"Hear and improve, he pertly cries,I come to make a nation wise."GAY
Very early in the morning, before indeed anyone except Patience was stirring, Steadfast set forth in search of Roger Fitter to consult him about the poor child who was fast asleep beside Jerusha; and propose to him to take her into Bristol to find her father.
Hodge, who had celebrated his return by a hearty supper with his friends, was still asleep, and his mother was very unwilling to call him, or to think of his going back to the wars. However, he rolled down the cottage stair at last, and the first thing he did was to observe—
"Well, mother, how be you? I felt like a boy again, waking up in the old chamber. Where's my back and breast-piece? Have you a cup of ale, while I rub it up?"
"Now, Hodge, you be not going to put on that iron thing again, when you be come back safe and sound from those bloody wars?" entreated his mother.
"Ho, ho! mother, would you have me desert? No, no! I must to my colours again, or Sir George and my lady might make it too hot to hold you here. Hollo, young one, Stead Kenton, eh? Didst find thy brother? No, I'll be bound. The Roundhead rascals have all the luck."
"I found something else," said Steadfast, and he proceeded to tell about the child while Dame Fitter stood by with many a pitying "Dear heart!" and "Good lack!"
Hodge knew Serjeant Gaythorn, and knew that the poor man's wife had been shot dead in the flight from Naseby; but he demurred at the notion of encumbering himself with the child when he went into the town. He suspected that he should have much ado to get in himself, and if he could not find her father, what could he do with her?
Moreover, he much doubted whether the serjeant was alive. He had been among those on whom the sharpest attack had fallen, and not many of them had got off alive.
"What like was he?" said Steadfast. "We looked at a many of the poor corpses that lay there. They'll never be out of my eyes again at night!"
"A battlefield or two would cure that," grimly smiled Hodge. "Gaythorn—he was a man to know again—had big black moustaches, and had lost an eye, had a scar like a weal from a whip all down here from a sword-cut at Long Marston."
"Then I saw him," said Stead, in a low voice. "Did he wear a green scarf?"
"Aye, aye. Belonged to the Rangers, but they are pretty nigh all gone now."
"Under the rail of the miller's croft," added Stead.
"Just so. That was where I saw them make a stand and go down like skittles."
"Poor little maid. What shall I tell her?"
"Well, you can never be sure," said Hodge. "There was a man now I thought as dead as a door nail at Newbury that charged by my side only yesterday. You'd best tell the maid that if I find her father I'll send him after her; and if not, when the place is quiet, you might look at the mill and see if he is lying wounded there."
Steadfast thought the advice good, and it saved him from what he had no heart to do, though he could scarcely doubt that one of those ghastly faces had been the serjeant's.
When he approached his home he was surprised to hear, through the copsewood, the sound of chattering, and when he came in sight of the front of the hut, he beheld Patience making butter with the long handled churn, little Ben toddling about on the grass, and two little girls laughing and playing with all the poultry round them.
One, of course, was stout, ruddy, grey-eyed Rusha, in her tight round cap, and stout brown petticoat with the homespun apron over it; the other was like a fairy by her side; slight and tiny, dressed in something of mixed threads of white and crimson that shone in the sun, with a velvet bodice, a green ribbon over it, and a gem over the shoulder that flashed in the sun, a tiny scarlet hood from which such a quantity of dark locks streamed as to give something the effect of a goldfinch's crown, and the face was a brilliant little brown one, with glowing cheeks, pretty little white teeth, and splendid dark eyes.
Patience could have told that this bright array was so soiled, rumpled, ragged, and begrimed, that she hardly liked to touch it, but to Steadfast, who had only seen the child in the moonlight, she was a wonderful vision in the morning sunshine, and his heart was struck with a great pity at her clear, merry tones of laughter.
As he appeared in the open space, Toby running before him, the little girl looked up and rushed to him crying out—
"It's you. Be you the country fellow who took me home? Where's father?"
Stead was so sorry for her that he took her up in his arms and said—
"Hodge Fitter is gone into town to look for him, my pretty. You must wait here till he comes for you," and he would have kissed her, but she turned her head away, pouted, and said, "I didn't give you leave to do that, you lubber lad."
Steadfast was much diverted. He was now a tall sturdy youth of sixteen, in a short smock frock, long leathern gaiters, and a round straw hat of Patience's manufacture, and he felt too clumsy for the dainty little being, whom he hastened to set on her small feet—in once smart but very dilapidated shoes. His sisters were somewhat shocked at her impertinence and Rusha breathed out "Oh—!"
"I am to wait here for Serjeant Gaythorn," observed the little damsel somewhat consequentially. "Well! it is a strange little makeshift of a place, but 'tis the fortune of war, and I have been in worse."
"It is beautiful!" said Rusha, "now we have got a glass window—and a real door—and beds—" all which recent stages in improvement she enumerated with a gasp of triumph and admiration between each.
"So you think," said little Mistress Gaythorn. "But I have lived in a castle."
