The first three peaceful days after the Fair were spent by the young preacher at Drawwell Farm, knitting up a friendship with its inmates that neither time nor suffering was able thereafter to unravel.
'The house inhabited by the Blayklings may still be seen. Its thick walls, small windows and rooms, with the clear well behind, must be almost in the same condition as in the week we are remembering.'[6]
In later days many a 'mighty Meeting' was to be held in the big barn that adjoins the small whitewashed house with its grey flagged roof. Drawwell is situated about two miles away from Sedbergh, on the sunny slope of a hill overlooking the River Lune, that here forms the boundary between the two counties of Westmorland and Yorkshire.
There, under the shadow of the great fells, George Fox had time for many a quiet talk with his hosts, in the days that followed the Whitsuntide Fair. John Blaykling, the farmer's son, was a man of strong character. He was afterwards to become himself a powerful preacher of the Truth and to suffer for it when persecution came. Moreover, 'he was a great supporter of them that were in low circumstances in the world, often assisting them in difficult cases to the exposing of himself to great hazards of loss.'
He had also an especial care for the feelings of others. On the Sunday after the Fair he was anxious to take his guest to Firbank Chapel, where the Seekers' service was to be held, high up on the hill opposite Drawwell. Yet he seems to have had some misgivings that his guest might be too full of his ownpowerful message to remember to behave courteously to others, who, although in a humbler way, were still trying to declare the Truth as far as they had a knowledge of it. Fox writes in his Journal:
'And the next First day I came to Firbank Chapel, where Francis Howgill and John Audland were preaching in the morning, and John Blaykling and others came to me and desired me not to reprove them publicly, for they was not parish teachers but pretty sober men, but I would not tell them whether I would or no, though I had little in me to declare publicly against them, but told them they must leave me to the Lord's movings. The chapel was full of people and many could not get in. Francis Howgill (who was preaching) said he thought I looked into the Chapel, but I did not. And he said that I might have killed him with a crab-apple, the Lord's power had so surprised him.'So they had quickly done with their preaching to the people at that time, and they and the people went to their dinners, but abundance stayed till they came again. And I went to a brook and got me a little water, and so I came and sat me down atop of a rock, (for the word of the Lord came to me that I must go and sit upon the rock in the mountain, even as Christ had done before).'And in the afternoon the people gathered about me with several separate teachers, where it was judged there was above a thousand people. And all those several separate teachers were convinced of God's everlasting truth that day, amongst whom I declared freely and largely God's everlasting truth and word of life about three hours. And there was many oldpeople went into the chapel and looked out of the windows and thought it a strange thing to see a man to preach on a hill or mountain, and not in their church as they called it. So I was made to open to the people that the steeple-house and the ground whereon it stood was no more holier than that mountain ... but Christ was come who ended the temple and the priests and the tithes, and Christ said, "Learn of me," and God said, "This is my beloved Son, hear ye Him."'For the Lord had sent me with His everlasting gospel to preach, and His word of life so that they all might come to know Christ their Teacher, their Counsellor, their Shepherd to feed them, and their Bishop to oversee them, and their Prophet to open to them, and to know their bodies to be temples of God and Christ for them to dwell in.... And so, turning the people to the Spirit of God, and from the darkness to the light, that they might believe in it and become children of light.'
'And the next First day I came to Firbank Chapel, where Francis Howgill and John Audland were preaching in the morning, and John Blaykling and others came to me and desired me not to reprove them publicly, for they was not parish teachers but pretty sober men, but I would not tell them whether I would or no, though I had little in me to declare publicly against them, but told them they must leave me to the Lord's movings. The chapel was full of people and many could not get in. Francis Howgill (who was preaching) said he thought I looked into the Chapel, but I did not. And he said that I might have killed him with a crab-apple, the Lord's power had so surprised him.
'So they had quickly done with their preaching to the people at that time, and they and the people went to their dinners, but abundance stayed till they came again. And I went to a brook and got me a little water, and so I came and sat me down atop of a rock, (for the word of the Lord came to me that I must go and sit upon the rock in the mountain, even as Christ had done before).
'And in the afternoon the people gathered about me with several separate teachers, where it was judged there was above a thousand people. And all those several separate teachers were convinced of God's everlasting truth that day, amongst whom I declared freely and largely God's everlasting truth and word of life about three hours. And there was many oldpeople went into the chapel and looked out of the windows and thought it a strange thing to see a man to preach on a hill or mountain, and not in their church as they called it. So I was made to open to the people that the steeple-house and the ground whereon it stood was no more holier than that mountain ... but Christ was come who ended the temple and the priests and the tithes, and Christ said, "Learn of me," and God said, "This is my beloved Son, hear ye Him."
