{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_556/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_556","id":"gutenberg_556","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/556","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fairies -- Juvenile fiction","Fantasy literature","Nobel Prizes in Literature","Short stories, English","Siblings -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Jo Churcher\n\n\n\n\n\nREWARDS AND FAIRIES\n\nBy Rudyard Kipling\n\n\n\nContents\n\n        A Charm\n     Introduction\n     Cold Iron\n        Cold Iron\n     Gloriana\n        The Two Cousins\n        The Looking-Glass\n     The Wrong Thing\n        A Truthful Song\n        King Henry VII and the Shipwrights\n     Marklake Witches\n        The Way through the Woods\n        Brookland Road\n     The Knife and the Naked Chalk\n        The Run of the Downs\n        Song of the Men\u2019s Side\n     Brother Square-Toes\n        Philadelphia\n        If--\n        Rs\n        \u2018A Priest in Spite of Himself\u2019\n        A St Helena Lullaby\n        \u2018Poor Honest Men\u2019\n     The Conversion of St Wilfrid\n        Eddi\u2019s Service\n        Song of the Red War-Boat\n     A Doctor of Medicine\n        An Astrologer\u2019s Song\n        \u2018Our Fathers of Old\u2019\n     Simple Simon\n        The Thousandth Man\n        Frankie\u2019s Trade\n     The Tree of Justice\n        The Ballad of Minepit Shaw\n        A Carol\n\n\n\n\nA Charm\n\n\n     Take of English earth as much\n     As either hand may rightly clutch.\n     In the taking of it breathe\n     Prayer for all who lie beneath--\n     Not the great nor well-bespoke,\n     But the mere uncounted folk\n     Of whose life and death is none\n     Report or lamentation.\n     Lay that earth upon thy heart,\n     And thy sickness shall depart!\n\n     It shall sweeten and make whole\n     Fevered breath and festered soul;\n     It shall mightily restrain\n     Over-busy hand and brain;\n     it shall ease thy mortal strife\n     \u2018Gainst the immortal woe of life,\n     Till thyself restored shall prove\n     By what grace the Heavens do move.\n\n     Take of English flowers these--\n     Spring\u2019s full-faced primroses,\n     Summer\u2019s wild wide-hearted rose,\n     Autumn\u2019s wall-flower of the close,\n     And, thy darkness to illume,\n     Winter\u2019s bee-thronged ivy-bloom.\n     Seek and serve them where they bide\n     From Candlemas to Christmas-tide,\n     For these simples used aright\n     Shall restore a failing sight.\n\n     These shall cleanse and purify\n     Webbed and inward-turning eye;\n     These shall show thee treasure hid,\n     Thy familiar fields amid,\n     At thy threshold, on thy hearth,\n     Or about thy daily path;\n     And reveal (which is thy need)\n     Every man a King indeed!\n\n\n\n\nIntroduction\n\n\nOnce upon a time, Dan and Una, brother and sister, living in the English\ncountry, had the good fortune to meet with Puck, alias Robin Goodfellow,\nalias Nick o\u2019 Lincoln, alias Lob-lie-by-the-Fire, the last survivor\nin England of those whom mortals call Fairies. Their proper name, of\ncourse, is \u2018The People of the Hills\u2019. This Puck, by means of the magic\nof Oak, Ash, and Thorn, gave the children power\n\n     To see what they should see and hear what they should hear,\n     Though it should have happened three thousand year.\n\nThe result was that from time to time, and in different places on the\nfarm and in the fields and in the country about, they saw and talked to\nsome rather interesting people. One of these, for instance, was a Knight\nof the Norman Conquest, another a young Centurion of a Roman Legion\nstationed in England, another a builder and decorator of King Henry\nVII\u2019s time; and so on and so forth; as I have tried to explain in a book\ncalled PUCK OF POOK\u2019S HILL.\n\nA year or so later, the children met Puck once more, and though they\nwere then older and wiser, and wore boots regularly instead of going\nbarefooted when they got the chance, Puck was as kind to them as ever,\nand introduced them to more people of the old days.\n\nHe was careful, of course, to take away their memory of their walks and\nconversations afterwards, but otherwise he did not interfere; and Dan\nand Una would find the strangest sort of persons in their gardens or\nwoods.\n\nIn the stories that follow I am trying to tell something about those\npeople.\n\n\n\n\nCOLD IRON\n\n\nWhen Dan and Una had arranged to go out before breakfast, they did not\nremember that it was Midsummer Morning. They only wanted to see the\notter which, old Hobden said, had been fishing their brook for weeks;\nand early morning was the time to surprise him. As they tiptoed out of\nthe house into the wonderful stillness, the church clock struck five.\nDan took a few steps across the dew-blobbed lawn, and looked at his\nblack footprints.\n\n\u2018I think we ought to be kind to our poor boots,\u2019 he said. \u2018They\u2019ll get\nhorrid wet.\u2019\n\nIt was their first summer in boots, and they hated them, so they took\nthem off, and slung them round their necks, and paddled joyfully over\nthe dripping turf where the shadows lay the wrong way, like evening in\nthe East. The sun was well up and warm, but by the brook the last of\nthe night mist still fumed off the water. They picked up the chain of\notter\u2019s footprints on the mud, and followed it from the bank, between\nthe weeds and the drenched mowing, while the birds shouted with\nsurprise. Then the track left the brook and became a smear, as though a\nlog had been dragged along.\n\nThey traced it into Three Cows meadow, over the mill-sluice to the\nForge, round Hobden\u2019s garden, and then up the slope till it ran out\non the short turf and fern of Pook\u2019s Hill, and they heard the\ncock-pheasants crowing in the woods behind them.\n\n\u2018No use!\u2019 said Dan, questing like a puzzled hound. \u2018The dew\u2019s drying\noff, and old Hobden says otters\u2019ll travel for miles.\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019m sure we\u2019ve travelled miles.\u2019 Una fanned herself with her hat. \u2018How\nstill it is! It\u2019s going to be a regular roaster.\u2019 She looked down the\nvalley, where no chimney yet smoked.\n\n\u2018Hobden\u2019s up!\u2019 Dan pointed to the open door of the Forge cottage. \u2018What\nd\u2019you suppose he has for breakfast?\u2019 \u2018One of them. He says they eat good\nall times of the year,\u2019 Una jerked her head at some stately pheasants\ngoing down to the brook for a drink.\n\nA few steps farther on a fox broke almost under their bare feet, yapped,\nand trotted off.\n\n\u2018Ah, Mus\u2019 Reynolds--Mus\u2019 Reynolds\u2019--Dan was quoting from old\nHobden,--\u2018if I knowed all you knowed, I\u2019d know something.\u2019 [See \u2018The\nWinged Hats\u2019 in PUCK OF POOK\u2019S HILL.]\n\nI say,\u2019--Una lowered her voice--\u2018you know that funny feeling of things\nhaving happened before. I felt it when you said \u201cMus\u2019 Reynolds.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018So did I,\u2019 Dan began. \u2018What is it?\u2019\n\nThey faced each other, stammering with excitement.\n\n\u2018Wait a shake! I\u2019ll remember in a minute. Wasn\u2019t it something about a\nfox--last year? Oh, I nearly had it then!\u2019 Dan cried.\n\n\u2018Be quiet!\u2019 said Una, prancing excitedly. \u2018There was something happened\nbefore we met the fox last year. Hills! Broken Hills--the play at the\ntheatre--see what you see--\u2019\n\n\u2018I remember now,\u2019 Dan shouted. \u2018It\u2019s as plain as the nose on your\nface--Pook\u2019s Hill--Puck\u2019s Hill--Puck!\u2019\n\n\u2018I remember, too,\u2019 said Una. \u2018And it\u2019s Midsummer Day again!\u2019 The young\nfern on a knoll rustled, and Puck walked out, chewing a green-topped\nrush.\n\n\u2018Good Midsummer Morning to you! Here\u2019s a happy meeting,\u2019 said he. They\nshook hands all round, and asked questions.\n\n\u2018You\u2019ve wintered well,\u2019 he said after a while, and looked them up and\ndown. \u2018Nothing much wrong with you, seemingly.\u2019\n\n\u2018They\u2019ve put us into boots,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Look at my feet--they\u2019re all\npale white, and my toes are squidged together awfully.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes--boots make a difference.\u2019 Puck wriggled his brown, square, hairy\nfoot, and cropped a dandelion flower between the big toe and the next.\n\n\u2018I could do that--last year,\u2019 Dan said dismally, as he tried and failed.\n\u2018And boots simply ruin one\u2019s climbing.\u2019\n\n\u2018There must be some advantage to them, I suppose,\u2019said Puck, or folk\nwouldn\u2019t wear them. Shall we come this way?\u2019 They sauntered along side\nby side till they reached the gate at the far end of the hillside. Here\nthey halted just like cattle, and let the sun warm their backs while\nthey listened to the flies in the wood.\n\n\u2018Little Lindens is awake,\u2019 said Una, as she hung with her chin on the\ntop rail. \u2018See the chimney smoke?\u2019\n\n\u2018Today\u2019s Thursday, isn\u2019t it?\u2019 Puck turned to look at the old pink\nfarmhouse across the little valley. \u2018Mrs Vincey\u2019s baking day. Bread\nshould rise well this weather.\u2019 He yawned, and that set them both\nyawning.\n\nThe bracken about rustled and ticked and shook in every direction. They\nfelt that little crowds were stealing past.\n\n\u2018Doesn\u2019t that sound like--er--the People of the Hills?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s the birds and wild things drawing up to the woods before people\nget about,\u2019 said Puck, as though he were Ridley the keeper.\n\n\u2018Oh, we know that. I only said it sounded like.\u2019\n\n\u2018As I remember \u2018em, the People of the Hills used to make more noise.\nThey\u2019d settle down for the day rather like small birds settling down for\nthe night. But that was in the days when they carried the high hand. Oh,\nme! The deeds that I\u2019ve had act and part in, you\u2019d scarcely believe!\u2019\n\n\u2018I like that!\u2019 said Dan. \u2018After all you told us last year, too!\u2019\n\n\u2018Only, the minute you went away, you made us forget everything,\u2019 said\nUna.\n\nPuck laughed and shook his head. \u2018I shall this year, too. I\u2019ve given you\nseizin of Old England, and I\u2019ve taken away your Doubt and Fear, but your\nmemory and remembrance between whiles I\u2019ll keep where old Billy Trott\nkept his night-lines--and that\u2019s where he could draw \u2018em up and hide \u2018em\nat need. Does that suit?\u2019 He twinkled mischievously.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s got to suit,\u2019 said Una, and laughed. \u2018We Can\u2019t magic back at you.\u2019\nShe folded her arms and leaned against the gate. \u2018Suppose, now, you\nwanted to magic me into something--an otter? Could you?\u2019\n\n\u2018Not with those boots round your neck.\u2019 \u2018I\u2019ll take them off.\u2019 She threw\nthem on the turf. Dan\u2019s followed immediately. \u2018Now!\u2019 she said.\n\n\u2018Less than ever now you\u2019ve trusted me. Where there\u2019s true faith, there\u2019s\nno call for magic.\u2019 Puck\u2019s slow smile broadened all over his face.\n\n\u2018But what have boots to do with it?\u2019 said Una, perching on the gate.\n\n\u2018There\u2019s Cold Iron in them,\u2019 said Puck, and settled beside her. \u2018Nails\nin the soles, I mean. It makes a difference.\u2019\n\n\u2018How?\u2019 \u2018Can\u2019t you feel it does? You wouldn\u2019t like to go back to bare\nfeet again, same as last year, would you? Not really?\u2019\n\n\u2018No-o. I suppose I shouldn\u2019t--not for always. I\u2019m growing up, you know,\u2019\nsaid Una.\n\n\u2018But you told us last year, in the Long Slip--at the theatre--that you\ndidn\u2019t mind Cold Iron,\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t; but folks in housen, as the People of the Hills call them,\nmust be ruled by Cold Iron. Folk in housen are born on the near side of\nCold Iron--there\u2019s iron \u2018in every man\u2019s house, isn\u2019t there? They handle\nCold Iron every day of their lives, and their fortune\u2019s made or spoilt\nby Cold Iron in some shape or other. That\u2019s how it goes with Flesh and\nBlood, and one can\u2019t prevent it.\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t quite see. How do you mean?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018It would take me some time to tell you.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, it\u2019s ever so long to breakfast,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018We looked in the\nlarder before we came out.\u2019 He unpocketed one big hunk of bread and Una\nanother, which they shared with Puck.\n\n\u2018That\u2019s Little Lindens\u2019 baking,\u2019 he said, as his white teeth sunk in\nit. \u2018I know Mrs Vincey\u2019s hand.\u2019 He ate with a slow sideways thrust and\ngrind, just like old Hobden, and, like Hobden, hardly dropped a crumb.\nThe sun flashed on Little Lindens\u2019 windows, and the cloudless sky grew\nstiller and hotter in the valley.\n\n\u2018AH--Cold Iron,\u2019 he said at last to the impatient children. \u2018Folk in\nhousen, as the People of the Hills say, grow careless about Cold Iron.\nThey\u2019ll nail the Horseshoe over the front door, and forget to put it\nover the back. Then, some time or other, the People of the Hills slip\nin, find the cradle-babe in the corner, and--\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I know. Steal it and leave a changeling,\u2019 Una cried.\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 said Puck firmly. \u2018All that talk of changelings is people\u2019s excuse\nfor their own neglect. Never believe \u2018em. I\u2019d whip \u2018em at the cart-tail\nthrough three parishes if I had my way.\u2019\n\n\u2018But they don\u2019t do it now,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Whip, or neglect children? Umm! Some folks and some fields never alter.\nBut the People of the Hills didn\u2019t work any changeling tricks.\nThey\u2019d tiptoe in and whisper and weave round the cradle-babe in the\nchimney-corner--a fag-end of a charm here, or half a spell there--like\nkettles singing; but when the babe\u2019s mind came to bud out afterwards,\nit would act differently from other people in its station. That\u2019s no\nadvantage to man or maid. So I wouldn\u2019t allow it with my folks\u2019 babies\nhere. I told Sir Huon so once.\u2019\n\n\u2018Who was Sir Huon?\u2019 Dan asked, and Puck turned on him in quiet\nastonishment.\n\n\u2018Sir Huon of Bordeaux--he succeeded King Oberon. He had been a bold\nknight once, but he was lost on the road to Babylon, a long while back.\nHave you ever heard \u201cHow many miles to Babylon?\u201d?\u2019\n\n\u2018Of course,\u2019 said Dan, flushing.\n\n\u2018Well, Sir Huon was young when that song was new. But about tricks\non mortal babies. I said to Sir Huon in the fern here, on just such a\nmorning as this: \u201cIf you crave to act and influence on folk in housen,\nwhich I know is your desire, why don\u2019t you take some human cradle-babe\nby fair dealing, and bring him up among yourselves on the far side\nof Cold Iron--as Oberon did in time past? Then you could make him a\nsplendid fortune, and send him out into the world.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cTime past is past time,\u201d says Sir Huon. \u201cI doubt if we could do it.\nFor one thing, the babe would have to be taken without wronging man,\nwoman, or child. For another, he\u2019d have to be born on the far side of\nCold Iron--in some house where no Cold Iron ever stood; and for yet the\nthird, he\u2019d have to be kept from Cold Iron all his days till we let\nhim find his fortune. No, it\u2019s not easy,\u201d he said, and he rode off,\nthinking. You see, Sir Huon had been a man once. \u2018I happened to attend\nLewes Market next Woden\u2019s Day even, and watched the slaves being sold\nthere--same as pigs are sold at Robertsbridge Market nowadays. Only,\nthe pigs have rings on their noses, and the slaves had rings round their\nnecks.\u2019\n\n\u2018What sort of rings?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018A ring of Cold Iron, four fingers wide, and a thumb thick, just like\na quoit, but with a snap to it for to snap round the slave\u2019s neck. They\nused to do a big trade in slave-rings at the Forge here, and ship\nthem to all parts of Old England, packed in oak sawdust. But, as I was\nsaying, there was a farmer out of the Weald who had bought a woman with\na babe in her arms, and he didn\u2019t want any encumbrances to her driving\nhis beasts home for him.\u2019\n\n\u2018Beast himself!\u2019 said Una, and kicked her bare heel on the gate.\n\n\u2018So he blamed the auctioneer. \u201cIt\u2019s none o\u2019 my baby,\u201d the wench puts in.\n\u201cI took it off a woman in our gang who died on Terrible Down yesterday.\u201d\n \u201cI\u2019ll take it off to the church then,\u201d says the farmer. \u201cMother\nChurch\u2019ll make a monk of it, and we\u2019ll step along home.\u201d\n\n\u2018It was dusk then. He slipped down to St Pancras\u2019 Church, and laid the\nbabe at the cold chapel door. I breathed on the back of his stooping\nneck--and--I\u2019ve heard he never could be warm at any fire afterwards. I\nshould have been surprised if he could! Then I whipped up the babe, and\ncame flying home here like a bat to his belfry.\n\n\u2018On the dewy break of morning of Thor\u2019s own day--just such a day as\nthis--I laid the babe outside the Hill here, and the People flocked up\nand wondered at the sight.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou\u2019ve brought him, then?\u201d Sir Huon said, staring like any mortal man.\n\n\u2018\u201cYes, and he\u2019s brought his mouth with him, too,\u201d I said. The babe was\ncrying loud for his breakfast.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat is he?\u201d says Sir Huon, when the womenfolk had drawn him under to\nfeed him.\n\n\u2018\u201cFull Moon and Morning Star may know,\u201d I says. \u201cI don\u2019t. By what I\ncould make out of him in the moonlight, he\u2019s without brand or blemish.\nI\u2019ll answer for it that he\u2019s born on the far side of Cold Iron, for he\nwas born under a shaw on Terrible Down, and I\u2019ve wronged neither man,\nwoman, nor child in taking him, for he is the son of a dead slave-woman.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAll to the good, Robin,\u201d Sir Huon said. \u201cHe\u2019ll be the less anxious to\nleave us. Oh, we\u2019ll give him a splendid fortune, and we shall act and\ninfluence on folk in housen as we have always craved.\u201d His Lady came up\nthen, and drew him under to watch the babe\u2019s wonderful doings.\u2019 \u2018Who was\nhis Lady?\u2019 said Dan. \u2018The Lady Esclairmonde. She had been a woman once,\ntill she followed Sir Huon across the fern, as we say. Babies are no\nspecial treat to me--I\u2019ve watched too many of them--so I stayed on the\nHill. Presently I heard hammering down at the Forge there.\u2019Puck pointed\ntowards Hobden\u2019s cottage. \u2018It was too early for any workmen, but it\npassed through my mind that the breaking day was Thor\u2019s own day. A slow\nnorth-east wind blew up and set the oaks sawing and fretting in a way I\nremembered; so I slipped over to see what I could see.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what did you see?\u2019 \u2018A smith forging something or other out of Cold\nIron. When it was finished, he weighed it in his hand (his back was\ntowards me), and tossed it from him a longish quoit-throw down the\nvalley. I saw Cold Iron flash in the sun, but I couldn\u2019t quite make out\nwhere it fell. That didn\u2019t trouble me. I knew it would be found sooner\nor later by someone.\u2019\n\n\u2018How did you know?\u2019 Dan went on.\n\n\u2018Because I knew the Smith that made it,\u2019 said Puck quietly.\n\n\u2018Wayland Smith?\u2019 Una suggested. [See \u2018Weland\u2019s Sword\u2019 in PUCK OF POOK\u2019S\nHILL.]\n\n\u2018No. I should have passed the time o\u2019 day with Wayland Smith, of course.\nThis other was different. So\u2019--Puck made a queer crescent in the air\nwith his finger--\u2018I counted the blades of grass under my nose till the\nwind dropped and he had gone--he and his Hammer.\u2019\n\n\u2018Was it Thor then?\u2019 Una murmured under her breath.\n\n\u2018Who else? It was Thor\u2019s own day.\u2019 Puck repeated the sign. \u2018I didn\u2019t\ntell Sir Huon or his Lady what I\u2019d seen. Borrow trouble for yourself if\nthat\u2019s your nature, but don\u2019t lend it to your neighbours. Moreover,\nI might have been mistaken about the Smith\u2019s work. He might have been\nmaking things for mere amusement, though it wasn\u2019t like him, or he might\nhave thrown away an old piece of made iron. One can never be sure. So I\nheld my tongue and enjoyed the babe. He was a wonderful child--and the\nPeople of the Hills were so set on him, they wouldn\u2019t have believed me.\nHe took to me wonderfully. As soon as he could walk he\u2019d putter forth\nwith me all about my Hill here. Fern makes soft falling! He knew when\nday broke on earth above, for he\u2019d thump, thump, thump, like an old\nbuck-rabbit in a bury, and I\u2019d hear him say \u201cOpy!\u201d till some one who\nknew the Charm let him out, and then it would be \u201cRobin! Robin!\u201d all\nround Robin Hood\u2019s barn, as we say, till he\u2019d found me.\u2019\n\n\u2018The dear!\u2019 said Una. \u2018I\u2019d like to have seen him!\u2019 \u2018Yes, he was a boy.\nAnd when it came to learning his words--spells and such-like--he\u2019d sit\non the Hill in the long shadows, worrying out bits of charms to try on\npassersby. And when the bird flew to him, or the tree bowed to him for\npure love\u2019s sake (like everything else on my Hill), he\u2019d shout, \u201cRobin!\nLook--see! Look, see, Robin!\u201d and sputter out some spell or other that\nthey had taught him, all wrong end first, till I hadn\u2019t the heart to\ntell him it was his own dear self and not the words that worked the\nwonder. When he got more abreast of his words, and could cast spells for\nsure, as we say, he took more and more notice of things and people in\nthe world. People, of course, always drew him, for he was mortal all\nthrough.\n\n\u2018Seeing that he was free to move among folk in housen, under or over\nCold Iron, I used to take him along with me, night-walking, where he\ncould watch folk, and I could keep him from touching Cold Iron. That\nwasn\u2019t so difficult as it sounds, because there are plenty of things\nbesides Cold Iron in housen to catch a boy\u2019s fancy. He was a handful,\nthough! I shan\u2019t forget when I took him to Little Lindens--his first\nnight under a roof. The smell of the rushlights and the bacon on the\nbeams--they were stuffing a feather-bed too, and it was a drizzling warm\nnight--got into his head. Before I could stop him--we were hiding in\nthe bakehouse--he\u2019d whipped up a storm of wildfire, with flashlights\nand voices, which sent the folk shrieking into the garden, and a girl\noverset a hive there, and--of course he didn\u2019t know till then such\nthings could touch him--he got badly stung, and came home with his face\nlooking like kidney potatoes! \u2018You can imagine how angry Sir Huon and\nLady Esclairmonde were with poor Robin! They said the Boy was never to\nbe trusted with me night-walking any more--and he took about as much\nnotice of their order as he did of the bee-stings. Night after night,\nas soon as it was dark, I\u2019d pick up his whistle in the wet fern, and\noff we\u2019d flit together among folk in housen till break of day--he asking\nquestions, and I answering according to my knowledge. Then we fell into\nmischief again!\u2019 Puck shook till the gate rattled.\n\n\u2018We came across a man up at Brightling who was beating his wife with\na bat in the garden. I was just going to toss the man over his own\nwoodlump when the Boy jumped the hedge and ran at him. Of course the\nwoman took her husband\u2019s part, and while the man beat him, the woman\nscratted his face. It wasn\u2019t till I danced among the cabbages like\nBrightling Beacon all ablaze that they gave up and ran indoors. The\nBoy\u2019s fine green-and-gold clothes were torn all to pieces, and he had\nbeen welted in twenty places with the man\u2019s bat, and scratted by the\nwoman\u2019s nails to pieces. He looked like a Robertsbridge hopper on a\nMonday morning.\n\n\u2018\u201cRobin,\u201d said he, while I was trying to clean him down with a bunch of\nhay, \u201cI don\u2019t quite understand folk in housen. I went to help that old\nwoman, and she hit me, Robin!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat else did you expect?\u201d I said. \u201cThat was the one time when you\nmight have worked one of your charms, instead of running into three\ntimes your weight.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI didn\u2019t think,\u201d he says. \u201cBut I caught the man one on the head that\nwas as good as any charm. Did you see it work, Robin?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cMind your nose,\u201d I said. \u201cBleed it on a dockleaf--not your sleeve, for\npity\u2019s sake.\u201d I knew what the Lady Esclairmonde would say.\n\n\u2018He didn\u2019t care. He was as happy as a gipsy with a stolen pony, and the\nfront part of his gold coat, all blood and grass stains, looked like\nancient sacrifices.\n\n\u2018Of course the People of the Hills laid the blame on me. The Boy could\ndo nothing wrong, in their eyes.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou are bringing him up to act and influence on folk in housen, when\nyou\u2019re ready to let him go,\u201d I said. \u201cNow he\u2019s begun to do it, why do\nyou cry shame on me? That\u2019s no shame. It\u2019s his nature drawing him to his\nkind.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut we don\u2019t want him to begin that way,\u201d the Lady Esclairmonde\nsaid. \u201cWe intend a splendid fortune for him--not your flitter-by-night,\nhedge-jumping, gipsy-work.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI don\u2019t blame you, Robin,\u201d says Sir Huon, \u201cbut I do think you might\nlook after the Boy more closely.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019ve kept him away from Cold Iron these sixteen years,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\nknow as well as I do, the first time he touches Cold Iron he\u2019ll find\nhis own fortune, in spite of everything you intend for him. You owe me\nsomething for that.\u201d\n\n\u2018Sir Huon, having been a man, was going to allow me the right of it, but\nthe Lady Esclairmonde, being the Mother of all Mothers, over-persuaded\nhim.\n\n\u2018\u201cWe\u2019re very grateful,\u201d Sir Huon said, \u201cbut we think that just for the\npresent you are about too much with him on the Hill.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThough you have said it,\u201d I said, \u201cI will give you a second chance.\u201d\n I did not like being called to account for my doings on my own Hill. I\nwouldn\u2019t have stood it even that far except I loved the Boy.\n\n\u2018\u201cNo! No!\u201d says the Lady Esclairmonde. \u201cHe\u2019s never any trouble when he\u2019s\nleft to me and himself. It\u2019s your fault.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYou have said it,\u201d I answered. \u201cHear me! From now on till the Boy has\nfound his fortune, whatever that may be, I vow to you all on my Hill, by\nOak, and Ash, and Thorn, and by the Hammer of Asa Thor\u201d--again Puck made\nthat curious double-cut in the air--\u2018\u201cthat you may leave me out of\nall your counts and reckonings.\u201d Then I went out\u2019--he snapped his\nfingers--\u2018like the puff of a candle, and though they called and cried,\nthey made nothing by it. I didn\u2019t promise not to keep an eye on the Boy,\nthough. I watched him close--close--close!\n\n\u2018When he found what his people had forced me to do, he gave them a piece\nof his mind, but they all kissed and cried round him, and being only\na boy, he came over to their way of thinking (I don\u2019t blame him), and\ncalled himself unkind and ungrateful; and it all ended in fresh shows\nand plays, and magics to distract him from folk in housen. Dear heart\nalive! How he used to call and call on me, and I couldn\u2019t answer, or\neven let him know that I was near!\u2019\n\n\u2018Not even once?\u2019 said Una. \u2018If he was very lonely?\u2019 \u2018No, he couldn\u2019t,\u2019\nsaid Dan, who had been thinking. \u2018Didn\u2019t you swear by the Hammer of Thor\nthat you wouldn\u2019t, Puck?\u2019\n\n\u2018By that Hammer!\u2019 was the deep rumbled reply. Then he came back to his\nsoft speaking voice. \u2018And the Boy was lonely, when he couldn\u2019t see me\nany more. He began to try to learn all learning (he had good teachers),\nbut I saw him lift his eyes from the big black books towards folk in\nhousen all the time. He studied song-making (good teachers he had too!),\nbut he sang those songs with his back toward the Hill, and his face\ntoward folk. I know! I have sat and grieved over him grieving within a\nrabbit\u2019s jump of him. Then he studied the High, Low, and Middle Magic.\nHe had promised the Lady Esclairmonde he would never go near folk in\nhousen; so he had to make shows and shadows for his mind to chew on.\u2019\n\u2018What sort of shows?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018Just boy\u2019s Magic as we say. I\u2019ll show you some, some time. It pleased\nhim for the while, and it didn\u2019t hurt any one in particular except a few\nmen coming home late from the taverns. But I knew what it was a sign of,\nand I followed him like a weasel follows a rabbit. As good a boy as ever\nlived! I\u2019ve seen him with Sir Huon and the Lady Esclairmonde stepping\njust as they stepped to avoid the track of Cold Iron in a furrow, or\nwalking wide of some old ash-tot because a man had left his swop-hook or\nspade there; and all his heart aching to go straightforward among folk\nin housen all the time. Oh, a good boy! They always intended a fine\nfortune for him--but they could never find it in their heart to let him\nbegin. I\u2019ve heard that many warned them, but they wouldn\u2019t be warned. So\nit happened as it happened.\n\n\u2018One hot night I saw the Boy roving about here wrapped in his flaming\ndiscontents. There was flash on flash against the clouds, and rush on\nrush of shadows down the valley till the shaws were full of his hounds\ngiving tongue, and the woodways were packed with his knights in armour\nriding down into the water-mists--all his own Magic, of course. Behind\nthem you could see great castles lifting slow and splendid on arches\nof moonshine, with maidens waving their hands at the windows, which all\nturned into roaring rivers; and then would come the darkness of his\nown young heart wiping out the whole slateful. But boy\u2019s Magic doesn\u2019t\ntrouble me--or Merlin\u2019s either for that matter. I followed the Boy by\nthe flashes and the whirling wildfire of his discontent, and oh, but I\ngrieved for him! Oh, but I grieved for him! He pounded back and\nforth like a bullock in a strange pasture--sometimes alone--sometimes\nwaist-deep among his shadow-hounds--sometimes leading his shadow-knights\non a hawk-winged horse to rescue his shadow-girls. I never guessed he\nhad such Magic at his command; but it\u2019s often that way with boys.\n\n\u2018Just when the owl comes home for the second time, I saw Sir Huon and\nthe Lady ride down my Hill, where there\u2019s not much Magic allowed except\nmine. They were very pleased at the Boy\u2019s Magic--the valley flared with\nit--and I heard them settling his splendid fortune when they should\nfind it in their hearts to let him go to act and influence among folk in\nhousen. Sir Huon was for making him a great King somewhere or other, and\nthe Lady was for making him a marvellous wise man whom all should praise\nfor his skill and kindness. She was very kind-hearted.\n\n\u2018Of a sudden we saw the flashes of his discontents turned back on the\nclouds, and his shadow-hounds stopped baying.\n\n\u2018\u201cThere\u2019s Magic fighting Magic over yonder,\u201d the Lady Esclairmonde\ncried, reigning up. \u201cWho is against him?\u201d\n\n\u2018I could have told her, but I did not count it any of my business to\nspeak of Asa Thor\u2019s comings and goings.\n\n\u2018How did you know?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018A slow North-East wind blew up, sawing and fretting through the oaks in\na way I remembered. The wildfire roared up, one last time in one sheet,\nand snuffed out like a rushlight, and a bucketful of stinging hail fell.\nWe heard the Boy walking in the Long Slip--where I first met you.\n\n\u2018\u201cHere, oh, come here!\u201d said the Lady Esclairmonde, and stretched out\nher arms in the dark.\n\n\u2018He was coming slowly, but he stumbled in the footpath, being, of\ncourse, mortal man.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhy, what\u2019s this?\u201d he said to himself. We three heard him.\n\n\u2018\u201cHold, lad, hold! \u2018Ware Cold Iron!\u201d said Sir Huon, and they two swept\ndown like nightjars, crying as they rode.\n\n\u2018I ran at their stirrups, but it was too late. We felt that the Boy\nhad touched Cold Iron somewhere in the dark, for the Horses of the Hill\nshied off, and whipped round, snorting.\n\n\u2018Then I judged it was time for me to show myself in my own shape; so I\ndid.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhatever it is,\u201d I said, \u201che has taken hold of it. Now we must find\nout whatever it is that he has taken hold of, for that will be his\nfortune.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCome here, Robin,\u201d the Boy shouted, as soon as he heard my voice. \u201cI\ndon\u2019t know what I\u2019ve hold of.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cIt is in your hands,\u201d I called back. \u201cTell us if it is hard and cold,\nwith jewels atop. For that will be a King\u2019s Sceptre.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNot by a furrow-long,\u201d he said, and stooped and tugged in the dark.\nWe heard him. \u2018\u201cHas it a handle and two cutting edges?\u201d I called. \u201cFor\nthat\u2019ll be a Knight\u2019s Sword.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNo, it hasn\u2019t,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s neither ploughshare, whittle, hook,\nnor crook, nor aught I\u2019ve yet seen men handle.\u201d By this time he was\nscratting in the dirt to prise it up.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhatever it is, you know who put it there, Robin,\u201d said Sir Huon to\nme, \u201cor you would not ask those questions. You should have told me as\nsoon as you knew.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat could you or I have done against the Smith that made it and laid\nit for him to find?\u201d I said, and I whispered Sir Huon what I had seen at\nthe Forge on Thor\u2019s Day, when the babe was first brought to the Hill.\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, good-bye, our dreams!\u201d said Sir Huon. \u201cIt\u2019s neither sceptre,\nsword, nor plough! Maybe yet it\u2019s a bookful of learning, bound with iron\nclasps. There\u2019s a chance for a splendid fortune in that sometimes.\u201d\n\n\u2018But we knew we were only speaking to comfort ourselves, and the Lady\nEsclairmonde, having been a woman, said so.\n\n\u2018\u201cThur aie! Thor help us!\u201d the Boy called. \u201cIt is round, without end,\nCold Iron, four fingers wide and a thumb thick, and there is writing on\nthe breadth of it.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cRead the writing if you have the learning,\u201d I called. The darkness had\nlifted by then, and the owl was out over the fern again.\n\n\u2018He called back, reading the runes on the iron:\n\n  \u201cFew can see\n  Further forth\n  Than when the child\n  Meets the Cold Iron.\u201d\n\nAnd there he stood, in clear starlight, with a new, heavy, shining\nslave-ring round his proud neck.\n\n\u2018\u201cIs this how it goes?\u201d he asked, while the Lady Esclairmonde cried.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat is how it goes,\u201d I said. He hadn\u2019t snapped the catch home yet,\nthough.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat fortune does it mean for him?\u201d said Sir Huon, while the Boy\nfingered the ring. \u201cYou who walk under Cold Iron, you must tell us and\nteach us.