She was quite ready to tell her history. Her name was Emlyn, and the early part of the eight years of her life had been spent at Sir Harry Blythedale's castle, where her father had been butler and her mother my lady's woman. Sir Harry had gone away to the wars, and in his absence my lady had held out the castle (perhaps it was only a fortified house) against General Waller, hoping and hoping in vain for Lord Goring to come to her relief.
"That was worst of all," said Emlyn, "we had to hide in the cellars when they fired at us—and broke all the windows, and a shot killed my poor dear little kitten because she wouldn't stay down with me. And we couldn't get any water, except by going out at night; young Master George was wounded at the well. And they only gave us a tiny bit of dry bread and salt meat every day, and it made little Ralph sick and he died. And at last there was only enough for two days more—and a great breach—that's a hole," she added condescendingly,—"big enough to drive my lady's coach-and-six through in the court wall. So then my lady sent out Master Steward with one of the best napkins on the end of a stick—that was a flag of truce, you know—and all the rascal Roundheads had to come in, and we had to go out, with only just what we could carry. My lady went in her coach with Master George, because he was hurt, and the young ladies, and some of the maids went home; but the most of us kept with my lady, to guard her to go to his Honour and the King at Oxford. Father rode big Severn, and mother was on a pillion behind him, with baby in her arms, and I sat on a cushion in front."
After that, it seemed that my lady had found a refuge among her kindred, but that the butler had been enrolled in his master's troop of horse, and there being no separate means of support for his wife and children, they had followed the camp, a life that Emlyn had evidently enjoyed, although the baby died of the exposure. She had been a great pet and favourite with everybody, and no doubt well-cared for even after the sad day when her mother had perished in the slaughter at Naseby. Patience wondered what was to become of the poor child, if her father never appeared to claim her; but it was no time to bring this forward, for Steadfast, as soon as he had swallowed his porridge, had to go off to finish his day's labour for the lady of the manor, warning his sisters that they had better keep as close as they could in the wood, and not let the cattle stray out of their valley.
He had not gone far, however, before he met a party of his fellow labourers running home. Their trouble had been saved them. The Roundhead soldiers had taken possession of waggons, horses, corn and all, as the property of a malignant, and were carrying them off to their camp before the town.
Getting up on a hedge, Stead could see these strange harvestmen loading the waggons and driving them off. He also heard that Sir George had come late in the evening, and taken old Lady Elmwood and several of the servants into Bristol for greater safety. Then came the heavy boom of a great gun in the distance.
"The Parliament men are having their turn now—as the King's men had before," said Gates.
And all who had some leisure—or made it—went off to the church tower to get a better view of the white tents being set up outside the city walls, and the compact bodies of troops moving about as if impelled by machinery, while others more scattered bustled like insects about the camp.
Steadfast, however, went home, very anxious about his own three cows, and seven sheep with their lambs, as well as his small patches of corn, which, when green, had already only escaped being made forage of by the Royalist garrison, because he was a tenant of the loyal Elmwoods. These fields were exposed, though the narrow wooded ravine might protect the small homestead and the cattle.
He found his new guest very happy cracking nuts, and expounding to Rusha what kinds of firearms made the various sounds they heard. Patience had made an attempt to get her to exchange her soiled finery for a sober dress of Rusha's; but "What shall I do, Stead?" said the grave elder sister, "I cannot get her to listen to me, she says she is no prick-eared Puritan, but truly she is not fit to be seen." Stead whistled. "Besides that she might bring herself and all of us into danger with those gewgaws."
"That's true," said Stead. "Look you here, little maid—none can say whether some of the rebel folk may find their way here, and they don't like butterflies of your sort, you know. If you look a sober little brown bee like Rusha here, they will take no notice, but who knows what they might do it they found you in your bravery."
"Bravery," thought Patience, "filthy old rags, me seems," but she had the prudence not to speak, and Emlyn nodded her head, saying, "I'll do it for you, but not for her."
And when all was done, and she was transformed into a little russet-robed, white-capped being, nothing would serve her, but to collect all the brightest cranesbill flowers she could find, and stick them in her own bodice and Rusha's.
Patience could not at all understand the instinct for bright colours, but even little Ben shouted "Pretty, pretty."
Perhaps it was well that the delicate pink blossoms were soon faded and crushed, and that twilight veiled their colours, for just as the cattle were being foddered for the night, there was a gay step on the narrow path, and with a start of terror, Patience beheld a tall soldier, in tall hat, buff coat, and high boots before her; while Growler made a horrible noise, but Toby danced in a rapture of delight.
"Ha! little Patience, is't thou?"
"Jephthah," she cried, though the voice as well as the form were greatly changed in these two years between boyhood and manhood.
"Aye, Jephthah 'tis," he said, taking her hand, and letting her kiss him. "My spirit was moved to come and see how it was with you all, and to shew how Heaven had prospered me, so I asked leave of absence after roll-call, and could better be spared, as that faithful man, Hold-the-Faith Jenkins, will exhort the men this night. I came up by Elmwood to learn tidings of you. Ha, Stead! Thou art grown, my lad. May you be as much grown in grace."
