Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 9

"Alas!" saith he, when he saw me rise, "miserable man, am I driving hence the fairest floweret of the isle?"

"Not in no wise, Sir," answered I; "but I count it time to return, and my sister shall be coming to look for me."

"Then, sweet Mistress, give me leave to hand you o'er these rough paths."

So I put mine hand into his, which was shapely, and well cased in fair _Spanish_ leather; and as we walked, he asked me of divers matters; as, how many brothers I had, and if they dwelt at home; and if _Father_ were at home; and the number and names of my sisters, and such like; all which I told him. Moreover, he would know if we had any guests; which, with much more, seeing he had been of old time acquainted with _Mother_, I told. Only I forgat to make mention of Aunt _Joyce_.

So at long last--for he, being unacquainted with the Isle, took the longest way round, and I thought it good manners not to check him--at long last come we to _Edith_, which was gat up from her stone, and was putting by her paper and pencils in the bag which she had brought for them.

"We shall be something late for four-hours, _Milly_," saith she.

"Prithee, wake _Adam_, whilst I make an end."

Off went I and gave _Adam_ a good shake, and coming back, found _Edith_ in discourse with my gentleman. I cannot tell why, but I would as lief he had not conversed with any but me.

"Sir," said I, "may we set you down of the lakeside?"

"No, I thank you much," saith he: and lifting his bonnet from his head, I saw how gleaming golden was yet his hair. "I have a boat o'er the other side. Farewell, my sweet mistresses both: I trust we shall meet again. Methinks I owe it you, howbeit, to tell you my name. I am Sir _Edwin Tregarvon_, of _Cornwall_, and very much your servant."

So away went he, with a graceful mien: and we home o'er the lake. All the way _Edith_ saith nought but--"_Milly_, where didst thou pick up thy _cavaliero_?"

"Nay," said I, "he it was who picked me up. He was leaning of a tree, of t'other side, over against _Borrowdale_: and I sat me down of a log, and saw him not till he spake."

_Edith_ said no more at that time. But in the even, when we were doffing us, and _Nell_ was not yet come up, quoth she--

"_Milly_, is Sir _Edwin_ something free to ask questions?"

"Oh, meterly," [tolerably] said I.

"I trust thou gavest him not o'er full answers."

"Oh, nought of import," said I. "Beside, _Edith_, he is an old friend of _Mother_."

"Is he so?" quoth she. "Then we can ask _Mother_ touching him."

Now, I could not have told any wherefore, but I had no list to ask _Mother_, nor had I told her so much as one word touching him. I believe I was half afeared she might forbid me to encourage him in talk.

I trust _Edith_ shall forget the same, for she hath not an over good memory.

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE IX.

I well-nigh do wish I had not writ down that same o' _Friday_ last.

Howbeit, there is no penalty against tearing out o' leaves: and that must I do, if need be. Meanwhile, I will go right forward with my chronicling.

I did verily think I saw Sir _Edwin_ part-way up the hill behind us o'

_Sat.u.r.day_ even: but o' _Sunday_ he was not in church, for I looked for him. I reckon he must have left this vicinage, or he should scarce run the risk of a twenty pound fine [the penalty per month for non-attendance at the parish church], without he be fairly a-rolling in riches, as his gold chain looked not unlike.

Thank goodness, _Edith_ hath forgot to say aught to _Mother_, and 'tis not like she shall think on now.

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE XII.

_Mother_ bid me, this morrow, carry a basket of eggs and a spice-cake [the northern name for a plum-cake] to old _Jack_. They were ducks'

eggs, for I had told her what _Jack_ said the last time we visited him.

I bade _Edith_ go with me [Note 4], but she would not, the day being somewhat foul. I did never see a maid so unwilling to mire her shoes as our _Edith_. So I all alone up to _Jack Benn's_: which saw me from his hut door, and gave me his customary courteous welcome.

"There's a woman a-coming!" quoth he. "Get away wi' ye! I hate women."

"Nay, _Jack_," said I; "thou alway savest me, as thou wist. Here be eggs for thee--ducks', every one: and a spice-cake, which I know thou lovest."

"I love nought so much as I hate women," saith he. But he took the cake and the eggs off me, notwithstanding. "They're fleshly folk, is women,"

quoth old _Jack_.

"Nay, what signifiest?" said I. "Women have no more flesh than men, I reckon."

"Mistress _Milisent_, does thou wit what _Paul_ says to th' _Romans_, touching th' flesh and th' spirit?"

"Oh ay, _Jack_, I have read it afore now."

"Well, and does thou mind how he threaps again' th' flesh?"

"To be sure," said I.

"Now look ye here," saith he. "Here's my hand,"--and he reacheth forth a great brown paw. "Does thou see it?"

"Ay, I am thankful I have eyes good enough for that, _Jack_!"

"Well--this hand's made o' flesh, does thou wit?"

"I reckon so much, _Jack_."

"Good. Well, _Paul_ he says we're none to mind th' things o' th' flesh, but only th' things o' th' spirit. Your spirit's your thoughts and meditations like. And that's why women's such ill uns--because they are alway minding th' things o' th' flesh: scrubbing, and washing, and baking, and sewing, and such like. And it stands to reason, Mistress _Milisent_, that what ye do wi' th' flesh mun be th' things o' th'

flesh. Does thou see?"

"Well, _Jack_, I am afeared I do not entirely."

"Get thee gone!" saith he. "Women never can see nought. They're ill uns, I tell ye--they're ill uns!"

"But, _Jack_, the sins of the flesh have nought to do with cooking and washing."

"Does thou think I dunna know better nor a woman? Thee be off, or I'll let fly th' broom at thee."

"_Jack_, thou art a very uncivil companion," said I; but I gathered up my gown for to go.

"I never were civil to a woman yet," saith he, "and I hope I never shall be. That's a sin I'll none have to answer for."

"In very deed it is, _Jack_," said I, "and I will bear witness for thee to that end if need be. Farewell."

So away turned I from the grim old man, but had not run many steps down ere I was aware of an hand, very different from _Jack's_, held forth to me, and a voice saluting me in exceeding diverse language.

"Fairest Mistress _Milisent_, well met this cloudy morrow! I see the flowers be out, though the sun shine not. Give me leave, I pray you, to aid your graceful steps down this rough hill-side."

So down the hill with me came Sir _Edwin_, and mighty pleasant discourse had we--all the fairer for coming after _Jack_. And much he told me of his estate in _Cornwall_, where he hath a fair castle, built of old time, and mines like to ours, saving they be tin, not lead. And these _Cornish_ mines, as he told me, were worked of old time by the _Jews_: but when I did demand of him how _Jews_ should come to work them, that (quoth he) could he not say. And at times, in these mines, deep down in the old workings, do they hear the ghosts of them that worked them a thousand years ago, a-knocking with the pickaxe; and when they do break into the ancient workings, they come on the olden pickaxes of stags'