it with a sort of image of life, and that strange -things can happen in this way. Gems that have been thought magical, -and idols that have been worshipped for centuries, have their being. -That is why she would never like to have a Buddha in her house; she -would think it would feel neglected. It would suffer and be cold, and -its suffering would stream from it, and affect others. Besides, the -wrongfulness it would be, to treat something that a great many people -think sacred, merely as an ornament, or a curiosity.” - -“I had a brooch once,” said Miss Ross, “that had a life of its own. -It had many other things to do beside being my brooch, that was quite -certain. I first found out it was a person by its evidently hearing -what I said. It was a gold brooch, fashioned like an instep, or a -curved willow leaf, and the pin worked on a principle evolved ages -ago by some primitive race. ‘Never,’ said I one morning, in a moment -of impatience--‘never will I again use such a clumsy pin as this. It -tears lace, and once inserted in any material it is almost impossible -to dislodge.’ I was pricked to the bone. - -“This brooch would go away for days to attend to its own business; -and when I’d given up looking for it, there I would find it on my -pincushion, looking me in the eye. Even my maid, a most unimaginative -woman, appeared to be conscious of its ways. - -“‘I see your brooch has come back, Miss,’ she would say. Finally it -chose a worthier home. - -“I was travelling with my parents in Italy, driving through Tuscany -in our private coach. We stayed for some weeks in Florence, and -during that time I used to attend Mass in one of the great churches -there. I became acquainted with the old priest who officiated. -One day as I was leaving the church, he said to me, ‘Signora, have -you seen the gift that has been made? The blue robe that has been -presented to the Madonna?’ - -“I re-entered the church with him, and he led me to the Lady Chapel, -and my eyes rested on the carved figure representing the Virgin Mary. -To celebrate the Easter festival, some one had presented new robes. -I looked from the kindly face of the old priest, filled as it was -with fond devotion, to the pensive face of the carved figure with the -outstretched hands. - -“And there, where the folds of the blue mantle were gathered full -upon the breast, I saw my brooch. - -“I stepped forward. ‘Ah, you notice that,’ said the Father. ‘Yes, for -three weeks now we await the owner to appear. We have had notices -written, and placards put about, but no one has claimed it. And so, -till the festival is over, I have placed it where you see it. It is a -gold brooch, therefore worthy to clasp the new robe.’ - -“I kept silence. I would not have cared to take it from where it now -was. - -“I turned to go. A ray from one of the lighted candles glinted on the -surface of the gold. Clearly, thought I, a signal of recognition. I -knew its ways. - -“I let the old priest move a few paces in front of me, and quickly -stepping back I touched it twice with my hand in token of farewell. -I was filled with fear lest the priest should turn and see me, for -however crazy one may be in these matters, one doesn’t like others to -think one so.” - -“No,” said Clare. “I know that. If somebody comes in when I’ve been -talking to myself, or saying lines out loud when I’m alone, I always -quickly turn it into a cough of some description. It never sounds in -the least like one, though.” - -“Have you always named things that belong to you?” asked Miss Ross. -“Nothing can really live to you unless it has got a name.” - -“Yes,” said the children, “Mummie has names for things. She used to -think when she was little that her feet were boys, and that they were -called Owen and Barber. And she had an umbrella called Harvey, for -years.” - -“It’s right to have fancies about things,” said Miss Ross. “I will -tell you one that I read once long ago. - -“The writer said, ‘When I have risen to walk abroad in the fresh new -air of summer, in the hour of dawn when mankind is still at rest, -the face of Nature has taken to me a new aspect, the unity of all -things in creation appears revealed. It has seemed to me that I have -surprised a great secret. - -“‘I have seen Nature at such times depicted in the vast form of some -great goddess, a woman of Titanic form. The races of mankind are her -children, and according to the features of the land they live in, so -are they placed upon her mother form. Those who live upon the plains -dwell on the great palms of her hands; those whose dwellings are -placed among the embosoming hills have her breast for their shelter. -The lakes are her eyes and the great forests her hair, the rivers are -her veins and the rain her tears, and she sighs in the sound of the -Sea. - -“‘The rainbows are her thoughts, and the