"You are grown, too," said Patience, almost timidly. "What a man you are, Jeph! Here, Rusha, you mind Jeph, and here is little Benoni."
"You have reared that child, then," said Jeph, as the boy clung to his sister's skirts, "and you have kept things together, Stead, as I hardly deemed you would do, when I had the call to the higher service." It was an odd sort of call, but there was no need to go into that matter, and Stead answered gravely, "Yes, I thank God. He has been very good to us, and we have fared well. Come in, Jeph, and see, and have something to eat! I am glad you are come home at last."
Jephthah graciously consented to enter the low hut. He had to bend his tall figure and take off his steeple-crowned hat before he could enter at the low doorway, and then they saw his closely cropped head.
Patience tarried a moment to ask Rusha what had become of Emlyn.
"She is hiding in the cow shed," was the answer. "She ran off as soon as she saw Jeph coming, and said he was a crop-eared villain."
This was not bad news, and they all entered the hut, where the fire was made up, and one of Patience's rush candles placed on the table with a kind of screen of plaited rushes to protect it from the worst of the draught. Jeph had grown quite into a man in the eyes of his brothers and sisters. He looked plump and well fed, and his clothes were good and fresh, and his armour bright, a contrast to Steadfast's smock, stained with weather and soil, and his rough leathern leggings, although Patience did her best, and his shirt was scrupulously clean every Sunday morning.
The soldier was evidently highly satisfied. "So, children, you have done better than I could have hoped. This hovel is weather-tight and quite fit to harbour you. You have done well to keep together, and it is well said that he who leaves all in the hands of a good Providence shall have his reward."
Jeph's words were even more sacred than these, and considerably overawed Patience, who, as he sat before her there in his buff coat and belt, laying down the law in pious language, was almost persuaded to believe that their present comfort and prosperity (such as it was) was owing to the faith which he said had led to his desertion of his family, though she had always thought it mere impatience of home work fired by revenge for his father's death.
No doubt he believed in this reward himself, in his relief at finding his brothers and sisters all together and not starving, and considered their condition a special blessing due to his own zeal, instead of to Steadfast's patient exertion.
He was much more disposed to talk of himself and the mercies he had received, but which the tone of his voice showed him to consider as truly his deserts. Captain Venn had, it seemed, always favoured him from the time of his enlistment and nothing but his youth prevented him from being a corporal. He had been in the two great battles of Marston Moor and Naseby, and come off unhurt from each, and moreover grace had been given him to interpret the Scriptures in a manner highly savoury and inspiriting to the soldiery.
Here Patience, in utter amaze, could not help crying out "Thou, Jeph! Thou couldst not read without spelling, and never would."
He waved his hand. "My sister, what has carnal learning to do with grace?" And taking a little black Bible from within his breastplate, he seemed about to give them a specimen, when Emlyn's impatience and hunger no doubt getting the better of her prudence, she crept into the room, and presently was seen standing by Steadfast's knee, holding out her hand for some of the bread and cheese on the table.
Finding of Emlyn
Finding of Emlyn
"And who is this little wench?" demanded Jeph, somewhat displeased that his brother manifested a certain inattention to his exhortation by signing to Patience to supply her wants. Stead made unusual haste to reply to prevent her from speaking.
"She is biding with us till she can join her father, or knows how it is with him."
"Humph! She hath not the look of one of the daughters of our people."
"Nay," said Steadfast. "I went down last night to the mill, Jeph, to see whether perchance you might be hurt and wanting help, and after I had heard that all was well with you, I lighted on this poor little maid crouching under a bush, and brought her home with me for pity's sake till I could find her friends."
"The child of a Midianitish woman!" exclaimed Jeph, "one of the Irish idolaters of whom it is written, 'Thou shalt smite them, and spare neither man, nor woman, infant, nor suckling.'" "But I am not Irish," broke out Emlyn, "I am from Worcestershire. My father is Serjeant Gaythorn, butler to Sir Harry Blythedale. Don't let him kill me," she cried in an access of terror, throwing herself on Steadfast's breast.
"No, no. He would not harm thee, on mine hearth. Fear not, little one, heshallnot."
"Nay," said Jephthah, who, to do him justice, had respected the rights of hospitality enough not to touch his weapon even when he thought her Irish, "we harm not women and babes save when they are even as the Amalekites. Let my brother go, child. I touch thee not, though thou be of an ungodly seed; and I counsel thee, Steadfast, touch not the accursed thing, but rid thyself thereof, ere thou be defiled."
"I shall go so soon as father comes," exclaimed Emlyn. "I am sure I do not want to stay in this mean, smoky hovel a bit longer than I can help."
"Such are the thanks of the ungodly people," said Jeph, gravely rising. "I must be on my way back. We are digging trenches about this great city, assuredly believing that it shall be delivered into our hands."
"Stay, Jeph," said Patience. "Our corn! Will your folk come and cart it away as they have done my lady's?"
"The spoil of the wicked is delivered over to the righteous," said Jeph. "But seeing that the land is mine, a faithful servant of the good cause, they may not meddle therewith."