'For the Lord had sent me with His everlasting gospel to preach, and His word of life so that they all might come to know Christ their Teacher, their Counsellor, their Shepherd to feed them, and their Bishop to oversee them, and their Prophet to open to them, and to know their bodies to be temples of God and Christ for them to dwell in.... And so, turning the people to the Spirit of God, and from the darkness to the light, that they might believe in it and become children of light.'
'Now, it is our turn,' insisted ruddy-faced John Audland, 'George Fox must come home with me. My house at Crosslands will be the most convenient resting-place for him, seeing it lies mid-way between here and Preston Patrick; and to Preston Patrick and the General Meeting of our Seeking People he must certainly come, since it is to be held in three days' time. There are many folk, still seeking, on the other side of the dales, who have not yet heard the good news, but who will rejoice mightily when they find him there. Besides, he has promised my wife that hewill be the first guest to come and bless our home.'
'Yes in truth, he shall return with thee,' echoed Audland's friend, John Camm of Cammsgill, 'since Preston Patrick is too far a step for him to-day. He shall lodge with thee and thy good wife Anne, and bless your home. But on Wednesday, betimes, thou must bring him to me at Cammsgill right early in the day—and I will take him as my guest to Preston Patrick and our Seekers' Meeting.'
John Audland readily assented to this proposal. He and his wife would have the wonderful Stranger all to themselves until Wednesday. As the two men wandered back over the hills in a satisfied silence, his mind was full of all the questions he meant to ask. For had not he himself, though only a youth of twenty-two, been one of the appointed preachers at Firbank Chapel? Truly he had done his best there, as at other times, to feed the people; yet in spite of his words they had seemed ever hungry, until the Stranger came among them, breaking the True Bread of Life for all to share.
John Audland was 'a young man of a comely countenance, and very lovely qualities.'[7]Never a thought of jealousy or envy crossed his mind; only he was filled with a longing to know more, to learn, to be fed himself, that he, in his turn, might feed others. Still, being but human, it was with slight irritation that he heard himself hailed with a loud 'halloo!' from behind. Looking round, he beheld a long-legged figure ambling after them along the dusty road, and recognised a certain tactless youth, John Story by name, famous throughout the district forhis knack of thrusting himself in where he was least wanted. Without so much as a 'by your leave' John Story caught up the other two men and began a lively conversation as they walked along.
Self-invited, he followed them into John Audland's home; where the young bride, Anne, was too well bred to betray her disappointment at this unexpected visitor. Elbowing his way rudely past the master of the house and the invited guest, John Story stalked ahead into the bridal parlour and sat himself down deliberately in the best chair. 'I'm your first guest now, Mistress Anne,' he said with a chuckle. Then lighting his pipe he threw his head back and made himself comfortable—evidently intending to stay the evening. But his chief care and intention was to patronise George Fox. He had been at Firbank also, and he had remembered enough of the sermon there to repeat some of the preacher's words jestingly to his face. He handed his lighted pipe to George Fox, saying, 'Come, will you take a pipe of tobacco?'—and added, mockingly, seeing his hesitation, 'Come, all is ours!'
'But,' says George Fox, 'I looked upon him to be a forward bold lad; and tobacco I did not take. But it came into my mind that the lad might think I had not unity with the creation: for I saw he had a flashy, empty notion of religion. So I took his pipe and put it to my mouth, and gave it to him again to stop him lest his rude tongue should say I had not unity with the creation.'
And soon after this, let us hope, John Story, with his tobacco and his rude tongue, saw fit to take his leave, and remove his unwelcome presence.
Two more days of the 'wonderful fortnight' were passed in the linen-draper's home at Crosslands before, on the Wednesday forenoon, John Audland and his guest descended the dales of Westmorland and climbed the steep, wooded glen that leads to Cammsgill Farm. There, at the door, with hands outstretched in welcome, stood good John Camm and his loving wife Mabel. Peeping behind them curiously at the Stranger was their twelve-year-old son, Tom. At the windows of the farm were to be seen the faces of the men-servants and maid-servants, for great was the curiosity to see the Stranger of whom such great tidings had been told. Among the serving-maids were two sisters, Jane and Dorothy Waugh. Little did the eager girls imagine that the Stranger whom they eyed so keenly was to alter the whole course of their lives by his words that day; that, for both of them, the pleasant, easy, farm life at Cammsgill was over, and that they were hereafter to go forth to preach in their turn, to suffer beatings and cruel imprisonments, and even to cross the seas, in order to publish the same Truth that he had come to proclaim.