mists rising from the quiet -meadows are her meditations and her prayers. Her laughter is in the -sound of brooks, and she breathes in the warmth that exhales from the -earth, after it is dusk in Summer. The lightning is her anger, and in -the thunder she finds utterance, and the darkness of the night is her -great mantle over the land.’” Miss Ross ceased speaking, and there -was silence for a time. Then Christopher said: - -“And what are the earthquakes?” - -“Perhaps when she yawns,” said Bim. Children often save people -trouble by giving themselves a reply. - -Miss Ross had a large white book on her lap, she was turning the -pages. - -“I like this book of your Mother’s,” she said; “these phrases are -from the writings of an old herbalist, and he speaks of the lime-leaf -that ‘in Autumn becomes wan, and spotted as the doe.’ - -“‘The wyche-elme whose gold is let loose on the wind after night -frostes, and cold dawnes. - -“‘The delicate jargonell that keeps the sweets of France in old, -warm, English gardens.’ - -“And further on he writes of ‘the sloe whose excellent purple blood -makes so fine a comfort.’ - -“He speaks of the ‘green smockt filberte,’ and finally talks in this -pleasant manner of the nature of mushrooms. - -“‘Many do fear the goodly musherooms as poysonous damp weeds. -But this doth in no ways abate the exceeding excellence of God’s -Providence, that out of the grass and dew where nothing was, and -where only the little worm turned in his sporte, come, as at the -shaking of bells, these delicate meates.’ - -“The older you grow, children,” Miss Ross said, looking up from the -book, “the more pleasure you will find in comfortable words. In -well-adjusted phrase, and in lines that have beauty in their sound -as in their imagery. I have found nourishment for the soul in the -positive satisfaction to be derived from words. - - ‘With how slow steps, O Moon, thou climb’st the skies, - How silently, and with how wan a face,’ - -and-- - - ‘A world of leafage, murmurous and a-twinkle - The green, delicious, plentitude of June.’ - -And these lines seem to me full of music. - - ‘O, Philomela fair, O, take some gladness, - That here is juster cause for plaintful sadness. - Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth. - Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.” - -“These are only a few of the many fragments I have in my memory.” - -“But poetry is nearly always so sad,” said Bimbo. “I like things with -jokes in them.” - -“I know you do,” said Miss Ross, and her face was lovely when she -smiled. “I know exactly what you feel like. When you get up in the -morning you feel the whole day is not long enough for all you mean -to do in it, the whole world is your playground. And when you glow -after the cold bath there is nothing you don’t feel ready for, from -wittling a stick, to building an empire. And you’re downstairs and -out early, and ‘away to the meadows, the meadows again,’ with your -rod and your line, and your bait at your belt, and your family see no -more of you till dinner-time.” - -The children gave a deep breath, for this made them think of -water-meadows and minnow-fishing, marsh-marigolds in golden clumps, -and deep, clear runlets. - -“This is the fun of being young,” said Miss Ross, “prize it.” - -“And what is the fun of being old?” asked Bimbo. - -“Many people have asked that before you, but all those who see the -right aspects of youth may be trusted, I think, to grow old properly. -Good taste is the highest degree of sensibility. And nowhere so -clearly as in growing old, is good taste more subtly evidenced. - -“The great thing is to feel. Let every bit of you be alive, even -though you may suffer. The only sin is indifference.” - -“Is it people’s fault when they are indifferent, or can’t they help -it?” asked Clare. - -“Oh, there are folk who will close their eyes and sit in the very -market-place of the universe, with their fingers in their ears.” - -“Then a bullock runs into them, I suppose,” said Bim; “and they pick -themselves up from the dust, saying, ‘What have I done to deserve -it?’” - -“Yes,” added Clare, “or they will say, ‘See, we were promised music -to dance to, and where are the sweet strains?’” - -All the older children would have shrunk from an allusion to the -great grief of which the beautiful face before them bore so deep an -impress, but one of the younger ones said: - -“I’m so surprised that you, who are so sad to look at, should have -such nice laughing eyes all the same when you speak, and seem so -ready to be amused.” - -Miss Ross did not answer immediately, her lips framed some words. -Only Clare who was nearest to her heard them, for she was speaking to -herself: - - “And even yet I dare not let it languish, - Dare not indulge in memory’s rapturous pain, - Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, - How could I seek the empty world again?” - -But aloud, she said to the little child who had spoken: “Sorrow -and gladness are close together, the more you have it in your -nature to suffer, the more thoroughly you can enjoy. And these two -things, suffering and gladness, mean a full comprehension of life. -The psalmist says, ‘_Grant me understanding, and I shall live_’ and -understanding means the spirit that makes us accept our joys, our -duties, and our sorrows; deliberately adjusting ourselves to them, -giving them their place. - -“It is a good prayer, ‘Help me better to bear my sorrows, and to more -fully understand my joys.’ For only when we understand our joys do we -find contentment.” - -“There’s a poem Mummie read to us once,” said Bimbo, “in which a man -tells how he had everything in life to make him happy. He had riches, -he had houses, he had talents, he had friends, and lots of fun of -every description, but he hadn’t contentment, and wanting that, he -wanted all. And so he set out to seek her, and he travelled far and -wide, till at last he went home, because he was tired. And there, -when he got home, he found her by his own doorstep, sitting spinning!” - -“Yes,” said Miss Ross; “I like that story. We have got to find her. -And those who have grudges against Fate, and grievances, are the -people who expect her to find them. - -“I assure you, my dear children, I’ve more sympathy with murderers -than with grumblers; they at least have some compelling motive, are -strongly exercised by hatred or revenge. (I rather like people who -can hate, very few people can do it.) But grumblers--I place them in -the same class as those who talk about being resigned. Let there be -fortitude; indeed if we are to face life at all, we must have it. But -resignation, I despise.” - -Miss Ross rose from her chair, and a piece of paper fell on the -ground beside her. Clare picked it up to return it, but she had -already passed down the room. And as Clare’s glance fell on the paper -she saw that it was poetry written there. - - “No coward soul is mine, - No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere. - I see Heaven’s glories shine, - And Faith shines equal, arming me from fear. - - Vain are the thousand creeds - That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain, - Worthless as withered weeds, - Or idlest froth amid the boundless main. - - To waken doubt in one - Holding so fast by Thine infinity. - So surely anchored on - The steadfast rock of immortality. - - There is no room for Death, - No atom that his might could render void. - Thou, Thou art Being and Breath, - And what Thou art may never be destroyed.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - _Light foot to press the stirrup, - In fearlessness and glee, - Or dance till finches chirrup, - And stars sink in the sea._ - - CORY JOHNSTONE. - - -One day you might have seen Clare sitting with Miss Hippesley in the -drawing-room. - -The dusk was falling, and the great limbs of the elms in St. James’ -Park stood leafless and black against the sombre twilight. Flocks -of white seagulls circled among them. It was a world of black, and -white, and grey. - -Only within doors was comfort. The lamps had not yet been lit, but -the fire, burning those rainbow logs of old ships’ wood, filled the -room with chequered light and dancing shadows. - -“Will you tell me about Lady Crosbie?” said Clare. “I know she is a -friend of yours.” - -“Then you must come with me to Drayton,” said Miss Hippesley, “for -that was her home. But were I able to transport you there in spirit, -I would have to get Mrs. Gladwell to speak to you. She could tell you -even more about Lady Crosbie than I.” - -“Who is Mrs. Gladwell?” - -“She was the steward’s wife, and knew the family since the children -were quite small, for she had been second nurse there. She left -as they grew up, and she married; but her husband proved an idle -fellow, living on his wife’s earnings; and gradually she came to be -the hard-worked servant in a London lodging-house. Her health broke -down, and being left a widow, she wrote to the eldest Miss Sackville, -telling her case. And Miss Sackville, having kindly memories of her, -got her placed in one of the lodges. And later she married Gladwell -the steward, and became housekeeper at Drayton Hall.” - -Miss Hippesley narrowed her eyes in her characteristic manner which -you may see delineated in her portrait. She sat quietly, looking -steadfastly before her. - -“I will see if I cannot paint a picture in words for you, Clare, that -may bring Diana Crosbie before you.” - -Clare watched the firelight glimmering on the gold of the -picture-frames. She was unwilling to break the silence, for her -companion was evidently deep in thought. - -Presently, however, Miss Hippesley spoke. - -“I see a room