"How are they to know that?" said Steadfast, not stopping to dispute what rather startled him, since though Jeph was the eldest son, the land had been made over to himself. To save the crop was the point.
"Look you here," said Jeph, "walk down with me to my good Captain's quarters, and he will give you a protection which you may shew to any man who dares to touch aught that is ours, be it corn or swine, ox or ass."
It was a long walk, but Steadfast was only too glad to take it for the sake of such security, and besides, there was a real pleasure in being with Jeph, little as he seemed like the same idle, easy-going brother, except perhaps in those little touches of selfishness and boastfulness, which, though Stead did not realise them, did recall the original Jeph.
All through the moonlight walk Jeph expounded his singular mercies, which apparently meant his achievements in killing Cavaliers, and the commendations given to him. One of these mercies was the retention of the home and land, though he kindly explained that his brothers and sisters were welcome to get their livelihood there whilst he was serving with the army, but some day he should come home "as one that divideth the spoil," and build up the old house, unless, indeed, and he glanced towards the sloping woods of Elmwood Manor, "the house and fields of the malignants should be delivered to the faithful."
"My lady's house," said Steadfast under his breath.
"Wherefore not? Is it not written 'Goodly houses that ye builded not.' Thou must hear worthy Corporal Hold-the-Faith expound the matter, my brother."
They crossed the ferry and reached the outposts at last, and Stead was much startled when the barrel of a musquet gleamed in the moonlight, and a gruff voice said "Stand."
"The jawbone of an ass," promptly answered Jephthah.
"Pass, jawbone of an ass," responded the sentry, "and all's well. But who have you here, comrade!"
Jeph explained, and they passed up the narrow lane, meeting at the end of it another sentinel, with whom the like watchword was exchanged, and then they came out on a large village green, completely changed from its usual aspect by rows of tents, on which the moonlight shone, while Jeph seemed to know his way through them as well as if he were in the valley of Elmwood. Most of the men seemed to be asleep, for snores issued from sundry tents. In others there were low murmurings, perhaps of conversation, perhaps of prayer, for once Stead heard the hum of an "Amen." One or two men were about, and Jeph enquired of one if the Captain were still up, and heard that he was engaged in exercise with the godly Colonel Benbow.
Their quarters were in one of the best houses of the little village, where light gleamed from the window, and an orderly stood within the door, to whom Jeph spoke, and who replied that they were just in time. In fact two officers in broad hats and cloaks were just coming out, and Stead admired Jeph's military salute to them ere he entered the farmhouse kitchen, where two more gentlemen sat at the table with a rough plan of the town laid before them.
"Back again, Kenton," said his captain in a friendly tone. "Hast heard aught of thy brethren?"
"Yes, sir, I have found them well and in good heart, and have brought one with me."
"A helper in the good cause? Heaven be gracious to thee, my son. Thou art but young, yet strength is vouchsafed to the feeble hands."
"Please, sir," said Steadfast, who was twisting his hat about, "I've got to mind the others, and work for them."
"Yea, sir," put in Jeph, "there be three younger at home whom he cannot yet leave. I brought him, sir, to crave from you a protection for the corn and cattle that are in a sort mine own, being my father's eldest son. They are all the poor children have to live on."
"Thou shalt have it," said the captain, drawing his writing materials nearer to him. "There, my lad. It may be thou dost serve thy Maker as well by the plough as by the sword."
Steadfast pulled his forelock, thanked the captain, was reminded of the word for the night, and safely reached home again.
Farewell to the Cavaliers
Farewell to the Cavaliers
"If no more our banners shewBattles won and banners taken,Still in death, defeat, and woe,Ours be loyalty unshaken."SCOTT
The next day the whole family turned out to gather in the corn. Rusha was making attempts at reaping, while Emlyn played with little Ben, who toddled about, shouting and chasing her in and out among the shocks. Now and again they paused at the low, thunderous growl of the great guns in the distance, in strange contrast to their peaceful work, and once a foraging party of troopers rode up to the gate of the little field, but Steadfast met them there, and showed the officer Captain Venn's paper.
"So you belong to Kenton of Venn's Valiants? It is well. A blessing on your work!" said the stern dark-faced officer, and on he went, happily not seeing Emlyn make an ugly face and clench her little fist behind him.
"How can you, Stead?" she cried. "I'd rather be cursed than blessed by such as he!"
Stead shook his head slowly. "A blessing is better than a curse any way," said he, but his mind was a good deal confused between the piety and good conduct of these Roundheads, in contrast with their utter contempt of the Church, and rude dealing with all he had been taught to hold sacred.
His harvest was, however, the matter in hand, and the little patch of corn was cut and bound between him and his sisters, without further interruption. The sounds of guns had ceased early in the day, and a neighbour who had ventured down to the camp to offer some apples for sale leant over the gate to wonder at the safety of the crop, "though to be sure the soldiers were very civil, if they would let alone preaching at you;" adding that there was like to be no more fighting, for one of the gentlemen inside had ridden out with a white flag, and it was said the Prince was talking of giving in.