Tom Camm also, boy as he was, was never to forget that eventful morning. Long years afterwards he remembered every detail of it.
'On the 4th day morning,' he writes, 'John Audland came with George Fox to the house of John Camm at Cammsgill in Preston Patrick, who with his wife and familie gladly received G.F.'
And now, while they are 'gladly receiving' their guest and waiting till it is time to go down the steephill to Preston Patrick, let us look back at the farm-house of Cammsgill where they are sitting, and learn something of its history and that of its owners.
It was to Cammsgill that Farmer John Camm had brought home his bride on a late day of summer, thirteen years before the eventful year 1652 of which these stories tell. A wise, prosperous man was good John Camm, one of the most successful 'statesmen' in all the fertile dales round about. So busy had he been developing his farm, and attending to the numerous flocks and herds, that were ever increasing under his skilful management, that time for love-making seemed to have been left out of his life. But at last, when he was well over forty, he found the one woman he had been unconsciously needing through all his prosperous years to make his life round and complete. It was a mellow day of Indian summer when John and Mabel Camm walked up the winding road to Cammsgill for the first time as man and wife. But the golden sunshine that lay on all the burnished riches of the well-filled farm-yard was dim compared with the inward sunshine that gladdened the farmer's heart.
Farmer John had made a wise choice, and he knew it. In his eyes nothing was good enough for his wife, not even the home where he had been born, and where his ancestors for generations had lived and died; so Cammsgill had been entirely rebuilt before that golden September day when John and Mabel Camm came home to begin their new life together. The re-building had been done in such solid fashion that part of the farm-house still stands, well-proportioned and serviceable, after nearly threecenturies have passed to test it, showing that he who builds for love builds truly and well.
Mabel Camm was a proud woman as she stood at the door of her hillside home and watched the autumn sunlight lighting up her husband's face as he walked across his fields in the valley, or strode, almost with the energetic step of a young man, up the crab-apple bordered track to the farm.
Close at his heels followed his collie, looking up into his master's face with adoring affection. Not only every animal on the farm loved the master, the men-servants and maid-servants also would do anything to please him, for was he not ever mindful of their interests as if they had been his own? In those days each labourer had three or four acres of land as of right. This fostered an independent spirit and made their affection a tribute worth the winning.[8]Later on that same year, when winter came, earlier than its wont, the fells were knee-deep in snow and all the beasts were brought for shelter round the farm to protect them from the snow-drifts and bitter weather on the upland pastures.
Then it was that at nights in the snug farm-house kitchen, after the day's work was done, John Camm and his young wife together carved their initials on the 'brideswain,' a tall oak chest that held the goodly stock of homespun linen and flax brought by Mabel Camm to her new home. John Camm was something of an artist. His was the design of the interlaced initials. All his life he had been a skilful carver with his tools on the winter evenings, and now he took pleasure in showing his bride the rightway to use them and how to fashion her strokes aright. Night after night the two heads bent over their task, but to this day it may still be seen at Cammsgill that one of the two artists was less skilful than the other, for Mabel's curves are more angular and without the careless ease of her husband's. What, however, did unskilful fingers matter when the firelight shone upon two happy faces bending over the work close together, aglow with the inner radiance of two thankful hearts?
There were other uses for the brideswain the following summer. The fair white sheets and pillow-cases were moved to an under-shelf. The upper half of the chest was filled to overflowing with tiny garments fashioned by Mabel's own fingers, skilful indeed at this dainty work. No more woodcarving now, but endless rows of stitchery, tiny tucks and delicate dotting, all ready to welcome the little son who arrived before the summer's close, and completed his parents' joy.
Since that day, a dozen years had slipped away. Now young Thomas Camm was leaving childhood, as he had long left babyhood, behind him. He was a big boy, quick, strong for his age, and bidding fair to be as good a farmer as his father some day.