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cTell I can, but teach I cannot,\u201d I said. \u201cThe virtue of the Ring is\nonly that he must go among folk in housen henceforward, doing what they\nwant done, or what he knows they need, all Old England over. Never will\nhe be his own master, nor yet ever any man\u2019s. He will get half he gives,\nand give twice what he gets, till his life\u2019s last breath; and if he lays\naside his load before he draws that last breath, all his work will go\nfor naught.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, cruel, wicked Thor!\u201d cried the Lady Esclairmonde. \u201cAh, look see,\nall of you! The catch is still open! He hasn\u2019t locked it. He can still\ntake it off. He can still come back. Come back!\u201d She went as near as\nshe dared, but she could not lay hands on Cold Iron. The Boy could have\ntaken it off, yes. We waited to see if he would, but he put up his hand,\nand the snap locked home.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat else could I have done?\u201d said he.\n\n\u2018\u201cSurely, then, you will do,\u201d I said. \u201cMorning\u2019s coming, and if you\nthree have any farewells to make, make them now, for, after sunrise,\nCold Iron must be your master.\u201d \u2018So the three sat down, cheek by wet\ncheek, telling over their farewells till morning light. As good a boy as\never lived, he was.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what happened to him?\u2019 asked Dan.\n\n\u2018When morning came, Cold Iron was master of him and his fortune, and\nhe went to work among folk in housen. Presently he came across a maid\nlike-minded with himself, and they were wedded, and had bushels of\nchildren, as the saying is. Perhaps you\u2019ll meet some of his breed, this\nyear.\u2019\n\n\u2018Thank you,\u2019 said Una. \u2018But what did the poor Lady Esclairmonde do?\u2019\n\n\u2018What can you do when Asa Thor lays the Cold Iron in a lad\u2019s path? She\nand Sir Huon were comforted to think they had given the Boy good store\nof learning to act and influence on folk in housen. For he was a good\nboy! Isn\u2019t it getting on for breakfast-time? I\u2019ll walk with you a\npiece.\u2019\n\nWhen they were well in the centre of the bone-dry fern, Dan nudged Una,\nwho stopped and put on a boot as quickly as she could. \u2018Now,\u2019 she said,\n\u2018you can\u2019t get any Oak, Ash, and Thorn leaves from here, and\u2019--she\nbalanced wildly on one leg--\u2018I\u2019m standing on Cold Iron. What\u2019ll you do\nif we don\u2019t go away?\u2019\n\n\u2018E-eh? Of all mortal impudence!\u2019 said Puck, as Dan, also in one boot,\ngrabbed his sister\u2019s hand to steady himself. He walked round them,\nshaking with delight. \u2018You think I can only work with a handful of dead\nleaves? This comes of taking away your Doubt and Fear! I\u2019ll show you!\u2019\n\n\nA minute later they charged into old Hobden at his simple breakfast of\ncold roast pheasant, shouting that there was a wasps\u2019 nest in the fern\nwhich they had nearly stepped on, and asking him to come and smoke it\nout. \u2018It\u2019s too early for wops-nests, an\u2019 I don\u2019t go diggin\u2019 in the Hill,\nnot for shillin\u2019s,\u2019 said the old man placidly. \u2018You\u2019ve a thorn in your\nfoot, Miss Una. Sit down, and put on your t\u2019other boot. You\u2019re too old\nto be caperin\u2019 barefoot on an empty stomach. Stay it with this chicken\no\u2019 mine.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nCold Iron\n\n\n     \u2018Gold is for the mistress--silver for the maid!\n     Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.\u2019\n     \u2018Good!\u2019 said the Baron, sitting in his hall,\n     \u2018But Iron--Cold Iron--is master of them all!\u2019\n\n     So he made rebellion \u2018gainst the King his liege,\n     Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege--\n     \u2018Nay!\u2019 said the cannoneer on the castle wall,\n     \u2018But Iron--Cold Iron--shall be master of you all!\u2019\n\n     Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,\n     When the cruel cannon-balls laid \u2018em all along!\n     He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,\n     And Iron--Cold Iron--was master of it all!\n\n     Yet his King spake kindly (Oh, how kind a Lord!)\n     \u2018What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?\u2019\n     \u2018Nay!\u2019 said the Baron, \u2018mock not at my fall,\n     For Iron--Cold Iron--is master of men all.\u2019\n\n     \u2018Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown--\n     Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.\u2019\n     \u2018As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,\n     For Iron--Cold Iron--must be master of men all!\u2019\n\n     Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)\n     \u2018Here is Bread and here is Wine--sit and sup with me.\n     Eat and drink in Mary\u2019s Name, the whiles I do recall\n     How Iron--Cold Iron--can be master of men all!\u2019\n\n     He took the Wine and blessed It; He blessed and brake the Bread.\n     With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:\n     \u2018Look!  These Hands they pierced with nails outside my city wall\n     Show Iron--Cold Iron--to be master of men all!\n\n     \u2018Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong,\n     Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.\n     I forgive thy treason--I redeem thy fall--\n     For Iron--Cold Iron--must be master of men all!\u2019\n\n     \u2018Crowns are for the valiant--sceptres for the bold!\n     Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.\u2019\n     \u2018Nay!\u2019 said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,\n     \u2018But Iron--Cold Iron--is master of men all!\n     Iron, out of Calvary, is master of men all!\u2019\n\n\n\n\nGLORIANA\n\n\n\nThe Two Cousins\n\n\n     Valour and Innocence\n     Have latterly gone hence\n     To certain death by certain shame attended.\n     Envy--ah!  even to tears!--\n     The fortune of their years\n     Which, though so few, yet so divinely ended.\n\n     Scarce had they lifted up\n     Life\u2019s full and fiery cup,\n     Than they had set it down untouched before them.\n     Before their day arose\n     They beckoned it to close--\n     Close in destruction and confusion o\u2019er them.\n\n     They did not stay to ask\n     What prize should crown their task,\n     Well sure that prize was such as no man strives for;\n     But passed into eclipse,\n     Her kiss upon their lips--\n     Even Belphoebe\u2019s, whom they gave their lives for!\n\n\n\n\nGloriana\n\n\nWillow Shaw, the little fenced wood where the hop-poles are stacked like\nIndian wigwams, had been given to Dan and Una for their very own kingdom\nwhen they were quite small. As they grew older, they contrived to keep\nit most particularly private. Even Phillips, the gardener, told them\nevery time that he came in to take a hop-pole for his beans, and old\nHobden would no more have thought of setting his rabbit-wires there\nwithout leave, given fresh each spring, than he would have torn down the\ncalico and marking ink notice on the big willow which said: \u2018Grown-ups\nnot allowed in the Kingdom unless brought.\u2019\n\nNow you can understand their indignation when, one blowy July afternoon,\nas they were going up for a potato-roast, they saw somebody moving\namong the trees. They hurled themselves over the gate, dropping half the\npotatoes, and while they were picking them up Puck came out of a wigwam.\n\n\u2018Oh, it\u2019s you, is it?\u2019 said Una. \u2018We thought it was people.\u2019 \u2018I saw you\nwere angry--from your legs,\u2019 he answered with a grin.\n\n\u2018Well, it\u2019s our own Kingdom--not counting you, of course.\u2019\n\n\u2018That\u2019s rather why I came. A lady here wants to see you.\u2019\n\n\u2018What about?\u2019 said Dan cautiously. \u2018Oh, just Kingdoms and things. She\nknows about Kingdoms.\u2019\n\nThere was a lady near the fence dressed in a long dark cloak that hid\neverything except her high red-heeled shoes. Her face was half covered\nby a black silk fringed mask, without goggles. And yet she did not look\nin the least as if she motored.\n\nPuck led them up to her and bowed solemnly. Una made the best\ndancing-lesson curtsy she could remember. The lady answered with a long,\ndeep, slow, billowy one.\n\n\u2018Since it seems that you are a Queen of this Kingdom,\u2019 she said, \u2018I can\ndo no less than acknowledge your sovereignty.\u2019 She turned sharply on\nstaring Dan. \u2018What\u2019s in your head, lad? Manners?\u2019\n\n\u2018I was thinking how wonderfully you did that curtsy,\u2019 he answered.\n\nShe laughed a rather shrill laugh. \u2018You\u2019re a courtier already. Do you\nknow anything of dances, wench--or Queen, must I say?\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019ve had some lessons, but I can\u2019t really dance a bit,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018You should learn, then.\u2019 The lady moved forward as though she would\nteach her at once. \u2018It gives a woman alone among men or her enemies\ntime to think how she shall win or--lose. A woman can only work in man\u2019s\nplay-time. Heigho!\u2019 She sat down on the bank.\n\nOld Middenboro, the lawn-mower pony, stumped across the paddock and hung\nhis sorrowful head over the fence.\n\n\u2018A pleasant Kingdom,\u2019 said the lady, looking round. \u2018Well enclosed. And\nhow does your Majesty govern it? Who is your Minister?\u2019\n\nUna did not quite understand. \u2018We don\u2019t play that,\u2019 she said.\n\n\u2018Play?\u2019 The lady threw up her hands and laughed.\n\n\u2018We have it for our own, together,\u2019 Dan explained.\n\n\u2018And d\u2019you never quarrel, young Burleigh?\u2019\n\n\u2018Sometimes, but then we don\u2019t tell.\u2019\n\nThe lady nodded. \u2018I\u2019ve no brats of my own, but I understand keeping a\nsecret between Queens and their Ministers. Ay de mi!\n\nBut with no disrespect to present majesty, methinks your realm\u2019\nsmall, and therefore likely to be coveted by man and beast. For Is\nexample\u2019--she pointed to Middenboro--\u2018yonder old horse, with the face of\na Spanish friar--does he never break in?\u2019\n\n\u2018He can\u2019t. Old Hobden stops all our gaps for us,\u2019 said Una, \u2018and we let\nHobden catch rabbits in the Shaw.\u2019\n\nThe lady laughed like a man. \u2018I see! Hobden catches conies--rabbits--for\nhimself, and guards your defences for you. Does he make a profit out of\nhis coney-catching?\u2019\n\n\u2018We never ask,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Hobden\u2019s a particular friend of ours.\u2019\n\u2018Hoity-toity!\u2019 the lady began angrily. Then she laughed. \u2018But I forget.\nIt is your Kingdom. I knew a maid once that had a larger one than this\nto defend, and so long as her men kept the fences stopped, she asked \u2018em\nno questions either.\u2019\n\n\u2018Was she trying to grow flowers?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018No, trees--perdurable trees. Her flowers all withered.\u2019 The lady leaned\nher head on her hand.\n\n\u2018They do if you don\u2019t look after them. We\u2019ve got a few. Would you like\nto see? I\u2019ll fetch you some.\u2019 Una ran off to the rank grass in the shade\nbehind the wigwam, and came back with a handful of red flowers. \u2018Aren\u2019t\nthey pretty?\u2019 she said. \u2018They\u2019re Virginia stock.\u2019\n\n\u2018Virginia?\u2019 said the lady, and lifted them to the fringe of her mask.\n\n\u2018Yes. They come from Virginia. Did your maid ever plant any?\u2019\n\n\u2018Not herself--but her men adventured all over the earth to pluck or to\nplant flowers for her crown. They judged her worthy of them.\u2019\n\n\u2018And was she?\u2019 said Dan cheerfully.\n\n\u2018Quien sabe? [who knows?] But at least, while her men toiled abroad she\ntoiled in England, that they might find a safe home to come back to.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what was she called?\u2019\n\n\u2018Gloriana--Belphoebe--Elizabeth of England.\u2019 Her voice changed at each\nword.\n\n\u2018You mean Queen Bess?\u2019\n\nThe lady bowed her head a little towards Dan. \u2018You name her lightly\nenough, young Burleigh. What might you know of her?\u2019 said she.\n\n\u2018Well, I--I\u2019ve seen the little green shoes she left at Brickwall\nHouse--down the road, you know. They\u2019re in a glass case--awfully tiny\nthings.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, Burleigh, Burleigh!\u2019 she laughed. \u2018You are a courtier too soon.\u2019\n\n\u2018But they are,\u2019 Dan insisted. \u2018As little as dolls\u2019 shoes. Did you really\nknow her well?\u2019\n\n\u2018Well. She was a--woman. I\u2019ve been at her Court all my life. Yes, I\nremember when she danced after the banquet at Brickwall. They say she\ndanced Philip of Spain out of a brand-new kingdom that day. Worth the\nprice of a pair of old shoes--hey?\u2019\n\nShe thrust out one foot, and stooped forward to look at its broad\nflashing buckle.\n\n\u2018You\u2019ve heard of Philip of Spain--long-suffering Philip,\u2019 she said, her\neyes still on the shining stones. \u2018Faith, what some men will endure at\nsome women\u2019s hands passes belief! If I had been a man, and a woman had\nplayed with me as Elizabeth played with Philip, I would have--\u2019 She\nnipped off one of the Virginia stocks and held it up between finger\nand thumb. \u2018But for all that\u2019--she began to strip the leaves one by\none--\u2018they say--and I am persuaded--that Philip loved her.\u2019 She tossed\nher head sideways.\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t quite understand,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018The high heavens forbid that you should, wench!\u2019 She swept the flowers\nfrom her lap and stood up in the rush of shadows that the wind chased\nthrough the wood.\n\n\u2018I should like to know about the shoes,\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018So ye shall, Burleigh. So ye shall, if ye watch me. \u2018Twill be as good\nas a play.\u2019\n\n\u2018We\u2019ve never been to a play,\u2019 said Una.\n\nThe lady looked at her and laughed. \u2018I\u2019ll make one for you. Watch! You\nare to imagine that she--Gloriana, Belphoebe, Elizabeth--has gone on a\nprogress to Rye to comfort her sad heart (maids are often melancholic),\nand while she halts at Brickwall House, the village--what was its name?\u2019\nShe pushed Puck with her foot.\n\n\u2018Norgem,\u2019 he croaked, and squatted by the wigwam.\n\n\u2018Norgem village loyally entertains her with a masque or play, and a\nLatin oration spoken by the parson, for whose false quantities, if I\u2019d\nmade \u2018em in my girlhood, I should have been whipped.\u2019\n\n\u2018You whipped?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018Soundly, sirrah, soundly! She stomachs the affront to her scholarship,\nmakes her grateful, gracious thanks from the teeth outwards, thus\u2019--(the\nlady yawned)--\u2018Oh, a Queen may love her subjects in her heart, and yet\nbe dog-wearied of \u2018em \u2018in body and mind--and so sits down\u2019--her skirts\nfoamed about her as she sat--\u2018to a banquet beneath Brickwall Oak. Here\nfor her sins she is waited upon by--What were the young cockerels\u2019 names\nthat served Gloriana at table?\u2019\n\n\u2018Frewens, Courthopes, Fullers, Husseys,\u2019 Puck began.\n\nShe held up her long jewelled hand. \u2018Spare the rest! They were the best\nblood of Sussex, and by so much the more clumsy in handling the dishes\nand plates. Wherefore\u2019--she looked funnily over her shoulder--\u2018you\nare to think of Gloriana in a green and gold-laced habit, dreadfully\nexpecting that the jostling youths behind her would, of pure jealousy or\ndevotion, spatter it with sauces and wines. The gown was Philip\u2019s gift,\ntoo! At this happy juncture a Queen\u2019s messenger, mounted and mired,\nspurs up the Rye road and delivers her a letter\u2019--she giggled--\u2018a letter\nfrom a good, simple, frantic Spanish gentleman called--Don Philip.\u2019\n\n\u2018That wasn\u2019t Philip, King of Spain?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018Truly, it was. \u2018Twixt you and me and the bedpost, young Burleigh, these\nkings and queens are very like men and women, and I\u2019ve heard they write\neach other fond, foolish letters that none of their ministers should\nopen.\u2019\n\n\u2018Did her ministers ever open Queen Elizabeth\u2019s letters?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Faith, yes! But she\u2019d have done as much for theirs, any day. You are\nto think of Gloriana, then (they say she had a pretty hand), excusing\nherself thus to the company--for the Queen\u2019s time is never her own--and,\nwhile the music strikes up, reading Philip\u2019s letter, as I do.\u2019 She drew\na real letter from her pocket, and held it out almost at arm\u2019s length,\nlike the old post-mistress in the village when she reads telegrams.\n\n\u2018Hm! Hm! Hm! Philip writes as ever most lovingly. He says his Gloriana\nis cold, for which reason he burns for her through a fair written page.\u2019\nShe turned it with a snap. \u2018What\u2019s here? Philip complains that certain\nof her gentlemen have fought against his generals in the Low Countries.\nHe prays her to hang \u2018em when they re-enter her realms. (Hm, that\u2019s as\nmay be.) Here\u2019s a list of burnt shipping slipped between two vows of\nburning adoration. Oh, poor Philip! His admirals at sea--no less than\nthree of \u2018em--have been boarded, sacked, and scuttled on their lawful\nvoyages by certain English mariners (gentlemen, he will not call them),\nwho are now at large and working more piracies in his American ocean,\nwhich the Pope gave him. (He and the Pope should guard it, then!) Philip\nhears, but his devout ears will not credit it, that Gloriana in some\nfashion countenances these villains\u2019 misdeeds, shares in their booty,\nand--oh, shame!---has even lent them ships royal for their sinful\nthefts. Therefore he requires (which is a word Gloriana loves not),\nrequires that she shall hang \u2018em when they return to England, and\nafterwards shall account to him for all the goods and gold they have\nplundered. A most loving request! If Gloriana will not be Philip\u2019s\nbride, she shall be his broker and his butcher! Should she still\nbe stiff-necked, he writes--see where the pen digged the innocent\npaper!---that he hath both the means and the intention to be revenged\non her. Aha! Now we come to the Spaniard in his shirt!\u2019 (She waved\nthe letter merrily.) \u2018Listen here! Philip will prepare for Gloriana a\ndestruction from the West--a destruction from the West--far exceeding\nthat which Pedro de Avila wrought upon the Huguenots. And he rests and\nremains, kissing her feet and her hands, her slave, her enemy, or her\nconqueror, as he shall find that she uses him.\u2019\n\nShe thrust back the letter under her cloak, and went on acting, but in\na softer voice. \u2018All this while--hark to it--the wind blows through\nBrickwall Oak, the music plays, and, with the company\u2019s eyes upon her,\nthe Queen of England must think what this means. She cannot remember the\nname of Pedro de Avila, nor what he did to the Huguenots, nor when, nor\nwhere. She can only see darkly some dark motion moving in Philip\u2019s dark\nmind, for he hath never written before in this fashion. She must smile\nabove the letter as though it were good news from her ministers--the\nsmile that tires the mouth and the poor heart. What shall she do?\u2019 Again\nher voice changed.\n\n\u2018You are to fancy that the music of a sudden wavers away. Chris Hatton,\nCaptain of her bodyguard, quits the table all red and ruffled, and\nGloriana\u2019s virgin ear catches the clash of swords at work behind a wall.\nThe mothers of Sussex look round to count their chicks--I mean those\nyoung gamecocks that waited on her. Two dainty youths have stepped\naside into Brickwall garden with rapier and dagger on a private point of\nhonour. They are haled out through the gate, disarmed and glaring--the\nlively image of a brace of young Cupids transformed into pale, panting\nCains. Ahem! Gloriana beckons awfully--thus! They come up for judgement.\nTheir lives and estates lie at her mercy whom they have doubly offended,\nboth as Queen and woman. But la! what will not foolish young men do for\na beautiful maid?\u2019\n\n\u2018Why? What did she do? What had they done?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Hsh! You mar the play! Gloriana had guessed the cause of the trouble.\nThey were handsome lads. So she frowns a while and tells \u2018em not to be\nbigger fools than their mothers had made \u2018em, and warns \u2018em, if they do\nnot kiss and be friends on the instant, she\u2019ll have Chris Hatton horse\nand birch \u2018em in the style of the new school at Harrow. (Chris looks\nsour at that.) Lastly, because she needed time to think on Philip\u2019s\nletter burning in her pocket, she signifies her pleasure to dance with\n\u2018em and teach \u2018em better manners. Whereat the revived company call down\nHeaven\u2019s blessing on her gracious head; Chris and the others prepare\nBrickwall House for a dance; and she walks in the clipped garden between\nthose two lovely young sinners who are both ready to sink for shame.\nThey confess their fault. It appears that midway in the banquet the\nelder--they were cousins--conceived that the Queen looked upon him with\nspecial favour. The younger, taking the look to himself, after some\nwords gives the elder the lie. Hence, as she guessed, the duel.\u2019\n\n\u2018And which had she really looked at?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018Neither--except to wish them farther off. She was afraid all the while\nthey\u2019d spill dishes on her gown. She tells \u2018em this, poor chicks--and it\ncompletes their abasement. When they had grilled long enough, she says:\n\u201cAnd so you would have fleshed your maiden swords for me--for me?\u201d\n Faith, they would have been at it again if she\u2019d egged \u2018em on! but their\nswords--oh, prettily they said it!---had been drawn for her once or\ntwice already.\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd where?\u201d says she. \u201cOn your hobby-horses before you were breeched?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOn my own ship,\u201d says the elder. \u201cMy cousin was vice-admiral of our\nventure in his pinnace. We would not have you think of us as brawling\nchildren.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNo, no,\u201d says the younger, and flames like a very Tudor rose. \u201cAt\nleast the Spaniards know us better.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAdmiral Boy--Vice-Admiral Babe,\u201d says Gloriana, \u201cI cry your pardon.\nThe heat of these present times ripens childhood to age more quickly\nthan I can follow. But we are at peace with Spain. Where did you break\nyour Queen\u2019s peace?\u201d \u2018\u201cOn the sea called the Spanish Main, though \u2018tis\nno more Spanish than my doublet,\u201d says the elder. Guess how that warmed\nGloriana\u2019s already melting heart! She would never suffer any sea to be\ncalled Spanish in her private hearing.\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd why was I not told? What booty got you, and where have you hid\nit? Disclose,\u201d says she. \u201cYou stand in some danger of the gallows for\npirates.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThe axe, most gracious lady,\u201d says the elder, \u201cfor we are gentle\nborn.\u201d He spoke truth, but no woman can brook contradiction.\n\u201cHoity-toity!\u201d says she, and, but that she remembered that she was\nQueen, she\u2019d have cuffed the pair of \u2018em. \u201cIt shall be gallows, hurdle,\nand dung-cart if I choose.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHad our Queen known of our going beforehand, Philip might have held\nher to blame for some small things we did on the seas,\u201d the younger\nlisps.\n\n\u2018\u201cAs for treasure,\u201d says the elder, \u201cwe brought back but our bare lives.\nWe were wrecked on the Gascons\u2019 Graveyard, where our sole company for\nthree months was the bleached bones of De Avila\u2019s men.\u201d\n\n\u2018Gloriana\u2019s mind jumped back to Philip\u2019s last letter.\n\n\u2018\u201cDe Avila that destroyed the Huguenots? What d\u2019you know of him?\u201d she\nsays. The music called from the house here, and they three turned back\nbetween the yews.\n\n\u2018\u201cSimply that De Avila broke in upon a plantation of Frenchmen on that\ncoast, and very Spaniardly hung them all for heretics--eight hundred\nor so. The next year Dominique de Gorgues, a Gascon, broke in upon De\nAvila\u2019s men, and very justly hung \u2018em all for murderers--five hundred or\nso. No Christians inhabit there now, says the elder lad, though \u2018tis a\ngoodly land north of Florida.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHow far is it from England?\u201d asks prudent Gloriana.\n\n\u2018\u201cWith a fair wind, six weeks. They say that Philip will plant it again\nsoon.\u201d This was the younger, and he looked at her out of the corner of\nhis innocent eye.\n\n\u2018Chris Hatton, fuming, meets and leads her into Brickwall Hall, where\nshe dances--thus. A woman can think while she dances--can think. I\u2019ll\nshow you. Watch!\u2019\n\nShe took off her cloak slowly, and stood forth in dove-coloured satin,\nworked over with pearls that trembled like running water in the running\nshadows of the trees. Still talking--more to herself than to the\nchildren--she swam into a majestical dance of the stateliest balancings,\nthe naughtiest wheelings and turnings aside, the most dignified\nsinkings, the gravest risings, all joined together by the elaboratest\ninterlacing steps and circles. They leaned forward breathlessly to watch\nthe splendid acting.\n\n\u2018Would a Spaniard,\u2019 she began, looking on the ground, \u2018speak of his\nrevenge till his revenge were ripe? No. Yet a man who loved a woman\nmight threaten her \u2018in the hope that his threats would make her love\nhim. Such things have been.\u2019 She moved slowly across a bar of sunlight.\n\u2018A destruction from the West may signify that Philip means to descend on\nIreland. But then my Irish spies would have had some warning. The Irish\nkeep no secrets. No--it is not Ireland. Now why--why--why\u2019--the red\nshoes clicked and paused--\u2018does Philip name Pedro Melendez de Avila,\na general in his Americas, unless\u2019--she turned more quickly--unless he\nintends to work his destruction from the Americas? Did he say De Avila\nonly to put her off her guard, or for this once has his black\npen betrayed his black heart? We\u2019--she raised herself to her full\nheight--\u2018England must forestall Master Philip. But not openly,\u2019--she\nsank again--\u2018we cannot fight Spain openly--not yet--not yet.\u2019 She\nstepped three paces as though she were pegging down some snare with her\ntwinkling shoe-buckles. \u2018The Queen\u2019s mad gentlemen may fight Philip\u2019s\npoor admirals where they find \u2018em, but England, Gloriana, Harry\u2019s\ndaughter, must keep the peace. Perhaps, after all, Philip loves her--as\nmany men and boys do. That may help England. Oh, what shall help\nEngland?\u2019\n\nShe raised her head--the masked head that seemed to have nothing to do\nwith the busy feet--and stared straight at the children.\n\n\u2018I think this is rather creepy,\u2019 said Una with a shiver. \u2018I wish she\u2019d\nstop.\u2019\n\nThe lady held out her jewelled hand as though she were taking some one\nelse\u2019s hand in the Grand Chain.\n\n\u2018Can a ship go down into the Gascons\u2019 Graveyard and wait there?\u2019 she\nasked into the air, and passed on rustling.\n\n\u2018She\u2019s pretending to ask one of the cousins, isn\u2019t she?\u2019 said Dan, and\nPuck nodded.\n\nBack she came in the silent, swaying, ghostly dance. They saw she was\nsmiling beneath the mask, and they could hear her breathing hard.\n\n\u2018I cannot lend you any of my ships for the venture; Philip would hear\nof it,\u2019 she whispered over her shoulder; \u2018but as much guns and powder as\nyou ask, if you do not ask too--\u2018Her voice shot up and she stamped her\nfoot thrice. \u2018Louder! Louder, the music in the gallery! Oh, me, but I\nhave burst out of my shoe!\u2019\n\nShe gathered her skirts in each hand, and began a curtsy. \u2018You will go\nat your own charges,\u2019 she whispered straight before her. \u2018Oh, enviable\nand adorable age of youth!\u2019 Her eyes shone through the mask-holes. \u2018But\nI warn you you\u2019ll repent it. Put not your trust in princes--or Queens.\nPhilip\u2019s ships\u2019ll blow you out of water. You\u2019ll not be frightened? Well,\nwe\u2019ll talk on it again, when I return from Rye, dear lads.\u2019\n\nThe wonderful curtsy ended. She stood up. Nothing stirred on her except\nthe rush of the shadows.\n\n\u2018And so it was finished,\u2019 she said to the children. \u2018Why d\u2019you not\napplaud?\u2019\n\n\u2018What was finished?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018The dance,\u2019 the lady replied offendedly. \u2018And a pair of green shoes.\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t understand a bit,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Eh? What did you make of it, young Burleigh?\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019m not quite sure,\u2019 Dan began, \u2018but--\u2019\n\n\u2018You never can be--with a woman. But--?\u2019\n\n\u2018But I thought Gloriana meant the cousins to go back to the Gascons\u2019\nGraveyard, wherever that was.\u2019\n\n\u2018\u2019Twas Virginia after-wards. Her plantation of Virginia.\u2019\n\n\u2018Virginia afterwards, and stop Philip from taking it. Didn\u2019t she say\nshe\u2019d lend \u2018em guns?\u2019\n\n\u2018Right so. But not ships--then.\u2019\n\n\u2018And I thought you meant they must have told her they\u2019d do it off their\nown bat, without getting her into a row with Philip. Was I right?\u2019\n\n\u2018Near enough for a Minister of the Queen. But remember she gave the\nlads full time to change their minds. She was three long days at Rye\nRoyal--knighting of fat Mayors. When she came back to Brickwall, they\nmet her a mile down the road, and she could feel their eyes burn through\nher riding-mask. Chris Hatton, poor fool, was vexed at it.\n\n\u2018\u201cYOU would not birch them when I gave you the chance,\u201d says she to\nChris. \u201cNow you must get me half an hour\u2019s private speech with \u2018em in\nBrickwall garden. Eve tempted Adam in a garden. Quick, man, or I may\nrepent!\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018She was a Queen. Why did she not send for them herself?\u2019 said Una.\n\nThe lady shook her head. \u2018That was never her way. I\u2019ve seen her walk\nto her own mirror by bye-ends, and the woman that cannot walk straight\nthere is past praying for. Yet I would have you pray for her! What\nelse--what else in England\u2019s name could she have done?\u2019 She lifted her\nhand to her throat for a moment. \u2018Faith,\u2019 she cried, \u2018I\u2019d forgotten\nthe little green shoes! She left \u2018em at Brickwall--so she did. And I\nremember she gave the Norgem parson--John Withers, was he?---a text\nfor his sermon--\u201cOver Edom have I cast out my shoe.\u201d Neat, if he\u2019d\nunderstood!\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t understand,\u2019 said Una. \u2018What about the two cousins?\u2019\n\n\u2018You are as cruel as a woman,\u2019 the lady answered. \u2018I was not to blame.\nI told you I gave \u2018em time to change their minds. On my honour (ay de\nmi!), she asked no more of \u2018em at first than to wait a while off that\ncoast--the Gascons\u2019 Graveyard--to hover a little if their ships chanced\nto pass that way--they had only one tall ship and a pinnace--only\nto watch and bring me word of Philip\u2019s doings. One must watch Philip\nalways. What a murrain right had he to make any plantation there, a\nhundred leagues north of his Spanish Main, and only six weeks from\nEngland? By my dread father\u2019s soul, I tell you he had none--none!\u2019\nShe stamped her red foot again, and the two children shrunk back for a\nsecond.\n\n\u2018Nay, nay. You must not turn from me too! She laid it all fairly before\nthe lads in Brickwall garden between the yews. I told \u2018em that if Philip\nsent a fleet (and to make a plantation he could not well send less),\ntheir poor little cock-boats could not sink it. They answered that, with\nsubmission, the fight would be their own concern. She showed \u2018em again\nthat there could be only one end to it--quick death on the sea, or slow\ndeath in Philip\u2019s prisons. They asked no more than to embrace death\nfor my sake. Many men have prayed to me for life. I\u2019ve refused \u2018em, and\nslept none the worse after; but when my men, my tall, fantastical\nyoung men, beseech me on their knees for leave to die for me, it shakes\nme--ah, it shakes me to the marrow of my old bones.\u2019 Her chest sounded\nlike a board as she hit it. \u2018She showed \u2018em all. I told \u2018em that this\nwas no time for open war with Spain. If by miracle inconceivable they\nprevailed against Philip\u2019s fleet, Philip would hold me accountable. For\nEngland\u2019s sake, to save war, I should e\u2019en be forced (I told \u2018em so) to\ngive him up their young lives. If they failed, and again by some miracle\nescaped Philip\u2019s hand, and crept back to England with their bare lives,\nthey must lie--oh, I told \u2018em all--under my sovereign displeasure. She\ncould not know them, see them, nor hear their names, nor stretch out a\nfinger to save them from the gallows, if Philip chose to ask it.\n\n\u2018\u201cBe it the gallows, then,\u201d says the elder. (I could have wept, but that\nmy face was made for the day.)\n\n\u2018\u201cEither way--any way--this venture is death, which I know you fear not.\nBut it is death with assured dishonour,\u201d I cried.\n\n\u2018\u201cYet our Queen will know in her heart what we have done,\u201d says the\nyounger. \u2018\u201cSweetheart,\u201d I said. \u201cA queen has no heart.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut she is a woman, and a woman would not forget,\u201d says the elder. \u201cWe\nwill go!\u201d They knelt at my feet.\n\n\u2018\u201cNay, dear lads--but here!\u201d I said, and I opened my arms to them and I\nkissed them.\n\n\u2018\u201cBe ruled by me,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019ll hire some ill-featured old\ntarry-breeks of an admiral to watch the Graveyard, and you shall come to\nCourt.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHire whom you please,\u201d says the elder; \u201cwe are ruled by you, body and\nsoul\u201d; and the younger, who shook most when I kissed \u2018em, says between\nhis white lips, \u201cI think you have power to make a god of a man.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCome to Court and be sure of\u2019t,\u201d I said.\n\n\u2018They shook their heads and I knew--I knew, that go they would. If I had\nnot kissed them--perhaps I might have prevailed.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then why did you do it?\u2019 said Una. \u2018I don\u2019t think you knew really what\nyou wanted done.\u2019\n\n\u2018May it please your Majesty\u2019--the lady bowed her head low--\u2018this\nGloriana whom I have represented for your pleasure was a woman and a\nQueen. Remember her when you come to your Kingdom.\u2019\n\n\u2018But--did the cousins go to the Gascons\u2019 Graveyard?\u2019 said Dan, as Una\nfrowned.\n\n\u2018They went,\u2019 said the lady.\n\n\u2018Did they ever come back?\u2019 Una began; but--\u2018Did they stop King Philip\u2019s\nfleet?\u2019 Dan interrupted.\n\nThe lady turned to him eagerly.\n\n\u2018D\u2019you think they did right to go?\u2019 she asked.\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t see what else they could have done,\u2019 Dan replied, after\nthinking it over.\n\n\u2018D\u2019you think she did right to send \u2018em?\u2019 The lady\u2019s voice rose a little.\n\n\u2018Well,\u2019 said Dan, \u2018I don\u2019t see what else she could have done, either--do\nyou? How did they stop King Philip from getting Virginia?\u2019\n\n\u2018There\u2019s the sad part of it. They sailed out that autumn from Rye Royal,\nand there never came back so much as a single rope-yarn to show what\nhad befallen them. The winds blew, and they were not. Does that make\nyou alter your mind, young Burleigh?\u2019 \u2018I expect they were drowned, then.\nAnyhow, Philip didn\u2019t score, did he?