whose windows look out upon a lawn shaded by -cedar-trees. A woman sits within in a white mob cap with a cherry -ribbon on it, dressed in a mulberry-coloured gown. The room is the -steward’s room at Drayton, and though the chintz on the sofa is worn -and the wall-paper here and there has faded, yet the ladder-backed -chairs and the stout mahogany table give character and dignity to -the room. There is an appearance of great comfort; a winged chair is -drawn to the fire-place, and a kettle sings upon the hob. The woman -is reading a letter. - -“It is one written by Miss Sackville, the elder sister of Diana. -The lines are penned in a tall, slender handwriting on thick paper, -sealed. They had no envelopes in those days; a letter was written on -a broad sheet, folded upon itself. - -“There will be allusions, Clare, in this letter to names unknown to -you. Yet this is not surprising when you remember that it is a letter -two hundred years old. - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ LADY CROSBIE] - - “‘_To_ MRS. GLADWELL, - _At_ LORD VISCOUNT SACKVILLE, - DRAYTON, - Near THRAPSTON, - NORTHAMPTONSHIRE. - - “‘DEAR MRS. GLADWELL,--I had the pleasure of seeing Charles a - little while ago, who told me that you were quite well and looked - very happy, which I was exceedingly glad to hear. He says you are - grown a prodigious buck in your dress, that you have got quite a - youthful bloom on your cheeks, and are the picture of health and - content. I am sure you deserve to be so to compensate for the many - years of misery which you drudged on in those horrid rooms in Pall - Mall; and if you feel like me, you will never wish to see them or - anything else in that _cursed_ town of London as long as you live. - I heard from Di lately. She had been at Lady Grandison’s and seen - Nurse Porter, who, she says, has not a wish ungratified but of - seeing Betty Love, whom she quite raves about. - - “‘Di is to return to Lord Grandison’s at Christmas, where she is to - meet all the best company from Dublin, and to live in a continual - train of amusement. She is so popular in Kerry that when she goes - to a play that is acted by strolling players at Tralee, the whole - house rings with applause at her entrance, and she is obliged to - curtsey her thanks like a queen. Remember me to Molly Thomas, and - believe me, your sincere friend, - - “‘C. SACKVILLE.’ - -“The woman in the mulberry-coloured dress closes the letter. It has -set in movement before her inward eye a train of images, pictures of -past years. - -“She sees a child of four years old running to meet her. The hair -curls abundantly, the cheeks are delicately pink, the curved lips -smiling. In both hands she brings treasures--bright spindle berries -heaped together, crimson and orange, in her little hands. - -“And the woman hears her glad voice calling: ‘Look, Ellen! corals -like Di’s necklace! corals growing on trees!’ - - * * * * * - -“The memory passes, and she sees another scene. The room is darkened; -she is sitting by a bed. A child lies on it, tossing restlessly, and -all the pretty hair has been cut off. She hears a fretful voice say -repeatedly, ‘Sing, Ellen; Ellen, sing.’ And softly, over and over -again until weary, she hears herself singing an old ballad to the -child:-- - - “‘London Bridge is broken down, - _Dance over my lady lea_; - London Bridge is broken down - _With a gay lady_. - - How shall we build it up again? - _Dance over my lady lea_; - How shall we build it up again? - _With a gay lady_. - - Wood and clay will wash away, - _Dance over my lady lea_; - Wood and clay will wash away - _With a gay lady_. - - Silver and gold will be stolen away, - _Dance over my lady lea_; - Silver and gold will be stolen away - _With a gay lady_. - - Build it up with stone so strong, - _Dance over my lady lea_; - And then it will last for ages long - _With a gay lady_.’ - -“Her voice, set low for the sick-room, repeats the familiar lines. -She dare not cease, for immediately the eyes are wide upon her, and -she hears, ‘Sing, sing.’ And so she sings on till the little form -shifts less restlessly, and the breathing grows longer and more -profound. - -“The fire dies down and the clock ticks on in a comfortable monotony. -Then she rises, and, writing on a piece of paper, she slips it under -the door. And after a while there is a quiet footstep in the passage, -and she knows the child’s father is reading the message, ‘_Miss Diana -sleeps_.’ - - * * * * * - -“Again the past is built before her. She sees the large house lighted -for a ball. There are garlands over the doors, holly and ivy deck the -pictures, and everywhere the soft candlelight is shed on the dark and -polished floors. Music streams through the brightly-lit rooms, and a -brilliant company pass to and fro in silks and jewels. - -“Mrs. Gladwell stands in the gallery, looking down on the gay scene. -She sees a laughing company, a knot of some seven or eight, pass into -the hall. The men wear their hair long and are dressed in colours, -and in their midst moves Diana Sackville. She wears her hair over -cushions, and pearls are threaded through the soft mass. She paces -through the gavotte with head held high, poised like a flower, with -laughing lips and gleeful eyes, her step light as thistledown; and -though the violins are sounding their slender music, through it all -the onlooker hears another melody-- - - “‘Silver and gold will be stolen away - _Dance over my lady lea_; - Silver and gold will be stolen away - _With a gay lady_.’” - - * * * * * - -Miss Hippesley’s voice ceased, and Clare sat thinking. Still was she -seeing in imagination that bright throng. - -“But Diana shall speak for herself; this is a letter written by her -to her father.” And Miss Hippesley opened as she spoke a broad paper. -Though the ink was brown, you might readily see the tails of the -_g_’s and _d_’s were all turned cheerfully, with a kink in them. - - “‘MY DEAR FATHER,--I have spent a week with a friend of yours at - Edmomsbury, and been very much entertained there. Lord and Lady - Buckingham have been obliging enough to give a ball on purpose for - me at St. Woolstans, where I danced in great spirits, being now - mighty well and able to enjoy, as usual, all amusements. - - “‘We had a good deal of company at Edmomsbury, and dear whist - finished every evening. I had the long-wished-for happiness of - driving a little cabriolet myself every morning, and am grown an - excellent coachman. - - “‘I must inform you that your friend the Speaker, with all his - outside gravity and demureness, is a jolly buck at bottom. He does - not dislike the sight of a pretty woman, for such, _entre nous_, am - I universally thought here, whatever I may be reckoned in England; - but no prophet is a prophet in his own country. - - “‘I was much surprised as I was quietly seated one evening to feel - myself pulled back in the chair by the shoulders, and, looking up, - perceived it was the frisky Speaker’s doing, who vowed he had such - an inclination to kiss me he could hardly withstand the longing he - felt. Instead of looking grave, I burst out a-laughing, and indeed - well I might when I saw that demure old face extended into a tender - simper. - - “‘He afterwards confessed he repented not having gratified - his kissing inclination, and assured me if I gave him any - encouragement, he should certainly do it in spite of me. - - “‘Mrs. Perry was half inclined to look grave, and I to be much - entertained. - - “‘Poor Sir John Irwin’s head is quite turned with his Mrs. Squib. - He gets himself abused everywhere. - - “‘We talk of returning to England in a very short time. I confess, - if it were not for seeing you all, I should feel sorry at leaving - a place where I have been so well received, and am so well amused. - - “‘Adieu, my dear father. I shall direct this to Richmond, as my - sisters do not mention your leaving that place yet.--Dutifully - yours, - - “‘DIANA CROSBIE.’” - -Clare took the letter from Miss Hippesley’s hand. The notepaper, -where it was not frayed, had a slender gold edging. Across the -corner, written in the same round handwriting, were some lines added-- - -“The Duke of Leinster told somebody the other day that I was a dear, -charming girl, and danced like an angel.” - - * * * * * - -That night as Clare was going to bed, she stood before Lady Crosbie’s -picture. She noted the pearls in the hair, the laughing eyes, the -flying grace of movement. - -Had all this light-heartedness, all this beauty become (to borrow one -of Mrs. Inchbald’s crisp sayings) long since dust and daisies? - -“Not while this picture lasts,” thought Clare. “With this before us, -Beauty, like stone-built London Bridge, may last for ages.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - _One I have marked, the happiest guest - In all this covert of the best: - Hail to thee, far above the rest - In joy of voice and pinion! - Thou, Linnet! in thy green array, - Presiding spirit here to-day, - Dost lead the revels of the May, - And this is thy dominion._ - - W. WORDSWORTH. - - -“Dolorès had a tame bird called ‘Piripe,’ you know,” said Clare one -day to the children. - -“She brought him up by hand, and when he died she was miserable. -She’s got a long poem that a man called Skelton wrote long ago when -English was spelt strangely. It is full of pretty phrases, and it has -got a long list of birds’ names; if you’ll listen, she’ll read it to -you, she says.” - -[Illustration: _Reynolds._ DOLORÈS.] - -Clare spoke eagerly. But she had no need to call the children -twice. They gather round any one willingly enough who will read to -them. - -Dolorès looked very small and