Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 27

"Nay, sure!" cries Cousin _Bess_.

"Every one, Sir," saith _Ned_, a-laughing.

"And, poor souls! can they find nought better to do?" quoth _Father_.

"They have not yet, it seems," saith Aunt _Joyce_.

"Are you ne'er mocking of us, think you?" saith Cousin _Bess_ to _Ned_.

"Never a whit!" crieth he. "Eh, Cousin _Bess_, I could tell you queerer matters than that."

"Nay, I'll hear none, o' my good will," saith she. "_Paul_ saith we be to think on whatsoever things be lovely: and I reckon he wasn't like to mean on a parcel o' big babes, playing at make-believe."

"They have nought else to do, it appears," quoth _Father_.

"Dear heart!" saith she. "Could they ne'er buy a bale of flannel, and make some doublets and petticoats for the poor? He must be a poor silly companion that shall call a woman _Excellency_, when she hath done nought all her life but to pluck roses and finger her gold chain.

Where's her excellency, belike?"

"Things were ill enough in the Court of old," saith _Father_, "but it doth seem me we were scantly so brainless of old time as this. I shall send a letter to my cousin of _Oxenford_ touching _Walter_. He must not be suffered to drift into--"

_Father_ did not end his sentence. But methought I could guess reasonable well how it should have been finished.

Verily, I am troubled touching _Wat_, and will pray for him, that he may be preserved safe from the snares of the world, the flesh, and the Devil. Oh, what a blessed place must Heaven be, seeing there shall be none of them!

One thing, howbeit, doth much comfort me,--and that is, that _Ned_ is true and staunch as ever to the early training he had of _Father_ and _Mother_ out of G.o.d's Word. Some folk might think him careless and too fond of laughter, and fun, and the like: but I know _Ned_--of early days I was ever his secret fellow--and I am well a.s.sured his heart is right and true. He shall 'bide with us until Sir _Humphrey Gilbert_ his next voyage out to the _Spanish_ seas, but we know not yet when that shall be. He had intended to make the coast of _Virginia_ this last time, but was beat back by the tempest. 'Tis said that when he goeth, his brother of the mother's side, Sir _Walter Raleigh_, shall go with him. This Sir _Walter_, saith _Ned_, is a young gentleman that hath but eight and twenty years, yet is already of much note in the Court. He hath a rare intelligence and a merry wit. Aunt _Joyce_ was mightily taken by one tale that _Ned_ told us of him,--how that, being at the house of some gentleman in the country, where the mistress of the house was mightily set up and precise, one morrow, this Sir _Walter_, that was a-donning [dressing] himself, did hear the said his precise and delicate hostess, without his door, to ask at her servants, "Be the pigs served?" No sooner had they met below, than saith Sir _Walter_, "Madam, be the pigs served?"

But my Lady, that moved not a muscle of her face, replied as calm as you will, "You know best, Sir, whether you have had your breakfast." Aunt _Joyce_ did laugh o'er this, and said Sir _Walter_ demerited to have as good given him as he brought.

"I do like," quoth she, "a woman that can stand up to a man!"

"I can credit it, _Joyce_," saith _Father_.

Note 1. The English hand was the running hand of the old black letter, and was a very crabbed and tedious piece of work. The Italian hand, which came in about this time, has lasted until the present day, though its latest variety has lost much of the old clearness and beauty. It was at its best in the reign of James the First, of which period some specimens of writing have been preserved, exquisitely beautiful, and as legible as copper-plate. Most lovely is the youthful hand of his eldest daughter: the cacography of her later years is, alas! something horrible. Queen Elizabeth could write the Italian hand (and did it to perfection), but she has left on record that she did not like doing it.

Note 2. These were the last words of Francesco Spira, an Italian lawyer and a pervert, whose terrible death, in the agonies of remorse and despair, made a deep and lasting impression on the Protestants of England.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

HOW TWO WENT IN AT THE GATE.

"All the foolish work Of fancy, and the bitter close of all."

Tennyson.

"On all the sweet smile falleth Of Him who loveth so, But to one the sweet voice calleth, 'Arise, and let us go; They wait to welcome thee, This night, at Home, with Me.'"

"B.M."

(_In Milisent's handwriting_.)

SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE II.

This day was called of old time _Candlemas_, by reason of the great number of candles, saith _Father_, which were brent afore the altar at the Purification of Saint _Mary_. Being an holy day, all we to church this morrow, after the which I was avised to begin my chronicling.

And afore I set down anything else, 'tis meet I should say that I do now see plain how I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly. I would not think now to tear forth those pages I writ this last _November_, though they be such a record of folly and sin as few maids should need to set down. I would rather keep them, that I may see in future days all the ill that was once in _Milisent Louvaine_, and all the great mercy and goodness which the Lord my G.o.d did show me.

Oh, the bitter anger that was in mine heart that night toward dear Aunt _Joyce_!--who, next unto _Father_ and _Mother_, hath been to me as an angel of G.o.d. For had she not stopped me in my madness, where and what had I been to-night? I can scarce bear to think on it. Perchance I feel it the more, sith I am ever put in mind thereof by the woefully changed face of poor _Blanche_--_Blanche_, but three months gone the merriest of us all, and now looking as though she should never know a day's merriment again. Her whole life seems ruined: and Dr _Bell_, the chirurgeon at _Keswick_, told _Mother_ but yesterday that _Blanche_ should not live long. She hath, said he, a leaning of her nature toward the consumption of the lungs, the which was greatly worsened by those days that she hid in the copse, fearing to come home, until Aunt _Joyce_ went to her.