\u2019\n\n\u2018Gloriana wiped out her score with Philip later. But if Philip had won,\nwould you have blamed Gloriana for wasting those lads\u2019 lives?\u2019\n\n\u2018Of course not. She was bound to try to stop him.\u2019\n\nThe lady coughed. \u2018You have the root of the matter in you. Were I Queen,\nI\u2019d make you Minister.\u2019\n\n\u2018We don\u2019t play that game,\u2019 said Una, who felt that she disliked the lady\nas much as she disliked the noise the high wind made tearing through\nWillow Shaw.\n\n\u2018Play!\u2019 said the lady with a laugh, and threw up her hands affectedly.\nThe sunshine caught the jewels on her many rings and made them flash\ntill Una\u2019s eyes dazzled, and she had to rub them. Then she saw Dan on\nhis knees picking up the potatoes they had spilled at the gate.\n\n\u2018There wasn\u2019t anybody in the Shaw, after all,\u2019 he said. \u2018Didn\u2019t you\nthink you saw someone?\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019m most awfully glad there isn\u2019t,\u2019 said Una. Then they went on with\nthe potato-roast.\n\n\n\n\nThe Looking-Glass\n\nQueen Bess Was Harry\u2019s daughter!\n\n     The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old,\n     Her petticoat was satin and her stomacher was gold.\n     Backwards and forwards and sideways did she pass,\n     Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-glass.\n     The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass\n     As comely or as kindly or as young as once she was!\n\n     The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair,\n     There came Queen Mary\u2019s spirit and it stood behind her chair,\n     Singing, \u2018Backwards and forwards and sideways you may pass,\n     But I will stand behind you till you face the looking-glass.\n     The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass\n     As lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was!\u2019\n\n     The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore,\n     There came Lord Leicester\u2019s spirit and it scratched upon the door,\n     Singing, \u2018Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,\n     But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-glass.\n     The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass\n     As hard and unforgiving or as wicked as you was!\u2019\n\n     The Queen was in her chamber; her sins were on her head;\n     She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said:\n     \u2018Backwards and forwards and sideways though I\u2019ve been,\n     Yet I am Harry\u2019s daughter and I am England\u2019s Queen!\u2019\n     And she faced the looking-glass (and whatever else there was),\n     And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty pass\n     In the cruel looking-glass that can always hurt a lass\n     More hard than any ghost there is or any man there was!\n\n\n\n\nTHE WRONG THING\n\n\n\n\nA Truthful Song\n\n\n       THE BRICKLAYER:\n\n     I tell this tale, which is strictly true,\n     just by way of convincing you\n     How very little since things were made\n     Things have altered in the building trade.\n\n     A year ago, come the middle o\u2019 March,\n     We was building flats near the Marble Arch,\n     When a thin young man with coal-black hair\n     Came up to watch us working there.\n\n     Now there wasn\u2019t a trick in brick or stone\n     That this young man hadn\u2019t seen or known;\n     Nor there wasn\u2019t a tool from trowel to maul\n     But this young man could use \u2018em all!\n     Then up and spoke the plumbyers bold,\n     Which was laying the pipes for the hot and cold:\n     \u2018Since you with us have made so free,\n     Will you kindly say what your name might be?\u2019\n\n     The young man kindly answered them:\n     \u2018It might be Lot or Methusalem,\n     Or it might be Moses (a man I hate),\n     Whereas it is Pharaoh surnamed the Great.\n\n     \u2018Your glazing is new and your plumbing\u2019s strange,\n     But other-wise I perceive no change,\n     And in less than a month, if you do as I bid,\n     I\u2019d learn you to build me a Pyramid.\u2019\n\n       THE SAILOR:\n\n     I tell this tale, which is stricter true,\n     just by way of convincing you\n     How very little since things was made\n     Things have altered in the shipwright\u2019s trade.\n\n     In Blackwall Basin yesterday\n     A China barque re-fitting lay,\n     When a fat old man with snow-white hair\n     Came up to watch us working there.\n\n     Now there wasn\u2019t a knot which the riggers knew\n     But the old man made it--and better too;\n     Nor there wasn\u2019t a sheet, or a lift, or a brace,\n     But the old man knew its lead and place.\n\n     Then up and spake the caulkyers bold,\n     Which was packing the pump in the after-hold:\n     \u2018Since you with us have made so free,\n     Will you kindly tell what your name might be?\u2019\n\n     The old man kindly answered them:\n     \u2018it might be Japhet, it might be Shem,\n     Or it might be Ham (though his skin was dark),\n     Whereas it is Noah, commanding the Ark.\n\n     \u2018Your wheel is new and your pumps are strange,\n     But otherwise I perceive no change,\n     And in less than a week, if she did not ground,\n     I\u2019d sail this hooker the wide world round!\u2019\n\n       BOTH: We tell these tales, which are strictest true, etc.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wrong Thing\n\n\nDan had gone in for building model boats; but after he had filled the\nschoolroom with chips, which he expected Una to clear away, they turned\nhim out of doors and he took all his tools up the hill to Mr Springett\u2019s\nyard, where he knew he could make as much mess as he chose. Old Mr\nSpringett was a builder, contractor, and sanitary engineer, and\nhis yard, which opened off the village street, was always full of\ninteresting things. At one end of it was a long loft, reached by a\nladder, where he kept his iron-bound scaffold-planks, tins of paints,\npulleys, and odds and ends he had found in old houses. He would sit here\nby the hour watching his carts as they loaded or unloaded in the yard\nbelow, while Dan gouged and grunted at the carpenter\u2019s bench near the\nloft window. Mr Springett and Dan had always been particular friends,\nfor Mr Springett was so old he could remember when railways were being\nmade in the southern counties of England, and people were allowed to\ndrive dogs in carts.\n\nOne hot, still afternoon--the tar-paper on the roof smelt like\nships--Dan, in his shirt-sleeves, was smoothing down a new schooner\u2019s\nbow, and Mr Springett was talking of barns and houses he had built. He\nsaid he never forgot any stick or stone he had ever handled, or any\nman, woman, or child he had ever met. Just then he was very proud of the\nVillage Hall at the entrance of the village, which he had finished a few\nweeks before.\n\n\u2018An\u2019 I don\u2019t mind tellin\u2019 you, Mus\u2019 Dan,\u2019 he said, \u2018that the Hall will\nbe my last job top of this mortal earth. I didn\u2019t make ten pounds--no,\nnor yet five--out o\u2019 the whole contrac\u2019, but my name\u2019s lettered on the\nfoundation stone--Ralph Springett, Builder--and the stone she\u2019s bedded\non four foot good concrete. If she shifts any time these five hundred\nyears, I\u2019ll sure-ly turn in my grave. I told the Lunnon architec\u2019 so\nwhen he come down to oversee my work.\u2019\n\n\u2018What did he say?\u2019 Dan was sandpapering the schooner\u2019s port bow.\n\n\u2018Nothing. The Hall ain\u2019t more than one of his small jobs for him, but\n\u2018tain\u2019t small to me, an\u2019 my name is cut and lettered, frontin\u2019 the\nvillage street, I do hope an\u2019 pray, for time everlastin\u2019. You\u2019ll want\nthe little round file for that holler in her bow. Who\u2019s there?\u2019 Mr\nSpringett turned stiffly in his chair.\n\nA long pile of scaffold-planks ran down the centre of the loft. Dan\nlooked, and saw Hal o\u2019 the Draft\u2019s touzled head beyond them. [See \u2018Hal\no\u2019 the Draft\u2019 in PUCK OF POOK\u2019S HILL.]\n\n\u2018Be you the builder of the Village Hall?\u2019 he asked of Mr Springett.\n\n\u2018I be,\u2019 was the answer. \u2018But if you want a job--\u2019\n\nHal laughed. \u2018No, faith!\u2019 he said. \u2018Only the Hall is as good and honest\na piece of work as I\u2019ve ever run a rule over. So, being born hereabouts,\nand being reckoned a master among masons, and accepted as a master\nmason, I made bold to pay my brotherly respects to the builder.\u2019\n\n\u2018Aa--um!\u2019 Mr Springett looked important. \u2018I be a bit rusty, but I\u2019ll try\nye!\u2019\n\nHe asked Hal several curious questions, and the answers must have\npleased him, for he invited Hal to sit down. Hal moved up, always\nkeeping behind the pile of planks so that only his head showed, and sat\ndown on a trestle in the dark corner at the back of Mr Springett\u2019s\ndesk. He took no notice of Dan, but talked at once to Mr Springett about\nbricks, and cement, and lead and glass, and after a while Dan went on\nwith his work. He knew Mr Springett was pleased, because he tugged\nhis white sandy beard, and smoked his pipe in short puffs. The two\nmen seemed to agree about everything, but when grown-ups agree they\ninterrupt each other almost as much as if they were quarrelling. Hal\nsaid something about workmen.\n\n\u2018Why, that\u2019s what I always say,\u2019 Mr Springett cried. \u2018A man who can only\ndo one thing, he\u2019s but next-above-fool to the man that can\u2019t do nothin\u2019.\nThat\u2019s where the Unions make their mistake.\u2019\n\n\u2018My thought to the very dot.\u2019 Dan heard Hal slap his tight-hosed leg.\n\u2018I\u2019ve suffered \u2018in my time from these same Guilds--Unions, d\u2019you call\n\u2018em? All their precious talk of the mysteries of their trades--why, what\ndoes it come to?\u2019\n\n\u2018Nothin\u2019! You\u2019ve justabout hit it,\u2019 said Mr Springett, and rammed his\nhot tobacco with his thumb.\n\n\u2018Take the art of wood-carving,\u2019 Hal went on. He reached across the\nplanks, grabbed a wooden mallet, and moved his other hand as though he\nwanted something. Mr Springett without a word passed him one of Dan\u2019s\nbroad chisels. \u2018Ah! Wood-carving, for example. If you can cut wood and\nhave a fair draft of what ye mean to do, a\u2019 Heaven\u2019s name take chisel\nand maul and let drive at it, say I! You\u2019ll soon find all the mystery,\nforsooth, of wood-carving under your proper hand!\u2019 Whack, came the\nmallet on the chisel, and a sliver of wood curled up in front of it. Mr\nSpringett watched like an old raven.\n\n\u2018All art is one, man--one!\u2019 said Hal between whacks; \u2018and to wait on\nanother man to finish out--\u2019\n\n\u2018To finish out your work ain\u2019t no sense,\u2019 Mr Springett cut in. \u2018That\u2019s\nwhat I\u2019m always sayin\u2019 to the boy here.\u2019 He nodded towards Dan. \u2018That\u2019s\nwhat I said when I put the new wheel into Brewster\u2019s Mill in Eighteen\nhundred Seventy-two. I reckoned I was millwright enough for the job\n\u2018thout bringin\u2019 a man from Lunnon. An\u2019 besides, dividin\u2019 work eats up\nprofits, no bounds.\u2019\n\nHal laughed his beautiful deep laugh, and Mr Springett joined in till\nDan laughed too.\n\n\u2018You handle your tools, I can see,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018I reckon, if\nyou\u2019re any way like me, you\u2019ve found yourself hindered by those--Guilds,\ndid you call \u2018em?---Unions, we say.\u2019\n\n\u2018You may say so!\u2019 Hal pointed to a white scar on his cheekbone. \u2018This\nis a remembrance from the Master watching-Foreman of Masons on Magdalen\nTower, because, please you, I dared to carve stone without their leave.\nThey said a stone had slipped from the cornice by accident.\u2019\n\n\u2018I know them accidents. There\u2019s no way to disprove \u2018em. An\u2019 stones ain\u2019t\nthe only things that slip,\u2019 Mr Springett grunted. Hal went on:\n\n\u2018I\u2019ve seen a scaffold-plank keckle and shoot a too-clever workman thirty\nfoot on to the cold chancel floor below. And a rope can break--\u2019 \u2018Yes,\nnatural as nature; an\u2019 lime\u2019ll fly up in a man\u2019s eyes without any breath\no\u2019 wind sometimes,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018But who\u2019s to show \u2018twasn\u2019t a\naccident?\u2019\n\n\u2018Who do these things?\u2019 Dan asked, and straightened his back at the bench\nas he turned the schooner end-for-end in the vice to get at her counter.\n\n\u2018Them which don\u2019t wish other men to work no better nor quicker than they\ndo,\u2019 growled Mr Springett. \u2018Don\u2019t pinch her so hard in the vice, Mus\u2019\nDan. Put a piece o\u2019 rag in the jaws, or you\u2019ll bruise her. More than\nthat\u2019--he turned towards Hal--\u2018if a man has his private spite laid up\nagainst you, the Unions give him his excuse for workin\u2019 it off.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well I know it,\u2019 said Hal.\n\n\u2018They never let you go, them spiteful ones. I knowed a plasterer in\nEighteen hundred Sixty-one--down to the wells. He was a Frenchy--a bad\nenemy he was.\u2019 \u2018I had mine too. He was an Italian, called Benedetto.\nI met him first at Oxford on Magdalen Tower when I was learning my\ntrade-or trades, I should say. A bad enemy he was, as you say, but he\ncame to be my singular good friend,\u2019 said Hal as he put down the mallet\nand settled himself comfortably.\n\n\u2018What might his trade have been--plastering\u2019 Mr Springett asked.\n\n\u2018Plastering of a sort. He worked in stucco--fresco we call it. Made\npictures on plaster. Not but what he had a fine sweep of the hand in\ndrawing. He\u2019d take the long sides of a cloister, trowel on his stuff,\nand roll out his great all-abroad pictures of saints and croppy-topped\ntrees quick as a webster unrolling cloth almost. Oh, Benedetto could\ndraw, but \u2018a was a little-minded man, professing to be full of secrets\nof colour or plaster--common tricks, all of \u2018em--and his one single talk\nwas how Tom, Dick or Harry had stole this or t\u2019other secret art from\nhim.\u2019\n\n\u2018I know that sort,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018There\u2019s no keeping peace or\nmaking peace with such. An\u2019 they\u2019re mostly born an\u2019 bone idle.\u2019\n\n\u2018True. Even his fellow-countrymen laughed at his jealousy. We two came\nto loggerheads early on Magdalen Tower. I was a youngster then. Maybe I\nspoke my mind about his work.\u2019\n\n\u2018You shouldn\u2019t never do that.\u2019 Mr Springett shook his head. \u2018That sort\nlay it up against you.\u2019\n\n\u2018True enough. This Benedetto did most specially. Body o\u2019 me, the\nman lived to hate me! But I always kept my eyes open on a plank or a\nscaffold. I was mighty glad to be shut of him when he quarrelled with\nhis Guild foreman, and went off, nose in air, and paints under his arm.\nBut\u2019--Hal leaned forward--\u2018if you hate a man or a man hates you--\u2019\n\n\u2018I know. You\u2019re everlastin\u2019 running acrost him,\u2019 Mr Springett\ninterrupted. \u2018Excuse me, sir.\u2019 He leaned out of the window, and shouted\nto a carter who was loading a cart with bricks.\n\n\u2018Ain\u2019t you no more sense than to heap \u2018em up that way?\u2019 he said. \u2018Take\nan\u2019 throw a hundred of \u2018em off. It\u2019s more than the team can compass.\nThrow \u2018em off, I tell you, and make another trip for what\u2019s left over.\nExcuse me, sir. You was sayin\u2019-\u2019\n\n\u2018I was saying that before the end of the year I went to Bury to\nstrengthen the lead-work in the great Abbey east window there.\u2019\n\n\u2018Now that\u2019s just one of the things I\u2019ve never done. But I mind there was\na cheap excursion to Chichester in Eighteen hundred Seventy-nine, an\u2019\nI went an\u2019 watched \u2018em leadin\u2019 a won\u2019erful fine window in Chichester\nCathedral. I stayed watchin\u2019 till \u2018twas time for us to go back. Dunno as\nI had two drinks p\u2019raps, all that day.\u2019\n\nHal smiled. \u2018At Bury, then, sure enough, I met my enemy Benedetto. He\nhad painted a picture in plaster on the south wall of the Refectory--a\nnoble place for a noble thing--a picture of Jonah.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah! Jonah an\u2019 his whale. I\u2019ve never been as far as Bury. You\u2019ve worked\nabout a lot,\u2019 said Mr Springett, with his eyes on the carter below.\n\n\u2018No. Not the whale. This was a picture of Jonah and the pompion that\nwithered. But all that Benedetto had shown was a peevish grey-beard\nhuggled up in angle-edged drapery beneath a pompion on a wooden trellis.\nThis last, being a dead thing, he\u2019d drawn it as \u2018twere to the life. But\nfierce old Jonah, bared in the sun, angry even to death that his cold\nprophecy was disproven--Jonah, ashamed, and already hearing the children\nof Nineveh running to mock him--ah, that was what Benedetto had not\ndrawn!\u2019\n\n\u2018He better ha\u2019 stuck to his whale, then,\u2019 said Mr Springett.\n\n\u2018He\u2019d ha\u2019 done no better with that. He draws the damp cloth off the\npicture, an\u2019 shows it to me. I was a craftsman too, d\u2019ye see?\u2019\n\n\u2018\u201cTis good,\u201d I said, \u201cbut it goes no deeper than the plaster.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat?\u201d he said in a whisper.\n\n\u2018\u201cBe thy own judge, Benedetto,\u201d I answered. \u201cDoes it go deeper than the\nplaster?\u201d\n\n\u2018He reeled against a piece of dry wall. \u201cNo,\u201d he says, \u201cand I know it.\nI could not hate thee more than I have done these five years, but if I\nlive, I will try, Hal. I will try.\u201d Then he goes away. I pitied him, but\nI had spoken truth. His picture went no deeper than the plaster.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah!\u2019 said Mr Springett, who had turned quite red. \u2018You was talkin\u2019 so\nfast I didn\u2019t understand what you was drivin\u2019 at. I\u2019ve seen men--good\nworkmen they was--try to do more than they could do, and--and they\ncouldn\u2019t compass it. They knowed it, and it nigh broke their hearts\nlike. You was in your right, o\u2019 course, sir, to say what you thought o\u2019\nhis work; but if you\u2019ll excuse me, was you in your duty?\u2019\n\n\u2018I was wrong to say it,\u2019 Hal replied. \u2018God forgive me--I was young!\nHe was workman enough himself to know where he failed. But it all\ncame evens in the long run. By the same token, did ye ever hear o\u2019 one\nTorrigiano--Torrisany we called him?\u2019\n\n\u2018I can\u2019t say I ever did. Was he a Frenchy like?\u2019\n\n\u2018No, a hectoring, hard-mouthed, long-sworded Italian builder, as vain as\na peacock and as strong as a bull, but, mark you, a master workman. More\nthan that--he could get his best work out of the worst men.\u2019\n\n\u2018Which it\u2019s a gift. I had a foreman-bricklayer like him once,\u2019 said Mr\nSpringett. \u2018He used to prod \u2018em in the back like with a pointing-trowel,\nand they did wonders.\u2019\n\nI\u2019ve seen our Torrisany lay a \u2018prentice down with one buffet and raise\nhim with another--to make a mason of him. I worked under him at building\na chapel in London--a chapel and a tomb for the King.\u2019\n\n\u2018I never knew kings went to chapel much,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018But I\nalways hold with a man--don\u2019t care who he be--seein\u2019 about his own grave\nbefore he dies. \u2018Tidn\u2019t the sort of thing to leave to your family after\nthe will\u2019s read. I reckon \u2018twas a fine vault?\u2019\n\n\u2018None finer in England. This Torrigiano had the contract for it, as\nyou\u2019d say. He picked master craftsmen from all parts--England, France,\nItaly, the Low Countries--no odds to him so long as they knew their\nwork, and he drove them like--like pigs at Brightling Fair. He called us\nEnglish all pigs. We suffered it because he was a master in his craft.\nIf he misliked any work that a man had done, with his own great hands\nhe\u2019d rive it out, and tear it down before us all. \u201cAh, you pig--you\nEnglish pig!\u201d he\u2019d scream in the dumb wretch\u2019s face. \u201cYou answer me? You\nlook at me? You think at me? Come out with me into the cloisters. I\nwill teach you carving myself. I will gild you all over!\u201d But when\nhis passion had blown out, he\u2019d slip his arm round the man\u2019s neck, and\nimpart knowledge worth gold. \u2018Twould have done your heart good, Mus\u2019\nSpringett, to see the two hundred of us masons, jewellers, carvers,\ngilders, iron-workers and the rest--all toiling like cock-angels, and\nthis mad Italian hornet fleeing one to next up and down the chapel. Done\nyour heart good, it would!\u2019\n\n\u2018I believe you,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018In Eighteen hundred Fifty-four, I\nmind, the railway was bein\u2019 made into Hastin\u2019s. There was two thousand\nnavvies on it--all young--all strong--an\u2019 I was one of \u2018em. Oh, dearie\nme! Excuse me, sir, but was your enemy workin\u2019 with you?\u2019\n\n\u2018Benedetto? Be sure he was. He followed me like a lover. He painted\npictures on the chapel ceiling--slung from a chair. Torrigiano made\nus promise not to fight till the work should be finished. We were both\nmaster craftsmen, do ye see, and he needed us. None the less, I never\nwent aloft to carve \u2018thout testing all my ropes and knots each morning.\nWe were never far from each other. Benedetto \u2018ud sharpen his knife on\nhis sole while he waited for his plaster to dry--wheet, wheet, wheet.\nI\u2019d hear it where I hung chipping round a pillar-head, and we\u2019d nod to\neach other friendly-like. Oh, he was a craftsman, was Benedetto, but his\nhate spoiled his eye and his hand. I mind the night I had finished the\nmodels for the bronze saints round the tomb; Torrigiano embraced me\nbefore all the chapel, and bade me to supper. I met Benedetto when I\ncame out. He was slavering in the porch Like a mad dog.\u2019\n\n\u2018Workin\u2019 himself up to it?\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018Did he have it in at ye\nthat night?\u2019\n\n\u2018No, no. That time he kept his oath to Torrigiano. But I pitied him. Eh,\nwell! Now I come to my own follies. I had never thought too little of\nmyself; but after Torrisany had put his arm round my neck, I--I\u2019--Hal\nbroke into a laugh--\u2018I lay there was not much odds \u2018twixt me and a\ncock-sparrow in his pride.\u2019\n\n\u2018I was pretty middlin\u2019 young once on a time,\u2019 said Mr Springett.\n\n\u2018Then ye know that a man can\u2019t drink and dice and dress fine, and keep\ncompany above his station, but his work suffers for it, Mus\u2019 Springett.\u2019\n\n\u2018I never held much with dressin\u2019 up, but--you\u2019re right! The worst\nmistakes I ever made they was made of a Monday morning,\u2019 Mr Springett\nanswered. \u2018We\u2019ve all been one sort of fool or t\u2019other. Mus\u2019 Dan, Mus\u2019\nDan, take the smallest gouge, or you\u2019ll be spluttin\u2019 her stem works\nclean out. Can\u2019t ye see the grain of the wood don\u2019t favour a chisel?\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019ll spare you some of my follies. But there was a man called\nBrygandyne--Bob Brygandyne--Clerk of the King\u2019s Ships, a little, smooth,\nbustling atomy, as clever as a woman to get work done for nothin\u2019--a\nwon\u2019erful smooth-tongued pleader. He made much o\u2019 me, and asked me to\ndraft him out a drawing, a piece of carved and gilt scroll-work for the\nbows of one of the King\u2019s Ships--the SOVEREIGN was her name.\u2019\n\n\u2018Was she a man-of-war?\u2019 asked Dan.\n\n\u2018She was a warship, and a woman called Catherine of Castile desired the\nKing to give her the ship for a pleasure-ship of her own. I did not\nknow at the time, but she\u2019d been at Bob to get this scroll-work done and\nfitted that the King might see it. I made him the picture, in an hour,\nall of a heat after supper--one great heaving play of dolphins and a\nNeptune or so reining in webby-footed sea-horses, and Arion with his\nharp high atop of them. It was twenty-three foot long, and maybe nine\nfoot deep--painted and gilt.\u2019\n\nIt must ha\u2019 justabout looked fine,\u2019 said Mr Springett.\n\n\u2018That\u2019s the curiosity of it. \u2018Twas bad--rank bad. In my conceit I must\nneeds show it to Torrigiano, in the chapel. He straddles his legs,\nhunches his knife behind him, and whistles like a storm-cock through a\nsleet-shower. Benedetto was behind him. We were never far apart, I\u2019ve\ntold you.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat is pig\u2019s work,\u201d says our Master. \u201cSwine\u2019s work. You make any more\nsuch things, even after your fine Court suppers, and you shall be sent\naway.\u201d\n\n\u2018Benedetto licks his lips like a cat. \u201cIt is so bad then, Master?\u201d he\nsays. \u201cWhat a pity!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYes,\u201d says Torrigiano. \u201cScarcely you could do things so bad. I will\ncondescend to show.\u201d\n\n\u2018He talks to me then and there. No shouting, no swearing (it was too bad\nfor that); but good, memorable counsel, bitten in slowly. Then he sets\nme to draft out a pair of iron gates, to take, as he said, the taste\nof my naughty dolphins out of my mouth. Iron\u2019s sweet stuff if you don\u2019t\ntorture her, and hammered work is all pure, truthful line, with a reason\nand a support for every curve and bar of it. A week at that settled\nmy stomach handsomely, and the Master let me put the work through the\nsmithy, where I sweated out more of my foolish pride.\u2019\n\n\u2018Good stuff is good iron,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018I done a pair of lodge\ngates once in Eighteen hundred Sixty-three.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I forgot to say that Bob Brygandyne whipped away my draft of the\nship\u2019s scroll-work, and would not give it back to me to re-draw. He said\n\u2018twould do well enough. Howsoever, my lawful work kept me too busied to\nremember him. Body o\u2019 me, but I worked that winter upon the gates and\nthe bronzes for the tomb as I\u2019d never worked before! I was leaner than\na lath, but I lived--I lived then!\u2019 Hal looked at Mr Springett with his\nwise, crinkled-up eyes, and the old man smiled back.\n\n\u2018Ouch!\u2019 Dan cried. He had been hollowing out the schooner\u2019s after-deck,\nthe little gouge had slipped and gashed the ball of his left thumb,--an\nugly, triangular tear.\n\n\u2018That came of not steadying your wrist,\u2019 said Hal calmly. \u2018Don\u2019t bleed\nover the wood. Do your work with your heart\u2019s blood, but no need to let\nit show.\u2019 He rose and peered into a corner of the loft.\n\nMr Springett had risen too, and swept down a ball of cobwebs from a\nrafter.\n\n\u2018Clap that on,\u2019 was all he said, \u2018and put your handkerchief atop. \u2018Twill\ncake over in a minute. It don\u2019t hurt now, do it?\u2019\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 said Dan indignantly. \u2018You know it has happened lots of times.\nI\u2019ll tie it up myself. Go on, sir.\u2019\n\n\u2018And it\u2019ll happen hundreds of times more,\u2019 said Hal with a friendly nod\nas he sat down again. But he did not go on till Dan\u2019s hand was tied up\nproperly. Then he said:\n\n\u2018One dark December day--too dark to judge colour--we was all sitting and\ntalking round the fires in the chapel (you heard good talk there), when\nBob Brygandyne bustles in and--\u201cHal, you\u2019re sent for,\u201d he squeals. I\nwas at Torrigiano\u2019s feet on a pile of put-locks, as I might be here,\ntoasting a herring on my knife\u2019s point. \u2018Twas the one English thing our\nMaster liked--salt herring.\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019m busy, about my art,\u201d I calls.\n\n\n\u2018\u201cArt?\u201d says Bob. \u201cWhat\u2019s Art compared to your scroll-work for the\nSOVEREIGN? Come.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBe sure your sins will find you out,\u201d says Torrigiano. \u201cGo with him\nand see.\u201d As I followed Bob out I was aware of Benedetto, like a black\nspot when the eyes are tired, sliddering up behind me.\n\n\u2018Bob hurries through the streets in the raw fog, slips into a doorway,\nup stairs, along passages, and at last thrusts me into a little cold\nroom vilely hung with Flemish tapestries, and no furnishing except a\ntable and my draft of the SOVEREIGN\u2019s scrollwork. Here he leaves me.\nPresently comes in a dark, long-nosed man in a fur cap.\n\n\u2018\u201cMaster Harry Dawe?\u201d said he.\n\n\u2018\u201cThe same,\u201d I says. \u201cWhere a plague has Bob Brygandyne gone?\u201d\n\n\u2018His thin eyebrows surged up in a piece and come down again in a stiff\nbar. \u201cHe went to the King,\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u201cAll one. Where\u2019s your pleasure with me?\u201d I says, shivering, for it was\nmortal cold.\n\n\u2018He lays his hand flat on my draft. \u201cMaster Dawe,\u201d he says, \u201cdo you know\nthe present price of gold leaf for all this wicked gilding of yours?\u201d\n\n\u2018By that I guessed he was some cheese-paring clerk or other of the\nKing\u2019s Ships, so I gave him the price. I forget it now, but it worked\nout to thirty pounds--carved, gilt, and fitted in place.\n\n\u2018\u201cThirty pounds!\u201d he said, as though I had pulled a tooth of him. \u201cYou\ntalk as though thirty pounds was to be had for the asking. None the\nless,\u201d he says, \u201cyour draft\u2019s a fine piece of work.\u201d\n\n\u2018I\u2019d been looking at it ever since I came in, and \u2018twas viler even than\nI judged it at first. My eye and hand had been purified the past months,\nd\u2019ye see, by my iron work.\n\n\u2018\u201cI could do it better now,\u201d I said. The more I studied my squabby\nNeptunes the less I liked \u2018em; and Arion was a pure flaming shame atop\nof the unbalanced dolphins.\n\n\u2018\u201cI doubt it will be fresh expense to draft it again,\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u201cBob never paid me for the first draft. I lay he\u2019ll never pay me for\nthe second. \u2018Twill cost the King nothing if I re-draw it,\u201d I says.\n\n\u2018\u201cThere\u2019s a woman wishes it to be done quickly,\u201d he says. \u201cWe\u2019ll stick\nto your first drawing, Master Dawe. But thirty pounds is thirty pounds.\nYou must make it less.\u201d\n\n\u2018And all the while the faults in my draft fair leaped out and hit me\nbetween the eyes. At any cost, I thinks to myself, I must get it back\nand re-draft it. He grunts at me impatiently, and a splendid thought\ncomes to me, which shall save me. By the same token, It was quite\nhonest.\u2019\n\n\u2018They ain\u2019t always,\u2019 says Mr Springett. \u2018How did you get out of it?\u2019\n\n\u2018By the truth. I says to Master Fur Cap, as I might to you here, I says,\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you something, since you seem a knowledgeable man. Is the\nSOVEREIGN to lie in Thames river all her days, or will she take the high\nseas?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh,\u201d he says quickly, \u201cthe King keeps no cats that don\u2019t catch mice.\nShe must sail the seas, Master Dawe. She\u2019ll be hired to merchants for\nthe trade. She\u2019ll be out in all shapes o\u2019 weathers. Does that make any\nodds?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhy, then,\u201d says I, \u201cthe first heavy sea she sticks her nose into\u2019ll\nclaw off half that scroll-work, and the next will finish it. If she\u2019s\nmeant for a pleasure-ship give me my draft again, and I\u2019ll porture you a\npretty, light piece of scroll-work, good cheap. If she\u2019s meant for the\nopen--sea, pitch the draft into the fire. She can never carry that\nweight on her bows.\u201d\n\n\u2018He looks at me squintlings and plucks his under-lip.\n\n\u2018\u201cIs this your honest, unswayed opinion?\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u201cBody o\u2019 me! Ask about!\u201d I says. \u201cAny seaman could tell you \u2018tis\ntrue. I\u2019m advising you against my own profit, but why I do so is my own\nconcern.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNot altogether \u201c, he says. \u201cIt\u2019s some of mine. You\u2019ve saved me thirty\npounds, Master Dawe, and you\u2019ve given me good arguments to use against\na willful woman that wants my fine new ship for her own toy. We\u2019ll not\nhave any scroll-work.\u201d His face shined with pure joy.\n\n\u2018\u201cThen see that the thirty pounds you\u2019ve saved on it are honestly paid\nthe King,\u201d I says, \u201cand keep clear o\u2019 women-folk.\u201d I gathered up my\ndraft and crumpled it under my arm. \u201cIf that\u2019s all you need of me I\u2019ll\nbe gone,\u201d I says. \u201cI\u2019m pressed.\u201d\n\n\u2018He turns him round and fumbles in a corner. \u201cToo pressed to be made\na knight, Sir Harry?\u201d he says, and comes at me smiling, with\nthree-quarters of a rusty sword.\n\n\u2018I pledge you my Mark I never guessed it was the King till that moment.\nI kneeled, and he tapped me on the shoulder.\n\n\u2018\u201cRise up, Sir Harry Dawe,\u201d he says, and, in the same breath, \u201cI\u2019m\npressed, too,\u201d and slips through the tapestries, leaving me like a stuck\ncalf.\n\n\u2018It come over me, in a bitter wave like, that here was I, a master\ncraftsman, who had worked no bounds, soul or body, to make the King\u2019s\ntomb and chapel a triumph and a glory for all time; and here, d\u2019ye see,\nI was made knight, not for anything I\u2019d slaved over, or given my heart\nand guts to, but expressedly because I\u2019d saved him thirty pounds and a\ntongue-lashing from Catherine of Castille--she that had asked for the\nship. That thought shrivelled me with insides while I was folding away\nmy draft. On the heels of it--maybe you\u2019ll see why--I began to grin\nto myself. I thought of the earnest simplicity of the man--the King, I\nshould say--because I\u2019d saved him the money; his smile as though\nhe\u2019d won half France! I thought of my own silly pride and foolish\nexpectations that some day he\u2019d honour me as a master craftsman. I\nthought of the broken-tipped sword he\u2019d found behind the hangings; the\ndirt of the cold room, and his cold eye, wrapped up in his own concerns,\nscarcely resting on me. Then I remembered the solemn chapel roof and\nthe bronzes about the stately tomb he\u2019d lie in, and--d\u2019ye see?---the\nunreason of it all--the mad high humour of it all--took hold on me till\nI sat me down on a dark stair-head in a passage, and laughed till I\ncould laugh no more. What else could I have done?\n\n\u2018I never heard his feet behind me--he always walked like a cat--but his\narm slid round my neck, pulling me back where I sat, till my head lay\non his chest, and his left hand held the knife plumb over my\nheart--Benedetto! Even so I laughed--the fit was beyond my\nholding--laughed while he ground his teeth in my ear. He was stark\ncrazed for the time.\n\n\u2018\u201cLaugh,\u201d he said. \u201cFinish the laughter. I\u2019ll not cut ye short. Tell\nme now\u201d--he wrenched at my head--\u201cwhy the King chose to honour\nyou,--you--you--you lickspittle Englishman? I am full of patience now.\nI have waited so long.\u201d Then he was off at score about his Jonah in Bury\nRefectory, and what I\u2019d said of it, and his pictures in the chapel which\nall men praised and none looked at twice (as if that was my fault!), and\na whole parcel of words and looks treasured up against me through years.\n\n\u2018\u201cEase off your arm a little,\u201d I said. \u201cI cannot die by choking, for I\nam just dubbed knight, Benedetto.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cTell me, and I\u2019ll confess ye, Sir Harry Dawe, Knight. There\u2019s a long\nnight before ye. Tell,\u201d says he.\n\n\u2018So I told him--his chin on my crown--told him all; told it as well\nand with as many words as I have ever told a tale at a supper with\nTorrigiano. I knew Benedetto would understand, for, mad or sad, he was a\ncraftsman. I believed it to be the last tale I\u2019d ever tell top of mortal\nearth, and I would not put out bad work before I left the Lodge. All\nart\u2019s one art, as I said. I bore Benedetto no malice. My spirits, d\u2019ye\nsee, were catched up in a high, solemn exaltation, and I saw all earth\u2019s\nvanities foreshortened and little, laid out below me like a town from a\ncathedral scaffolding. I told him what befell, and what I thought of it.