sad as she sat on a low stool, about to -commence reading. There is something you will see, in the manner her -little bodice is crossed, that is curiously at one with that lift in -her eyebrow. - -“My bird was a green finch,” she said, “and he had the crossest -little eye I’ve ever seen; it was like a sour bead, full of -greediness. But all the same I loved him, and I shall never have -such another. I shall never, never, have such a dear again. This man -Skelton who wrote this poem must have known some little girl who lost -a bird she loved, for listen to what he writes about it. It is called - - _The Boke of Phyllyp Sparowe_, - -and these are only some of the lines:-- - - “‘When I remember again - How my Phylyp was slain - Never half the payne - Was between you twain, - Pyramus and Thisbe, - As then befell to me. - I wept and I wayled, - The tears down hayled, - But nothing it availed - To call Philyp again, - Whom Gib, our cat, hath slain. - Gib, I say, our cat - Worried her on that - Which I loved best. - It cannot be expressed - By sorrowful heaviness. - - It was so prety a fool - It wold sit on a stool; - It had a velvet cap, - And would sit upon my lap, - And seek after small wormes - And sometymes white bread crommes. - Sometimes he wold gasp - When he saw a wasp, - A fly, or a gnat, - He would fly at that; - And pretily he wold pant - When he saw an ant; - Lord, how he wold pry - After the butterfly! - Lord, how he wold hop - After the gressop! - And when I sayd, Phyp, Phyp! - Then he wold leap and skyp - And take me by the lyp. - - Alas! it will me slo - That Phyllyp is gone me fro! - For it wold come and go - And fly so to and fro, - And on me it wold leap - When I was asleep, - And his fethers shake, - Wherewith he wold make - Me often for to wake. - - He did nothing perdie - But sit upon my knee. - Phyllyp had leave to go - To pike my lytell toe; - Phyllip might be bold - And do what he wold. - Phyllyp wold seek and take - All the fleas blake - That he could there espy - With his wanton eye. - - * * * * * - - That vengeance I aske and cry - By way of exclamation - On the whole nation - Of cattes, wyld and tame. - God send them sorrowe and shame! - That cat specially - That slew so cruelly - My lytell prety sparowe - That I brought up at Carowe. - - * * * * * - - When I remember it, - How pretily it wold sit - Many times and oft - On my finger aloft! - His bill between my lippes-- - It was my prety Phyppes! - He was wont to repayre - And go in at my spayre, - And creep in at my gore - Of my gown before, - Flyckering with his wings. - Alas! my heart it stings - Remembrynge prety things! - - Of fortune this the chance - Standeth on variance - Oft time after pleasaunce, - Trouble and grievaunce - No man can be sure - All way to have pleasure. - As well perceive ye may - How my desport and play - From me was taken away - By Gyb, our cat, savage, - That in a furious rage - Caught Phyllyp by the head - And slew him there, starke dead. - _Kyrie eleison, - Christe, eleison, - Kyrie eleison_, - - For Phyllyp Sparowe’s soule - Set in our bead roll - Let us now whisper - A Pater noster. - - All manner of birdes in your kind - So none be left behind, - Some to sing and some to say, - Some to weep and some to pray - Every birde in his laye. - The goldfink, the wagtayle, - The jangling pie to chatter - Of this dolorous matter; - And robyn redbreast - He shall be the priest - The requiem mass to sing - Softly warbelynge. - With help of the red sparrow - And the chattringe swallow - This hearse for to hallow. - - The larke, with his long toe, - The spynk and martinet, also - The shoveler with his brode bek; - The dotterell, that folyshe pek - The partryche, the quayle, - The plover, with us to wayle, - The lusty chaunting nightingale; - The popinjay to tell her tale - - That looketh oft in the glasse, - Shall read the gospel at Masse. - The mavis with her whystle - Shall read the epistle, - But with a large and a longe - To keep just playne songe - Our chanters shall be the cuckoo, - The culver, the stockdoo, - With puwyt, the lapwyng, - The versicles shall syng. - The bittern with his bumpe, - The crane with his trumpe, - The swan of Menander, - The gose and the gander, - The duck and the drake, - Shall watch at this wake. - The owle, that is so fowle, - Must help us to howle; - The barnacle, the bussarde, - With the wild mallarde; - The puffin and teal - Money they shall dele; - The seamewe, the tytmose, - The wodcocke, with the longe nose; - The throstyll, with her warblyng, - The starling, with her brablyng; - The roke and the osprey - That putteth fysshe to the fraye; - And the dainty curlew, - With the turtyll most trew. - - And it were a Jewe - It wold make one rewe - To see my sorrow newe! - These villainous false cattes - Were made for myse and rattes, - And not