"Give in!" cried Emlyn setting her teeth. "Never. The Prince will soon make an end of the rebels, and then I shall ride-a-cock horse with our regiment again! I shall laugh to see the canting rogues run!"
But the first thing Steadfast heard the next day was that the royal standard had come down from the Cathedral tower. He had gone up to Elmwood to get some provisions, and Tom Oates, who spent most of his time in gazing from the steeple, assured him that if he would come up, he would see for himself that the flags were changed. Indeed some of the foot soldiers who had been quartered in the village to guard the roads had brought the certain tidings that the city had surrendered and that the malignants, as they called the Royalists, were to march out that afternoon, by the same road as that by which the parliamentary army had gone out two years before.
This would be the only chance for Emlyn to rejoin her father or to learn his fate. The little thing was wild with excitement at the news. Disdainfully she tore off what she called Rusha's Puritan rags, though as that offended maiden answered "her own wererealrags in spite of all the pains Patience had taken with them. Nothing would make them tidy," and Rusha pointed to a hopeless stain and to the frayed edges past mending.
"I hate tidiness. Only Puritan rebels are tidy!"
"We are not Puritans!" cried Rusha.
Emlyn laughed. "Hark at your names," she said. "And what's that great rebel rogue of a brother of yours?"
"Oh! he is Jeph! He ran away to the wars! But Stead isn't a Puritan," cried Rusha, growing more earnest. "He always goes to church—real church down in Bristol. And poor father was churchmartin, and knew all the parson's secrets."
"Hush, Rusha," said Patience, not much liking this disclosure, however Jerusha might have come by the knowledge, "you and Emlyn don't want to quarrel when she is just going to say good-bye!"
This touched the little girls. Rusha had been much enlivened by the little fairy who had seen so much of the world, and had much more playfulness than the hard-worked little woodland maid; and Emlyn, who in spite of her airs, knew that she had been kindly treated, was drawn towards a companion of her own age, was very fond of little Ben, and still more so of Steadfast.
Ben cried, "Em not go;" and Rusha held her hand and begged her not to forget.
"O no, I won't forget you," said Emlyn, "and when we come back with the King and Prince, and drive the Roundhead ragamuffins out of Bristol, then I'll bring Stead a protection for Croppie and Daisy and all, a silver bodkin for you, and a Flanders lace collar for Patience, and a gold chain for Stead, and—But oh! wasn't that a trumpet? Stead! Stead! We must go, or we shall miss them." Then as she hugged and kissed them, "I'll tell Sir Harry and my lady how good you have been to me, and get my lady to make you a tirewoman, Rusha. And dear, dear little Ben shall be a king's guard all in gold."
Ben had her last smothering kiss, and Rusha began to cry and sob as the gay little figure, capering by Stead's side, disappeared between the stems of the trees making an attempt, which Steadfast instantly quenched, at singing,
"The king shall enjoy his own again."
Patience did not feel disposed to cry. She liked the child, and was grieved to think what an uncertain lot was before the merry little being, but her presence had made Rusha and Ben more troublesome than they had ever been in their lives before, and there was also the anxiety lest her unguarded tongue should offend Jeph and his friends.
Emlyn skipped along by Steadfast's side, making him magnificent promises. They paused by the ruins of the farm where Stead still kept up as much of the orchard and garden as he could with so little time and so far from home, and Emlyn filled her skirt with rosy-cheeked apples, saying in a pretty gentle manner, "they were such a treat to our poor rogues on a dusty march," and Stead aided her by carrying as many as he could.
However, an occasional bugle note, clouds of dust on the road far below in the valley, and a low, dull tramp warned them to come forward, and station themselves in the hedge above the deep lane where Steadfast had once watched for his brother. Only a few of the more adventurous village lads were before them now, and when Stead explained that the little wench wanted to watch for her father, they were kind in helping him to perch her in the hollow of a broken old pollard, where she could see, and not be seen. For the poor camp maiden knew the need of caution. She drew Steadfast close to her, and bade him not show himself till she told him, for some of the wilder sort would blaze away their pistols at anything, especially when they had had any good ale, or were out of sorts.
Poor fellows, there was no doubt of their being out of sorts, as they tramped along, half hidden in dust, even the officers, who rode before them, with ragged plumes and slouched hats. The silken banners, which they had been allowed to carry out, because of their prompt surrender, hung limp and soiled, almost like tokens of a defeat, and if any one of those spectators behind the hawthorns had been conversant with Roman history, it would have seemed to them like the passing under the yoke, so dejected, nay, ashamed was the demeanour of the gentlemen. Emlyn whispered name after name as they went by, but even she was hushed and overawed by the spectacle, as four abreast these sad remnants of the royal army marched along the lane, one or two trying to whistle, a few more talking in under tones, but all soon dying away, as if they were too much out of heart to keep anything up.
She scarcely stirred while the infantry, who were by far the most numerous, were going by, only naming corps or officer to Stead, then there came an interval, and the tread of horses and clank of their trappings could be heard. Then she almost forgot her precautions in her eagerness to crane forward. "They are coming!" she said. "All there are of them will be a guard for the Prince."