'Cammsgill was a favourite house with both men and women servants, for Mistress Camm took care that all had their fill of bread, butter, milk, eggs or bacon, and each their three meals. Of the maid-servants, Jane and Dorothy Waugh especially looked on their master as a father, he was so kind and thoughtful of their needs. Indeed no one could walk up the winding gill without meeting with a warm welcome from the owners of the farm-house,and on winter evenings there was many a large "sitting," by aid of the rushlights, in which the neighbours joined, all hands being busy the while with the knitting of caps and jerseys for the Kendal trade.... He and his wife greatly loved to entertain visitors from a distance, especially those who were like-minded with themselves, also looking for "the coming of the day of the Lord,"'[9]for all the household at Cammsgill were of the company of the "Seekers" who met every month at the Chapel of Preston Patrick in the valley below.
Now at last it is time for the Meeting.
Thomas Camm's account continues: 'And it having been then a common practice among the said seeking and religiously inclined people to raise a General Meeting at Preston Patrick Chapel once a month, upon the fourth day of the week, thither George Fox went, being accompanied with John Audland and John Camm. John Audland would have had George Fox go into the place or pew where usually he and the preacher did sit, but he refused and took a back seat near the door, and John Camm sat down by him, where he sat silent, waiting upon God for about half an hour, in which time of silence Francis Howgill seemed uneasy, and pulled out his Bible and opened it, and stood up several times, sitting down again and closing his book, and dread and fear being on him that he durst not begin to preach. After the said silence and waiting George Fox stood up in the mighty power of God, and in the demonstration thereof was his mouth opened to preach Christ Jesus, the Light of Life, and the way to God, and Saviour of allthat believe and obey Him, which was delivered in that power and that authority that most of the auditory, which were several hundreds, were effectually reached to the heart, and convinced of the truth that very day, for it was the day of God's power. A notable day indeed, never to be forgotten by me Thomas Camm.... I, being then present at that Meeting, a school-boy but about twelve years of age, yet, I bless the Lord for His mercy, then religiously inclined, do still remember that blessed and glorious day, in which my soul, by that living testimony then borne in the demonstration of God's power, was effectually opened, reached and convinced, with many more who are seals of that powerful ministry that attended this faithful minister of the Lord Jesus Christ, and by which we were convinced, and turned from darkness to light and from Satan's power to the power of God. After which Meeting at Preston Chapel, G.F. came to the house of John Camm at Cammsgill. Next day travelled to Kendal where he had a meeting, where many were convinced and received his testimony with joy.'
The 'wonderful fortnight' was drawing to a close. The vision on Pendle Hill, when George Fox beheld a people 'as thick as motes in the sun that should in time be brought home to the Lord,' had already begun to form around it a Society of Friends who were pledged to carry it out.
Remember always, it was not the Society that beheld the vision; it was the vision that created and creates the Society.
The vision is the important thing; for it is still unfulfilled.
[6]Ernest E. Taylor,A Great People to be gathered.
[6]Ernest E. Taylor,A Great People to be gathered.
[7]Sewel'sHistory of the Quakers.
[7]Sewel'sHistory of the Quakers.
[8]E.E. Taylor,Faithful Servants of God.
[8]E.E. Taylor,Faithful Servants of God.
[9]E.E. Taylor,Faithful Servants of God.
[9]E.E. Taylor,Faithful Servants of God.
'George Fox was a born leader ofsouls. The flame of religious ardour which burned in him, and the intense conviction and spiritual power with which he spoke, would in any age have made him great. He was born in a generation of revolutions and upheavals, both political and spiritual. Confusion and unrest, war and reformations, give to great spirits a power which, when life is calmer, they might not attain. Fox drew to himself a multitude of noble souls, attracted to him by that which they shared with him, the sense of spiritual realities, and the consciousness of the guiding Spirit. The age of George Fox thirsted for spiritual reality. He had found it. Men on all sides were ready to find it as he had. The dales of Yorkshire, and the hills of lakeland, not less than the towns of the Midlands, had men in them ready to rejoice in the touch of the spiritual, ready to respond to the movement of the Spirit. See him then arriving at some farm-yard in the hills, or may be at a country squire's hall....'—CYRIL HEPHER, 'Fellowship of Silence.'
'George Fox was a born leader ofsouls. The flame of religious ardour which burned in him, and the intense conviction and spiritual power with which he spoke, would in any age have made him great. He was born in a generation of revolutions and upheavals, both political and spiritual. Confusion and unrest, war and reformations, give to great spirits a power which, when life is calmer, they might not attain. Fox drew to himself a multitude of noble souls, attracted to him by that which they shared with him, the sense of spiritual realities, and the consciousness of the guiding Spirit. The age of George Fox thirsted for spiritual reality. He had found it. Men on all sides were ready to find it as he had. The dales of Yorkshire, and the hills of lakeland, not less than the towns of the Midlands, had men in them ready to rejoice in the touch of the spiritual, ready to respond to the movement of the Spirit. See him then arriving at some farm-yard in the hills, or may be at a country squire's hall....'—CYRIL HEPHER, 'Fellowship of Silence.'