And to think that I might have been thus now--with nought but a wasted life to look back on, and nought to look forward to but a rapid and early death! And to know well, as I do know, that I have but mine own headstrong foolery to thank for the danger, and am far from having any wisdom of mine to thank for the rescue. Verily, I should be the humblest of women, all the days of my life.

Oh, when will young maids learn, without needing to have it brent into them of hot irons, that they which have dwelt forty or sixty years in this world be like to know more about its ways than they that have lived but twenty; or that their own fathers and mothers, which have loved and cared for them since they lay in the cradle, be not like to wreck their happiness, even for a while, without they have good cause! Of force, I know 'tis not every maid hath such a father and mother as we--thank G.o.d for the same!--but I do think, nevertheless, there be few mothers that be good women at all, which should not be willing to have their daughters bring their sorrows and joys to them, rather than pour them into the ear of the first man that will flatter them. I have learned, from Aunt _Joyce_, that there is oft a deal more in folk than other folk reckon, and that if we come not on the soft spot in a woman's heart, 'tis very commonly by reason that we dig not deep enough. Howbeit, Aunt _Joyce_ saith there be women that have no hearts. The good Lord keep them out of my path, if His will be!

SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE V.

This morrow, we maids were sat a-work in the great chamber, where was Aunt _Joyce_ a-work likewise, and _Mother_ coming in and out on her occasions. _Father_ was there, but he was wrapped in a great book that lay afore him. I cannot well mind how we gat on the matter, but Aunt _Joyce_ 'gan speak of the blunders that men do commonly make when they speak of women.

"Why," saith she, "we might be an other sort of animal altogether, instead of the one half of themselves. Do but look you what I have heard men to say in my life. A woman's first desire is to be wed; that's not true but of some women, and they be the least worthy of the s.e.x. A woman can never keep a secret: that's not true but of some. A woman can never take a joke: that's as big a falsehood as _Westminster_ Abbey. A woman cannot understand reason and logic: that's as big an one as all _England_. Any woman can keep a house or manage a babe: heyday, can she so? I know better. Poor loons, what should they say if we made as great blunders touching them? And an other thing I will tell you which hath oft-times diverted me: 'tis the queer ways whereby a man will look to win favour of a woman. Nine men of every ten will suppose they shall be liked of a woman for telling her (in substance) that she is as good as if she had not been one. Now, that should set the man that did it out of my grace for ever and ever."

"How mean you, _Aunt_, an' it like you?" saith _Nell_.

"Why, look you here," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "But this last week, said I to Master _Coward_, touching somewhat he had said, 'But,' said I, 'that were not just.' Quoth he, 'How, my mistress!--you a woman, and love justice?' Again: there was once a companion would fain have won me to wed him. When I said 'Nay,' (and meant it), quoth he, 'Oh, a maid doth never say yea at the first.' And I do believe that both these thought to flatter me. If they had but known how I longed to shake them! For look you what the words meant. A woman is never just: a woman is never sincere. And the dolts reckon it shall please us to know that they take us for such fools! Verily, I would give a pretty penny but to make them conceive that the sc.r.a.p of flattery which they do offer to my particular is utterly swamped in the vast affront which they give to my s.e.x in the general. But you shall rarely see a man to guess that. Moreover, there be two other points. Mark you how a man shall serve a woman, if he come to know that she hath the tongues [knows the cla.s.sical languages]. Doth he take it as he should with an other man? Never a whit. He treats the matter as though an horse should read _English_, or a cat play the spinnet. What right hath he to account my brains so much worser than his (I being the same creature as he) that I cannot learn aught he can?

'So mean-brained a thing as a woman to know as much as any man!' I grant you, he shall not say such words: but he shall say words that mean it. And then, forsooth, he shall reckon he hath paid me a compliment!

I trow no woman should have brains as dull as that. And do tell me, belike, why a man that can talk right good sense to his fellows, shall no sooner turn him around to a woman, than he shall begin to chatter the veriest nonsense? It doth seem me, that a man never thinks of any woman but the lowest quality. He counts her loving, if you will; but alway foolish, frothy, witless. He'll take every one of you for that make of woman, till he find the contrary. Oh, these men! these men!"

"Ah!" saith _Father_. "I feel myself one of the inferior s.e.x."

"_Aubrey_, what business hast thou hearkening?" quoth she. "I thought thou wert lost in yonder big book."

"I found myself again, some minutes gone," saith _Father_. "But thou wist, 'tis an old saw that listeners do never hear any good of themselves."

"I didn't mean thee, man!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Present company always excepted."

"Methought I was reckoned absent company," saith _Father_, with a twinkle in his eyes, and lifting his big book from the table. "Howbeit, I am not too proud to learn."

"Even from a woman?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "Thou art the pearl of men, if so be."

_Father_ laughed, and carried off his book, pausing at the door to observe--"There is some truth in much thou hast said, _Joyce_."

"Lack-a-day, what an acknowledgment from a man!" cries Aunt _Joyce_.

"Yet 'tis fenced round, look you. 'There is _some_ truth in _much_' I have said. Ah, go thy ways, my good _Aubrey_; thou art the best man ever I knew: but, alack! thou art a man, after all."

"Why, Aunt _Joyce_," saith _Edith_, who was laughing rarely, "what should we do, think you, if there were no men?"

"I would do some way, thou shouldst see," saith Aunt _Joyce_, st.u.r.dily.

And so she let the matter drop; or should so have done, but _Nell_ saith--