Stead felt a strange thrill of pain as he remembered the terrible scene when he had last beheld that tall, slight young figure, and dark face, now far sterner and sadder than in those early days, as Rupert went to meet the bitterest hour of his life.
Several gentlemen rode with him, whom Emlyn named as his staff, and then came more troopers, not alike in dress, being, in fact, remnants of shattered regiments. She was trembling all over with eagerness, standing up, and so leaning forward, that she might have tumbled into the lane, had not Steadfast held her.
At last came a scream. "There's Sir Harry! There's Dick! There's Staines! Oh! Dick, Dick, where's father?"
There was a halt, and bronzed faces looked up.
"Ha! Who's there?"
"I! I! Emlyn. Oh! Dick, is father coming?"
"Hollo, little one! Art thou safe after all?"
"I am, I am. Father! father! Come! Where is he?"
"It is poor Gaythorn's little wench," explained one of the soldiers, as Sir Harry, a grey-haired man, looking worn and weary, turned back, while Steadfast helped the child out on the bank with some difficulty, for her extreme haste had nearly brought her down, and she stood curtseying, holding out her arms, and quivering with hope that began to be fear.
"Poor child!" were the old gentleman's first words. "And where were you?"
"Please your honour, father left me in the thorn brake," said Emlyn, "and said he would come for me, but he did not; it got dark, and this country lad found me, and took me home. Is father coming, your honour?"
"Ah! my poor little maid, your father will never come again," said Sir Harry, sadly. "He went down by the mill stream. I saw him fall. What is to be done for her?" he added, turning to a younger gentleman, who rode by him, as the child stood as it were stunned for a moment. "This is the worst of it all. Heaven knows we freely sacrifice ourselves in the cause of Church and King, but it is hard to sacrifice others. Here are these faithful servants, their home broken up with ours, their children dying, and themselves killed—she, by the brutes after Naseby, he, in this last skirmish. 'Tis enough to break a man's heart. And what is to become of this poor little maid?"
"Oh! I'll go with your honour," cried Emlyn, stretching out her arms. "I can ride behind Dick, and I'll give no one any trouble. Oh! take me, sir."
"It cannot be done, my poor child," said Sir Harry. "We have no women with us now, and we have to make our way to Newark by forced marches to His Majesty. I have no choice but to bestow you somewhere till better times come. Hark you, my good lad, she says you found her, and have been good to her. Would your mother take charge of her? I'll leave what I can with you, and when matters are quiet, my wife, or the child's kindred, will send after her. Will your father and mother keep her for the present?"
"I have none," said Steadfast. "My father was killed in his own yard by some soldiers who wanted to drive our cows. Mother had died before, but my sister and I made a shift to take care of the little ones in a poor place of our own."
"And can you take the child in? You seem a good lad."
"We will do our best for her, sir."
"What's your name?" and "Where do you live?" followed. And as Steadfast replied the old Cavalier took out his tablets and noted them, adding, "Then you and your sister will be good to her till we can send after her."
"We will treat her like our little sister, sir."
"And here's something for her keep for the present, little enough I am afraid, but we poor Cavaliers have not much left. The King's men were well to do when I heard last of them, and they will make it up by-and-by. Or if not, my boy, can you do this for the love of God?"
"Yes, sir," said Steadfast, looking up with his honest eyes, and touching his forelock at the holy Name.
"Here, then," and Sir Harry held out two gold pieces, to which his companion added one, and two or three of the troopers, saying something about poor Gaythorn's little maid, added some small silver coins. There was something in Steadfast's mind that would have preferred declining all payment, but he was a little afraid of Patience's dismay at having another mouth to provide for all the winter, and he thought too that Jeph's anger at the adoption of the Canaanitish child might be averted if it were a matter of business and payment, so he accepted the sum, thanked Sir Harry and the rest, and renewed his promise to do the best in his power for the little maiden. He rather wondered that no questions were asked as to which side he held; but Sir Harry had no time to inquire, and could only hope that the honest, open face, respectful manner, clean dress, and the kindness which had rescued the child on the battlefield were tokens that he might be trusted to take care of the poor little orphan. Besides, many of the country people were too ignorant to understand the difference between the sides, but only took part with their squire, or if they loved their clergyman, clung to him. So the knight would not ask any questions, and only further called out "Fare thee well, then, poor little maid, we will send after thee when we can," and then giving a sharp, quick order, all the little party galloped off to overtake the rest.
Emlyn had been bred up in too much awe of Sir Harry to make objections, but as her friends rode off she gave a sharp shriek, screamed out one name after another, and finally threw herself down on the road bank in a wild passion of grief, anger, and despair, and when Steadfast would have lifted her up and comforted her, she kicked and fought him away. Presently he tried her again, begging her to come home.
"I won't! I won't go to your vile, tumble-down, roundhead, crop-eared hole!" she sobbed out.
"But, Sir Harry—"
"I won't! I say."
He was at his wits' end, but after all, the sound of other steps coming up startled her into composing herself and sitting up.
"Hollo, Stead Kenton! Got this little puppet on your hands?" said young Gates. "Hollo, mistress, you squeal like a whole litter of pigs."