'The house was no doubt full of music, as were indeed many others, in that most musical of English centuries.'—J. BAILEY, 'Milton.'
'The house was no doubt full of music, as were indeed many others, in that most musical of English centuries.'—J. BAILEY, 'Milton.'
Motto on Seal of a letter to M. Fell:1660'GOD ABOVEKEEP US IN HIS LIGHTAND LOVE.'
Motto on Seal of a letter to M. Fell:
1660'GOD ABOVEKEEP US IN HIS LIGHTAND LOVE.'
Six gay girls sat together, laughing and talking, under the shadow of the ancient yew-trees that guard the eastern corner of Swarthmoor Hall. The interlaced boughs of the gloomy old trees made a cool canopy of shadow above the merry maidens. It was a breathless day of late June, 1652, at the very end of the 'wonderful fortnight.'
There they were, Judge Fell's six fair daughters: Margaret, Bridget, Isabel, Sarah, Mary and little Susanna, who was but three years old, on that hot summer afternoon.
''Tis a pity that there are only six of us,' Sarah was saying with mock melancholy. 'Now, suppose my brother George instead of being a boy had been a girl, then there would have been seven. The Seven Sisters of Swarthmoor Hall! In truth it has a gallant sound like unto a play. Seven Young Sisters and Seven Ancient Yew Trees! Each of us might have a yew-tree then for her very own.' So saying, Sarah leant back against the huge gnarled trunk behind her, her golden curls rippling like sunshine over the wrinkled wood, while her blue eyes peered into the dark-green depths overhead.
'Moreover, in that case,' continued Isabel, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice, 'and supposing the Seventh Sister, who doth not exist, were to have seven more daughters in her turn,—then it might be expected that the Seventh Daughter of that Seventh Daughter would have keener than mortal hearing, and sharper than mortal sight. She would be able to hear the grass growing, and know when the fairies were making theirrings, and be able to catch the Brownies at their tasks, so the country people say. Heigh ho! I wish she were here! Or I would that I myself were the Seventh Daughter of a Seventh Daughter, or still better the Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, for they have real true second sight, and can look in magic crystals and foresee things to come.'
'Now it is my turn,' chimed in Bridget, 'I am the eldest but one, and it is time I talked a little. Then when the Seventh Daughter of the Seventh Daughter walks hand in hand with the Seventh Son of a Seventh Son (neither of whom, allow me to remind you in passing, ever have existed, or, it is to be hoped, ever will exist in a well-connected family like ours), when they walk hand in hand under the shade of the Seven Ancient Yew-trees which, we all know, have guarded Swarthmoor for centuries ... the Seven Ancient Trees will be sure to overhear them whispering honeyed nothings to each other. Then the oldest and wisest of all the Trees (by the bye, it is that one behind you, Isabel!) will say, "Dearly beloved Children, although the words you say are incredibly foolish, yet to me they sound almost wise compared with the still more incredibly foolish conversation carried on beneath my old boughs in the Year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and fifty-two by your ever venerable Great Aunt Isabel and your still more venerable Great Aunt Sarah!"'
'OBridget,' came in aggrieved tones from the two younger girls as they flung themselves upon her and put laughing hands over her mouth, 'that is too bad, that is unkind.'
The eldest sister, Margaret, looked up fromthe low bench where she was sitting with Mary and Susanna, the two youngest children beside her. Seeing the struggling heap of muslin and ribbons on the grass she resolutely turned the talk into less personal channels. 'I do not at all agree with Sarah,' she said calmly, 'besides it is much too hot to argue. For my part,Ithink Six Sisters are fully enough for any household. If I had more than five younger ones to look after, I don't know what I should do. Even for the yew-trees it is better. There is one now for each of us to sit under, and one to spare for my mother when at last she comes home. I wonder what makes her so late? When will she be here?'
A ripple of expectation stirred the maidens. Moved by the same impulse, they all looked out under the dark yew branches and over the sunlit orchard, beyond which lay the high road leading up the hill from Ulverston. Nothing as yet was to be seen and no faintest rumble of approaching wheels reached any of the listeners.