\nI gave him the King\u2019s very voice at \u201cMaster Dawe, you\u2019ve saved me thirty\npounds!\u201d; his peevish grunt while he looked for the sword; and how the\nbadger-eyed figures of Glory and Victory leered at me from the Flemish\nhangings. Body o\u2019 me, \u2018twas a fine, noble tale, and, as I thought, my\nlast work on earth.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat is how I was honoured by the King,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019ll hang ye for\nkilling me, Benedetto. And, since you\u2019ve killed in the King\u2019s Palace,\nthey\u2019ll draw and quarter you; but you\u2019re too mad to care. Grant me,\nthough, ye never heard a better tale.\u201d \u2018He said nothing, but I felt him\nshake. My head on his chest shook; his right arm fell away, his\nleft dropped the knife, and he leaned with both hands on my\nshoulder--shaking--shaking! I turned me round. No need to put my foot\non his knife. The man was speechless with laughter--honest craftsman\u2019s\nmirth. The first time I\u2019d ever seen him laugh. You know the mirth that\ncuts off the very breath, while ye stamp and snatch at the short ribs?\nThat was Benedetto\u2019s case.\n\n\u2018When he began to roar and bay and whoop in the passage, I haled him\nout into the street, and there we leaned against the wall and had it all\nover again--waving our hands and wagging our heads--till the watch came\nto know if we were drunk.\n\n\u2018Benedetto says to \u2018em, solemn as an owl: \u201cYou have saved me thirty\npounds, Mus\u2019 Dawe,\u201d and off he pealed. In some sort we were mad-drunk--I\nbecause dear life had been given back to me, and he because, as he said\nafterwards, because the old crust of hatred round his heart was broke up\nand carried away by laughter. His very face had changed too.\n\n\u2018\u201cHal,\u201d he cries, \u201cI forgive thee. Forgive me too, Hal. Oh, you English,\nyou English! Did it gall thee, Hal, to see the rust on the dirty sword?\nTell me again, Hal, how the King grunted with joy. Oh, let us tell the\nMaster.\u201d\n\n\u2018So we reeled back to the chapel, arms round each other\u2019s necks, and\nwhen we could speak--he thought we\u2019d been fighting--we told the Master.\nYes, we told Torrigiano, and he laughed till he rolled on the new cold\npavement. Then he knocked our heads together.\n\n\u2018\u201cAh, you English!\u201d he cried. \u201cYou are more than pigs. You are English.\nNow you are well punished for your dirty fishes. Put the draft in the\nfire, and never do so any more. You are a fool, Hal, and you are a fool,\nBenedetto, but I need your works to please this beautiful English King.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd I meant to kill Hal,\u201d says Benedetto. \u201cMaster, I meant to kill him\nbecause the English King had made him a knight.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAh!\u201d says the Master, shaking his finger. \u201cBenedetto, if you had\nkilled my Hal, I should have killed you--in the cloister. But you are a\ncraftsman too, so I should have killed you like a craftsman, very, very\nslowly--in an hour, if I could spare the time!\u201d That was Torrigiano--the\nMaster!\u2019\n\nMr Springett sat quite still for some time after Hal had finished.\nThen he turned dark red; then he rocked to and fro; then he coughed and\nwheezed till the tears ran down his face. Dan knew by this that he was\nlaughing, but it surprised Hal at first.\n\n\u2018Excuse me, sir,\u2019 said Mr Springett, \u2018but I was thinkin\u2019 of some stables\nI built for a gentleman in Eighteen hundred Seventy-four. They was\nstables in blue brick--very particular work. Dunno as they weren\u2019t the\nbest job which ever I\u2019d done. But the gentleman\u2019s lady--she\u2019d come\nfrom Lunnon, new married--she was all for buildin\u2019 what was called\na haw-haw--what you an\u2019 me \u2018ud call a dik--right acrost his park. A\nmiddlin\u2019 big job which I\u2019d have had the contract of, for she spoke to me\nin the library about it. But I told her there was a line o\u2019 springs just\nwhere she wanted to dig her ditch, an\u2019 she\u2019d flood the park if she went\non.\u2019\n\n\u2018Were there any springs at all?\u2019 said Hal.\n\n\u2018Bound to be springs everywhere if you dig deep enough, ain\u2019t there?\nBut what I said about the springs put her out o\u2019 conceit o\u2019 diggin\u2019\nhaw-haws, an\u2019 she took an\u2019 built a white tile dairy instead. But when\nI sent in my last bill for the stables, the gentleman he paid it \u2018thout\neven lookin\u2019 at it, and I hadn\u2019t forgotten nothin\u2019, I do assure you.\nMore than that, he slips two five-pound notes into my hand in the\nlibrary, an\u2019 \u201cRalph,\u201d he says--he allers called me by name--\u201cRalph,\u201d he\nsays, \u201cyou\u2019ve saved me a heap of expense an\u2019 trouble this autumn.\u201d I\ndidn\u2019t say nothin\u2019, o\u2019 course. I knowed he didn\u2019t want any haws-haws\ndigged acrost his park no more\u2019n I did, but I never said nothin\u2019. No\nmore he didn\u2019t say nothin\u2019 about my blue-brick stables, which was really\nthe best an\u2019 honestest piece o\u2019 work I\u2019d done in quite a while. He\ngive me ten pounds for savin\u2019 him a hem of a deal o\u2019 trouble at home. I\nreckon things are pretty much alike, all times, in all places.\u2019\n\nHal and he laughed together. Dan couldn\u2019t quite understand what they\nthought so funny, and went on with his work for some time without\nspeaking.\n\nWhen he looked up, Mr Springett, alone, was wiping his eyes with his\ngreen-and-yellow pocket-handkerchief.\n\n\u2018Bless me, Mus\u2019 Dan, I\u2019ve been asleep,\u2019 he said. \u2018An\u2019 I\u2019ve dreamed a\ndream which has made me laugh--laugh as I ain\u2019t laughed in a long day.\nI can\u2019t remember what \u2018twas all about, but they do say that when old\nmen take to laughin\u2019 in their sleep, they\u2019re middlin\u2019 ripe for the next\nworld. Have you been workin\u2019 honest, Mus\u2019 Dan?\u2019\n\n\u2018Ra-ather,\u2019 said Dan, unclamping the schooner from the vice. \u2018And look\nhow I\u2019ve cut myself with the small gouge.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ye-es. You want a lump o\u2019 cobwebs to that,\u2019 said Mr Springett. \u2018Oh, I\nsee you\u2019ve put it on already. That\u2019s right, Mus\u2019 Dan.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nKing Henry VII and the Shipwrights\n\n  Harry our King in England from London town is gone,\n  And comen to Hamull on the Hoke in the countie of Suthampton.\n  For there lay the MARY OF THE TOWER, his ship of war so strong,\n  And he would discover, certaynely, if his shipwrights did him wrong.\n\n  He told not none of his setting forth, nor yet where he would go\n  (But only my Lord of Arundel), and meanly did he show,\n  In an old jerkin and patched hose that no man might him mark;\n  With his frieze hood and cloak about, he looked like any clerk.\n  He was at Hamull on the Hoke about the hour of the tide,\n  And saw the MARY haled into dock, the winter to abide,\n  With all her tackle and habiliments which are the King his own;\n  But then ran on his false shipwrights and stripped her to the bone.\n\n  They heaved the main-mast overboard, that was of a trusty tree,\n  And they wrote down it was spent and lost by force of weather at sea.\n  But they sawen it into planks and strakes as far as it might go,\n  To maken beds for their own wives and little children also.\n\n  There was a knave called Slingawai, he crope beneath the deck,\n  Crying: \u2018Good felawes, come and see!  The ship is nigh a wreck!\n  For the storm that took our tall main-mast, it blew so fierce and fell,\n  Alack!  it hath taken the kettles and pans, and this brass pott as well!\u2019\n\n  With that he set the pott on his head and hied him up the hatch,\n  While all the shipwrights ran below to find what they might snatch;\n  All except Bob Brygandyne and he was a yeoman good,\n  He caught Slingawai round the waist and threw him on to the mud.\n\n  \u2018I have taken plank and rope and nail, without the King his leave,\n  After the custom of Portesmouth, but I will not suffer a thief.\n  Nay, never lift up thy hand at me!  There\u2019s no clean hands in the trade.\n  Steal in measure,\u2019 quo\u2019 Brygandyne.  \u2018There\u2019s measure in all things made!\u2019\n\n  \u2018Gramercy, yeoman!\u2019 said our King.  \u2018Thy counsel liketh me.\u2019\n  And he pulled a whistle out of his neck and whistled whistles three.\n  Then came my Lord of Arundel pricking across the down,\n  And behind him the Mayor and Burgesses of merry Suthampton town.\n\n  They drew the naughty shipwrights up, with the kettles in their hands,\n  And bound them round the forecastle to wait the King\u2019s commands.\n  But \u2018Since ye have made your beds,\u2019 said the King, \u2018ye needs must lie\n  thereon.\n  For the sake of your wives and little ones--felawes, get you gone!\u2019\n\n  When they had beaten Slingawai, out of his own lips,\n  Our King appointed Brygandyne to be Clerk of all his ships.\n  \u2018Nay, never lift up thy hands to me--there\u2019s no clean hands in the trade.\n  But steal in measure,\u2019 said Harry our King.  \u2018There\u2019s measure in all things\n  made!\u2019\n\n  God speed the \u2018Mary of the Tower,\u2019 the \u2018Sovereign\u2019 and \u2018Grace Dieu,\u2019\n  The \u2018Sweepstakes\u2019 and the \u2018Mary Fortune,\u2019 and the \u2018Henry of Bristol\u2019 too!\n  All tall ships that sail on the sea, or in our harbours stand,\n  That they may keep measure with Harry our King and peace in Engeland!\n\n\n\n\nMARKLAKE WITCHES\n\n\n\n\nThe Way Through the Woods\n\n\n     They shut the road through the woods\n     Seventy years ago.\n     Weather and rain have undone it again,\n     And now you would never know\n     There was once a road through the woods\n     Before they planted the trees.\n     It is underneath the coppice and heath,\n     And the thin anemones.\n     Only the keeper sees\n     That, where the ring-dove broods,\n     And the badgers roll at ease,\n     There was once a road through the woods.\n\n     Yet, if you enter the woods\n     Of a summer evening late,\n     When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools\n     Where the otter whistles his mate\n     (They fear not men in the woods\n     Because they see so few),\n     You will hear the beat of a horse\u2019s feet\n     And the swish of a skirt in the dew,\n     Steadily cantering through\n     The misty solitudes,\n     As though they perfectly knew\n     The old lost road through the woods...\n     But there is no road through the woods!\n\n\n\n\nMarklake Witches\n\n\nWhen Dan took up boat-building, Una coaxed Mrs Vincey, the farmer\u2019s wife\nat Little Lindens, to teach her to milk. Mrs Vincey milks in the pasture\nin summer, which is different from milking in the shed, because the\ncows are not tied up, and until they know you they will not stand still.\nAfter three weeks Una could milk Red Cow or Kitty Shorthorn quite dry,\nwithout her wrists aching, and then she allowed Dan to look. But milking\ndid not amuse him, and it was pleasanter for Una to be alone in the\nquiet pastures with quiet-spoken Mrs Vincey. So, evening after evening,\nshe slipped across to Little Lindens, took her stool from the fern-clump\nbeside the fallen oak, and went to work, her pail between her knees, and\nher head pressed hard into the cow\u2019s flank. As often as not, Mrs Vincey\nwould be milking cross Pansy at the other end of the pasture, and would\nnot come near till it was time to strain and pour off.\n\nOnce, in the middle of a milking, Kitty Shorthorn boxed Una\u2019s ear with\nher tail.\n\n\u2018You old pig!\u2019 said Una, nearly crying, for a cow\u2019s tail can hurt.\n\n\u2018Why didn\u2019t you tie it down, child?\u2019 said a voice behind her.\n\n\u2018I meant to, but the flies are so bad I let her off--and this is what\nshe\u2019s done!\u2019 Una looked round, expecting Puck, and saw a curly-haired\ngirl, not much taller than herself, but older, dressed in a curious\nhigh-waisted, lavender-coloured riding-habit, with a high hunched collar\nand a deep cape and a belt fastened with a steel clasp. She wore a\nyellow velvet cap and tan gauntlets, and carried a real hunting-crop.\nHer cheeks were pale except for two pretty pink patches in the middle,\nand she talked with little gasps at the end of her sentences, as though\nshe had been running.\n\n\u2018You don\u2019t milk so badly, child,\u2019 she said, and when she smiled her\nteeth showed small and even and pearly.\n\n\u2018Can you milk?\u2019 Una asked, and then flushed, for she heard Puck\u2019s\nchuckle.\n\nHe stepped out of the fern and sat down, holding Kitty Short-horn\u2019s\ntail. \u2018There isn\u2019t much,\u2019 he said, \u2018that Miss Philadelphia doesn\u2019t\nknow about milk--or, for that matter, butter and eggs. She\u2019s a great\nhousewife.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh,\u2019 said Una. \u2018I\u2019m sorry I can\u2019t shake hands. Mine are all milky; but\nMrs Vincey is going to teach me butter-making this summer.\u2019 \u2018Ah! I\u2019m\ngoing to London this summer,\u2019 the girl said, \u2018to my aunt in Bloomsbury.\u2019\nShe coughed as she began to hum, \u2018\u201cOh, what a town! What a wonderful\nmetropolis!\u201d\n\n\u2018You\u2019ve got a cold,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018No. Only my stupid cough. But it\u2019s vastly better than it was last\nwinter. It will disappear in London air. Every one says so. D\u2019you like\ndoctors, child?\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t know any,\u2019 Una replied. \u2018But I\u2019m sure I shouldn\u2019t.\u2019\n\n\u2018Think yourself lucky, child. I beg your pardon,\u2019 the girl laughed, for\nUna frowned.\n\n\u2018I\u2019m not a child, and my name\u2019s Una,\u2019 she said.\n\n\u2018Mine\u2019s Philadelphia. But everybody except Rene calls me Phil. I\u2019m\nSquire Bucksteed\u2019s daughter--over at Marklake yonder.\u2019 She jerked her\nlittle round chin towards the south behind Dallington. \u2018Sure-ly you know\nMarklake?\u2019\n\n\u2018We went a picnic to Marklake Green once,\u2019 said Una. \u2018It\u2019s awfully\npretty. I like all those funny little roads that don\u2019t lead anywhere.\u2019\n\n\u2018They lead over our land,\u2019 said Philadelphia stiffly, \u2018and the coach\nroad is only four miles away. One can go anywhere from the Green. I went\nto the Assize Ball at Lewes last year.\u2019 She spun round and took a few\ndancing steps, but stopped with her hand to her side.\n\n\u2018It gives me a stitch,\u2019 she explained. \u2018No odds. \u2018Twill go away in\nLondon air. That\u2019s the latest French step, child. Rene taught it me.\nD\u2019you hate the French, chi--Una?\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, I hate French, of course, but I don\u2019t mind Ma\u2019m\u2019selle. She\u2019s\nrather decent. Is Rene your French governess?\u2019\n\nPhiladelphia laughed till she caught her breath again.\n\n\u2018Oh no! Rene\u2019s a French prisoner--on parole. That means he\u2019s promised\nnot to escape till he has been properly exchanged for an Englishman.\nHe\u2019s only a doctor, so I hope they won\u2019t think him worth exchanging. My\nuncle captured him last year in the FERDINAND privateer, off Belle Isle,\nand he cured my uncle of a r-r-raging toothache. Of course, after that\nwe couldn\u2019t let him lie among the common French prisoners at Rye, and\nso he stays with us. He\u2019s of very old family--a Breton, which is nearly\nnext door to being a true Briton, my father says--and he wears his hair\nclubbed--not powdered. Much more becoming, don\u2019t you think?\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t know what you\u2019re--\u2019 Una began, but Puck, the other side of\nthe pail, winked, and she went on with her milking. \u2018He\u2019s going to be a\ngreat French physician when the war is over. He makes me bobbins for my\nlace-pillow now--he\u2019s very clever with his hands; but he\u2019d doctor our\npeople on the Green if they would let him. Only our Doctor--Doctor\nBreak--says he\u2019s an emp--or imp something--worse than imposter. But my\nNurse says--\u2019\n\n\u2018Nurse! You\u2019re ever so old. What have you got a nurse for?\u2019 Una finished\nmilking, and turned round on her stool as Kitty Shorthorn grazed off.\n\n\u2018Because I can\u2019t get rid of her. Old Cissie nursed my mother, and she\nsays she\u2019ll nurse me till she dies. The idea! She never lets me alone.\nShe thinks I\u2019m delicate. She has grown infirm in her understanding, you\nknow. Mad--quite mad, poor Cissie!\u2019\n\n\n\u2018Really mad?\u2019 said Una. \u2018Or just silly?\u2019\n\n\u2018Crazy, I should say--from the things she does. Her devotion to me is\nterribly embarrassing. You know I have all the keys of the Hall except\nthe brewery and the tenants\u2019 kitchen. I give out all stores and the\nlinen and plate.\u2019\n\n\u2018How jolly! I love store-rooms and giving out things.\u2019\n\nAh, it\u2019s a great responsibility, you\u2019ll find, when you come to my\nage. Last year Dad said I was fatiguing myself with my duties, and he\nactually wanted me to give up the keys to old Amoore, our housekeeper.\nI wouldn\u2019t. I hate her. I said, \u201cNo, sir. I am Mistress of Marklake Hall\njust as long as I live, because I\u2019m never going to be married, and I\nshall give out stores and linen till I die!\u201d\n\nAnd what did your father say?\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I threatened to pin a dishclout to his coat-tail. He ran away.\nEvery one\u2019s afraid of Dad, except me.\u2019 Philadelphia stamped her foot.\n\u2018The idea! If I can\u2019t make my own father happy in his own house, I\u2019d\nlike to meet the woman that can, and--and--I\u2019d have the living hide off\nher!\u2019\n\nShe cut with her long-thonged whip. It cracked like a pistol-shot across\nthe still pasture. Kitty Shorthorn threw up her head and trotted away.\n\n\u2018I beg your pardon,\u2019 Philadelphia said; \u2018but it makes me furious. Don\u2019t\nyou hate those ridiculous old quizzes with their feathers and fronts,\nwho come to dinner and call you \u201cchild\u201d in your own chair at your own\ntable?\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t always come to dinner, said Una, \u2018but I hate being called\n\u201cchild.\u201d Please tell me about store-rooms and giving out things.\u2019\n\nAh, it\u2019s a great responsibility--particularly with that old cat Amoore\nlooking at the lists over your shoulder. And such a shocking thing\nhappened last summer! Poor crazy Cissie, my Nurse that I was telling you\nof, she took three solid silver tablespoons.\u2019\n\n\u2018Took! But isn\u2019t that stealing?\u2019 Una cried.\n\n\u2018Hsh!\u2019 said Philadelphia, looking round at Puck. \u2018All I say is she took\nthem without my leave. I made it right afterwards. So, as Dad says--and\nhe\u2019s a magistrate-, it wasn\u2019t a legal offence; it was only compounding a\nfelony.\n\n\u2018It sounds awful,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018It was. My dear, I was furious! I had had the keys for ten months, and\nI\u2019d never lost anything before. I said nothing at first, because a big\nhouse offers so many chances of things being mislaid, and coming to hand\nlater. \u201cFetching up in the lee-scuppers,\u201d my uncle calls it. But next\nweek I spoke to old Cissie about it when she was doing my hair at night,\nand she said I wasn\u2019t to worry my heart for trifles!\u2019\n\n\u2018Isn\u2019t it like \u2018em?\u2019 Una burst out. \u2018They see you\u2019re worried over\nsomething that really matters, and they say, \u201cDon\u2019t worry\u201d; as if that\ndid any good!\u2019\n\n\u2018I quite agree with you, my dear; quite agree with you! I told Ciss the\nspoons were solid silver, and worth forty shillings, so if the thief\nwere found, he\u2019d be tried for his life.\u2019 \u2018Hanged, do you mean?\u2019 Una said.\n\n\u2018They ought to be; but Dad says no jury will hang a man nowadays for\na forty-shilling theft. They transport \u2018em into penal servitude at\nthe uttermost ends of the earth beyond the seas, for the term of their\nnatural life. I told Cissie that, and I saw her tremble in my mirror.\nThen she cried, and caught hold of my knees, and I couldn\u2019t for my life\nunderstand what it was all about,--she cried so. Can you guess, my dear,\nwhat that poor crazy thing had done? It was midnight before I pieced it\ntogether. She had given the spoons to Jerry Gamm, the Witchmaster on the\nGreen, so that he might put a charm on me! Me!\u2019\n\n\u2018Put a charm on you? Why?\u2019\n\n\u2018That\u2019s what I asked; and then I saw how mad poor Cissie was! You know\nthis stupid little cough of mine? It will disappear as soon as I go to\nLondon. She was troubled about that, and about my being so thin, and\nshe told me Jerry had promised her, if she would bring him three silver\nspoons, that he\u2019d charm my cough away and make me plump--\u201cflesh up,\u201d she\nsaid. I couldn\u2019t help laughing; but it was a terrible night! I had to\nput Cissie into my own bed, and stroke her hand till she cried herself\nto sleep. What else could I have done? When she woke, and I coughed--I\nsuppose I can cough in my own room if I please--she said that she\u2019d\nkilled me, and asked me to have her hanged at Lewes sooner than send her\nto the uttermost ends of the earth away from me.\u2019\n\n\u2018How awful! What did you do, Phil?\u2019\n\n\u2018Do? I rode off at five in the morning to talk to Master Jerry, with a\nnew lash on my whip. Oh, I was furious! Witchmaster or no Witchmaster, I\nmeant to--\u2019\n\nAh! what\u2019s a Witchmaster?\u2019\n\n\u2018A master of witches, of course. I don\u2019t believe there are witches; but\npeople say every village has a few, and Jerry was the master of all ours\nat Marklake. He has been a smuggler, and a man-of-war\u2019s man, and now he\npretends to be a carpenter and joiner--he can make almost anything--but\nhe really is a white wizard. He cures people by herbs and charms. He can\ncure them after Doctor Break has given them up, and that\u2019s why Doctor\nBreak hates him so. He used to make me toy carts, and charm off my warts\nwhen I was a child.\u2019 Philadelphia spread out her hands with the delicate\nshiny little nails. \u2018It isn\u2019t counted lucky to cross him. He has his\nways of getting even with you, they say. But I wasn\u2019t afraid of Jerry!\nI saw him working in his garden, and I leaned out of my saddle and\ndouble-thonged him between the shoulders, over the hedge. Well, my dear,\nfor the first time since Dad gave him to me, my Troubadour (I wish you\ncould see the sweet creature!) shied across the road, and I spilled out\ninto the hedge-top. Most undignified! Jerry pulled me through to his\nside and brushed the leaves off me. I was horribly pricked, but I didn\u2019t\ncare. \u201cNow, Jerry,\u201d I said, \u201cI\u2019m going to take the hide off you first,\nand send you to Lewes afterwards. You well know why.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh!\u201d he said, and he sat down among his bee-hives. \u201cThen I reckon\nyou\u2019ve come about old Cissie\u2019s business, my dear.\u201d \u201cI reckon I justabout\nhave,\u201d I said. \u201cStand away from these hives. I can\u2019t get at you there.\u201d\n \u201cThat\u2019s why I be where I be,\u201d he said. \u201cIf you\u2019ll excuse me, Miss Phil,\nI don\u2019t hold with bein\u2019 flogged before breakfast, at my time o\u2019 life.\u201d\n He\u2019s a huge big man, but he looked so comical squatting among the hives\nthat--I know I oughtn\u2019t to--I laughed, and he laughed. I always laugh at\nthe wrong time. But I soon recovered my dignity, and I said, \u201cThen give\nme back what you made poor Cissie steal!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYour pore Cissie,\u201d he said. \u201cShe\u2019s a hatful o\u2019 trouble. But you shall\nhave \u2018em, Miss Phil. They\u2019re all ready put by for you.\u201d And, would you\nbelieve it, the old sinner pulled my three silver spoons out of his\ndirty pocket, and polished them on his cuff. \u201cHere they be,\u201d he says,\nand he gave them to me, just as cool as though I\u2019d come to have my\nwarts charmed. That\u2019s the worst of people having known you when you were\nyoung. But I preserved my composure. \u201cJerry,\u201d I said, \u201cwhat in the world\nare we to do? If you\u2019d been caught with these things on you, you\u2019d have\nbeen hanged.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI know it,\u201d he said. \u201cBut they\u2019re yours now.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut you made my Cissie steal them,\u201d I said.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat I didn\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cYour Cissie, she was pickin\u2019 at me an\u2019\ntarrifyin\u2019 me all the long day an\u2019 every day for weeks, to put a charm\non you, Miss Phil, an\u2019 take away your little spitty cough.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYes. I knew that, Jerry, and to make me flesh-up!\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m much\nobliged to you, but I\u2019m not one of your pigs!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAh! I reckon she\u2019ve been talking to you, then,\u201d he said. \u201cYes,\nshe give me no peace, and bein\u2019 tarrified--for I don\u2019t hold with old\nwomen--I laid a task on her which I thought \u2018ud silence her. I never\nreckoned the old scrattle \u2018ud risk her neckbone at Lewes Assizes for\nyour sake, Miss Phil. But she did. She up an\u2019 stole, I tell ye, as\ncheerful as a tinker. You might ha\u2019 knocked me down with any one of them\nliddle spoons when she brung \u2018em in her apron.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cDo you mean to say, then, that you did it to try my poor Cissie?\u201d I\nscreamed at him.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat else for, dearie?\u201d he said. \u201cI don\u2019t stand in need of\nhedge-stealings. I\u2019m a freeholder, with money in the bank; and now I\nwon\u2019t trust women no more! Silly old besom! I do beleft she\u2019d ha\u2019 stole\nthe Squire\u2019s big fob-watch, if I\u2019d required her.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen you\u2019re a wicked, wicked old man,\u201d I said, and I was so angry that\nI couldn\u2019t help crying, and of course that made me cough.\n\n\u2018Jerry was in a fearful taking. He picked me up and carried me into his\ncottage--it\u2019s full of foreign curiosities--and he got me something to\neat and drink, and he said he\u2019d be hanged by the neck any day if it\npleased me. He said he\u2019d even tell old Cissie he was sorry. That\u2019s a\ngreat comedown for a Witchmaster, you know.\n\n\u2018I was ashamed of myself for being so silly, and I dabbed my eyes and\nsaid, \u201cThe least you can do now is to give poor Ciss some sort of a\ncharm for me.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYes, that\u2019s only fair dealings,\u201d he said. \u201cYou know the names of the\nTwelve Apostles, dearie? You say them names, one by one, before your\nopen window, rain or storm, wet or shine, five times a day fasting. But\nmind you, \u2018twixt every name you draw in your breath through your nose,\nright down to your pretty liddle toes, as long and as deep as you can,\nand let it out slow through your pretty liddle mouth. There\u2019s virtue for\nyour cough in those names spoke that way. And I\u2019ll give you something\nyou can see, moreover. Here\u2019s a stick of maple, which is the warmest\ntree in the wood.\u201d\u2019 \u2018That\u2019s true,\u2019 Una interrupted. \u2018You can feel it\nalmost as warm as yourself when you touch it.\u2019\n\n\u2018\u201cIt\u2019s cut one inch long for your every year,\u201d Jerry said. \u201cThat\u2019s\nsixteen inches. You set it in your window so that it holds up the sash,\nand thus you keep it, rain or shine, or wet or fine, day and night. I\u2019ve\nsaid words over it which will have virtue on your complaints.\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t any complaints, Jerry,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s only to please Cissie.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI know that as well as you do, dearie,\u201d he said. And--and that was all\nthat came of my going to give him a flogging. I wonder whether he made\npoor Troubadour shy when I lashed at him? Jerry has his ways of getting\neven with people.\u2019\n\n\u2018I wonder,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Well, did you try the charm? Did it work?\u2019\n\n\u2018What nonsense! I told Rene about it, of course, because he\u2019s a doctor.\nHe\u2019s going to be a most famous doctor. That\u2019s why our doctor hates him.\nRene said, \u201cOho! Your Master Gamm, he is worth knowing,\u201d and he put up\nhis eyebrows--like this. He made joke of it all. He can see my window\nfrom the carpenter\u2019s shed, where he works, and if ever the maple stick\nfell down, he pretended to be in a fearful taking till I propped the\nwindow up again. He used to ask me whether I had said my Apostles\nproperly, and how I took my deep breaths. Oh yes, and the next day,\nthough he had been there ever so many times before, he put on his new\nhat and paid Jerry Gamm a visit of state--as a fellow-physician. Jerry\nnever guessed Rene was making fun of him, and so he told Rene about\nthe sick people in the village, and how he cured them with herbs after\nDoctor Break had given them up. Jerry could talk smugglers\u2019 French, of\ncourse, and I had taught Rene plenty of English, if only he wasn\u2019t so\nshy. They called each other Monsieur Gamm and Mosheur Lanark, just like\ngentlemen. I suppose it amused poor Rene. He hasn\u2019t much to do, except\nto fiddle about in the carpenter\u2019s shop. He\u2019s like all the French\nprisoners--always making knickknacks; and Jerry had a little lathe at\nhis cottage, and so--and so--Rene took to being with Jerry much more\nthan I approved of. The Hall is so big and empty when Dad\u2019s away, and\nI will not sit with old Amoore--she talks so horridly about every\none--specially about Rene.\n\n\u2018I was rude to Rene, I\u2019m afraid; but I was properly served out for it.\nOne always is. You see, Dad went down to Hastings to pay his respects\nto the General who commanded the brigade there, and to bring him to the\nHall afterwards. Dad told me he was a very brave soldier from India--he\nwas Colonel of Dad\u2019s Regiment, the Thirty-third Foot, after Dad left the\nArmy, and then he changed his name from Wesley to Wellesley, or else the\nother way about; and Dad said I was to get out all the silver for him,\nand I knew that meant a big dinner. So I sent down to the sea for early\nmackerel, and had such a morning in the kitchen and the store-rooms. Old\nAmoore nearly cried.\n\n\u2018However, my dear, I made all my preparations in ample time, but the\nfish didn\u2019t arrive--it never does--and I wanted Rene to ride to Pevensey\nand bring it himself. He had gone over to Jerry, of course, as he always\nused, unless I requested his presence beforehand. I can\u2019t send for Rene\nevery time I want him. He should be there. Now, don\u2019t you ever do what I\ndid, child, because it\u2019s in the highest degree unladylike; but--but\none of our Woods runs up to Jerry\u2019s garden, and if you climb--it\u2019s\nungenteel, but I can climb like a kitten--there\u2019s an old hollow oak\njust above the pigsty where you can hear and see everything below.\nTruthfully, I only went to tell Rene about the mackerel, but I saw him\nand Jerry sitting on the seat playing with wooden toy trumpets. So I\nslipped into the hollow, and choked down my cough, and listened. Rene\nhad never shown me any of these trumpets.\u2019\n\n\u2018Trumpets? Aren\u2019t you too old for trumpets?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018They weren\u2019t real trumpets, because Jerry opened his short-collar, and\nRene put one end of his trumpet against Jerry\u2019s chest, and put his\near to the other. Then Jerry put his trumpet against Rene\u2019s chest, and\nlistened while Rene breathed and coughed. I was afraid I would cough\ntoo.\n\n\u2018\u201cThis hollywood one is the best,\u201d said Jerry. \u201c\u2018Tis won\u2019erful like\nhearin\u2019 a man\u2019s soul whisperin\u2019 in his innards; but unless I\u2019ve a\nbuzzin\u2019 in my ears, Mosheur Lanark, you make much about the same kind o\u2019\nnoises as old Gaffer Macklin--but not quite so loud as young Copper. It\nsounds like breakers on a reef--a long way off. Comprenny?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cPerfectly,\u201d said Rene. \u201cI drive on the breakers. But before I strike,\nI shall save hundreds, thousands, millions perhaps, by my little\ntrumpets. Now tell me what sounds the old Gaffer Macklin have made in\nhis chest, and what the young Copper also.\u201d\n\n\u2018Jerry talked for nearly a quarter of an hour about sick people in the\nvillage, while Rene asked questions. Then he sighed, and said, \u201cYou\nexplain very well, Monsieur Gamm, but if only I had your opportunities\nto listen for myself! Do you think these poor people would let me listen\nto them through my trumpet--for a little money? No?\u201d--Rene\u2019s as poor as\na church mouse.\n\n\u2018\u201cThey\u2019d kill you, Mosheur. It\u2019s all I can do to coax \u2018em to abide it,\nand I\u2019m Jerry Gamm,\u201d said Jerry. He\u2019s very proud of his attainments.\n\n\u2018\u201cThen these poor people are alarmed--No?\u201d said Rene.\n\n\u2018\u201cThey\u2019ve had it in at me for some time back because o\u2019 my tryin\u2019 your\ntrumpets on their sick; and I reckon by the talk at the alehouse they\nwon\u2019t stand much more. Tom Dunch an\u2019 some of his kidney was drinkin\u2019\nthemselves riot-ripe when I passed along after noon. Charms an\u2019\nmutterin\u2019s an\u2019 bits o\u2019 red wool an\u2019 black hens is in the way o\u2019 nature\nto these fools, Mosheur; but anything likely to do \u2018em real service is\ndevil\u2019s work by their estimation. If I was you, I\u2019d go home before they\ncome.\u201d Jerry spoke quite quietly, and Rene shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\u2018\u201cI am prisoner on parole, Monsieur Gamm,\u201d he said. \u201cI have no home.\u201d\n\n\u2018Now that was unkind of Rene. He\u2019s often told me that he looked on\nEngland as his home. I suppose it\u2019s French politeness.\n\n\u2018\u201cThen we\u2019ll talk o\u2019 something that matters,\u201d said Jerry. \u201cNot to name\nno names, Mosheur Lanark, what might be your own opinion o\u2019 some one\nwho ain\u2019t old Gaffer Macklin nor young Copper? Is that person better or\nworse?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBetter--for time that is,\u201d said Rene. He meant for the time being, but\nI never could teach him some phrases.\n\n\u2018\u201cI thought so too,\u201d said Jerry. \u201cBut how about time to come?\u201d\n\n\u2018Rene shook his head, and then he blew his nose. You don\u2019t know how odd a\nman looks blowing his nose when you are sitting directly above him.\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019ve thought that too,\u201d said Jerry. He rumbled so deep I could scarcely\ncatch. \u201cIt don\u2019t make much odds to me, because I\u2019m old. But you\u2019re\nyoung, Mosheur--you\u2019re young,\u201d and he put his hand on Rene\u2019s knee, and\nRene covered it with his hand. I didn\u2019t know they were such friends.\n\n\u2018\u201cThank you, mon ami,\u201d said Rene. \u201cI am much oblige. Let us return to\nour trumpet-making. But I forget\u201d--he stood up--\u201cit appears that you\nreceive this afternoon!\u201d\n\n\u2018You can\u2019t see into Gamm\u2019s Lane from the oak, but the gate opened, and\nfat little Doctor Break stumped in, mopping his head, and half-a-dozen\nof our people following him, very drunk.\n\n\u2018You ought to have seen Rene bow; he does it beautifully.\n\n\u2018\u201cA word with you, Laennec,\u201d said Doctor Break. \u201cJerry has been\npractising some devilry or other on these poor wretches, and they\u2019ve\nasked me to be arbiter.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhatever that means, I reckon it\u2019s safer than asking you to be\ndoctor,\u201d said Jerry, and Tom Dunch, one of our carters, laughed.