for birdes smale. - Alas! my face waxeth pale - Telling this piteous tale. - Alas! I say agayne, - Deth hath departed us twayne; - The false cat hath thee slayne. - - Farewell, Phyllyp, adieu, - Our Lord thy soule reskew; - Farewell, without restore, - Farewell for evermore.’” - - JOHN SKELTON, born 1460. - - - - - CONCLUSION - - -The day came when the children were to leave London. The demon of -packing was abroad. Open trunks in the passage, frothing over with -paper, busy people, excited children, and bustle everywhere. This -is the spirit of packing, much beloved of children, but only to be -endured in varying degrees of patience by those more nearly concerned. - -The children must see after their own toys, however. So Huckaback -and Bombasine, the cloth monkeys, are placed with other things on -the nursery table, where they lie grinning, with bead teeth. Here -also is Natalie, who we read of in the first chapter, and Mrs. Apollo -Johnson, a white material bear. Here are Molly Easter, the horse -Anthony, and Ben and Greet. - -Clare, having put these toys aside, left the nursery, where the sense -of dislocation was almost too acute. Going to her own room, she stood -looking out of the window. The scene before her brought to her mind -the view she was so soon to see. She thought of the green paddock to -be full of daffodils in March, where the ashes stand with their grey -stems, and the great yew tree. She saw the curve in the oak paling -as it skirts the withebed, and the winding path that leads to Minnow -Corner. She caught the scent of the old stone granary, that has just -sufficient dash of mouse in it to make the hay and grain smell doubly -sweet, and she remembered the thick yew hedges where linnets build, -and the leaning boughs of the mulberry tree. - -“And all this,” thought she, “I shall soon see once more.” And with -this thought there flooded into her heart a wave of love for the -country, bringing with it the remembrance of some lines. - - “‘’Tis she that to these gardens gave - The wondrous beauty that they have. - She straightness on the wood bestows, - To her the meadow sweetness owes. - Nothing could make the river be - So crystal pure but only she. - She, yet more pure, sweet, straight and fair - Than gardens, woods, meads, rivers are.’” - -And as Clare said these lines, with her mind dwelling on the country, -suddenly it took a swallow’s angle, and she thought of London again -and the life of the pictures that she had come to know. Swiftly she -ran downstairs and stood in turn before each one of them. The morning -light touched them unsympathetically. They seemed strangely aloof. -Was it because her thoughts had been among the green living things of -the country, her memory out in the fresh, sweet air of Nature, that -these pictures seemed so dead? - -She stood before Lewis the actor. He gripped his sword and looked -away. Before Mrs. Inchbald. She leaned from her chair, gazing -intently, but not at Clare. Miss Ridge smiled, but the smile was not -for her. Clare knew if she turned away, Miss Ridge would still be -smiling. She stood before Kitty Fischer; but nothing that Clare could -do or say would make her look up. - -“Miss Ross will say something,” thought Clare. But no spoken word -came from Miss Ross. Yet as Clare stood looking, she remembered two -lines, she knew not whence they came-- - - Endurance is the noblest quality, - And Patience all the passion of great hearts. - -Clare went out upon the landing. Here again there was no recognition. -The Spencer children were painted children, and Lady Crosbie, though -she tripped forward with smiles for every one, was but a bright form -on canvas. - -The life of the pictures had been withdrawn. - -Only Robert Mayne, Clare thought, looked back at her with any -friendship. - -Then she looked steadfastly at the wide country round Dedham Lock. - -And as she looked, she saw the wind was in the sedges, bowing the -great dock leaves as it passed. - - - THE END - - - - - Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO., LTD. - At the Ballantyne Press - Tavistock Street - LONDON - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - The Table of Contents at the beginning of the book was created by - the transcriber. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “Gather-Stick”/“Gatherstick” - have been maintained. - - Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected - and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the - text, especially in dialogue, and inconsistent or archaic usage, - have been retained. - - Page 47: “The gang consisted of seven gipses” changed to “The gang - consisted of seven gipsies”. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN AND THE PICTURES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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