"I am to take charge of her till her friends can send for her," said Stead, with protecting dignity.
"And that will be a long day! Ho, little wench, where didst get that sweet voice?"
"Hush, Tom! the child has only just heard that her father is dead."
This silenced the other lads, and Emlyn's desire to get away from them accomplished what Steadfast wished, she put her hand into his and let him lead her away, and as there were sounds of another troop of cavalry coming up the lane, the boys did not attempt to follow her. She made no more resistance, though she broke into fresh fits of moaning and crying all the way home, such as went to Steadfast's heart, though he could not find a word to comfort her.
Patience was scarcely delighted when Rusha darted in, crying out that Emlyn had come back again, but perhaps she was not surprised. She took the poor worn-out little thing in her arms, and rocked her, saying kind, tender little words, while Steadfast looked on, wondering at what girls could do, but not speaking till, finding that Emlyn was fast asleep, Patience laid her down on the bed without waking her, and then had time to listen to Stead's account of the interview with Sir Harry Blythedale.
"I could not help it, Patience," he said, "we couldn't leave the poor fatherless child out on the hedge-side."
"No," said Patience, "we can't but have her, as the gentleman said, for the love of God. He has taken care of us, so we ought to take care of the fatherless—like ourselves."
"That's right, Patience," said Steadfast, much relieved in his mind, "and see here!"
"I wonder you took that, Stead, and the poor gentlemen so ill off themselves."
"Well, Patience, I thought if you would not have her, Goody Grace might for the pay, but then who knows when any more may come?"
"Aye," said Patience, "we must keep her, though she will be a handful. Anyway, all this must be laid out for her, and the first chance I have, some shall be in decent clothes. I can't a-bear to see her in those dirty gewgaws."
"Ye abbeys and ye arches,Ye old cathedrals dear,The hearts that love you tremble,And your enemies have cheer."BP. CLEVELAND COXE.
"What would Jeph say?" was the thought of both Steadfast and Patience, as Emlyn ran about with Rusha and Ben, making herself tolerably happy and enlivening them all a good deal. After one fight she found that she must obey Patience, though she made no secret that she liked the sober young mistress of the hut much less than the others, and could even sometimes get Steadfast to think her hardly used, but he seldom showed that feeling, for he had plenty of sense, and could not bear to vex his sister; besides, he saw there would be no peace if her authority was not supported. It was a relief that there was no visit from Jeph for some little time, though the fighting was all over, and people were going in and out of Bristol as before.
Stead took the donkey with the panniers full of apples and nuts on market day, and a pile of fowls and ducks on its back, while he carried a basket of eggs on his arm, and in his head certain instructions from Patience about the grogram and linen he was to purchase for Emlyn, in the hope of making her respectable before Jeph's eyes should rest upon her. Stead's old customers were glad to see him again, especially Mrs. Lightfoot, who had Dr. Eales once again in her back rooms, keeping out of sight, while the good Dean was actually in prison for using the Prayer-book. Three soldiers were quartered upon her at the Wheatsheaf, and though, on the whole, they were more civil and much less riotous than some of her Cavalier lodgers had been, she was always in dread of their taking offence at the doctor and hauling him off to gaol.
Steadfast confided to her Patience's commission, which she undertook to execute herself. It included a spinning-wheel, for Patience was determined to teach Emlyn to spin, an art of which no respectable woman from the Queen downwards was ignorant in those days. As to finding his brother, the best way would be to ask the soldiers who were smoking in the kitchen where he was likely to be.
They said that the faithful and valiant Jephthah Kenton of Venn's horse would be found somewhere about the great steeple house, profanely called the Cathedral, for there the troops were quartered; and thither accordingly Stead betook himself, starting as he saw horses gearing or being groomed on the sward in the close which had always been kept in such perfect order. Having looked in vain outside for his brother, he advanced into the building, but he had only just had a view of horses stamping between the pillars, the floor littered down with straw, a fire burning in one of the niches, and soldiers lying about, smoking or eating, in all manner of easy, lounging attitudes, when suddenly there was a shout of "Prelatist, Idolater, Baal-worshipper, Papist," and to his horror he found it was all directed towards himself. They were pointing to his head, and two of them had caught him by the shoulders, when another voice rose "Ha! Let him alone. I say, Bill! Faithful! It's my brother. He knows no better!" Then dashing up, Jeph rammed the great hat down over Stead's brow, eyes and all, and called out, "Whoever touches my brother must have at me first."
"There," said one of the others, "the old Adam need not be so fierce in thee, brother Jephthah! No one wants to hurt the lad, young prelatist though he be, so he will make amends by burning their superstitious books on the fire, even as Jehu burnt the worshippers of Baal."
Steadfast felt somewhat as Christians of old may have felt when called on to throw incense on the altar of Jupiter, as a handful of pages torn from a Prayer-book was thrust into his hands. Words did not come readily to him, but he shook his head and stood still, perhaps stolid in resistance.
"Come," said Jeph, laying hold of his shoulder to drag him along.