Everywhere the hot air quivered in the sunshine. Even the stately Elizabethan Hall with its high stone chimneys and mullioned bay windows looked drowsy and half asleep. A pale wisp of smoke was ascending listlessly in a straight line above the gabled roofs high up into the far still air. Scarcely a sound came from the outbuildings that lay beyond the Hall. Even the pigeons on the roof were too hot to coo. In the herb garden beneath, the flowers drooped in the scorching light. Glare everywhere. Only under the yew-trees was there to be found a pool of grateful shadow. And even that pool had a sunshine of its own radiating from the group of merry maidens, with their brightfaces and gay voices raised in perpetual talk, or laughter, or song. For a little while they seemed to be busy practising a madrigal. Then the irrepressible chatter burst out afresh. Cool and fragrant all the maidens looked, in their dresses of clear sprigged muslin, each tied at waist, wrists, and throat with ribbons of a different colour: lilac, lavender, primrose, cherry, emerald, and blue. The garden roses might droop in the hot garden outside, but the roses on the girls' cheeks, instead of fading, flushed and deepened with growing excitement. They all seemed full of suppressed eagerness, evidently waiting for something much desired to happen.
At length tall Bridget, exclaiming, 'It must be time now!' sprang to her feet, and, stooping under the clinging boughs of the yew-tree temple, drew herself up to her full height outside its shade. Her gaze roamed over the long grass of the orchard and down the broad path, to the high stone arch of the entrance gate through which she could just catch sight of a glimpse of dusty road.
'Nothing yet!' she reported, 'not even a sign of the black horses' ears or heads above the hedge and not a sound upon the road.'
Margaret raised her head to listen. She inherited her mother's placid, Madonna-like beauty, and was at this time the fairest of the whole sisterhood. Sarah, who was hereafter to be considered not only the wit but also the beauty of the family, was at this time a child of ten, and not yet grown into her full inheritance of comeliness. In after years it was said of Sarah that she was 'not only beautiful and lovely to a high degree, but was wonderfully happy in ingeny andmemory.' But even at her loveliest it was never said of her, as it was of Margaret, that she was 'glorious, comely, and beautiful in that which never fades away,' 'lovely in the truth, an example of holiness and wisdom.'
This comely Margaret, seeing and hearing nothing of what she sought, bent her fair face down once more to the little sisters seated on each side of her. To beguile the waiting time she was making for them a chain of the daisies they had gathered as they flitted about, like gay white butterflies, over the grass. Mary was eight years old, and therefore able to pick daisies with discretion; but the stalks of the flowers gathered by little Susanna were all sadly too short and the flowers themselves suffered in her tight hot hand. At this moment Isabel ran to join Bridget and, standing on tiptoe beside her, tried hard to see as much as her taller sister.
'Nothing yet,' she reported, 'not a sign of the black horses nor even the top of the coach.' Sarah, not to be outdone, swung herself up, with a laugh, on to one of the lower boughs of the oldest yew-tree, and standing on it thrust her golden head through the thick canopy overhead. She peered out in her turn looking across the orchard and over the hedge to the road, then, bending down with a laughing face to Margaret and the little ones, 'I'm tallest now,' she exclaimed, 'and I shall be the first to spy the coach when it reaches the top of the hill!'
But agile Isabel, ever ready to follow a sister's lead, had already left Bridget's side and swung herself up, past Sarah, on to a yet higher bough.
'Methinks not, Mistress Sarah,' she called over her head, slowly and demurely, 'for now I can see yetfarther, and there are the horses' ears and heads; yea and the chariot also, and now, at last! our mother's face!'
But the group below had not waited for her tidings. They had heard the rumble of the wheels and the horses' feet on the road. With cries of joy, off they all sped down the path and across the orchard; to see who should be first at the gate to welcome their mother. Only Margaret stayed behind on her bench among the scattered daisies, with a slightly pensive expression on her lovely face.
'All of them flying to greet her!' Margaret thought to herself. 'See, Bridget has caught up even Susanna in her arms, that she shall not be left too far behind; while I, the eldest, whom my mother doth ever call her right hand, am forced to stay here. But my mother knows that my knee prevents me. She will not forget her Margaret. Already she sees me, and is beckoning the others to come this way.'
In truth Mistress Fell had already alighted and was now passing swiftly under the high stone arch of the gateway. Never did she come through that gate without a flash of remembrance of the first time she entered there, leaning on her husband's arm, a bride of seventeen summers, younger than her own fair Margaret now. She entered, this time, leaning on the arm of tall Bridget, walking as if she were a trifle weary, yet stooping to pick up little Susanna and to cover her with kisses as she moved up the path surrounded by her cloud of girls.