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat ain\u2019t right feeling of you, Tom,\u201d Jerry said, \u201cseeing how clever\nDoctor Break put away your thorn in the flesh last winter.\u201d Tom\u2019s wife\nhad died at Christmas, though Doctor Break bled her twice a week. Doctor\nBreak danced with rage.\n\n\u2018\u201cThis is all beside the mark,\u201d he said. \u201cThese good people are willing\nto testify that you\u2019ve been impudently prying into God\u2019s secrets by\nmeans of some papistical contrivance which this person\u201d--he pointed\nto poor Rene--\u201chas furnished you with. Why, here are the things\nthemselves!\u201d Rene was holding a trumpet in his hand.\n\n\u2018Then all the men talked at once. They said old Gaffer Macklin was dying\nfrom stitches in his side where Jerry had put the trumpet--they called\nit the devil\u2019s ear-piece; and they said it left round red witch-marks on\npeople\u2019s skins, and dried up their lights, and made \u2018em spit blood, and\nthrew \u2018em into sweats. Terrible things they said. You never heard such a\nnoise. I took advantage of it to cough.\n\n\u2018Rene and Jerry were standing with their backs to the pigsty. Jerry\nfumbled in his big flap pockets and fished up a pair of pistols. You\nought to have seen the men give back when he cocked his. He passed one\nto Rene.\n\n\u2018\u201cWait! Wait!\u201d said Rene. \u201cI will explain to the doctor if he permits.\u201d\n He waved a trumpet at him, and the men at the gate shouted, \u201cDon\u2019t touch\nit, Doctor! Don\u2019t lay a hand to the thing.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCome, come!\u201d said Rene. \u201cYou are not so big fool as you pretend. No?\u201d\n\n\u2018Doctor Break backed toward the gate, watching Jerry\u2019s pistol, and Rene\nfollowed him with his trumpet, like a nurse trying to amuse a child, and\nput the ridiculous thing to his ear to show how it was used, and talked\nof la Gloire, and l\u2019Humanite, and la Science, while Doctor Break watched\njerry\u2019s pistol and swore. I nearly laughed aloud.\n\n\u2018\u201cNow listen! Now listen!\u201d said Rene. \u201cThis will be moneys in your\npockets, my dear confrere. You will become rich.\u201d\n\n\u2018Then Doctor Break said something about adventurers who could not earn\nan honest living in their own country creeping into decent houses and\ntaking advantage of gentlemen\u2019s confidence to enrich themselves by base\nintrigues.\n\n\u2018Rene dropped his absurd trumpet and made one of his best bows. I knew\nhe was angry from the way he rolled his \u201cr\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cVer-r-ry good,\u201d said he. \u201cFor that I shall have much pleasure to\nkill you now and here. Monsieur Gamm,\u201d--another bow to Jerry--\u201cyou will\nplease lend him your pistol, or he shall have mine. I give you my word I\nknow not which is best; and if he will choose a second from his friends\nover there\u201d--another bow to our drunken yokels at the gate--\u201cwe will\ncommence.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThat\u2019s fair enough,\u201d said Jerry. \u201cTom Dunch, you owe it to the Doctor\nto be his second. Place your man.\u201d \u2018\u201cNo,\u201d said Tom. \u201cNo mixin\u2019 in\ngentry\u2019s quarrels for me.\u201d And he shook his head and went out, and the\nothers followed him.\n\n\u2018\u201cHold on,\u201d said Jerry. \u201cYou\u2019ve forgot what you set out to do up at the\nalehouse just now. You was goin\u2019 to search me for witch-marks; you\nwas goin\u2019 to duck me in the pond; you was goin\u2019 to drag all my bits\no\u2019 sticks out o\u2019 my little cottage here. What\u2019s the matter with you?\nWouldn\u2019t you like to be with your old woman tonight, Tom?\u201d\n\n\u2018But they didn\u2019t even look back, much less come. They ran to the village\nalehouse like hares.\n\n\u2018\u201cNo matter for these canaille,\u201d said Rene, buttoning up his coat so\nas not to show any linen. All gentlemen do that before a duel, Dad\nsays--and he\u2019s been out five times. \u201cYou shall be his second, Monsieur\nGamm. Give him the pistol.\u201d\n\n\u2018Doctor Break took it as if it was red-hot, but he said that if Rene\nresigned his pretensions in certain quarters he would pass over the\nmatter. Rene bowed deeper than ever.\n\n\u2018\u201cAs for that,\u201d he said, \u201cif you were not the ignorant which you are,\nyou would have known long ago that the subject of your remarks is not\nfor any living man.\u201d\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t know what the subject of his remarks might have been, but he\nspoke in a simply dreadful voice, my dear, and Doctor Break turned quite\nwhite, and said Rene was a liar; and then Rene caught him by the throat,\nand choked him black.\n\n\u2018Well, my dear, as if this wasn\u2019t deliciously exciting enough, just\nexactly at that minute I heard a strange voice on the other side of\nthe hedge say, \u201cWhat\u2019s this? What\u2019s this, Bucksteed?\u201d and there was my\nfather and Sir Arthur Wesley on horseback in the lane; and there was\nRene kneeling on Doctor Break, and there was I up in the oak, listening\nwith all my ears.\n\n\u2018I must have leaned forward too much, and the voice gave me such a\nstart that I slipped. I had only time to make one jump on to the pigsty\nroof--another, before the tiles broke, on to the pigsty wall--and then\nI bounced down into the garden, just behind Jerry, with my hair full of\nbark. Imagine the situation!\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I can!\u2019 Una laughed till she nearly fell off the stool.\n\n\u2018Dad said, \u201cPhil--a--del--phia!\u201d and Sir Arthur Wesley said, \u201cGood Ged\u201d\n and Jerry put his foot on the pistol Rene had dropped. But Rene was\nsplendid. He never even looked at me. He began to untwist Doctor Break\u2019s\nneckcloth as fast as he\u2019d twisted it, and asked him if he felt better.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat\u2019s happened? What\u2019s happened?\u201d said Dad.\n\n\u2018\u201cA fit!\u201d said Rene. \u201cI fear my confrere has had a fit. Do not be\nalarmed. He recovers himself. Shall I bleed you a little, my dear\nDoctor?\u201d Doctor Break was very good too. He said, \u201cI am vastly obliged,\nMonsieur Laennec, but I am restored now.\u201d And as he went out of the\ngate he told Dad it was a syncope--I think. Then Sir Arthur said, \u201cQuite\nright, Bucksteed. Not another word! They are both gentlemen.\u201d And he\ntook off his cocked hat to Doctor Break and Rene.\n\n\u2018But poor Dad wouldn\u2019t let well alone. He kept saying, \u201cPhiladelphia,\nwhat does all this mean?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWell, sir,\u201d I said, \u201cI\u2019ve only just come down. As far as I could see,\nit looked as though Doctor Break had had a sudden seizure.\u201d That was\nquite true--if you\u2019d seen Rene seize him. Sir Arthur laughed. \u201cNot much\nchange there, Bucksteed,\u201d he said. \u201cShe\u2019s a lady--a thorough lady.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHeaven knows she doesn\u2019t look like one,\u201d said poor Dad. \u201cGo home,\nPhiladelphia.\u201d\n\n\u2018So I went home, my dear--don\u2019t laugh so!---right under Sir Arthur\u2019s\nnose--a most enormous nose--feeling as though I were twelve years old,\ngoing to be whipped. Oh, I beg your pardon, child!\u2019\n\n\u2018It\u2019s all right,\u2019 said Una. \u2018I\u2019m getting on for thirteen. I\u2019ve never\nbeen whipped, but I know how you felt. All the same, it must have been\nfunny!\u2019\n\n\u2018Funny! If you\u2019d heard Sir Arthur jerking out, \u201cGood Ged, Bucksteed!\u201d\n every minute as they rode behind me; and poor Dad saying, \u2018\u201c\u2018Pon my\nhonour, Arthur, I can\u2019t account for it!\u201d Oh, how my cheeks tingled when\nI reached my room! But Cissie had laid out my very best evening dress,\nthe white satin one, vandyked at the bottom with spots of morone foil,\nand the pearl knots, you know, catching up the drapery from the left\nshoulder. I had poor mother\u2019s lace tucker and her coronet comb.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, you lucky!\u2019 Una murmured. \u2018And gloves?\u2019\n\n\u2018French kid, my dear\u2019--Philadelphia patted her shoulder--\u2018and morone\nsatin shoes and a morone and gold crape fan. That restored my calm. Nice\nthings always do. I wore my hair banded on my forehead with a little\ncurl over the left ear. And when I descended the stairs, en grande\ntenue, old Amoore curtsied to me without my having to stop and look at\nher, which, alas! is too often the case. Sir Arthur highly approved\nof the dinner, my dear: the mackerel did come in time. We had all the\nMarklake silver out, and he toasted my health, and he asked me where\nmy little bird\u2019s-nesting sister was. I know he did it to quiz me, so I\nlooked him straight in the face, my dear, and I said, \u201cI always send her\nto the nursery, Sir Arthur, when I receive guests at Marklake Hall.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, how chee--clever of you. What did he say?\u2019 Una cried. \u2018He said,\n\u201cNot much change there, Bucksteed. Ged, I deserved it,\u201d and he toasted\nme again. They talked about the French and what a shame it was that Sir\nArthur only commanded a brigade at Hastings, and he told Dad of a battle\nin India at a place called Assaye. Dad said it was a terrible fight, but\nSir Arthur described it as though it had been a whist-party--I suppose\nbecause a lady was present.\u2019\n\n\u2018Of course you were the lady. I wish I\u2019d seen you,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018I wish you had, child. I had such a triumph after dinner. Rene and\nDoctor Break came in. They had quite made up their quarrel, and they\ntold me they had the highest esteem for each other, and I laughed and\nsaid, \u201cI heard every word of it up in the tree.\u201d You never saw two men\nso frightened in your life, and when I said, \u201cWhat was \u2018the subject of\nyour remarks,\u2019 Rene?\u201d neither of them knew where to look. Oh, I quizzed\nthem unmercifully. They\u2019d seen me jump off the pigsty roof, remember.\u2019\n\n\u2018But what was the subject of their remarks?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Oh, Doctor Break said it was a professional matter, so the laugh\nwas turned on me. I was horribly afraid it might have been something\nunladylike and indelicate. But that wasn\u2019t my triumph. Dad asked me to\nplay on the harp. Between just you and me, child, I had been practising\na new song from London--I don\u2019t always live in trees--for weeks; and I\ngave it them for a surprise.\u2019\n\n\u2018What was it?\u2019 said Una. \u2018Sing it.\u2019\n\n\u2018\u201cI have given my heart to a flower.\u201d Not very difficult fingering, but\nr-r-ravishing sentiment.\u2019\n\nPhiladelphia coughed and cleared her throat.\n\n\u2018I\u2019ve a deep voice for my age and size,\u2019 she explained. \u2018Contralto, you\nknow, but it ought to be stronger,\u2019 and she began, her face all dark\nagainst the last of the soft pink sunset:\n\n     \u2018I have given my heart to a flower,\n     Though I know it is fading away,\n     Though I know it will live but an hour\n     And leave me to mourn its decay!\n\n\u2018Isn\u2019t that touchingly sweet? Then the last verse--I wish I had my harp,\ndear--goes as low as my register will reach.\u2019She drew in her chin, and\ntook a deep breath:\n\n     \u2018Ye desolate whirlwinds that rave,\n     I charge you be good to my dear!\n     She is all--she is all that I have,\n     And the time of our parting is near!\u2019\n\n\u2018Beautiful!\u2019 said Una. \u2018And did they like it?\u2019 \u2018Like it? They were\noverwhelmed--accables, as Rene says. My dear, if I hadn\u2019t seen it, I\nshouldn\u2019t have believed that I could have drawn tears, genuine tears, to\nthe eyes of four grown men. But I did! Rene simply couldn\u2019t endure\nit! He\u2019s all French sensibility. He hid his face and said, \u201cAssez,\nMademoiselle! C\u2019est plus fort que moi! Assez!\u201d And Sir Arthur blew his\nnose and said, \u201cGood Ged! This is worse than Assaye!\u201d While Dad sat with\nthe tears simply running down his cheeks.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what did Doctor Break do?\u2019\n\n\u2018He got up and pretended to look out of the window, but I saw his little\nfat shoulders jerk as if he had the hiccoughs. That was a triumph. I\nnever suspected him of sensibility.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, I wish I\u2019d seen! I wish I\u2019d been you,\u2019 said Una, clasping her\nhands. Puck rustled and rose from the fern, just as a big blundering\ncock-chafer flew smack against Una\u2019s cheek.\n\nWhen she had finished rubbing the place, Mrs Vincey called to her that\nPansy had been fractious, or she would have come long before to help her\nstrain and pour off. \u2018It didn\u2019t matter,\u2019 said Una; \u2018I just waited. Is\nthat old Pansy barging about the lower pasture now?\u2019\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 said Mrs Vincey, listening. \u2018It sounds more like a horse being\ngalloped middlin\u2019 quick through the woods; but there\u2019s no road there.\nI reckon it\u2019s one of Gleason\u2019s colts loose. Shall I see you up to the\nhouse, Miss Una?\u2019\n\n\u2018Gracious, no! thank you. What\u2019s going to hurt me?\u2019 said Una, and she\nput her stool away behind the oak, and strolled home through the gaps\nthat old Hobden kept open for her.\n\n\n\n\nBrookland Road\n\n\n     I was very well pleased with what I knowed,\n     I reckoned myself no fool--\n     Till I met with a maid on the Brookland Road\n     That turned me back to school.\n\n          Low down--low down!\n          Where the liddle green lanterns shine--\n          Oh!  maids, I\u2019ve done with \u2018ee all but one,\n          And she can never be mine!\n     \u2018Twas right in the middest of a hot June night,\n     With thunder duntin\u2019 round,\n     And I seed her face by the fairy light\n     That beats from off the ground.\n\n     She only smiled and she never spoke,\n     She smiled and went away;\n     But when she\u2019d gone my heart was broke,\n     And my wits was clean astray.\n\n     Oh!  Stop your ringing and let me be--\n     Let be, O Brookland bells!\n     You\u2019ll ring Old Goodman * out of the sea,\n     Before I wed one else!\n\n     Old Goodman\u2019s farm is rank sea sand,\n     And was this thousand year;\n     But it shall turn to rich plough land\n     Before I change my dear!\n\n     Oh!  Fairfield Church is water-bound\n     From Autumn to the Spring;\n     But it shall turn to high hill ground\n     Before my bells do ring!\n\n     Oh!  leave me walk on the Brookland Road,\n     In the thunder and warm rain--\n     Oh!  leave me look where my love goed\n     And p\u2019raps I\u2019ll see her again!\n          Low down--low down!\n          Where the liddle green lanterns shine--\n          Oh!  maids, I\u2019ve done with \u2018ee all but one,\n          And she can never be mine!\n\n\n               *Earl Godwin of the Goodwin Sands(?)\n\n\n\n\nTHE KNIFE AND THE NAKED CHALK\n\n\n\n\nThe Run of the Downs\n\n\n     The Weald is good, the Downs are best--\n     I\u2019ll give you the run of \u2018em, East to West.\n     Beachy Head and Winddoor Hill,\n     They were once and they are still.\n     Firle, Mount Caburn and Mount Harry\n     Go back as far as sums\u2019ll carry.\n     Ditchling Beacon and Chanctonbury Ring,\n     They have looked on many a thing;\n     And what those two have missed between \u2018em\n     I reckon Truleigh Hill has seen \u2018em.\n     Highden, Bignor and Duncton Down\n     Knew Old England before the Crown.\n     Linch Down, Treyford and Sunwood\n     Knew Old England before the Flood.\n     And when you end on the Hampshire side--\n     Butser\u2019s old as Time and Tide.\n     The Downs are sheep, the Weald is corn,\n     You be glad you are Sussex born!\n\n\n\n\nThe Knife and the Naked Chalk\n\n\nThe children went to the seaside for a month, and lived in a flint\nvillage on the bare windy chalk Downs, quite thirty miles away from\nhome. They made friends with an old shepherd, called Mr Dudeney, who had\nknown their Father when their Father was little. He did not talk like\ntheir own people in the Weald of Sussex, and he used different names for\nfarm things, but he understood how they felt, and let them go with him.\nHe had a tiny cottage about half a mile from the village, where his wife\nmade mead from thyme honey, and nursed sick lambs in front of a coal\nfire, while Old Jim, who was Mr Dudeney\u2019s sheep-dog\u2019s father, lay at\nthe door. They brought up beef bones for Old Jim (you must never give\na sheep-dog mutton bones), and if Mr Dudeney happened to be far in the\nDowns, Mrs Dudeney would tell the dog to take them to him, and he did.\n\nOne August afternoon when the village water-cart had made the street\nsmell specially townified, they went to look for their shepherd as\nusual, and, as usual, Old Jim crawled over the doorstep and took them\nin charge. The sun was hot, the dry grass was very slippery, and the\ndistances were very distant.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s Just like the sea,\u2019 said Una, when Old Jim halted in the shade\nof a lonely flint barn on a bare rise. \u2018You see where you\u2019re going,\nand--you go there, and there\u2019s nothing between.\u2019\n\nDan slipped off his shoes. \u2018When we get home I shall sit in the woods\nall day,\u2019 he said.\n\n\u2018Whuff!\u2019 said Old Jim, to show he was ready, and struck across a long\nrolling stretch of turf. Presently he asked for his beefbone.\n\n\u2018Not yet,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018Where\u2019s Mr Dudeney? Where\u2019s Master?\u2019 Old Jim\nlooked as if he thought they were mad, and asked again.\n\n\u2018Don\u2019t you give it him,\u2019 Una cried. \u2018I\u2019m not going to be left howling in\na desert.\u2019\n\n\u2018Show, boy! Show!\u2019 said Dan, for the Downs seemed as bare as the palm of\nyour hand.\n\nOld Jim sighed, and trotted forward. Soon they spied the blob of Mr\nDudeney\u2019s hat against the sky a long way off.\n\n\u2018Right! All right!\u2019 said Dan. Old Jim wheeled round, took his bone\ncarefully between his blunted teeth, and returned to the shadow of the\nold barn, looking just like a wolf. The children went on. Two kestrels\nhung bivvering and squealing above them. A gull flapped lazily along the\nwhite edge of the cliffs. The curves of the Downs shook a little in the\nheat, and so did Mr Dudeney\u2019s distant head.\n\nThey walked toward it very slowly and found themselves staring into\na horseshoe-shaped hollow a hundred feet deep, whose steep sides were\nlaced with tangled sheep-tracks. The flock grazed on the flat at the\nbottom, under charge of Young Jim. Mr Dudeney sat comfortably knitting\non the edge of the slope, his crook between his knees. They told him\nwhat Old Jim had done.\n\n\u2018Ah, he thought you could see my head as soon as he did. The closeter\nyou be to the turf the more you see things. You look warm-like,\u2019 said Mr\nDudeney.\n\n\u2018We be,\u2019 said Una, flopping down. \u2018And tired.\u2019\n\n\u2018Set beside o\u2019 me here. The shadow\u2019ll begin to stretch out in a little\nwhile, and a heat-shake o\u2019 wind will come up with it that\u2019ll overlay\nyour eyes like so much wool.\u2019\n\n\u2018We don\u2019t want to sleep,\u2019 said Una indignantly; but she settled herself\nas she spoke, in the first strip of early afternoon shade.\n\n\u2018O\u2019 course not. You come to talk with me same as your father used. He\ndidn\u2019t need no dog to guide him to Norton Pit.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, he belonged here,\u2019 said Dan, and laid himself down at length on\nthe turf.\n\n\u2018He did. And what beats me is why he went off to live among them messy\ntrees in the Weald, when he might ha\u2019 stayed here and looked all about\nhim. There\u2019s no profit to trees. They draw the lightning, and sheep\nshelter under \u2018em, and so, like as not, you\u2019ll lose a half-score ewes\nstruck dead in one storm. Tck! Your father knew that.\u2019\n\n\u2018Trees aren\u2019t messy.\u2019 Una rose on her elbow. \u2018And what about firewood? I\ndon\u2019t like coal.\u2019\n\n\u2018Eh? You lie a piece more uphill and you\u2019ll lie more natural,\u2019 said Mr\nDudeney, with his provoking deaf smile. \u2018Now press your face down and\nsmell to the turf. That\u2019s Southdown thyme which makes our Southdown\nmutton beyond compare, and, my mother told me, \u2018twill cure anything\nexcept broken necks, or hearts. I forget which.\u2019\n\nThey sniffed, and somehow forgot to lift their cheeks from the soft\nthymy cushions.\n\n\u2018You don\u2019t get nothing like that in the Weald. Watercress, maybe?\u2019 said\nMr Dudeney.\n\n\u2018But we\u2019ve water--brooks full of it--where you paddle in hot weather,\u2019\nUna replied, watching a yellow-and-violet-banded snail-shell close to\nher eye.\n\n\u2018Brooks flood. Then you must shift your sheep--let alone foot-rot\nafterward. I put more dependence on a dew-pond any day.\u2019\n\n\u2018How\u2019s a dew-pond made?\u2019 said Dan, and tilted his hat over his eyes. Mr\nDudeney explained.\n\nThe air trembled a little as though it could not make up its mind\nwhether to slide into the Pit or move across the open. But it seemed\neasiest to go downhill, and the children felt one soft puff after\nanother slip and sidle down the slope in fragrant breaths that baffed on\ntheir eyelids. The little whisper of the sea by the cliffs joined with\nthe whisper of the wind over the grass, the hum of insects in the thyme,\nthe ruffle and rustle of the flock below, and a thickish mutter deep in\nthe very chalk beneath them. Mr Dudeney stopped explaining, and went\non with his knitting. They were roused by voices. The shadow had crept\nhalfway down the steep side of Norton Pit, and on the edge of it, his\nback to them, Puck sat beside a half-naked man who seemed busy at some\nwork. The wind had dropped, and in that funnel of ground every least\nnoise and movement reached them like whispers up a water-Pipe.\n\n\u2018That is clever,\u2019 said Puck, leaning over. \u2018How truly you shape it!\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, but what does The Beast care for a brittle flint tip? Bah!\u2019 The\nman flicked something contemptuously over his shoulder. It fell between\nDan and Una--a beautiful dark-blue flint arrow-head still hot from the\nmaker\u2019s hand.\n\nThe man reached for another stone, and worked away like a thrush with a\nsnail-shell.\n\n\u2018Flint work is fool\u2019s work,\u2019 he said at last. \u2018One does it because one\nalways did it; but when it comes to dealing with The Beast--no good!\u2019 He\nshook his shaggy head. \u2018The Beast was dealt with long ago. He has gone,\u2019\nsaid Puck.\n\n\u2018He\u2019ll be back at lambing time. I know him.\u2019 He chipped very carefully,\nand the flints squeaked.\n\n\u2018Not he. Children can lie out on the Chalk now all day through and go\nhome safe.\u2019\n\n\u2018Can they? Well, call The Beast by his True Name, and I\u2019ll believe it,\u2019\nthe man replied. \u2018Surely!\u2019 Puck leaped to his feet, curved his hands\nround his mouth and shouted: \u2018Wolf! Wolf!\u2019\n\nNorton Pit threw back the echo from its dry sides--\u2018Wuff!\u2019 Wuff!\u2019 like\nYoung jim\u2019s bark.\n\n\u2018You see? You hear?\u2019 said Puck. \u2018Nobody answers. Grey Shepherd is gone.\nFeet-in-the-Night has run off. There are no more wolves.\u2019\n\n\u2018Wonderful!\u2019 The man wiped his forehead as though he were hot. \u2018Who\ndrove him away? You?\u2019\n\n\u2018Many men through many years, each working in his own country. Were you\none of them?\u2019 Puck answered.\n\nThe man slid his sheepskin cloak to his waist, and without a word\npointed to his side, which was all seamed and blotched with scars.\nHis arms, too, were dimpled from shoulder to elbow with horrible white\ndimples.\n\n\u2018I see,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018It is The Beast\u2019s mark. What did you use against\nhim?\u2019 \u2018Hand, hammer, and spear, as our fathers did before us.\u2019\n\n\u2018So? Then how\u2019--Puck twitched aside the man\u2019s dark-brown cloak--\u2018how did\na Flint-worker come by that? Show, man, show!\u2019 He held out his little\nhand.\n\nThe man slipped a long dark iron knife, almost a short sword, from his\nbelt, and after breathing on it, handed it hilt-first to Puck, who took\nit with his head on one side, as you should when you look at the works\nof a watch, squinted down the dark blade, and very delicately rubbed his\nforefinger from the point to the hilt.\n\n\u2018Good!\u2019 said he, in a surprised tone.\n\n\u2018It should be. The Children of the Night made it,\u2019 the man answered.\n\n\u2018So I see by the iron. What might it have cost you?\u2019\n\n\u2018This!\u2019 The man raised his hand to his cheek. Puck whistled like a Weald\nstarling.\n\n\u2018By the Great Rings of the Chalk!\u2019 he cried. \u2018Was that your price? Turn\nsunward that I may see better, and shut your eye.\u2019 He slipped his hand\nbeneath the man\u2019s chin and swung him till he faced the children up the\nslope. They saw that his right eye was gone, and the eyelid lay shrunk.\nQuickly Puck turned him round again, and the two sat down.\n\n\u2018It was for the sheep. The sheep are the people,\u2019 said the man, in an\nashamed voice. \u2018What else could I have done? You know, Old One.\u2019\n\nPuck sighed a little fluttering sigh. \u2018Take the knife. I listen.\u2019 The\nman bowed his head, drove the knife into the turf, and while it still\nquivered said: \u2018This is witness between us that I speak the thing that\nhas been. Before my Knife and the Naked Chalk I speak. Touch!\u2019\n\nPuck laid a hand on the hilt. It stopped shaking. The children wriggled\na little nearer.\n\n\u2018I am of the People of the Worked Flint. I am the one son of the\nPriestess who sells the Winds to the Men of the Sea. I am the Buyer\nof the Knife--the Keeper of the People,\u2019 the man began, in a sort of\nsinging shout. \u2018These are my names in this country of the Naked Chalk,\nbetween the Trees and the Sea.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yours was a great country. Your names are great too,\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018One cannot feed some things on names and songs.\u2019 The man hit himself\non the chest. \u2018It is better--always better--to count one\u2019s children safe\nround the fire, their Mother among them.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ahai!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018I think this will be a very old tale.\u2019 \u2018I warm\nmyself and eat at any fire that I choose, but there is no one to light\nme a fire or cook my meat. I sold all that when I bought the Magic Knife\nfor my people. It was not right that The Beast should master man. What\nelse could I have done?\u2019\n\n\u2018I hear. I know. I listen,\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018When I was old enough to take my place in the Sheepguard, The Beast\ngnawed all our country like a bone between his teeth. He came in behind\nthe flocks at watering-time, and watched them round the Dew-ponds; he\nleaped into the folds between our knees at the shearing; he walked out\nalongside the grazing flocks, and chose his meat on the hoof while our\nboys threw flints at him; he crept by night \u2018into the huts, and licked\nthe babe from between the mother\u2019s hands; he called his companions and\npulled down men in broad daylight on the Naked Chalk. No--not always did\nhe do so! This was his cunning! He would go away for a while to let us\nforget him. A year--two years perhaps--we neither smelt, nor heard, nor\nsaw him. When our flocks had increased; when our men did not always\nlook behind them; when children strayed from the fenced places; when our\nwomen walked alone to draw water--back, back, back came the Curse of\nthe Chalk, Grey Shepherd, Feet-in-the-Night--The Beast, The Beast, The\nBeast!\n\n\u2018He laughed at our little brittle arrows and our poor blunt spears. He\nlearned to run in under the stroke of the hammer. I think he knew when\nthere was a flaw in the flint. Often it does not show till you bring it\ndown on his snout. Then--Pouf!---the false flint falls all to flinders,\nand you are left with the hammer-handle in your fist, and his teeth in\nyour flank! I have felt them. At evening, too, in the dew, or when it\nhas misted and rained, your spear-head lashings slack off, though you\nhave kept them beneath your cloak all day. You are alone--but so close\nto the home ponds that you stop to tighten the sinews with hands, teeth,\nand a piece of driftwood. You bend over and pull--so! That is the minute\nfor which he has followed you since the stars went out. \u201cAarh!\u201d he\n\u201cWurr-aarh!\u201d he says.\u2019 (Norton Pit gave back the growl like a pack of\nreal wolves.) \u2018Then he is on your right shoulder feeling for the vein\nin your neck, and--perhaps your sheep run on without you. To fight\nThe Beast is nothing, but to be despised by The Beast when he fights\nyou--that is like his teeth in the heart! Old One, why is it that men\ndesire so greatly, and can do so little?\u2019\n\n\u2018I do not know. Did you desire so much?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018I desired to master The Beast. It is not right that The Beast should\nmaster man. But my people were afraid. Even, my Mother, the Priestess,\nwas afraid when I told her what I desired. We were accustomed to be\nafraid of The Beast. When I was made a man, and a maiden--she was a\nPriestess--waited for me at the Dew-ponds, The Beast flitted from off\nthe Chalk. Perhaps it was a sickness; perhaps he had gone to his Gods to\nlearn how to do us new harm. But he went, and we breathed more freely.\nThe women sang again; the children were not so much guarded; our flocks\ngrazed far out. I took mine yonder\u2019--he pointed inland to the hazy\nline of the Weald--\u2018where the new grass was best. They grazed north. I\nfollowed till we were close to the Trees\u2019--he lowered his voice--\u2018close\nthere where the Children of the Night live.\u2019 He pointed north again.\n\n\u2018Ah, now I remember a thing,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018Tell me, why did your people\nfear the Trees so extremely?\u2019\n\n\u2018Because the Gods hate the Trees and strike them with lightning. We can\nsee them burning for days all along the Chalk\u2019s edge. Besides, all the\nChalk knows that the Children of the Night, though they worship our\nGods, are magicians. When a man goes into their country, they change his\nspirit; they put words into his mouth; they make him like talking water.\nBut a voice in my heart told me to go toward the north. While I watched\nmy sheep there I saw three Beasts chasing a man, who ran toward the\nTrees. By this I knew he was a Child of the Night. We Flint-workers fear\nthe Trees more than we fear The Beast. He had no hammer. He carried a\nknife like this one. A Beast leaped at him. He stretched out his knife.\nThe Beast fell dead. The other Beasts ran away howling, which they would\nnever have done from a Flint-worker. The man went in among the Trees. I\nlooked for the dead Beast. He had been killed in a new way--by a single\ndeep, clean cut, without bruise or tear, which had split his bad heart.\nWonderful! So I saw that the man\u2019s knife was magic, and I thought how to\nget it,--thought strongly how to get it.\n\n\u2018When I brought the flocks to the shearing, my Mother the Priestess\nasked me, \u201cWhat is the new thing which you have seen and I see in your\nface?\u201d I said, \u201cIt is a sorrow to me\u201d; and she answered, \u201cAll new things\nare sorrow. Sit in my place, and eat sorrow.\u201d I sat down in her place by\nthe fire, where she talks to the ghosts in winter, and two voices spoke\nin my heart. One voice said, \u201cAsk the Children of the Night for the\nMagic Knife. It is not fit that The Beast should master man.\u201d I listened\nto that voice.\n\n\u2018One voice said, \u201cIf you go among the Trees, the Children of the Night\nwill change your spirit. Eat and sleep here.\u201d The other voice said, \u201cAsk\nfor the Knife.\u201d I listened to that voice.\n\n\u2018I said to my Mother in the morning, \u201cI go away to find a thing for the\npeople, but I do not know whether I shall return in my own shape.\u201d She\nanswered, \u201cWhether you live or die, or are made different, I am your\nMother.\u201d\n\n\u2018True,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018The Old Ones themselves cannot change men\u2019s mothers\neven if they would.\u2019\n\n\u2018Let us thank the Old Ones! I spoke to my Maiden, the Priestess who\nwaited for me at the Dew-ponds. She promised fine things too.\u2019 The man\nlaughed. \u2018I went away to that place where I had seen the magician with\nthe knife. I lay out two days on the short grass before I ventured among\nthe Trees. I felt my way before me with a stick. I was afraid of the\nterrible talking Trees. I was afraid of the ghosts in the branches; of\nthe soft ground underfoot; of the red and black waters. I was afraid,\nabove all, of the Change. It came!\u2019\n\nThey saw him wipe his forehead once again, and his strong back-muscles\nquivered till he laid his hand on the knife-hilt.\n\n\u2018A fire without a flame burned in my head; an evil taste grew in my\nmouth; my eyelids shut hot over my eyes; my breath was hot between my\nteeth, and my hands were like the hands of a stranger. I was made to\nsing songs and to mock the Trees, though I was afraid of them. At the\nsame time I saw myself laughing, and I was very sad for this fine young\nman, who was myself. Ah! The Children of the Night know magic.\u2019\n\n\u2018I think that is done by the Spirits of the Mist. They change a man, if\nhe sleeps among them,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018Had you slept in any mists?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes--but I know it was the Children of the Night. After three days I\nsaw a red light behind the Trees, and I heard a heavy noise. I saw the\nChildren of the Night dig red stones from a hole, and lay them in fires.\nThe stones melted like tallow, and the men beat the soft stuff with\nhammers. I wished to speak to these men, but the words were changed in\nmy mouth, and all I could say was, \u201cDo not make that noise. It hurts my\nhead.\u201d By this I knew that I was bewitched, and I clung to the Trees,\nand prayed the Children of the Night to take off their spells. They were\ncruel. They asked me many questions which they would never allow me to\nanswer. They changed my words between my teeth till I wept. Then they\nled me into a hut and covered the floor with hot stones and dashed water\non the stones, and sang charms till the sweat poured off me like\nwater. I slept. When I waked, my own spirit--not the strange, shouting\nthing--was back in my body, and I was like a cool bright stone on the\nshingle between the sea and the sunshine. The magicians came to hear\nme--women and men--each wearing a Magic Knife. Their Priestess was their\nEars and their Mouth.\n\n\u2018I spoke. I spoke many words that went smoothly along like sheep in\norder when their shepherd, standing on a mound, can count those coming,\nand those far off getting ready to come. I asked for Magic Knives for my\npeople. I said that my people would bring meat, and milk, and wool, and\nlay them in the short grass outside the Trees, if the Children of the\nNight would leave Magic Knives for our people to take away. They\nwere pleased. Their Priestess said, \u201cFor whose sake have you come?\u201d I\nanswered, \u201cThe sheep are the people. If The Beast kills our sheep, our\npeople die. So I come for a Magic Knife to kill The Beast.\u201d\n\n\u2018She said, \u201cWe do not know if our God will let us trade with the people\nof the Naked Chalk. Wait till we have asked.\u201d\n\n\u2018When they came back from the Question-place (their Gods are our Gods),\ntheir Priestess said, \u201cThe God needs a proof that your words are true.\u201d\n I said, \u201cWhat is the proof?\u201d She said, \u201cThe God says that if you have\ncome for the sake of your people you will give him your right eye to be\nput out; but if you have come for any other reason you will not give it.\nThis proof is between you and the God. We ourselves are sorry.