"I cannot; 'tis Scripture," said Stead, as in his distress his eye fell on the leaves in his hand, and he read aloud to prove it—
"Thy Word is a lantern unto my feet, and a light unto my path."
There was one moment's pause. Perhaps the men had absolutely forgotten how much of their cherished Bible was integral in the hated Prayer-book; at any rate they were enough taken aback to enable Jeph to pull his brother out at the door, not without a fraternal cuff or two, as he exclaimed:
"Thou foolish fellow! ever running into danger for very dullness."
"What have I done, Jeph?" asked poor Stead, still bewildered.
"Done! Why, doffed thy hat, after the superstitious and idolatrous custom of our fathers."
"How can it be idolatrous? 'Twas God's house," said Stead.
"Aye, there thou art in the gall of bitterness. Know'st thou not that no house is more holy than another?" and Jeph would have gone on for some time longer, but that he heard sounds which made him suspect that someone had condemned the version of the Psalms as prelatical and profane, and that his comrades might yet burst forth to visit their wrath upon his young brother, whom he therefore proceeded to lead out of sight as fast as possible into the Dean's garden, where he had the entree as being orderly to Captain Venn, who, with other officers, abode in the Deanery.
There, controversy being dropped for the moment, Stead was able to tell his brother of his expedition, and how he had been obliged to keep the child, for very pity's sake, even if her late father's master had not begged him to do so, and given an earnest of the payment.
Jeph laughed a little scornfully at the notion of a wild Cavalier ever paying, but he was not barbarous, and allowed that there was no choice in the matter, as she could not be turned out to starve. When he heard that Stead had come with market produce he was displeased at it not having been brought up for the table of his officers, assuring Stead that they were not to be confounded with the roistering, penniless malignants, who robbed instead of paying. Stead said he always supplied Mistress Lightfoot, but this was laughed to scorn. "The rulers of the army of saints had a right to be served first, above all before one who was believed to harbour the idolater, even the priest of the groves."
Jeph directed that the next supply should come to the Deanery, as one who had the right of ownership, and Stead submitted, only with the secret resolve that Dr. Eales should not want his few eggs nor his pat of fresh butter.
Jeph was not unkind to Stead, and took him to dine with the other attendants of the officers in the very stone hall where he had eaten that Christmas dinner some twenty months before. There was a very long grace pronounced extempore, and the guests were stout, resolute, grave-looking men, who kept on their steeple-crowned hats all the time and conversed in low, deep voices, chiefly, as far as Stead could gather, on military matters, but they seemed to appreciate good beef and ale quite as much as any Cavalier trooper could have done. One of them noticing Stead asked whether he had come to take service with the saints and enjoy their dominion, but Jeph answered for him that his call lay at home among those of his own household, until his heart should be whole with the cause.
On the whole Stead was proud to see Jeph holding his own, though the youngest among these determined-looking men. These two years had made a man of the rough, idle, pleasure-loving boy, and a man after the Ironsides' fashion, grave, self-contained, and self-depending. Stead had been more like the elder than the younger brother in old times, but he felt Jeph immeasurably his elder in the new, unfamiliar atmosphere; and yet the boy had a strong sense that all was not right; that these were interlopers in the kind old Dean's house; that the talk about Baal was mere absurdity; and the profanation of the Cathedral would have been utterly shocking to his good father. His mind, however, worked slowly, and he would have had nothing to say even if he could have ventured to speak; but he was very anxious to get away; and when Jeph would have kept him to hear the serjeant expound a chapter of Revelation, he pleaded the necessity of getting home in time to milk the cows, and made his escape.
On the whole it was a relief that Jeph was too much occupied with his military duties to make visits to his home. It might not have been over easy to keep the peace between him and Emlyn, fiery little Royalist as she was, and too much used to being petted and fascinating everyone by her saucy audacity to be likely to be afraid of him.
If Patience crossed her she would have recourse to Stead, and he could seldom resist her coaxing, or be entirely disabused of the notion that his sister expected too much of her. And perhaps it was true. Patience was scarcely likely to understand differences of character and temperament, and not merely to recollect that Emlyn was only eighteen months younger than she had been when she had been forced into the position of the house mother. So, while Emlyn's wayward fancies were a great trial, Steadfast's sympathy with them was a greater one.
Stead continued to see Jeph when taking in the market produce, for which he was always duly paid. Jeph also wished the whole family to come in on Sunday to profit by the preaching of some of the great Independent lights; but Stead, after trying it once, felt so sure that Patience would be miserable at anything so unaccustomed, so thunderous, and, as it seemed to him, so abusive, that he held to it that the distance was too great, and that the cattle could not be left. The soldiery seemed to him to spend their spare time in defacing the many churches of the city, chiefly in order to do what they called purifying them from all idols, in which term they included every sort of carving or picture, or even figures on monuments.
And in this work of destruction a chest containing church plate had been come upon, making their work greedy instead of only mischievous.
When all the churches in Bristol had been ransacked, they began to extend their search to the parish churches in the neighbourhood, and Stead began to be very anxious, though he hoped and believed that the cave was a perfectly safe place.