'Not the house, maids,' she cried, 'the yew-trees first! I see my Margaret waiting there. Your news, how marvellous soever, must wait until I have greetedmy right-hand daughter and learned how she fares.'
'How art thou, dear Heart?' she enquired, as she stooped down and kissed her eldest daughter, and sat down beside her. 'Hath thy knee pained thee a little less this afternoon?'
'Much less,' answered Margaret gaily, 'in fact I had almost forgotten it, and was about to rise and welcome you with the rest, when a sudden ache reminded me that I must not run yet awhile.'
Mistress Fell shook her head. 'I fear that I shall have to take thee to London and to Wapping for the waters some day. I cannot have my bird unable to fly like the rest of the brood, and obliged to wait behind with a clipped wing.'
'Young Margrett,' as she was called, to distinguish her from her mother, laughed aloud. 'Nay now, sweet mother, 'tis nothing,' she replied. 'Let us think of more cheerful things. In truth we have much to tell you, for we have had an afternoon of visitors and many happenings in thy absence.'
'Visitors?' A slight furrow showed itself in the elder Margaret's smooth forehead. 'Well, that is not strange, since the door of Swarthmoor stands ever open to welcome guests, as all the country knows. Still I would that I had been at home, or thy father. Who were the visitors, daughter?'
It was Bridget who answered.
'My father hath often said that there has been scarce a day without a visitor at Swarthmoor since he first brought you here as its mistress,' she began primly, 'but in all these years, mother, I doubt you have never set eyes on such an one as our guest of to-day. Priest Lampitt said the same.'
'Priest Lampitt? Hath he been here? And I not at home. Truly, it grieves me, children, to have missed our good neighbour. Did he then bring a stranger with him?'
'No, No, No,' a chorus of dissent broke from the girls, all now seated round their mother on the grass, each eager to be the first to tell the tale, yet at a loss for words. Bridget, as usual, stepped into the gap. She explained that 'the Priest had been amazed to find the Stranger here. They had had much discourse. Till at last, Priest Lampitt, waxing hot and fiery ere he departed, strode down the flagged path slashing all the flowers with his cane and never seemed to know what he was doing, though you know, mother, that he loves our garden.'
A shade of real annoyance crossed Mistress Fell's face. 'The good Priest angered in my house,' she said, with real concern in her voice, 'and I not there, but only a pack of giddy maids, who had not wit enough between them to keep a discourteous stranger in his place and prevent his being rude to an old friend! Nay, now, maidens, speak not all together. Ye are too young and do but babble. Let Bridget continue, or my Margaret. Either of them I can trust.' But 'young Margrett' was bending her head still lower, seemingly over her daisy chain.
'Truly, mother,' she said in a low voice close to her mother's ear, 'there are no words for him. He is so—different; I knew not that earth held a man like him. And he will be coming back shortly to the house—maybe he is already awaiting you!'
Mistress Fell looked up now in undisguised alarm. Who was this nameless Stranger who had invaded herhouse during her absence, and had apparently stolen the heart of her discreet and dignified Margaret, in one interview, by the mere sight of his charms? Young, handsome, quarrelsome; who could he be? What had brought him to Swarthmoor to destroy its peace?
She turned to capable Bridget for information. Bridget, never at a loss, understood her mother's fears, or some of them, and immediately answered reassuringly, 'Be not disquieted, sweet mother. Nothing really untoward has happened. It is true the Stranger disputed hotly with Lampitt, but it was the Priest's blame as much as the Stranger's at first, though afterwards, when Lampitt held out his hand and wished to be friendly, the Stranger turned from him and shook him off. Yet, though his actions were harsh there was gentleness in his face and bearing. He is a man of goodly presence, this Stranger, but quite, quite old, thirty or thereabouts by my guessing.'
The elder Margaret smiled. Bridget continued hastily: 'Or may be more. Any way he seemed older from his gravity, and from his outlandish dress. Under his coat could be seen a leather doublet and breeches, and on his head he wore a large, soft, white hat.'
At these words the concern in Mistress Fell's face disappeared in a moment. A quick look of welcome sprang into her eyes.