\u201d\n\n\u2018I said, \u201cThis is a hard proof. Is there no other road?\u201d\n\n\u2018She said, \u201cYes. You can go back to your people with your two eyes in\nyour head if you choose. But then you will not get any Magic Knives for\nyour people.\u201d\n\n\u2018I said, \u201cIt would be easier if I knew that I were to be killed.\u201d\n\n\u2018She said, \u201cPerhaps the God knew this too. See! I have made my knife\nhot.\u201d\n\n\u2018I said, \u201cBe quick, then!\u201d With her knife heated in the flame she put\nout my right eye. She herself did it. I am the son of a Priestess. She\nwas a Priestess. It was not work for any common man.\u2019\n\n\u2018True! Most true,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018No common man\u2019s work that. And,\nafterwards?\u2019\n\n\u2018Afterwards I did not see out of that eye any more. I found also that a\none eye does not tell you truly where things are. Try it!\u2019\n\nAt this Dan put his hand over one eye, and reached for the flint\narrow-head on the grass. He missed it by inches. \u2018It\u2019s true,\u2019 he\nwhispered to Una. \u2018You can\u2019t judge distances a bit with only one eye.\u2019\n\nPuck was evidently making the same experiment, for the man laughed at\nhim.\n\n\u2018I know it is so,\u2019 said he. \u2018Even now I am not always sure of my blow.\nI stayed with the Children of the Night till my eye healed. They said I\nwas the son of Tyr, the God who put his right hand in a Beast\u2019s mouth.\nThey showed me how they melted their red stone and made the Magic Knives\nof it. They told me the charms they sang over the fires and at the\nbeatings. I can sing many charms.\u2019 Then he began to laugh like a boy.\n\n\u2018I was thinking of my journey home,\u2019 he said, \u2018and of the surprised\nBeast. He had come back to the Chalk. I saw him--I smelt his lairs as\nsoon as ever I left the Trees. He did not know I had the Magic Knife--I\nhid it under my cloak--the Knife that the Priestess gave me. Ho! Ho!\nThat happy day was too short! See! A Beast would wind me. \u201cWow!\u201d he\nwould say. \u201cHere is my Flint-worker!\u201d He would come leaping, tail\nin air; he would roll; he would lay his head between his paws out of\nmerriness of heart at his warm, waiting meal. He would leap--and, oh,\nhis eye in mid-leap when he saw--when he saw the knife held ready for\nhim! It pierced his hide as a rush pierces curdled milk. Often he had no\ntime to howl. I did not trouble to flay any beasts I killed. Sometimes\nI missed my blow. Then I took my little flint hammer and beat out his\nbrains as he cowered. He made no fight. He knew the Knife! But The Beast\nis very cunning. Before evening all The Beasts had smelt the blood on my\nknife, and were running from me like hares. They knew! Then I walked as\na man should--the Master of The Beast!\n\n\u2018So came I back to my Mother\u2019s house. There was a lamb to be killed.\nI cut it in two halves with my knife, and I told her all my tale. She\nsaid, \u201cThis is the work of a God.\u201d I kissed her and laughed. I went to\nmy Maiden who waited for me at the Dew-ponds. There was a lamb to be\nkilled. I cut it in two halves with my knife, and told her all my tale.\nShe said, \u201cIt is the work of a God.\u201d I laughed, but she pushed me away,\nand being on my blind side, ran off before I could kiss her. I went\nto the Men of the Sheepguard at watering-time. There was a sheep to be\nkilled for their meat. I cut it in two halves with my knife, and told\nthem all my tale. They said, \u201cIt is the work of a God.\u201d I said, \u201cWe talk\ntoo much about Gods. Let us eat and be happy, and tomorrow I will take\nyou to the Children of the Night, and each man will find a Magic Knife.\u201d\n\n\n\u2018I was glad to smell our sheep again; to see the broad sky from edge to\nedge, and to hear the sea. I slept beneath the stars in my cloak. The\nmen talked among themselves.\n\n\u2018I led them, the next day, to the Trees, taking with me meat, wool, and\ncurdled milk, as I had promised. We found the Magic Knives laid out on\nthe grass, as the Children of the Night had promised. They watched us\nfrom among the Trees. Their Priestess called to me and said, \u201cHow is it\nwith your people?\u201d I said \u201cTheir hearts are changed. I cannot see their\nhearts as I used to.\u201d She said, \u201cThat is because you have only one eye.\nCome to me and I will be both your eyes.\u201d But I said, \u201cI must show my\npeople how to use their knives against The Beast, as you showed me how\nto use my knife.\u201d I said this because the Magic Knife does not balance\nlike the flint. She said, \u201cWhat you have done, you have done for the\nsake of a woman, and not for the sake of your people.\u201d I asked of her,\n\u201cThen why did the God accept my right eye, and why are you so angry?\u201d\n She answered, \u201cBecause any man can lie to a God, but no man can lie to\na woman. And I am not angry with you. I am only very sorrowful for you.\nWait a little, and you will see out of your one eye why I am sorry.\u201d So\nshe hid herself.\n\n\u2018I went back with my people, each one carrying his Knife, and making\nit sing in the air--tssee-sssse. The Flint never sings. It\nmutters--ump-ump. The Beast heard. The Beast saw. He knew! Everywhere\nhe ran away from us. We all laughed. As we walked over the grass my\nMother\u2019s brother--the Chief on the Men\u2019s Side--he took off his Chief\u2019s\nnecklace of yellow sea-stones.\u2019\n\n\u2018How? Eh? Oh, I remember! Amber,\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018And would have put them on my neck. I said, \u201cNo, I am content. What\ndoes my one eye matter if my other eye sees fat sheep and fat children\nrunning about safely?\u201d My Mother\u2019s brother said to them, \u201cI told you he\nwould never take such things.\u201d Then they began to sing a song in the Old\nTongue--The Song of Tyr. I sang with them, but my Mother\u2019s brother said,\n\u201cThis is your song, O Buyer of the Knife. Let us sing it, Tyr.\u201d\n\n\u2018Even then I did not understand, till I saw that--that no man stepped\non my shadow; and I knew that they thought me to be a God, like the God\nTyr, who gave his right hand to conquer a Great Beast.\u2019\n\n\u2018By the Fire in the Belly of the Flint was that so?\u2019 Puck rapped out.\n\n\u2018By my Knife and the Naked Chalk, so it was! They made way for my shadow\nas though it had been a Priestess walking to the Barrows of the Dead.\nI was afraid. I said to myself, \u201cMy Mother and my Maiden will know I am\nnot Tyr.\u201d But still I was afraid, with the fear of a man who falls into\na steep flint-pit while he runs, and feels that it will be hard to climb\nout.\n\n\u2018When we came to the Dew-ponds all our people were there. The men showed\ntheir knives and told their tale. The sheep guards also had seen\nThe Beast flying from us. The Beast went west across the river in\npacks--howling! He knew the Knife had come to the Naked Chalk at\nlast--at last! He knew! So my work was done. I looked for my Maiden\namong the Priestesses. She looked at me, but she did not smile. She made\nthe sign to me that our Priestesses must make when they sacrifice to the\nOld Dead in the Barrows. I would have spoken, but my Mother\u2019s brother\nmade himself my Mouth, as though I had been one of the Old Dead in the\nBarrows for whom our Priests speak to the people on Midsummer Mornings.\u2019\n\n\u2018I remember. Well I remember those Midsummer Mornings!\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018Then I went away angrily to my Mother\u2019s house. She would have knelt\nbefore me. Then I was more angry, but she said, \u201cOnly a God would have\nspoken to me thus, a Priestess. A man would have feared the punishment\nof the Gods.\u201d I looked at her and I laughed. I could not stop my unhappy\nlaughing. They called me from the door by the name of Tyr himself. A\nyoung man with whom I had watched my first flocks, and chipped my first\narrow, and fought my first Beast, called me by that name in the Old\nTongue. He asked my leave to take my Maiden. His eyes were lowered, his\nhands were on his forehead. He was full of the fear of a God, but of me,\na man, he had no fear when he asked. I did not kill him. I said, \u201cCall\nthe maiden.\u201d She came also without fear--this very one that had waited\nfor me, that had talked with me, by our Dew-ponds. Being a Priestess,\nshe lifted her eyes to me. As I look on a hill or a cloud, so she looked\nat me. She spoke in the Old Tongue which Priestesses use when they make\nprayers to the Old Dead in the Barrows. She asked leave that she might\nlight the fire in my companion\u2019s house--and that I should bless their\nchildren. I did not kill her. I heard my own voice, little and cold,\nsay, \u201cLet it be as you desire,\u201d and they went away hand in hand. My\nheart grew little and cold; a wind shouted in my ears; my eye darkened.\nI said to my Mother, \u201cCan a God die?\u201d I heard her say, \u201cWhat is it? What\nis it, my son?\u201d and I fell into darkness full of hammer-noises. I was\nnot.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, poor--poor God!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018And your wise Mother?\u2019\n\n\u2018She knew. As soon as I dropped she knew. When my spirit came back\nI heard her whisper in my ear, \u201cWhether you live or die, or are made\ndifferent, I am your Mother.\u201d That was good--better even than the water\nshe gave me and the going away of the sickness. Though I was ashamed to\nhave fallen down, yet I was very glad. She was glad too. Neither of us\nwished to lose the other. There is only the one Mother for the one son.\nI heaped the fire for her, and barred the doors, and sat at her feet as\nbefore I went away, and she combed my hair, and sang.\n\n\u2018I said at last, \u201cWhat is to be done to the people who say that I am\nTyr?\u201d\n\n\u2018She said, \u201cHe who has done a God-like thing must bear himself like a\nGod. I see no way out of it. The people are now your sheep till you die.\nYou cannot drive them off.\u201d\n\n\n\u2018I said, \u201cThis is a heavier sheep than I can lift.\u201d She said, \u201cIn time\nit will grow easy. In time perhaps you will not lay it down for any\nmaiden anywhere. Be wise--be very wise, my son, for nothing is left you\nexcept the words, and the songs, and the worship of a God.\u201d\n\n\u2018Oh, poor God!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018But those are not altogether bad things.\u2019\n\n\u2018I know they are not; but I would sell them all--all--all for one small\nchild of my own, smearing himself with the ashes of our own house-fire.\u2019\n\nHe wrenched his knife from the turf, thrust it into his belt and stood\nup.\n\n\u2018And yet, what else could I have done?\u2019 he said. \u2018The sheep are the\npeople.\u2019\n\n\u2018It is a very old tale,\u2019 Puck answered. \u2018I have heard the like of it not\nonly on the Naked Chalk, but also among the Trees--under Oak, and Ash,\nand Thorn.\u2019\n\nThe afternoon shadows filled all the quiet emptiness of Norton Pit. The\nchildren heard the sheep-bells and Young jim\u2019s busy bark above them, and\nthey scrambled up the slope to the level.\n\n\u2018We let you have your sleep out,\u2019 said Mr Dudeney, as the flock\nscattered before them. \u2018It\u2019s making for tea-time now.\u2019\n\n\u2018Look what I\u2019ve found, said Dan, and held up a little blue flint\narrow-head as fresh as though it had been chipped that very day.\n\n\u2018Oh,\u2019 said Mr Dudeney, \u2018the closeter you be to the turf the more you\u2019re\napt to see things. I\u2019ve found \u2018em often. Some says the fairies made \u2018em,\nbut I says they was made by folks like ourselves--only a goodish time\nback. They\u2019re lucky to keep. Now, you couldn\u2019t ever have slept--not to\nany profit--among your father\u2019s trees same as you\u2019ve laid out on Naked\nChalk--could you?\u2019\n\n\u2018One doesn\u2019t want to sleep in the woods,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Then what\u2019s the good of \u2018em?\u2019 said Mr Dudeney. \u2018Might as well set in\nthe barn all day. Fetch \u2018em \u2018long, Jim boy!\u2019\n\nThe Downs, that looked so bare and hot when they came, were full of\ndelicious little shadow-dimples; the smell of the thyme and the salt\nmixed together on the south-west drift from the still sea; their eyes\ndazzled with the low sun, and the long grass under it looked golden. The\nsheep knew where their fold was, so Young Jim came back to his master,\nand they all four strolled home, the scabious-heads swishing about their\nankles, and their shadows streaking behind them like the shadows of\ngiants.\n\n\n\n\nSong of the Men\u2019s Side\n\n\n     Once we feared The Beast--when he followed us we ran,\n     Ran very fast though we knew\n     It was not right that The Beast should master Man;\n     But what could we Flint-workers do?\n     The Beast only grinned at our spears round his ears--\n     Grinned at the hammers that we made;\n     But now we will hunt him for the life with the Knife--\n     And this is the Buyer of the Blade!\n\n          Room for his shadow on the grass--let it pass!\n          To left and right--stand clear!\n          This is the Buyer of the Blade--be afraid!\n          This is the great God Tyr!\n\n     Tyr thought hard till he hammered out a plan,\n     For he knew it was not right\n     (And it is not right) that The Beast should master Man;\n     So he went to the Children of the Night.\n     He begged a Magic Knife of their make for our sake.\n     When he begged for the Knife they said:\n     \u2018The price of the Knife you would buy is an eye!\u2019\n     And that was the price he paid.\n\n          Tell it to the Barrows of the Dead--run ahead!\n          Shout it so the Women\u2019s Side can hear!\n          This is the Buyer of the Blade--be afraid!\n          This is the great God Tyr!\n\n     Our women and our little ones may walk on the Chalk,\n     As far as we can see them and beyond.\n     We shall not be anxious for our sheep when we keep\n     Tally at the shearing-pond.\n\n     We can eat with both our elbows on our knees, if we please,\n     We can sleep after meals in the sun;\n     For Shepherd-of-the-Twilight is dismayed at the Blade,\n     Feet-in-the-Night have run!\n     Dog-without-a-Master goes away (Hai, Tyr aie!),\n     Devil-in-the-Dusk has run!\n\n     Then:\n          Room for his shadow on the grass--let it pass!\n          To left and right--stand clear!\n          This is the Buyer of the Blade--be afraid!\n          This is the great God Tyr!\n\n\n\n\nBROTHER SQUARE-TOES\n\n\n\n\nPhiladelphia\n\n\n   If you\u2019re off to Philadelphia in the morning,\n   You mustn\u2019t take my stories for a guide.\n   There\u2019s little left indeed of the city you will read of,\n   And all the folk I write about have died.\n   Now few will understand if you mention Talleyrand,\n   Or remember what his cunning and his skill did.\n   And the cabmen at the wharf do not know Count Zinnendorf,\n   Nor the Church in Philadelphia he builded.\n\n        It is gone, gone, gone with lost Atlantis\n        (Never say I didn\u2019t give you warning).\n        In Seventeen Ninety-three \u2018twas there for all to see,\n        But it\u2019s not in Philadelphia this morning.\n\n   If you\u2019re off to Philadelphia in the morning,\n   You mustn\u2019t go by everything I\u2019ve said.\n   Bob Bicknell\u2019s Southern Stages have been laid aside for ages,\n   But the Limited will take you there instead.\n   Toby Hirte can\u2019t be seen at One Hundred and Eighteen,\n   North Second Street--no matter when you call;\n   And I fear you\u2019ll search in vain for the wash-house down the lane\n   Where Pharaoh played the fiddle at the ball.\n\n        It is gone, gone, gone with Thebes the Golden\n        (Never say I didn\u2019t give you warning).\n        In Seventeen Ninety-four \u2018twas a famous dancing-floor--\n        But it\u2019s not in Philadelphia this morning.\n\n   If you\u2019re off to Philadelphia in the morning,\n   You must telegraph for rooms at some Hotel.\n   You needn\u2019t try your luck at Epply\u2019s or the \u2018Buck,\u2019\n   Though the Father of his Country liked them well.\n   It is not the slightest use to inquire for Adam Goos,\n   Or to ask where Pastor Meder has removed--so\n   You must treat as out-of-date the story I relate\n   Of the Church in Philadelphia he loved so.\n\n        He is gone, gone, gone with Martin Luther\n        (Never say I didn\u2019t give you warning).\n        In Seventeen Ninety-five he was (rest his soul!) alive,\n        But he\u2019s not in Philadelphia this morning.\n   If you\u2019re off to Philadelphia this morning,\n   And wish to prove the truth of what I say,\n   I pledge my word you\u2019ll find the pleasant land behind\n   Unaltered since Red Jacket rode that way.\n   Still the pine-woods scent the noon; still the cat-bird sings his tune;\n   Still Autumn sets the maple-forest blazing.\n   Still the grape-vine through the dusk flings her soul-compelling musk;\n   Still the fire-flies in the corn make night amazing.\n        They are there, there, there with Earth immortal\n        (Citizens, I give you friendly warning).\n        The things that truly last when men and times have passed,\n        They are all in Pennsylvania this morning!\n\n\n\n\nBrother Square-Toes\n\n\nIt was almost the end of their visit to the seaside. They had turned\nthemselves out of doors while their trunks were being packed, and\nstrolled over the Downs towards the dull evening sea. The tide was dead\nlow under the chalk cliffs, and the little wrinkled waves grieved along\nthe sands up the coast to Newhaven and down the coast to long, grey\nBrighton, whose smoke trailed out across the Channel.\n\nThey walked to The Gap, where the cliff is only a few feet high. A\nwindlass for hoisting shingle from the beach below stands at the edge of\nit. The Coastguard cottages are a little farther on, and an old ship\u2019s\nfigurehead of a Turk in a turban stared at them over the wall. \u2018This\ntime tomorrow we shall be at home, thank goodness,\u2019 said Una. \u2018I hate\nthe sea!\u2019\n\n\u2018I believe it\u2019s all right in the middle,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018The edges are the\nsorrowful parts.\u2019\n\nCordery, the coastguard, came out of the cottage, levelled his telescope\nat some fishing-boats, shut it with a click and walked away. He grew\nsmaller and smaller along the edge of the cliff, where neat piles of\nwhite chalk every few yards show the path even on the darkest night.\n\u2018Where\u2019s Cordery going?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Half-way to Newhaven,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018Then he\u2019ll meet the Newhaven\ncoastguard and turn back. He says if coastguards were done away with,\nsmuggling would start up at once.\u2019\n\nA voice on the beach under the cliff began to sing:\n\n     \u2018The moon she shined on Telscombe Tye--\n     On Telscombe Tye at night it was--\n     She saw the smugglers riding by,\n     A very pretty sight it was!\u2019\n\nFeet scrabbled on the flinty path. A dark, thin-faced man in very neat\nbrown clothes and broad-toed shoes came up, followed by Puck.\n\n     \u2018Three Dunkirk boats was standin\u2019 in!\u2019\n\nthe man went on. \u2018Hssh!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018You\u2019ll shock these nice young\npeople.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh! Shall I? Mille pardons!\u2019 He shrugged his shoulders almost up to his\nears--spread his hands abroad, and jabbered in French. \u2018No comprenny?\u2019\nhe said. \u2018I\u2019ll give it you in Low German.\u2019 And he went off in another\nlanguage, changing his voice and manner so completely that they hardly\nknew him for the same person. But his dark beady-brown eyes still\ntwinkled merrily in his lean face, and the children felt that they did\nnot suit the straight, plain, snuffy-brown coat, brown knee-breeches,\nand broad-brimmed hat. His hair was tied \u2018in a short pigtail which\ndanced wickedly when he turned his head.\n\n\u2018Ha\u2019 done!\u2019 said Puck, laughing. \u2018Be one thing or t\u2019other,\nPharaoh--French or English or German--no great odds which.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, but it is, though,\u2019 said Una quickly. \u2018We haven\u2019t begun German yet,\nand--and we\u2019re going back to our French next week.\u2019\n\n\u2018Aren\u2019t you English?\u2019 said Dan. \u2018We heard you singing just now.\u2019\n\n\u2018Aha! That was the Sussex side o\u2019 me. Dad he married a French girl\nout o\u2019 Boulogne, and French she stayed till her dyin\u2019 day. She was an\nAurette, of course. We Lees mostly marry Aurettes. Haven\u2019t you ever come\nacross the saying:\n\n     \u2018Aurettes and Lees,\n     Like as two peas.\n     What they can\u2019t smuggle,\n     They\u2019ll run over seas\u2019?\n\n\u2018Then, are you a smuggler?\u2019 Una cried; and, \u2018Have you smuggled\nmuch?\u2019 said Dan.\n\nMr Lee nodded solemnly.\n\n\u2018Mind you,\u2019 said he, \u2018I don\u2019t uphold smuggling for the generality o\u2019\nmankind--mostly they can\u2019t make a do of it--but I was brought up to the\ntrade, d\u2019ye see, in a lawful line o\u2019 descent on\u2019--he waved across the\nChannel--\u2018on both sides the water. \u2018Twas all in the families, same\nas fiddling. The Aurettes used mostly to run the stuff across from\nBoulogne, and we Lees landed it here and ran it up to London Town, by\nthe safest road.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then where did you live?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018You mustn\u2019t ever live too close to your business in our trade. We kept\nour little fishing smack at Shoreham, but otherwise we Lees was all\nhonest cottager folk--at Warminghurst under Washington--Bramber way--on\nthe old Penn estate.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah!\u2019 said Puck, squatted by the windlass. \u2018I remember a piece about the\nLees at Warminghurst, I do:\n\n     \u2018There was never a Lee to Warminghurst\n     That wasn\u2019t a gipsy last and first.\n\nI reckon that\u2019s truth, Pharaoh.\u2019\n\nPharaoh laughed. \u2018Admettin\u2019 that\u2019s true,\u2019 he said, \u2018my gipsy blood must\nbe wore pretty thin, for I\u2019ve made and kept a worldly fortune.\u2019\n\n\u2018By smuggling?\u2019 Dan asked. \u2018No, in the tobacco trade.\u2019\n\n\u2018You don\u2019t mean to say you gave up smuggling just to go and be a\ntobacconist!\u2019 Dan looked so disappointed they all had to laugh.\n\n\u2018I\u2019m sorry; but there\u2019s all sorts of tobacconists,\u2019 Pharaoh replied.\n\u2018How far out, now, would you call that smack with the patch on her\nforesail?\u2019 He pointed to the fishing-boats.\n\n\u2018A scant mile,\u2019 said Puck after a quick look.\n\n\u2018Just about. It\u2019s seven fathom under her--clean sand. That was where\nUncle Aurette used to sink his brandy kegs from Boulogne, and we fished\n\u2018em up and rowed \u2018em into The Gap here for the ponies to run inland.\nOne thickish night in January of \u2018Ninety-three, Dad and Uncle Lot and me\ncame over from Shoreham in the smack, and we found Uncle Aurette and the\nL\u2019Estranges, my cousins, waiting for us in their lugger with New Year\u2019s\npresents from Mother\u2019s folk in Boulogne. I remember Aunt Cecile she\u2019d\nsent me a fine new red knitted cap, which I put on then and there, for\nthe French was having their Revolution in those days, and red caps was\nall the fashion. Uncle Aurette tells us that they had cut off their\nKing Louis\u2019 head, and, moreover, the Brest forts had fired on an English\nman-o\u2019-war. The news wasn\u2019t a week old.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat means war again, when we was only just getting used to the\npeace,\u201d says Dad. \u201cWhy can\u2019t King George\u2019s men and King Louis\u2019 men do on\ntheir uniforms and fight it out over our heads?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cMe too, I wish that,\u201d says Uncle Aurette. \u201cBut they\u2019ll be pressing\nbetter men than themselves to fight for \u2018em. The press-gangs are out\nalready on our side. You look out for yours.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019ll have to bide ashore and grow cabbages for a while, after I\u2019ve run\nthis cargo; but I do wish\u201d--Dad says, going over the lugger\u2019s side with\nour New Year presents under his arm and young L\u2019Estrange holding the\nlantern--\u201cI just do wish that those folk which make war so easy had to\nrun one cargo a month all this winter. It \u2018ud show \u2018em what honest work\nmeans.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWell, I\u2019ve warned ye,\u201d says Uncle Aurette. \u201cI\u2019ll be slipping off now\nbefore your Revenue cutter comes. Give my love to Sister and take care\no\u2019 the kegs. It\u2019s thicking to southward.\u201d \u2018I remember him waving to us\nand young Stephen L\u2019Estrange blowing out the lantern. By the time we\u2019d\nfished up the kegs the fog came down so thick Dad judged it risky for me\nto row \u2018em ashore, even though we could hear the ponies stamping on\nthe beach. So he and Uncle Lot took the dinghy and left me in the smack\nplaying on my fiddle to guide \u2018em back.\n\n\u2018Presently I heard guns. Two of \u2018em sounded mighty like Uncle Aurette\u2019s\nthree-pounders. He didn\u2019t go naked about the seas after dark. Then come\nmore, which I reckoned was Captain Giddens in the Revenue cutter. He was\nopen-handed with his compliments, but he would lay his guns himself. I\nstopped fiddling to listen, and I heard a whole skyful o\u2019 French up in\nthe fog--and a high bow come down on top o\u2019 the smack. I hadn\u2019t time to\ncall or think. I remember the smack heeling over, and me standing on the\ngunwale pushing against the ship\u2019s side as if I hoped to bear her off.\nThen the square of an open port, with a lantern in it, slid by in front\nof my nose. I kicked back on our gunwale as it went under and slipped\nthrough that port into the French ship--me and my fiddle.\u2019\n\n\u2018Gracious!\u2019 said Una. \u2018What an adventure!\u2019\n\n\u2018Didn\u2019t anybody see you come in?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018There wasn\u2019t any one there. I\u2019d made use of an orlop-deck port--that\u2019s\nthe next deck below the gun-deck, which by rights should not have been\nopen at all. The crew was standing by their guns up above. I rolled on\nto a pile of dunnage in the dark and I went to sleep. When I woke, men\nwas talking all round me, telling each other their names and sorrows\njust like Dad told me pressed men used to talk in the last war. Pretty\nsoon I made out they\u2019d all been hove aboard together by the press-gangs,\nand left to sort \u2018emselves. The ship she was the Embuscade, a\nthirty-six-gun Republican frigate, Captain Jean Baptiste Bompard, two\ndays out of Le Havre, going to the United States with a Republican\nFrench Ambassador of the name of Genet. They had been up all night\nclearing for action on account of hearing guns in the fog. Uncle Aurette\nand Captain Giddens must have been passing the time o\u2019 day with each\nother off Newhaven, and the frigate had drifted past \u2018em. She never knew\nshe\u2019d run down our smack. Seeing so many aboard was total strangers\nto each other, I thought one more mightn\u2019t be noticed; so I put Aunt\nCecile\u2019s red cap on the back of my head, and my hands in my pockets like\nthe rest, and, as we French say, I circulated till I found the galley.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat! Here\u2019s one of \u2018em that isn\u2019t sick!\u201d says a cook. \u201cTake his\nbreakfast to Citizen Bompard.\u201d\n\n\u2018I carried the tray to the cabin, but I didn\u2019t call this Bompard\n\u201cCitizen.\u201d Oh no! \u201cMon Capitaine\u201d was my little word, same as Uncle\nAurette used to answer in King Louis\u2019 Navy. Bompard, he liked it. He\ntook me on for cabin servant, and after that no one asked questions; and\nthus I got good victuals and light work all the way across to America.\nHe talked a heap of politics, and so did his officers, and when this\nAmbassador Genet got rid of his land-stomach and laid down the law\nafter dinner, a rooks\u2019 parliament was nothing compared to their cabin. I\nlearned to know most of the men which had worked the French Revolution,\nthrough waiting at table and hearing talk about \u2018em. One of our\nforecas\u2019le six-pounders was called Danton and t\u2019other Marat. I used to\nplay the fiddle between \u2018em, sitting on the capstan. Day in and day out\nBompard and Monsieur Genet talked o\u2019 what France had done, and how the\nUnited States was going to join her to finish off the English in this\nwar. Monsieur Genet said he\u2019d justabout make the United States fight for\nFrance. He was a rude common man. But I liked listening. I always helped\ndrink any healths that was proposed--specially Citizen Danton\u2019s who\u2019d\ncut off King Louis\u2019 head. An all-Englishman might have been shocked--but\nthat\u2019s where my French blood saved me.\n\n\u2018It didn\u2019t save me from getting a dose of ship\u2019s fever though, the week\nbefore we put Monsieur Genet ashore at Charleston; and what was left\nof me after bleeding and pills took the dumb horrors from living \u2018tween\ndecks. The surgeon, Karaguen his name was, kept me down there to help\nhim with his plasters--I was too weak to wait on Bompard. I don\u2019t\nremember much of any account for the next few weeks, till I smelled\nlilacs, and I looked out of the port, and we was moored to a wharf-edge\nand there was a town o\u2019 fine gardens and red-brick houses and all the\ngreen leaves o\u2019 God\u2019s world waiting for me outside.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d I said to the sick-bay man--Old Pierre Tiphaigne he was.\n\u201cPhiladelphia,\u201d says Pierre. \u201cYou\u2019ve missed it all. We\u2019re sailing next\nweek.\u201d\n\n\u2018I just turned round and cried for longing to be amongst the laylocks.\n\n\u2018\u201cIf that\u2019s your trouble,\u201d says old Pierre, \u201cyou go straight ashore.\nNone\u2019ll hinder you. They\u2019re all gone mad on these coasts--French and\nAmerican together. \u2018Tisn\u2019t my notion o\u2019 war.\u201d Pierre was an old King\nLouis man.\n\n\u2018My legs was pretty tottly, but I made shift to go on deck, which it\nwas like a fair. The frigate was crowded with fine gentlemen and ladies\npouring in and out. They sung and they waved French flags, while Captain\nBompard and his officers--yes, and some of the men--speechified to\nall and sundry about war with England. They shouted, \u201cDown with\nEngland!\u201d--\u201cDown with Washington!\u201d--\u201cHurrah for France and the\nRepublic!\u201d I couldn\u2019t make sense of it. I wanted to get out from that\ncrunch of swords and petticoats and sit in a field. One of the gentlemen\nsaid to me, \u201cIs that a genuine cap o\u2019 Liberty you\u2019re wearing?\u201d \u2018Twas\nAunt Cecile\u2019s red one, and pretty near wore out. \u201cOh yes!\u201d I says,\n\u201cstraight from France.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll give you a shilling for it,\u201d he says, and\nwith that money in my hand and my fiddle under my arm I squeezed past\nthe entry-port and went ashore. It was like a dream--meadows, trees,\nflowers, birds, houses, and people all different! I sat me down in\na meadow and fiddled a bit, and then I went in and out the streets,\nlooking and smelling and touching, like a little dog at a fair. Fine\nfolk was setting on the white stone doorsteps of their houses, and\na girl threw me a handful of laylock sprays, and when I said \u201cMerci\u201d\n without thinking, she said she loved the French. They all was the\nfashion in the city. I saw more tricolour flags in Philadelphia than\never I\u2019d seen in Boulogne, and every one was shouting for war with\nEngland. A crowd o\u2019 folk was cheering after our French Ambassador--that\nsame Monsieur Genet which we\u2019d left at Charleston. He was a-horseback\nbehaving as if the place belonged to him--and commanding all and sundry\nto fight the British. But I\u2019d heard that before. I got into a long\nstraight street as wide as the Broyle, where gentlemen was racing\nhorses. I\u2019m fond o\u2019 horses. Nobody hindered \u2018em, and a man told me it\nwas called Race Street o\u2019 purpose for that. Then I followed some black\nniggers, which I\u2019d never seen close before; but I left them to run after\na great, proud, copper-faced man with feathers in his hair and a red\nblanket trailing behind him. A man told me he was a real Red Indian\ncalled Red Jacket, and I followed him into an alley-way off Race\nStreet by Second Street, where there was a fiddle playing. I\u2019m fond\no\u2019 fiddling. The Indian stopped at a baker\u2019s shop--Conrad Gerhard\u2019s\nit was--and bought some sugary cakes. Hearing what the price was I was\ngoing to have some too, but the Indian asked me in English if I was\nhungry. \u201cOh yes!\u201d I says. I must have looked a sore scrattel. He opens\na door on to a staircase and leads the way up. We walked into a dirty\nlittle room full of flutes and fiddles and a fat man fiddling by the\nwindow, in a smell of cheese and medicines fit to knock you down. I was\nknocked down too, for the fat man jumped up and hit me a smack in the\nface. I fell against an old spinet covered with pill-boxes and the pills\nrolled about the floor. The Indian never moved an eyelid.\n\n\u2018\u201cPick up the pills! Pick up the pills!\u201d the fat man screeches.\n\n\u2018I started picking \u2018em up--hundreds of \u2018em--meaning to run out under the\nIndian\u2019s arm, but I came on giddy all over and I sat down. The fat man\nwent back to his fiddling.\n\n\u2018\u201cToby!\u201d says the Indian after quite a while. \u201cI brought the boy to be\nfed, not hit.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat?\u201d says Toby, \u201cI thought it was Gert Schwankfelder.\u201d He put down\nhis fiddle and took a good look at me. \u201cHimmel!\u201d he says. \u201cI have hit\nthe wrong boy. It is not the new boy. Why are you not the new boy? Why\nare you not Gert Schwankfelder?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. \u201cThe gentleman in the pink blanket brought me.\u201d\n\n\u2018Says the Indian, \u201cHe is hungry, Toby. Christians always feed the\nhungry. So I bring him.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYou should have said that first,\u201d said Toby. He pushed plates at me\nand the Indian put bread and pork on them, and a glass of Madeira wine.\nI told him I was off the French ship, which I had joined on account of\nmy mother being French. That was true enough when you think of it, and\nbesides I saw that the French was all the fashion in Philadelphia. Toby\nand the Indian whispered and I went on picking up the pills.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou like pills--eh?\u201d says Toby. \u201cNo,\u201d I says. \u201cI\u2019ve seen our ship\u2019s\ndoctor roll too many of em.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHo!\u201d he says, and he shoves two bottles at me. \u201cWhat\u2019s those?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCalomel,\u201d I says. \u201cAnd t\u2019other\u2019s senna.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cRight,\u201d he says. \u201cOne week have I tried to teach Gert Schwankfelder\nthe difference between them, yet he cannot tell. You like to fiddle?\u201d he\nsays. He\u2019d just seen my kit on the floor.\n\n\u2018\u201cOh yes!\u201d says I.\n\n\u2018\u201cOho!\u201d he says. \u201cWhat note is this?\u201d drawing his bow across.\n\n\u2018He meant it for A, so I told him it was.\n\n\u2018\u201cMy brother,\u201d he says to the Indian. \u201cI think this is the hand of\nProvidence! I warned that Gert if he went to play upon the wharves\nany more he would hear from me. Now look at this boy and say what you\nthink.\u201d\n\n\u2018The Indian looked me over whole minutes--there was a musical clock on\nthe wall and dolls came out and hopped while the hour struck. He looked\nme over all the while they did it.\n\n\u2018\u201cGood,\u201d he says at last. \u201cThis boy is good.