Rewards and Fairies Part 27

'Oh! but we want to know lots and lots more,' said Dan. 'How you got home--and what old Maingon said on the barge--and wasn't your cousin surprised when he had to give back the _Berthe Aurette_, and----'

'Tell us more about Toby!' cried Una.

'Yes, and Red Jacket,' said Dan.

'Won't you tell us any more?' they both pleaded.

Puck kicked the oak branch on the fire, till it sent up a column of smoke that made them sneeze. When they had finished the Shaw was empty except for old Hobden stamping through the larches.

'They gipsies have took two,' he said: 'my black pullet and my liddle gingy-speckled c.o.c.krel.'

'I thought so,' said Dan, picking up one tail-feather the old woman had overlooked.

'Which way did they go? Which way did the runagates go?' said Hobden.

'Hobby!' said Una. 'Would you like it if we told Keeper Ridley all your goings and comings?'

'POOR HONEST MEN'

Your jar of Virginny Will cost you a guinea, Which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten; But light your churchwarden And judge it according When I've told you the troubles of poor honest men.

From the Capes of the Delaware, As you are well aware, We sail with tobacco for England--but then Our own British cruisers, They watch us come through, sirs, And they press half a score of us poor honest men.

Or if by quick sailing (Thick weather prevailing) We leave them behind (as we do now and then) We are sure of a gun from Each frigate we run from, Which is often destruction to poor honest men!

Broadsides the Atlantic We tumble short-handed, With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend, And off the Azores, Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs Are waiting to terrify poor honest men!

Napoleon's embargo Is laid on all cargo Which comfort or aid to King George may intend; And since roll, twist and leaf, Of all comforts is chief, They try for to steal it from poor honest men!

With no heart for fight, We take refuge in flight, But fire as we run, our retreat to defend, Until our stern-chasers Cut up her fore-braces, And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men!

Twix' the Forties and Fifties, South-eastward the drift is, And so, when we think we are making Land's End, Alas, it is Ushant With half the King's Navy, Blockading French ports against poor honest men!

But they may not quit station (Which is our salvation), So swiftly we stand to the Nor'ard again; And finding the tail of A homeward-bound convoy, We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men.

Twix' the Lizard and Dover, We hand our stuff over, Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when; But a light on each quarter Low down on the water Is well understanded by poor honest men!

Even then we have dangers From meddlesome strangers, Who spy on our business and are not content To take a smooth answer, Except with a handspike ...

And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!

To be drowned or be shot Is our natural lot, Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end-- After all our great pains For to dangle in chains, As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?

The Conversion of St. Wilfrid

EDDI'S SERVICE

Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid In the chapel at Manhood End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared to attend.

But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, And the night was stormy as well.

n.o.body came to service Though Eddi rang the bell.

'Wicked weather for walking,'

Said Eddi of Manhood End.

'But I must go on with the service For such as care to attend.'

The altar candles were lighted,-- An old marsh donkey came, Bold as a guest invited, And stared at the guttering flame.

The storm beat on at the windows, The water splashed on the floor, And a wet yoke-weary bullock Pushed in through the open door.

'How do I know what is greatest, How do I know what is least?

That is My Father's business,'

Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.

'But, three are gathered together-- Listen to me and attend.

I bring good news, my brethren!'

Said Eddi, of Manhood End.

And he told the Ox of a manger And a stall in Bethlehem, And he spoke to the a.s.s of a Rider That rode to Jerusalem.

They steamed and dripped in the chancel, They listened and never stirred, While, just as though they were Bishops, Eddi preached them The Word.

Till the gale blew off on the marshes And the windows showed the day, And the Ox and the a.s.s together Wheeled and clattered away.

And when the Saxons mocked him, Said Eddi of Manhood End, 'I dare not shut His chapel On such as care to attend.'

The Conversion of St. Wilfrid

They had bought peppermints up at the village, and were coming home past little St. Barnabas's church, when they saw Jimmy Kidbrooke, the carpenter's baby, kicking at the churchyard gate, with a shaving in his mouth and the tears running down his cheeks.

Una pulled out the shaving and put in a peppermint. Jimmy said he was looking for his grand-daddy--he never seemed to take much notice of his father--so they went up between the old graves, under the leaf-dropping limes, to the porch, where Jim trotted in, looked about the empty church, and screamed like a gate-hinge.

Young Sam Kidbrooke's voice came from the bell-tower, and made them jump.