'A man in a white hat!' she exclaimed. 'Perhaps, then, his coming forbodes good to us after all. It was only the other night that, as I lay a-dreaming, I saw a man in a large white hat coming towards me. I had been seeking for guidance on my knees, for often I fear we are not wholly in the right way, with all our seeking and religious exercises. In answer to myprayer there came towards me, in my dream, a man, and I knew that he was to be the messenger of God to me and to all my household. Tell me more, maidens, of this Stranger, how he came and whence, and why he left and when he will return.'
This time it was 'young Margrett' who answered. Seeing the sympathy in her Mother's eyes, she found her voice at last, and rejoined quickly:
'He resembleth a Priest somewhat, yet not altogether. He speaketh with more authority than anyone I ever heard. Grave he is too. Grave as my father when he is executing justice. Yet, for all his gravity, as Bridget says, he is wondrous gentle. None of us were affrighted at him, and the little maids ran to him as they do to my father. Moreover, he showed them a curious seal he carried in his pocket with letters intertwined among roses, a "G" I saw, and an "F." Afterwards he took them on his knees and blessed them and they were wholly at ease. Priest Lampitt, who had been watching through a window, his countenance strangely altered by his rage, now took his departure. Seeing him go, the Stranger put down the children gently, setting Susanna with both her feet squarely on the polished floor, as I have seen a shepherd set down a lamb, as if afeared that it might slip. Then he turned in sorrow and spoke a few words to his companion. This was the man who brought him hither, one of the Seekers from Wensleydale or thereabouts, I should judge from his language; but truly none of us paid much heed to him. The two of them left the Hall together, and passed down through the herb-garden, and over the stream. Once I noticed the Stranger turn and gaze back at the house, searchingeach window, as if looking for something he found not there. Also he smiled at sight of the yew-trees, with a greeting as if they were old friends. Bridget declares that she heard the Stranger, our Stranger, say that he would return hither shortly, when he had set his companion a short distance on his homeward way. But that is now more than two hours agone, and as yet he hath not reappeared.'
'Well then, maids,' replied Mistress Fell briskly, 'let us not linger here. It is high time we went back to the house to welcome our guest, on his return.' So saying, she rose to her feet, and aiding 'young Margrett' with one hand, she drew aside with the other the thick screen of the branches. A ray of sunshine fell upon Margaret Fell, standing there, in the velvety gloom of the old yew-trees, with her six young daughters round her. Sunshine was in her heart too, as she looked down fondly at them for a moment.
Then, lifting up her eyes, she recognised the unknown man she had seen in her dream. In the full blaze of sunlight, coming straight up the flagged path towards her was a Stranger, wearing a white hat. And thus did Mistress Margaret Fell behold for the first timeGEORGE FOX.
GF
'When ye do judge of matters, orwhen ye do judge of words, or when ye do judge of persons, all these are distinct things. A wise man will not give both his ears to one party but reserve one for the other party, and will hear both, and then judge.'—G. FOX.
'When ye do judge of matters, orwhen ye do judge of words, or when ye do judge of persons, all these are distinct things. A wise man will not give both his ears to one party but reserve one for the other party, and will hear both, and then judge.'—G. FOX.
'And after I came to one Captain Sands, which he and his wife if they could have had the world and truth they would have received it. But they was hypocrites and he a very light chaffy man, and the way was too strait for him.'—G. FOX.
'And after I came to one Captain Sands, which he and his wife if they could have had the world and truth they would have received it. But they was hypocrites and he a very light chaffy man, and the way was too strait for him.'—G. FOX.
'James the First was crazed beyond his English subjects with the witch mania of Scotland and the Continent. No sooner had his first parliament enacted new death laws than the judges and the magistrates, the constable and the mob began to hunt up the oldest and ugliest spinster who lived with her geese on the common, or tottered about the village street. Many pleaded guilty, and described the covenants they had formed with black dogs and "goblins called Tibb"; others were beaten or terrified into fictitious confessions, or perished, denying their guilt to the last. The black business culminated during the Civil Wars when scores of women were put to death.'—G.M. TREVELYAN.
'James the First was crazed beyond his English subjects with the witch mania of Scotland and the Continent. No sooner had his first parliament enacted new death laws than the judges and the magistrates, the constable and the mob began to hunt up the oldest and ugliest spinster who lived with her geese on the common, or tottered about the village street. Many pleaded guilty, and described the covenants they had formed with black dogs and "goblins called Tibb"; others were beaten or terrified into fictitious confessions, or perished, denying their guilt to the last. The black business culminated during the Civil Wars when scores of women were put to death.'—G.M. TREVELYAN.