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cGood, then,\u201d says Toby. \u201cNow I shall play my fiddle and you shall sing\nyour hymn, brother. Boy, go down to the bakery and tell them you are\nyoung Gert Schwankfelder that was. The horses are in Davy jones\u2019s\nlocker. If you ask any questions you shall hear from me.\u201d\n\n\u2018I left \u2018em singing hymns and I went down to old Conrad Gerhard. He\nwasn\u2019t at all surprised when I told him I was young Gert Schwankfelder\nthat was. He knew Toby. His wife she walked me into the back-yard\nwithout a word, and she washed me and she cut my hair to the edge of a\nbasin, and she put me to bed, and oh! how I slept--how I slept in that\nlittle room behind the oven looking on the flower garden! I didn\u2019t know\nToby went to the Embuscade that night and bought me off Dr Karaguen for\ntwelve dollars and a dozen bottles of Seneca Oil. Karaguen wanted a new\nlace to his coat, and he reckoned I hadn\u2019t long to live; so he put me\ndown as \u201cdischarged sick.\u201d\n\n\u2018I like Toby,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Who was he?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018Apothecary Tobias Hirte,\u2019 Pharaoh replied. \u2018One Hundred and Eighteen,\nSecond Street--the famous Seneca Oil man, that lived half of every year\namong the Indians. But let me tell my tale my own way, same as his brown\nmare used to go to Lebanon.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then why did he keep her in Davy Jones\u2019s locker?\u2019 Dan asked. \u2018That was\nhis joke. He kept her under David Jones\u2019s hat shop in the \u201cBuck\u201d tavern\nyard, and his Indian friends kept their ponies there when they visited\nhim. I looked after the horses when I wasn\u2019t rolling pills on top of\nthe old spinet, while he played his fiddle and Red Jacket sang hymns.\nI liked it. I had good victuals, light work, a suit o\u2019 clean clothes, a\nplenty music, and quiet, smiling German folk all around that let me\nsit in their gardens. My first Sunday, Toby took me to his church in\nMoravian Alley; and that was in a garden too. The women wore long-eared\ncaps and handkerchiefs. They came in at one door and the men at another,\nand there was a brass chandelier you could see your face in, and a\nnigger-boy to blow the organ bellows. I carried Toby\u2019s fiddle, and he\nplayed pretty much as he chose all against the organ and the singing. He\nwas the only one they let do it, for they was a simple-minded folk. They\nused to wash each other\u2019s feet up in the attic to keep \u2018emselves humble:\nwhich Lord knows they didn\u2019t need.\u2019\n\n\u2018How very queer!\u2019 said Una.\n\nPharaoh\u2019s eyes twinkled. \u2018I\u2019ve met many and seen much,\u2019 he said; \u2018but I\nhaven\u2019t yet found any better or quieter or forbearinger people than the\nBrethren and Sistern of the Moravian Church in Philadelphia. Nor will I\never forget my first Sunday--the service was in English that week--with\nthe smell of the flowers coming in from Pastor Meder\u2019s garden where\nthe big peach tree is, and me looking at all the clean strangeness and\nthinking of \u2018tween decks on the Embuscade only six days ago. Being a\nboy, it seemed to me it had lasted for ever, and was going on for\never. But I didn\u2019t know Toby then. As soon as the dancing clock struck\nmidnight that Sunday--I was lying under the spinet--I heard Toby\u2019s\nfiddle. He\u2019d just done his supper, which he always took late and heavy.\n\u201cGert,\u201d says he, \u201cget the horses. Liberty and Independence for Ever! The\nflowers appear upon the earth, and the time of the singing of birds is\ncome. We are going to my country seat in Lebanon.\u201d\n\n\u2018I rubbed my eyes, and fetched \u2018em out of the \u201cBuck\u201d stables. Red Jacket\nwas there saddling his, and when I\u2019d packed the saddle-bags we three\nrode up Race Street to the Ferry by starlight. So we went travelling.\nIt\u2019s a kindly, softly country there, back of Philadelphia among the\nGerman towns, Lancaster way. Little houses and bursting big barns, fat\ncattle, fat women, and all as peaceful as Heaven might be if they farmed\nthere. Toby sold medicines out of his saddlebags, and gave the French\nwar-news to folk along the roads. Him and his long-hilted umberell\nwas as well known as the stage-coaches. He took orders for that famous\nSeneca Oil which he had the secret of from Red Jacket\u2019s Indians, and he\nslept in friends\u2019 farmhouses, but he would shut all the windows; so Red\nJacket and me slept outside. There\u2019s nothing to hurt except snakes--and\nthey slip away quick enough if you thrash in the bushes.\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019d have liked that!\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018I\u2019d no fault to find with those days. In the cool o\u2019 the morning the\ncat-bird sings. He\u2019s something to listen to. And there\u2019s a smell of wild\ngrape-vine growing in damp hollows which you drop into, after long rides\nin the heat, which is beyond compare for sweetness. So\u2019s the puffs out\nof the pine woods of afternoons. Come sundown, the frogs strike up, and\nlater on the fireflies dance in the corn. Oh me, the fireflies in the\ncorn! We were a week or ten days on the road, tacking from one place to\nanother--such as Lancaster, Bethlehem-Ephrata--\u201cthou Bethlehem-Ephrata.\u201d\n No odds--I loved the going about. And so we jogged \u2018into dozy little\nLebanon by the Blue Mountains, where Toby had a cottage and a garden of\nall fruits. He come north every year for this wonderful Seneca Oil the\nSeneca Indians made for him. They\u2019d never sell to any one else, and he\ndoctored \u2018em with von Swieten pills, which they valued more than their\nown oil. He could do what he chose with them, and, of course, he tried\nto make them Moravians. The Senecas are a seemly, quiet people, and\nthey\u2019d had trouble enough from white men--American and English--during\nthe wars, to keep \u2018em in that walk. They lived on a Reservation by\nthemselves away off by their lake. Toby took me up there, and they\ntreated me as if I was their own blood brother. Red Jacket said the mark\nof my bare feet in the dust was just like an Indian\u2019s and my style of\nwalking was similar. I know I took to their ways all over.\u2019\n\n\u2018Maybe the gipsy drop in your blood helped you?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018Sometimes I think it did,\u2019 Pharaoh went on. \u2018Anyhow, Red Jacket and\nCornplanter, the other Seneca chief, they let me be adopted into the\ntribe. It\u2019s only a compliment, of course, but Toby was angry when I\nshowed up with my face painted. They gave me a side-name which means\n\u201cTwo Tongues,\u201d because, d\u2019ye see, I talked French and English.\n\n\u2018They had their own opinions (I\u2019ve heard \u2018em) about the French and the\nEnglish, and the Americans. They\u2019d suffered from all of \u2018em during the\nwars, and they only wished to be left alone. But they thought a heap of\nthe President of the United States. Cornplanter had had dealings with\nhim in some French wars out West when General Washington was only a lad.\nHis being President afterwards made no odds to \u2018em. They always called\nhim Big Hand, for he was a large-fisted man, and he was all of their\nnotion of a white chief. Cornplanter \u2018ud sweep his blanket round him,\nand after I\u2019d filled his pipe he\u2019d begin--\u201cIn the old days, long ago,\nwhen braves were many and blankets were few, Big Hand said-\u201d If Red\nJacket agreed to the say-so he\u2019d trickle a little smoke out of the\ncorners of his mouth. If he didn\u2019t, he\u2019d blow through his nostrils.\nThen Cornplanter \u2018ud stop and Red Jacket \u2018ud take on. Red Jacket was the\nbetter talker of the two. I\u2019ve laid and listened to \u2018em for hours.\nOh! they knew General Washington well. Cornplanter used to meet him at\nEpply\u2019s--the great dancing-place in the city before District Marshal\nWilliam Nichols bought it. They told me he was always glad to see \u2018em,\nand he\u2019d hear \u2018em out to the end if they had anything on their minds.\nThey had a good deal in those days. I came at it by degrees, after I was\nadopted into the tribe. The talk up in Lebanon and everywhere else that\nsummer was about the French war with England and whether the United\nStates \u2018ud join in with France or make a peace treaty with England. Toby\nwanted peace so as he could go about the Reservation buying his oils.\nBut most of the white men wished for war, and they was angry because\nthe President wouldn\u2019t give the sign for it. The newspaper said men was\nburning Guy Fawkes images of General Washington and yelling after him in\nthe streets of Philadelphia. You\u2019d have been astonished what those two\nfine old chiefs knew of the ins and outs of such matters. The little\nI\u2019ve learned of politics I picked up from Cornplanter and Red Jacket\non the Reservation. Toby used to read the Aurora newspaper. He was\nwhat they call a \u201cDemocrat,\u201d though our Church is against the Brethren\nconcerning themselves with politics.\u2019\n\n\u2018I hate politics, too,\u2019 said Una, and Pharaoh laughed.\n\n\u2018I might ha\u2019 guessed it,\u2019 he said. \u2018But here\u2019s something that isn\u2019t\npolitics. One hot evening late in August, Toby was reading the newspaper\non the stoop and Red Jacket was smoking under a peach tree and I was\nfiddling. Of a sudden Toby drops his Aurora.\n\n\u2018\u201cI am an oldish man, too fond of my own comforts,\u201d he says. \u201cI will\ngo to the Church which is in Philadelphia. My brother, lend me a spare\npony. I must be there tomorrow night.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cGood!\u201d says Red Jacket, looking at the sun. \u201cMy brother shall be\nthere. I will ride with him and bring back the ponies.\u201d\n\n\u2018I went to pack the saddle-bags. Toby had cured me of asking questions.\nHe stopped my fiddling if I did. Besides, Indians don\u2019t ask questions\nmuch and I wanted to be like \u2018em.\n\n\u2018When the horses were ready I jumped up.\n\n\u2018\u201cGet off,\u201d says Toby. \u201cStay and mind the cottage till I come back. The\nLord has laid this on me, not on you. I wish He hadn\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u2018He powders off down the Lancaster road, and I sat on the doorstep\nwondering after him. When I picked up the paper to wrap his\nfiddle-strings in, I spelled out a piece about the yellow fever being in\nPhiladelphia so dreadful every one was running away. I was scared, for\nI was fond of Toby. We never said much to each other, but we fiddled\ntogether, and music\u2019s as good as talking to them that understand.\u2019\n\n\u2018Did Toby die of yellow fever?\u2019 Una asked.\n\n\u2018Not him! There\u2019s justice left in the world still. He went down to the\nCity and bled \u2018em well again in heaps. He sent back word by Red Jacket\nthat, if there was war or he died, I was to bring the oils along to the\nCity, but till then I was to go on working in the garden and Red Jacket\nwas to see me do it. Down at heart all Indians reckon digging a squaw\u2019s\nbusiness, and neither him nor Cornplanter, when he relieved watch, was\na hard task-Master. We hired a nigger-boy to do our work, and a lazy\ngrinning runagate he was. When I found Toby didn\u2019t die the minute he\nreached town, why, boylike, I took him off my mind and went with my\nIndians again. Oh! those days up north at Canasedago, running races and\ngambling with the Senecas, or bee-hunting \u2018in the woods, or fishing in\nthe lake.\u2019 Pharaoh sighed and looked across the water. \u2018But it\u2019s best,\u2019\nhe went on suddenly, \u2018after the first frosts. You roll out o\u2019 your\nblanket and find every leaf left green over night turned red and yellow,\nnot by trees at a time, but hundreds and hundreds of miles of \u2018em, like\nsunsets splattered upside down. On one of such days--the maples was\nflaming scarlet and gold, and the sumach bushes were redder--Cornplanter\nand Red Jacket came out in full war-dress, making the very leaves look\nsilly: feathered war-bonnets, yellow doeskin leggings, fringed and\ntasselled, red horse-blankets, and their bridles feathered and shelled\nand beaded no bounds. I thought it was war against the British till I\nsaw their faces weren\u2019t painted, and they only carried wrist-whips. Then\nI hummed \u201cYankee Doodle\u201d at \u2018em. They told me they was going to visit\nBig Hand and find out for sure whether he meant to join the French in\nfighting the English or make a peace treaty with England. I reckon those\ntwo would ha\u2019 gone out on the war-path at a nod from Big Hand, but they\nknew well, if there was war \u2018twixt England and the United States, their\ntribe \u2018ud catch it from both parties same as in all the other wars. They\nasked me to come along and hold the ponies. That puzzled me, because\nthey always put their ponies up at the \u201cBuck\u201d or Epply\u2019s when they went\nto see General Washington in the city, and horse-holding is a nigger\u2019s\njob. Besides, I wasn\u2019t exactly dressed for it.\u2019\n\n\u2018D\u2019you mean you were dressed like an Indian?\u2019 Dan demanded.\n\nPharaoh looked a little abashed. \u2018This didn\u2019t happen at Lebanon,\u2019\nhe said, \u2018but a bit farther north, on the Reservation; and at that\nparticular moment of time, so far as blanket, hair-band, moccasins, and\nsunburn went, there wasn\u2019t much odds \u2018twix\u2019 me and a young Seneca buck.\nYou may laugh\u2019--he smoothed down his long-skirted brown coat--\u2018but I\ntold you I took to their ways all over. I said nothing, though I was\nbursting to let out the war-whoop like the young men had taught me.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, and you don\u2019t let out one here, either,\u2019 said Puck before Dan could\nask. \u2018Go on, Brother Square-toes.\u2019\n\n\u2018We went on.\u2019 Pharaoh\u2019s narrow dark eyes gleamed and danced. \u2018We went\non--forty, fifty miles a day, for days on end--we three braves. And how\na great tall Indian a-horse-back can carry his war-bonnet at a canter\nthrough thick timber without brushing a feather beats me! My silly head\nwas banged often enough by low branches, but they slipped through like\nrunning elk. We had evening hymn-singing every night after they\u2019d blown\ntheir pipe-smoke to the quarters of heaven. Where did we go? I\u2019ll tell\nyou, but don\u2019t blame me if you\u2019re no wiser. We took the old war-trail\nfrom the end of the Lake along the East Susquehanna through the Nantego\ncountry, right down to Fort Shamokin on the Senachse river. We crossed\nthe Juniata by Fort Granville, got into Shippensberg over the hills by\nthe Ochwick trail, and then to Williams Ferry (it\u2019s a bad one). From\nWilliams Ferry, across the Shanedore, over the Blue Mountains, through\nAshby\u2019s Gap, and so south-east by south from there, till we found the\nPresident at the back of his own plantations. I\u2019d hate to be trailed by\nIndians in earnest. They caught him like a partridge on a stump. After\nwe\u2019d left our ponies, we scouted forward through a woody piece, and,\ncreeping slower and slower, at last if my moccasins even slipped\nRed Jacket \u2018ud turn and frown. I heard voices--Monsieur Genet\u2019s for\nchoice--long before I saw anything, and we pulled up at the edge of\na clearing where some niggers in grey-and-red liveries were holding\nhorses, and half-a-dozen gentlemen--but one was Genet--were talking\namong felled timber. I fancy they\u2019d come to see Genet a piece on his\nroad, for his portmantle was with him. I hid in between two logs as near\nto the company as I be to that old windlass there. I didn\u2019t need anybody\nto show me Big Hand. He stood up, very still, his legs a little apart,\nlistening to Genet, that French Ambassador, which never had more manners\nthan a Bosham tinker. Genet was as good as ordering him to declare war\non England at once. I had heard that clack before on the Embuscade.\nHe said he\u2019d stir up the whole United States to have war with England,\nwhether Big Hand liked it or not.\n\n\u2018Big Hand heard him out to the last end. I looked behind me, and my two\nchiefs had vanished like smoke. Says Big Hand, \u201cThat is very forcibly\nput, Monsieur Genet--\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCitizen--citizen!\u201d the fellow spits in. \u201cI, at least, am a\nRepublican!\u201d\n\n\u201cCitizen Genet,\u201d he says, \u201cyou may be sure it will receive my fullest\nconsideration.\u201d This seemed to take Citizen Genet back a piece. He rode\noff grumbling, and never gave his nigger a penny. No gentleman!\n\n\u2018The others all assembled round Big Hand then, and, in their way, they\nsaid pretty much what Genet had said. They put it to him, here was\nFrance and England at war, in a manner of speaking, right across the\nUnited States\u2019 stomach, and paying no regards to any one. The French\nwas searching American ships on pretence they was helping England, but\nreally for to steal the goods. The English was doing the same, only\nt\u2019other way round, and besides searching, they was pressing American\ncitizens into their Navy to help them fight France, on pretence that\nthose Americans was lawful British subjects. His gentlemen put this\nvery clear to Big Hand. It didn\u2019t look to them, they said, as though the\nUnited States trying to keep out of the fight was any advantage to her,\nbecause she only catched it from both French and English. They said that\nnine out of ten good Americans was crazy to fight the English then and\nthere. They wouldn\u2019t say whether that was right or wrong; they only\nwanted Big Hand to turn it over in his mind. He did--for a while. I\nsaw Red Jacket and Cornplanter watching him from the far side of the\nclearing, and how they had slipped round there was another mystery. Then\nBig Hand drew himself up, and he let his gentlemen have it.\u2019\n\n\u2018Hit \u2018em?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018No, nor yet was it what you might call swearing. He--he blasted \u2018em\nwith his natural speech. He asked them half-a-dozen times over whether\nthe United States had enough armed ships for any shape or sort of war\nwith any one. He asked \u2018em, if they thought she had those ships, to give\nhim those ships, and they looked on the ground, as if they expected to\nfind \u2018em there. He put it to \u2018em whether, setting ships aside, their\ncountry--I reckon he gave \u2018em good reasons--whether the United States\nwas ready or able to face a new big war; she having but so few years\nback wound up one against England, and being all holds full of her own\ntroubles. As I said, the strong way he laid it all before \u2018em blasted\n\u2018em, and when he\u2019d done it was like a still in the woods after a storm.\nA little man--but they all looked little--pipes up like a young rook\nin a blowed-down nest, \u201cNevertheless, General, it seems you will be\ncompelled to fight England.\u201d Quick Big Hand wheeled on him, \u201cAnd is\nthere anything in my past which makes you think I am averse to fighting\nGreat Britain?\u201d\n\n\u2018Everybody laughed except him. \u201cOh, General, you mistake us entirely!\u201d\n they says. \u201cI trust so,\u201d he says. \u201cBut I know my duty. We must have\npeace with England.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAt any price?\u201d says the man with the rook\u2019s voice.\n\n\u2018\u201cAt any price,\u201d says he, word by word. \u201cOur ships will be searched--our\ncitizens will be pressed, but--\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen what about the Declaration of Independence?\u201d says one.\n\n\u2018\u201cDeal with facts, not fancies,\u201d says Big Hand. \u201cThe United States are\nin no position to fight England.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut think of public opinion,\u201d another one starts up. \u201cThe feeling in\nPhiladelphia alone is at fever heat.\u201d\n\n\u2018He held up one of his big hands. \u201cGentlemen,\u201d he says--slow he spoke,\nbut his voice carried far--\u201cI have to think of our country. Let me\nassure you that the treaty with Great Britain will be made though every\ncity in the Union burn me in effigy.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAt any price?\u201d the actor-like chap keeps on croaking.\n\n\u2018\u201cThe treaty must be made on Great Britain\u2019s own terms. What else can I\ndo?\u201d \u2018He turns his back on \u2018em and they looked at each other and slinked\noff to the horses, leaving him alone: and then I saw he was an old man.\nThen Red Jacket and Cornplanter rode down the clearing from the far end\nas though they had just chanced along. Back went Big Hand\u2019s shoulders,\nup went his head, and he stepped forward one single pace with a great\ndeep Hough! so pleased he was. That was a statelified meeting to\nbehold--three big men, and two of \u2018em looking like jewelled images among\nthe spattle of gay-coloured leaves. I saw my chiefs\u2019 war-bonnets sinking\ntogether, down and down. Then they made the sign which no Indian makes\noutside of the Medicine Lodges--a sweep of the right hand just clear\nof the dust and an inbend of the left knee at the same time, and those\nproud eagle feathers almost touched his boot-top.\u2019\n\n\u2018What did it mean?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018Mean!\u2019 Pharaoh cried. \u2018Why it\u2019s what you--what we--it\u2019s the Sachems\u2019\nway of sprinkling the sacred corn-meal in front of--oh! it\u2019s a piece\nof Indian compliment really, and it signifies that you are a very big\nchief.\n\n\u2018Big Hand looked down on \u2018em. First he says quite softly, \u201cMy brothers\nknow it is not easy to be a chief.\u201d Then his voice grew. \u201cMy children,\u201d\n says he, \u201cwhat is in your minds?\u201d\n\n\u2018Says Cornplanter, \u201cWe came to ask whether there will be war with King\nGeorge\u2019s men, but we have heard what our Father has said to his chiefs.\nWe will carry away that talk in our hearts to tell to our people.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNo,\u201d says Big Hand. \u201cLeave all that talk behind--it was between white\nmen only--but take this message from me to your people--\u2018There will be\nno war.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u2018His gentlemen were waiting, so they didn\u2019t delay him-, only Cornplanter\nsays, using his old side-name, \u201cBig Hand, did you see us among the\ntimber just now?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cSurely,\u201d says he. \u201cYou taught me to look behind trees when we were\nboth young.\u201d And with that he cantered off.\n\n\u2018Neither of my chiefs spoke till we were back on our ponies again and a\nhalf-hour along the home-trail. Then Cornplanter says to Red Jacket, \u201cWe\nwill have the Corn-dance this year. There will be no war.\u201d And that was\nall there was to it.\u2019\n\nPharaoh stood up as though he had finished.\n\n\u2018Yes,\u2019 said Puck, rising too. \u2018And what came out of it in the long run?\u2019\n\n\u2018Let me get at my story my own way,\u2019 was the answer. \u2018Look! it\u2019s later\nthan I thought. That Shoreham smack\u2019s thinking of her supper.\u2019 The\nchildren looked across the darkening Channel. A smack had hoisted a\nlantern and slowly moved west where Brighton pier lights ran out in a\ntwinkling line. When they turned round The Gap was empty behind them.\n\n\u2018I expect they\u2019ve packed our trunks by now,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018This time\ntomorrow we\u2019ll be home.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nIF--\n\n     If you can keep your head when all about you\n     Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;\n     If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,\n     But make allowance for their doubting too;\n     If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,\n     Or being lied about, don\u2019t deal in lies,\n     Or being hated, don\u2019t give way to hating,\n     And yet don\u2019t look too good, nor talk too wise;\n\n     If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;\n     If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim,\n     If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster\n     And treat those two impostors just the same;\n     If you can bear to hear the truth you\u2019ve spoken\n     Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,\n     Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,\n     And stoop and build \u2018em up with worn-out tools;\n\n     If you can make one heap of all your winnings\n     And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,\n     And lose, and start again at your beginnings\n     And never breathe a word about your loss;\n     If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew\n     To serve your turn long after they are gone,\n     And so hold on when there is nothing in you\n     Except the Will which says to them: \u2018Hold on!\u2019\n\n     If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,\n     Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch,\n     If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,\n     If all men count with you, but none too much;\n     If you can fill the unforgiving minute\n     With sixty seconds\u2019 worth of distance run,\n     Yours is the Earth and everything that\u2019s in it,\n     And--which is more--you\u2019ll be a Man, my son!\n\n\n\n\n\u2018A PRIEST IN SPITE OF HIMSELF\u2019\n\n\n\n\nA St Helena Lullaby\n\n\n   How far is St Helena from a little child at play?\n     What makes you want to wander there with all the world between?\n   Oh, Mother, call your son again or else he\u2019ll run away.\n     (No one thinks of winter when the grass is green!)\n\n   How far is St Helena from a fight in Paris street?\n     I haven\u2019t time to answer now--the men are falling fast.\n   The guns begin to thunder, and the drums begin to beat\n     (If you take the first step you will take the last!)\n\n   How far is St Helena from the field at Austerlitz?\n     You couldn\u2019t hear me if I told--so loud the cannons roar.\n   But not so far for people who are living by their wits.\n     [\u2018Gay go up\u2019 means \u2018gay go down\u2019 the wide world o\u2019er!)\n\n   How far is St Helena from an Emperor of France?\n     I cannot see--I cannot tell--the crowns they dazzle so.\n   The Kings sit down to dinner, and the Queens stand up to dance.\n     (After open weather you may look for snow!)\n\n   How far is St Helena from the Capes of Trafalgar?\n     A longish way--a longish way--with ten year more to run.\n   It\u2019s South across the water underneath a setting star.\n     (What you cannot finish you must leave undone!)\n\n   How far is St Helena from the Beresina ice?\n     An ill way--a chill way--the ice begins to crack.\n   But not so far for gentlemen who never took advice.\n     (When you can\u2019t go forward you must e\u2019en come back!)\n\n   How far is St Helena from the field of Waterloo?\n     A near way--a clear way--the ship will take you soon.\n   A pleasant place for gentlemen with little left to do.\n     (Morning never tries you till the afternoon!)\n\n   How far from St Helena to the Gate of Heaven\u2019s Grace?\n     That no one knows--that no one knows--and no one ever will.\n   But fold your hands across your heart and cover up your face,\n     And after all your trapesings, child, lie still!\n\n\n\n\n\u2018A Priest in Spite of Himself\u2019\n\n\nThe day after they came home from the sea-side they set out on a tour\nof inspection to make sure everything was as they had left it. Soon they\ndiscovered that old Hobden had blocked their best hedge-gaps with stakes\nand thorn-bundles, and had trimmed up the hedges where the blackberries\nwere setting.\n\n\u2018It can\u2019t be time for the gipsies to come along,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Why, it was\nsummer only the other day!\u2019\n\n\u2018There\u2019s smoke in Low Shaw!\u2019 said Dan, sniffing. \u2018Let\u2019s make sure!\u2019\n\nThey crossed the fields towards the thin line of blue smoke that leaned\nabove the hollow of Low Shaw which lies beside the King\u2019s Hill road.\nIt used to be an old quarry till somebody planted it, and you can look\nstraight down into it from the edge of Banky Meadow.\n\n\u2018I thought so,\u2019 Dan whispered, as they came up to the fence at the edge\nof the larches. A gipsy-van--not the show-man\u2019s sort, but the old black\nkind, with little windows high up and a baby-gate across the door--was\ngetting ready to leave. A man was harnessing the horses; an old woman\ncrouched over the ashes of a fire made out of broken fence-rails; and a\ngirl sat on the van-steps singing to a baby on her lap. A wise-looking,\nthin dog snuffed at a patch of fur on the ground till the old woman put\nit carefully in the middle of the fire. The girl reached back inside the\nvan and tossed her a paper parcel. This was laid on the fire too, and\nthey smelt singed feathers.\n\n\u2018Chicken feathers!\u2019 said Dan. \u2018I wonder if they are old Hobden\u2019s.\u2019\n\nUna sneezed. The dog growled and crawled to the girl\u2019s feet, the old\nwoman fanned the fire with her hat, while the man led the horses up to\nthe shafts, They all moved as quickly and quietly as snakes over moss.\n\n\u2018Ah!\u2019 said the girl. \u2018I\u2019ll teach you!\u2019 She beat the dog, who seemed to\nexpect it.\n\n\u2018Don\u2019t do that,\u2019 Una called down. \u2018It wasn\u2019t his fault.\u2019\n\n\u2018How do you know what I\u2019m beating him for?\u2019 she answered.\n\n\u2018For not seeing us,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018He was standing right in the smoke, and\nthe wind was wrong for his nose, anyhow.\u2019\n\nThe girl stopped beating the dog, and the old woman fanned faster than\never.\n\n\u2018You\u2019ve fanned some of your feathers out of the fire,\u2019 said Una.\n\u2018There\u2019s a tail-feather by that chestnut-tot.\u2019\n\n\u2018What of it?\u2019 said the old woman, as she grabbed it.\n\n\u2018Oh, nothing!\u2019 said Dan. \u2018Only I\u2019ve heard say that tail-feathers are as\nbad as the whole bird, sometimes.\u2019\n\nThat was a saying of Hobden\u2019s about pheasants. Old Hobden always burned\nall feather and fur before he sat down to eat.\n\n\u2018Come on, mother,\u2019 the man whispered. The old woman climbed into the\nvan, and the horses drew it out of the deep-rutted shaw on to the hard\nroad.\n\nThe girl waved her hands and shouted something they could not catch.\n\n\u2018That was gipsy for \u201cThank you kindly, Brother and Sister,\u201d\u2019 said\nPharaoh Lee.\n\nHe was standing behind them, his fiddle under his arm. \u2018Gracious, you\nstartled me!\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018You startled old Priscilla Savile,\u2019 Puck called from below them. \u2018Come\nand sit by their fire. She ought to have put it out before they left.\u2019\n\nThey dropped down the ferny side of the shaw. Una raked the ashes\ntogether, Dan found a dead wormy oak branch that burns without flame,\nand they watched the smoke while Pharaoh played a curious wavery air.\n\n\u2018That\u2019s what the girl was humming to the baby,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018I know it,\u2019 he nodded, and went on:\n\n     \u2018Ai Lumai, Lumai, Lumai!  Luludia!\n     Ai Luludia!\u2019\n\n\nHe passed from one odd tune to another, and quite forgot the children.\nAt last Puck asked him to go on with his adventures in Philadelphia and\namong the Seneca Indians.\n\n\u2018I\u2019m telling it,\u2019 he said, staring straight in front of him as he\nplayed. \u2018Can\u2019t you hear?\u2019\n\n\u2018Maybe, but they can\u2019t. Tell it aloud,\u2019 said Puck.\n\nPharaoh shook himself, laid his fiddle beside him, and began:\n\n\u2018I\u2019d left Red Jacket and Cornplanter riding home with me after Big Hand\nhad said that there wouldn\u2019t be any war. That\u2019s all there was to it.\nWe believed Big Hand and we went home again--we three braves. When we\nreached Lebanon we found Toby at the cottage with his waistcoat a foot\ntoo big for him--so hard he had worked amongst the yellow-fever people.\nHe beat me for running off with the Indians, but \u2018twas worth it--I was\nglad to see him,--and when we went back to Philadelphia for the winter,\nand I was told how he\u2019d sacrificed himself over sick people in the\nyellow fever, I thought the world and all of him. No, I didn\u2019t neither.\nI\u2019d thought that all along. That yellow fever must have been something\ndreadful. Even in December people had no more than begun to trinkle back\nto town. Whole houses stood empty and the niggers was robbing them out.\nBut I can\u2019t call to mind that any of the Moravian Brethren had died. It\nseemed like they had just kept on with their own concerns, and the good\nLord He\u2019d just looked after \u2018em. That was the winter--yes, winter of\n\u2018Ninety-three--the Brethren bought a stove for the church. Toby spoke in\nfavour of it because the cold spoiled his fiddle hand, but many thought\nstove-heat not in the Bible, and there was yet a third party which\nalways brought hickory coal foot-warmers to service and wouldn\u2019t\nspeak either way. They ended by casting the Lot for it, which is like\npitch-and-toss. After my summer with the Senecas, church-stoves didn\u2019t\nhighly interest me, so I took to haunting round among the French emigres\nwhich Philadelphia was full of. My French and my fiddling helped me\nthere, d\u2019ye see. They come over in shiploads from France, where, by what\nI made out, every one was killing every one else by any means, and they\nspread \u2018emselves about the city--mostly in Drinker\u2019s Alley and Elfrith\u2019s\nAlley--and they did odd jobs till times should mend. But whatever they\nstooped to, they were gentry and kept a cheerful countenance, and after\nan evening\u2019s fiddling at one of their poor little proud parties, the\nBrethren seemed old-fashioned. Pastor Meder and Brother Adam Goos didn\u2019t\nlike my fiddling for hire, but Toby said it was lawful in me to earn my\nliving by exercising my talents. He never let me be put upon.\n\n\u2018In February of \u2018Ninety-four--No, March it must have been, because a\nnew Ambassador called Faucher had come from France, with no more\nmanners than Genet the old one--in March, Red Jacket came in from the\nReservation bringing news of all kind friends there. I showed him round\nthe city, and we saw General Washington riding through a crowd of folk\nthat shouted for war with England. They gave him quite rough music,\nbut he looked \u2018twixt his horse\u2019s ears and made out not to notice. His\nstirrup brished Red Jacket\u2019s elbow, and Red Jacket whispered up, \u201cMy\nbrother knows it is not easy to be a chief.\u201d Big Hand shot just one look\nat him and nodded. Then there was a scuffle behind us over some one who\nwasn\u2019t hooting at Washington loud enough to please the people. We went\naway to be out of the fight. Indians won\u2019t risk being hit.\u2019\n\n\u2018What do they do if they are?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018Kill, of course. That\u2019s why they have such proper manners. Well,\nthen, coming home by Drinker\u2019s Alley to get a new shirt which a French\nVicomte\u2019s lady was washing to take the stiff out of (I\u2019m always choice\nin my body-linen) a lame Frenchman pushes a paper of buttons at us. He\nhadn\u2019t long landed in the United States, and please would we buy. He\nsure-ly was a pitiful scrattel--his coat half torn off, his face cut,\nbut his hands steady; so I knew it wasn\u2019t drink. He said his name\nwas Peringuey, and he\u2019d been knocked about in the crowd round the\nStadt--Independence Hall. One thing leading to another we took him up\nto Toby\u2019s rooms, same as Red Jacket had taken me the year before. The\ncompliments he paid to Toby\u2019s Madeira wine fairly conquered the old man,\nfor he opened a second bottle and he told this Monsieur Peringuey all\nabout our great stove dispute in the church. I remember Pastor Meder and\nBrother Adam Goos dropped \u2018in, and although they and Toby were direct\nopposite sides regarding stoves, yet this Monsieur Peringuey he made \u2018em\nfeel as if he thought each one was in the right of it. He said he had\nbeen a clergyman before he had to leave France. He admired at Toby\u2019s\nfiddling, and he asked if Red Jacket, sitting by the spinet, was a\nsimple Huron. Senecas aren\u2019t Hurons, they\u2019re Iroquois, of course, and\nToby told him so. Well, then, in due time he arose and left in a style\nwhich made us feel he\u2019d been favouring us, instead of us feeding him.\nI\u2019ve never seen that so strong before--in a man. We all talked him over\nbut couldn\u2019t make head or tail of him, and Red Jacket come out to walk\nwith me to the French quarter where I was due to fiddle at a party.\nPassing Drinker\u2019s Alley again we saw a naked window with a light in it,\nand there sat our button-selling Monsieur Peringuey throwing dice all\nalone, right hand against left.\n\n\u2018Says Red Jacket, keeping back in the dark, \u201cLook at his face!\u201d\n\n\u2018I was looking. I protest to you I wasn\u2019t frightened like I was when Big\nHand talked to his gentlemen. I--I only looked, and I wondered that\neven those dead dumb dice \u2018ud dare to fall different from what that face\nwished. It--it was a face!\n\n\u2018\u201cHe is bad,\u201d says Red Jacket. \u201cBut he is a great chief. The French have\nsent away a great chief. I thought so when he told us his lies. Now I\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u2018I had to go on to the party, so I asked him to call round for me\nafterwards and we\u2019d have hymn-singing at Toby\u2019s as usual. \u201cNo,\u201d he says.\n\u201cTell Toby I am not Christian tonight. All Indian.\u201d He had those fits\nsometimes. I wanted to know more about Monsieur Peringuey, and the\nemigre party was the very place to find out. It\u2019s neither here nor\nthere, of course, but those French emigre parties they almost make you\ncry. The men that you bought fruit of in Market Street, the hairdressers\nand fencing-masters and French teachers, they turn back again by\ncandlelight to what they used to be at home, and you catch their real\nnames. There wasn\u2019t much room in the washhouse, so I sat on top of the\ncopper and played \u2018em the tunes they called for--\u201cSi le Roi m\u2019avait\ndonne,\u201d and such nursery stuff. They cried sometimes. It hurt me to\ntake their money afterwards, indeed it did. And there I found out about\nMonsieur Peringuey. He was a proper rogue too! None of \u2018em had a good\nword for him except the Marquise that kept the French boarding-house on\nFourth Street. I made out that his real name was the Count Talleyrand de\nPerigord--a priest right enough, but sorely come down in the world. He\u2019d\nbeen King Louis\u2019 Ambassador to England a year or two back, before the\nFrench had cut off King Louis\u2019 head; and, by what I heard, that head\nwasn\u2019t hardly more than hanging loose before he\u2019d run back to Paris and\nprevailed on Danton, the very man which did the murder, to send him back\nto England again as Ambassador of the French Republic! That was too much\nfor the English, so they kicked him out by Act of Parliament, and he\u2019d\nfled to the Americas without money or friends or prospects. I\u2019m telling\nyou the talk in the washhouse. Some of \u2018em was laughing over it. Says\nthe French Marquise, \u201cMy friends, you laugh too soon. That man \u2018ll be on\nthe winning side before any of us.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI did not know you were so fond of priests, Marquise,\u201d says the\nVicomte. His lady did my washing, as I\u2019ve told you.\n\n\u2018\u201cI have my reasons,\u201d says the Marquise. \u201cHe sent my uncle and my two\nbrothers to Heaven by the little door,\u201d--that was one of the emigre\nnames for the guillotine. \u201cHe will be on the winning side if it costs\nhim the blood of every friend he has in the world.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen what does he want here?\u201d says one of \u2018em. \u201cWe have all lost our\ngame.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cMy faith!\u201d says the Marquise. \u201cHe will find out, if any one can,\nwhether this canaille of a Washington means to help us to fight England.\nGenet\u201d (that was my Ambassador in the Embuscade) \u201chas failed and gone\noff disgraced; Faucher\u201d (he was the new man) \u201chasn\u2019t done any better,\nbut our Abbe will find out, and he will make his profit out of the news.\nSuch a man does not fall.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHe begins unluckily,\u201d says the Vicomte. \u201cHe was set upon today in the\nstreet for not hooting your Washington.\u201d They all laughed again, and one\nremarks, \u201cHow does the poor devil keep himself?\u201d\n\n\u2018He must have slipped in through the washhouse door, for he flits past\nme and joins \u2018em, cold as ice.\n\n\u2018\u201cOne does what one can,\u201d he says. \u201cI sell buttons. And you, Marquise?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI?\u201d--she waves her poor white hands all burned--\u201cI am a cook--a very\nbad one--at your service, Abbe. We were just talking about you.\u201d\n\nThey didn\u2019t treat him like they talked of him. They backed off and stood\nstill.\n\n\u2018\u201cI have missed something, then,\u201d he says. \u201cBut I spent this last\nhour playing--only for buttons, Marquise--against a noble savage, the\nveritable Huron himself.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYou had your usual luck, I hope?\u201d she says.\n\n\u2018\u201cCertainly,\u201d he says. \u201cI cannot afford to lose even buttons in these\ndays.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen I suppose the child of nature does not know that your dice are\nusually loaded, Father Tout-a-tous,\u201d she continues. I don\u2019t know\nwhether she meant to accuse him of cheating. He only bows. \u2018\u201cNot yet,\nMademoiselle Cunegonde,\u201d he says, and goes on to make himself agreeable\nto the rest of the company. And that was how I found out our Monsieur\nPeringuey was Count Charles Maurice Talleyrand de Perigord.\u2019\n\nPharaoh stopped, but the children said nothing.\n\n\u2018You\u2019ve heard of him?\u2019 said Pharaoh.\n\nUna shook her head. \u2018Was Red Jacket the Indian he played dice with?\u2019 Dan\nasked.\n\n\u2018He was. Red Jacket told me the next time we met. I asked if the lame\nman had cheated. Red Jacket said no--he had played quite fair and was\na master player. I allow Red Jacket knew. I\u2019ve seen him, on the\nReservation, play himself out of everything he had and in again. Then I\ntold Red Jacket all I\u2019d heard at the party concerning Talleyrand.\n\n\u2018\u201cI was right,\u201d he says. \u201cI saw the man\u2019s war-face when he thought he\nwas alone. That\u2019s why I played him. I played him face to face. He\u2019s a\ngreat chief. Do they say why he comes here?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThey say he comes to find out if Big Hand makes war against the\nEnglish,\u201d I said.\n\n\u2018Red Jacket grunted. \u201cYes,\u201d he says. \u201cHe asked me that too. If he had\nbeen a small chief I should have lied. But he is a great chief. He knew\nI was a chief, so I told him the truth. I told him what Big Hand said to\nCornplanter and me in the clearing--\u2018There will be no war.\u2019 I could not\nsee what he thought. I could not see behind his face. But he is a great\nchief. He will believe.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWill he believe that Big Hand can keep his people back from war?\u201d I\nsaid, thinking of the crowds that hooted Big Hand whenever he rode out.\n\n\u2018\u201cHe is as bad as Big Hand is good, but he is not as strong as Big\nHand,\u201d says Red Jacket. \u201cWhen he talks with Big Hand he will feel this\nin his heart. The French have sent away a great chief. Presently he will\ngo back and make them afraid.\u201d\n\n\u2018Now wasn\u2019t that comical? The French woman that knew him and owed all\nher losses to him; the Indian that picked him up, cut and muddy on\nthe street, and played dice with him; they neither of \u2018em doubted that\nTalleyrand was something by himself--appearances notwithstanding.\u2019\n\n\u2018And was he something by himself?\u2019 asked Una.\n\nPharaoh began to laugh, but stopped. \u2018The way I look at it,\u2019 he said,\n\u2018Talleyrand was one of just three men in this world who are quite by\nthemselves. Big Hand I put first, because I\u2019ve seen him.\u2019 \u2018Ay,\u2019 said\nPuck. \u2018I\u2019m sorry we lost him out of Old England. Who d\u2019you put second?\u2019\n\n\u2018Talleyrand: maybe because I\u2019ve seen him too,\u2019 said Pharaoh.\n\n\u2018Who\u2019s third?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018Boney--even though I\u2019ve seen him.\u2019\n\n\u2018Whew!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018Every man has his own weights and measures, but\nthat\u2019s queer reckoning.\u2019 \u2018Boney?\u2019 said Una. \u2018You don\u2019t mean you\u2019ve ever\nmet Napoleon Bonaparte?\u2019\n\n\u2018There, I knew you wouldn\u2019t have patience with the rest of my tale after\nhearing that! But wait a minute. Talleyrand he come round to Hundred\nand Eighteen in a day or two to thank Toby for his kindness. I didn\u2019t\nmention the dice-playing, but I could see that Red Jacket\u2019s doings had\nmade Talleyrand highly curious about Indians--though he would call him\nthe Huron. Toby, as you may believe, was all holds full of knowledge\nconcerning their manners and habits. He only needed a listener. The\nBrethren don\u2019t study Indians much till they join the Church, but Toby\nknew \u2018em wild. So evening after evening Talleyrand crossed his sound leg\nover his game one and Toby poured forth. Having been adopted into the\nSenecas I, naturally, kept still, but Toby \u2018ud call on me to back up\nsome of his remarks, and by that means, and a habit he had of drawing\nyou on in talk, Talleyrand saw I knew something of his noble savages\ntoo. Then he tried a trick. Coming back from an emigre party he turns\ninto his little shop and puts it to me, laughing like, that I\u2019d gone\nwith the two chiefs on their visit to Big Hand. I hadn\u2019t told. Red\nJacket hadn\u2019t told, and Toby, of course, didn\u2019t know. \u2018Twas just\nTalleyrand\u2019s guess. \u201cNow,\u201d he says, \u201cmy English and Red Jacket\u2019s French\nwas so bad that I am not sure I got the rights of what the President\nreally said to the unsophisticated Huron. Do me the favour of telling it\nagain.\u201d I told him every word Red Jacket had told him and not one word\nmore. I had my suspicions, having just come from an emigre party where\nthe Marquise was hating and praising him as usual.\n\n\u2018\u201cMuch obliged,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I couldn\u2019t gather from Red Jacket exactly\nwhat the President said to Monsieur Genet, or to his American gentlemen\nafter Monsieur Genet had ridden away.\u201d\n\n\u2018I saw Talleyrand was guessing again, for Red Jacket hadn\u2019t told him a\nword about the white men\u2019s pow-wow.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why hadn\u2019t he?\u2019 Puck asked.\n\n\u2018Because Red Jacket was a chief. He told Talleyrand what the President\nhad said to him and Cornplanter; but he didn\u2019t repeat the talk, between\nthe white men, that Big Hand ordered him to leave behind. \u2018Oh!\u2019 said\nPuck. \u2018I see. What did you do?\u2019\n\n\u2018First I was going to make some sort of tale round it, but Talleyrand\nwas a chief too. So I said, \u201cAs soon as I get Red Jacket\u2019s permission\nto tell that part of the tale, I\u2019ll be delighted to refresh your memory,\nAbbe.\u201d What else could I have done?\n\n\u2018\u201cIs that all?\u201d he says, laughing. \u201cLet me refresh your memory. In a\nmonth from now I can give you a hundred dollars for your account of the\nconversation.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cMake it five hundred, Abbe,\u201d I says. \u2018\u201cFive, then,\u201d says he.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat will suit me admirably,\u201d I says. \u201cRed Jacket will be in town\nagain by then, and the moment he gives me leave I\u2019ll claim the money.\u201d\n\n\u2018He had a hard fight to be civil, but he come out smiling.\n\n\u2018\u201cMonsieur,\u201d he says, \u201cI beg your pardon as sincerely as I envy the\nnoble Huron your loyalty. Do me the honour to sit down while I explain.\u201d\n\n\u2018There wasn\u2019t another chair, so I sat on the button-box.\n\n\u2018He was a clever man. He had got hold of the gossip that the President\nmeant to make a peace treaty with England at any cost. He had found\nout--from Genet, I reckon, who was with the President on the day the two\nchiefs met him. He\u2019d heard that Genet had had a huff with the President\nand had ridden off leaving his business at loose ends. What he\nwanted--what he begged and blustered to know--was just the very words\nwhich the President had said to his gentlemen after Genet had left,\nconcerning the peace treaty with England. He put it to me that in\nhelping him to those very words I\u2019d be helping three great countries as\nwell as mankind. The room was as bare as the palm of your hand, but I\ncouldn\u2019t laugh at him.\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I says, when he wiped his forehead. \u201cAs soon as Red Jacket\ngives permission--\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYou don\u2019t believe me, then?\u201d he cuts in. \u2018\u201cNot one little, little\nword, Abbe,\u201d I says; \u201cexcept that you mean to be on the winning side.\nRemember, I\u2019ve been fiddling to all your old friends for months.\u201d\n\n\u2018Well, then his temper fled him and he called me names.\n\n\u2018\u201cWait a minute, ci-devant,\u201d I says at last. \u201cI am half English and half\nFrench, but I am not the half of a man. I will tell thee something the\nIndian told me. Has thee seen the President?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh yes!\u201d he sneers. \u201cI had letters from the Lord Lansdowne to that\nestimable old man.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen,\u201d I says, \u201cthee will understand. The Red Skin said that when thee\nhas met the President thee will feel in thy heart he is a stronger man\nthan thee.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cGo!\u201d he whispers. \u201cBefore I kill thee, go.\u201d\n\n\u2018He looked like it. So I left him.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why did he want to know so badly?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018The way I look at it is that if he had known for certain that\nWashington meant to make the peace treaty with England at any price,\nhe\u2019d ha\u2019 left old Faucher fumbling about in Philadelphia while he went\nstraight back to France and told old Danton--\u201cIt\u2019s no good your wasting\ntime and hopes on the United States, because she won\u2019t fight on our\nside--that I\u2019ve proof of!\u201d Then Danton might have been grateful and\ngiven Talleyrand a job, because a whole mass of things hang on knowing\nfor sure who\u2019s your friend and who\u2019s your enemy. Just think of us poor\nshop-keepers, for instance.\u2019\n\n\u2018Did Red Jacket let you tell, when he came back?\u2019 Una asked.\n\n\u2018Of course not. He said, \u201cWhen Cornplanter and I ask you what Big Hand\nsaid to the whites you can tell the Lame Chief. All that talk was left\nbehind in the timber, as Big Hand ordered. Tell the Lame Chief there\nwill be no war. He can go back to France with that word.\u201d\n\n\u2018Talleyrand and me hadn\u2019t met for a long time except at emigre parties.\nWhen I give him the message he just shook his head. He was sorting\nbuttons in the shop.\n\n\u2018\u201cI cannot return to France with nothing better than the word of an\nunsophisticated savage,\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u201cHasn\u2019t the President said anything to you?\u201d I asked him.\n\n\u2018\u201cHe has said everything that one in his position ought to say, but--but\nif only I had what he said to his Cabinet after Genet rode off I believe\nI could change Europe--the world, maybe.\u201d \u2018\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I says. \u201cMaybe\nyou\u2019ll do that without my help.\u201d\n\n\u2018He looked at me hard. \u201cEither you have unusual observation for one so\nyoung, or you choose to be insolent,\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u201cIt was intended for a compliment,\u201d I says. \u201cBut no odds. We\u2019re off in\na few days for our summer trip, and I\u2019ve come to make my good-byes.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI go on my travels too,\u201d he says. \u201cIf ever we meet again you may be\nsure I will do my best to repay what I owe you.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWithout malice, Abbe, I hope,\u201d I says.\n\n\u2018\u201cNone whatever,\u201d says he. \u201cGive my respects to your adorable Dr\nPangloss\u201d (that was one of his side-names for Toby) \u201cand the Huron.\u201d I\nnever could teach him the difference betwixt Hurons and Senecas.\n\n\u2018Then Sister Haga came in for a paper of what we call \u201cpilly buttons,\u201d\n and that was the last I saw of Talleyrand in those parts.\u2019\n\n\u2018But after that you met Napoleon, didn\u2019t you?\u2019 said Una. \u2018Wait Just\na little, dearie. After that, Toby and I went to Lebanon and the\nReservation, and, being older and knowing better how to manage him,\nI enjoyed myself well that summer with fiddling and fun. When we came\nback, the Brethren got after Toby because I wasn\u2019t learning any lawful\ntrade, and he had hard work to save me from being apprenticed to\nHelmbold and Geyer the printers. \u2018Twould have ruined our music together,\nindeed it would. And when we escaped that, old Mattes Roush, the\nleather-breeches maker round the corner, took a notion I was cut out for\nskin-dressing. But we were rescued. Along towards Christmas there comes\na big sealed letter from the Bank saying that a Monsieur Talleyrand had\nput five hundred dollars--a hundred pounds--to my credit there to use as\nI pleased. There was a little note from him inside--he didn\u2019t give any\naddress--to thank me for past kindnesses and my believing in his future,\nwhich he said was pretty cloudy at the time of writing. I wished Toby to\nshare the money. I hadn\u2019t done more than bring Talleyrand up to Hundred\nand Eighteen. The kindnesses were Toby\u2019s. But Toby said, \u201cNo! Liberty\nand Independence for ever. I have all my wants, my son.\u201d So I gave him\na set of new fiddle-strings, and the Brethren didn\u2019t advise us any more.\nOnly Pastor Meder he preached about the deceitfulness of riches, and\nBrother Adam Goos said if there was war the English \u2018ud surely shoot\ndown the Bank. I knew there wasn\u2019t going to be any war, but I drew the\nmoney out and on Red Jacket\u2019s advice I put it into horse-flesh, which\nI sold to Bob Bicknell for the Baltimore stage-coaches. That way, I\ndoubled my money inside the twelvemonth.\u2019 \u2018You gipsy! You proper gipsy!\u2019\nPuck shouted.\n\n\u2018Why not? \u2018Twas fair buying and selling. Well, one thing leading to\nanother, in a few years I had made the beginning of a worldly fortune\nand was in the tobacco trade.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah!\u2019 said Puck, suddenly. \u2018Might I inquire if you\u2019d ever sent any news\nto your people in England--or in France?\u2019\n\n\u2018O\u2019 course I had. I wrote regular every three months after I\u2019d made\nmoney in the horse trade. We Lees don\u2019t like coming home empty-handed.\nIf it\u2019s only a turnip or an egg, it\u2019s something. Oh yes, I wrote good\nand plenty to Uncle Aurette, and--Dad don\u2019t read very quickly--Uncle\nused to slip over Newhaven way and tell Dad what was going on in the\ntobacco trade.\u2019\n\n\u2018I see--\n\n     Aurettes and Lees--\n     Like as two peas.\n\nGo on, Brother Square-toes,\u2019 said Puck. Pharaoh laughed and went on.\n\n\u2018Talleyrand he\u2019d gone up in the world same as me. He\u2019d sailed to France\nagain, and was a great man in the Government there awhile, but they\nhad to turn him out on account of some story about bribes from American\nshippers. All our poor emigres said he was surely finished this time,\nbut Red Jacket and me we didn\u2019t think it likely, not unless he was quite\ndead. Big Hand had made his peace treaty with Great Britain, just as\nhe said he would, and there was a roaring trade \u2018twixt England and the\nUnited States for such as \u2018ud take the risk of being searched by British\nand French men-o\u2019-war. Those two was fighting, and just as his gentlemen\ntold Big Hand \u2018ud happen--the United States was catching it from both.\nIf an English man-o\u2019-war met an American ship he\u2019d press half the best\nmen out of her, and swear they was British subjects. Most of \u2018em was! If\na Frenchman met her he\u2019d, likely, have the cargo out of her, swearing\nit was meant to aid and comfort the English; and if a Spaniard or a\nDutchman met her--they was hanging on to England\u2019s coat-tails too--Lord\nonly knows what they wouldn\u2019t do! It came over me that what I wanted in\nmy tobacco trade was a fast-sailing ship and a man who could be French,\nEnglish, or American at a pinch. Luckily I could lay my hands on both\narticles. So along towards the end of September in the year \u2018Ninety-nine\nI sailed from Philadelphia with a hundred and eleven hogshead o\u2019 good\nVirginia tobacco, in the brig BERTHE AURETTE, named after Mother\u2019s\nmaiden name, hoping \u2018twould bring me luck, which she didn\u2019t--and yet she\ndid.\u2019\n\n\u2018Where was you bound for?\u2019 Puck asked.\n\n\u2018Er--any port I found handiest. I didn\u2019t tell Toby or the Brethren. They\ndon\u2019t understand the ins and outs of the tobacco trade.\u2019\n\nPuck coughed a small cough as he shifted a piece of wood with his bare\nfoot.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s easy for you to sit and judge,\u2019 Pharaoh cried. \u2018But think o\u2019 what\nwe had to put up with! We spread our wings and run across the broad\nAtlantic like a hen through a horse-fair. Even so, we was stopped by an\nEnglish frigate, three days out. He sent a boat alongside and pressed\nseven able seamen. I remarked it was hard on honest traders, but the\nofficer said they was fighting all creation and hadn\u2019t time to argue.\nThe next English frigate we escaped with no more than a shot in our\nquarter. Then we was chased two days and a night by a French privateer,\nfiring between squalls, and the dirty little English ten-gun brig which\nmade him sheer off had the impudence to press another five of our men.\nThat\u2019s how we reached to the chops of the Channel. Twelve good men\npressed out of thirty-five; an eighteen-pound shot-hole close beside our\nrudder; our mainsail looking like spectacles where the Frenchman had\nhit us--and the Channel crawling with short-handed British cruisers.\nPut that in your pipe and smoke it next time you grumble at the price of\ntobacco!\n\n\u2018Well, then, to top it off, while we was trying to get at our leaks, a\nFrench lugger come swooping at us out o\u2019 the dusk. We warned him to keep\naway, but he fell aboard us, and up climbed his Jabbering red-caps. We\ncouldn\u2019t endure any more--indeed we couldn\u2019t. We went at \u2018em with all\nwe could lay hands on. It didn\u2019t last long. They was fifty odd to our\ntwenty-three. Pretty soon I heard the cutlasses thrown down and some one\nbellowed for the sacri captain.\n\n\u2018\u201cHere I am!\u201d I says. \u201cI don\u2019t suppose it makes any odds to you thieves,\nbut this is the United States brig BERTHE AURETTE.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cMy aunt!\u201d the man says, laughing. \u201cWhy is she named that?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWho\u2019s speaking?\u201d I said. \u2018Twas too dark to see, but I thought I knew\nthe voice.\n\n\u2018\u201cEnseigne de Vaisseau Estephe L\u2019Estrange,\u201d he sings out, and then I was\nsure.\n\n\u2018\u201cOh!\u201d I says. \u201cIt\u2019s all in the family, I suppose, but you have done a\nfine day\u2019s work, Stephen.\u201d\n\n\u2018He whips out the binnacle-light and holds it to my face. He was young\nL\u2019Estrange, my full cousin, that I hadn\u2019t seen since the night the smack\nsank off Telscombe Tye--six years before.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhew!\u201d he says. \u201cThat\u2019s why she was named for Aunt Berthe, is it?\nWhat\u2019s your share in her, Pharaoh?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOnly half owner, but the cargo\u2019s mine.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThat\u2019s bad,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019ll do what I can, but you shouldn\u2019t have\nfought us.\u201d \u2018\u201cSteve,\u201d I says, \u201cyou aren\u2019t ever going to report our\nlittle fall-out as a fight! Why, a Revenue cutter \u2018ud laugh at it!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cSo\u2019d I if I wasn\u2019t in the Republican Navy,\u201d he says. \u201cBut two of our\nmen are dead, d\u2019ye see, and I\u2019m afraid I\u2019ll have to take you\nto the Prize Court at Le Havre.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWill they condemn my \u2018baccy?\u201d I asks.\n\n\u2018\u201cTo the last ounce. But I was thinking more of the ship. She\u2019d make a\nsweet little craft for the Navy if the Prize Court \u2018ud let me have her,\u201d\n he says.\n\n\u2018Then I knew there was no hope. I don\u2019t blame him--a man must consider\nhis own interests, but nigh every dollar I had was in ship or cargo, and\nSteve kept on saying, \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have fought us.\u201d\n\n\u2018Well, then, the lugger took us to Le Havre, and that being the one time\nwe did want a British ship to rescue us, why, o\u2019 course we never saw\none. My cousin spoke his best for us at the Prize Court. He owned he\u2019d\nno right to rush alongside in the face o\u2019 the United States flag, but\nwe couldn\u2019t get over those two men killed, d\u2019ye see, and the Court\ncondemned both ship and cargo. They was kind enough not to make us\nprisoners--only beggars--and young L\u2019Estrange was given the BERTHE\nAURETTE to re-arm into the French Navy.\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019ll take you round to Boulogne,\u201d he says. \u201cMother and the rest\u2019ll be\nglad to see you, and you can slip over to Newhaven with Uncle Aurette.\nOr you can ship with me, like most o\u2019 your men, and take a turn at King\nGeorge\u2019s loose trade. There\u2019s plenty pickings,\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018Crazy as I was, I couldn\u2019t help laughing.\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019ve had my allowance of pickings and stealings,\u201d I says. \u201cWhere are\nthey taking my tobacco?\u201d \u2018Twas being loaded on to a barge.\n\n\u2018\u201cUp the Seine to be sold in Paris,\u201d he says. \u201cNeither you nor I will\never touch a penny of that money.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cGet me leave to go with it,\u201d I says. \u201cI\u2019ll see if there\u2019s justice to\nbe gotten out of our American Ambassador.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThere\u2019s not much justice in this world,\u201d he says, \u201cwithout a Navy.\u201d\n But he got me leave to go with the barge and he gave me some money. That\ntobacco was all I had, and I followed it like a hound follows a snatched\nbone. Going up the river I fiddled a little to keep my spirits up, as\nwell as to make friends with the guard. They was only doing their duty.\nOutside o\u2019 that they were the reasonablest o\u2019 God\u2019s creatures. They\nnever even laughed at me. So we come to Paris, by river, along in\nNovember, which the French had christened Brumaire. They\u2019d given new\nnames to all the months, and after such an outrageous silly piece o\u2019\nbusiness as that, they wasn\u2019t likely to trouble \u2018emselves with my rights\nand wrongs. They didn\u2019t. The barge was laid up below Notre Dame church\nin charge of a caretaker, and he let me sleep aboard after I\u2019d run about\nall day from office to office, seeking justice and fair dealing, and\ngetting speeches concerning liberty. None heeded me. Looking back on it\nI can\u2019t rightly blame \u2018em. I\u2019d no money, my clothes was filthy mucked;\nI hadn\u2019t changed my linen in weeks, and I\u2019d no proof of my claims except\nthe ship\u2019s papers, which, they said, I might have stolen. The thieves!\nThe door-keeper to the American Ambassador--for I never saw even the\nSecretary--he swore I spoke French a sight too well for an American\ncitizen. Worse than that--I had spent my money, d\u2019ye see, and I--I took\nto fiddling in the streets for my keep; and--and, a ship\u2019s captain with\na fiddle under his arm--well, I don\u2019t blame \u2018em that they didn\u2019t believe\nme.\n\n\u2018I come back to the barge one day--late in this month Brumaire it\nwas--fair beazled out. Old Maingon, the caretaker, he\u2019d lit a fire in a\nbucket and was grilling a herring.\n\n\u2018\u201cCourage, mon ami,\u201d he says. \u201cDinner is served.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI can\u2019t eat,\u201d I says. \u201cI can\u2019t do any more. It\u2019s stronger than I am.\u201d\n \u2018\u201cBah!\u201d he says. \u201cNothing\u2019s stronger than a man. Me, for example! Less\nthan two years ago I was blown up in the Orient in Aboukir Bay, but\nI descended again and hit the water like a fairy. Look at me now,\u201d he\nsays. He wasn\u2019t much to look at, for he\u2019d only one leg and one eye, but\nthe cheerfullest soul that ever trod shoe-leather. \u201cThat\u2019s worse than a\nhundred and eleven hogshead of \u2018baccy,\u201d he goes on. \u201cYou\u2019re young, too!\nWhat wouldn\u2019t I give to be young in France at this hour! There\u2019s nothing\nyou couldn\u2019t do,\u201d he says. \u201cThe ball\u2019s at your feet--kick it!\u201d he says.\nHe kicks the old fire-bucket with his peg-leg. \u201cGeneral Buonaparte, for\nexample!\u201d he goes on. \u201cThat man\u2019s a babe compared to me, and see what\nhe\u2019s done already. He\u2019s conquered Egypt and Austria and Italy--oh! half\nEurope!\u201d he says, \u201cand now he sails back to Paris, and he sails out\nto St Cloud down the river here--don\u2019t stare at the river, you young\nfool!---and all in front of these pig-jobbing lawyers and citizens he\nmakes himself Consul, which is as good as a King. He\u2019ll be King, too,\nin the next three turns of the capstan--King of France, England, and the\nworld! Think o\u2019 that!\u201d he shouts, \u201cand eat your herring.\u201d\n\n\u2018I says something about Boney. If he hadn\u2019t been fighting England I\nshouldn\u2019t have lost my \u2018baccy--should I?\n\n\u2018\u201cYoung fellow,\u201d says Maingon, \u201cyou don\u2019t understand.\u201d\n\n\u2018We heard cheering. A carriage passed over the bridge with two in it.\n\u2018\u201cThat\u2019s the man himself,\u201d says Maingon. \u201cHe\u2019ll give \u2018em something to\ncheer for soon.\u201d He stands at the salute.\n\n\u2018\u201cWho\u2019s t\u2019other in black beside him?\u201d I asks, fairly shaking all over.\n\n\u2018\u201cAh! he\u2019s the clever one. You\u2019ll hear of him before long. He\u2019s that\nscoundrel-bishop, Talleyrand.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cIt is!\u201d I said, and up the steps I went with my fiddle, and run after\nthe carriage calling, \u201cAbbe, Abbe!\u201d\n\n\u2018A soldier knocked the wind out of me with the back of his sword, but I\nhad sense to keep on following till the carriage stopped--and there just\nwas a crowd round the house-door! I must have been half-crazy else I\nwouldn\u2019t have struck up \u201cSi le Roi m\u2019avait donne Paris la grande ville!\u201d\n I thought it might remind him.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat is a good omen!\u201d he says to Boney sitting all hunched up; and he\nlooks straight at me.\n\n\u2018\u201cAbbe--oh, Abbe!\u201d I says. \u201cDon\u2019t you remember Toby and Hundred and\nEighteen Second Street?\u201d\n\n\u2018He said not a word. He just crooked his long white finger to the guard\nat the door while the carriage steps were let down, and I skipped into\nthe house, and they slammed the door in the crowd\u2019s face. \u2018\u201cYou go\nthere,\u201d says a soldier, and shoves me into an empty room, where I\ncatched my first breath since I\u2019d left the barge. Presently I heard\nplates rattling next door--there were only folding doors between--and a\ncork drawn. \u201cI tell you,\u201d some one shouts with his mouth full, \u201cit was\nall that sulky ass Sieyes\u2019 fault. Only my speech to the Five Hundred\nsaved the situation.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cDid it save your coat?\u201d says Talleyrand. \u201cI hear they tore it when\nthey threw you out. Don\u2019t gasconade to me. You may be in the road of\nvictory, but you aren\u2019t there yet.\u201d\n\n\u2018Then I guessed t\u2019other man was Boney. He stamped about and swore at\nTalleyrand.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou forget yourself, Consul,\u201d says Talleyrand, \u201cor rather you remember\nyourself--Corsican.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cPig!\u201d says Boney, and worse.\n\n\u2018\u201cEmperor!\u201d says Talleyrand, but, the way he spoke, it sounded worst of\nall. Some one must have backed against the folding doors, for they flew\nopen and showed me in the middle of the room. Boney whipped out his\npistol before I could stand up.\n\n\u201cGeneral,\u201d says Talleyrand to him, \u201cthis gentleman has a habit of\ncatching us canaille en deshabille. Put that thing down.\u201d\n\n\u2018Boney laid it on the table, so I guessed which was master. Talleyrand\ntakes my hand--\u201cCharmed to see you again, Candide,\u201d he says. \u201cHow is the\nadorable Dr Pangloss and the noble Huron?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThey were doing very well when I left,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I\u2019m not.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cDo you sell buttons now?\u201d he says, and fills me a glass of wine off\nthe table.\n\n\u2018\u201cMadeira,\u201d says he. \u201cNot so good as some I have drunk.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYou mountebank!\u201d Boney roars. \u201cTurn that out.\u201d (He didn\u2019t even say\n\u201cman,\u201d but Talleyrand, being gentle born, just went on.)\n\n\u2018\u201cPheasant is not so good as pork,\u201d he says. \u201cYou will find some at that\ntable if you will do me the honour to sit down. Pass him a clean plate,\nGeneral.\u201d And, as true as I\u2019m here, Boney slid a plate along just like\na sulky child. He was a lanky-haired, yellow-skinned little man, as\nnervous as a cat--and as dangerous. I could feel that.\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd now,\u201d said Talleyrand, crossing his game leg over his sound one,\n\u201cwill you tell me your story?\u201d \u2018I was in a fluster, but I told him\nnearly everything from the time he left me the five hundred dollars in\nPhiladelphia, up to my losing ship and cargo at Le Havre. Boney began by\nlistening, but after a bit he dropped into his own thoughts and looked\nat the crowd sideways through the front-room curtains. Talleyrand called\nto him when I\u2019d done.\n\n\u2018\u201cEh? What we need now,\u201d says Boney, \u201cis peace for the next three or\nfour years.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cQuite so,\u201d says Talleyrand. \u201cMeantime I want the Consul\u2019s order to the\nPrize Court at Le Havre to restore my friend here his ship.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNonsense!\u201d says Boney. \u201cGive away an oak-built brig of two hundred and\nseven tons for sentiment? Certainly not! She must be armed into my Navy\nwith ten--no, fourteen twelve-pounders and two long fours. Is she strong\nenough to bear a long twelve forward?\u201d\n\n\u2018Now I could ha\u2019 sworn he\u2019d paid no heed to my talk, but that wonderful\nhead-piece of his seemingly skimmed off every word of it that was useful\nto him.\n\n\u2018\u201cAh, General!\u201d says Talleyrand. \u201cYou are a magician--a magician without\nmorals. But the brig is undoubtedly American, and we don\u2019t want to\noffend them more than we have.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNeed anybody talk about the affair?\u201d he says. He didn\u2019t look at me,\nbut I knew what was in his mind--just cold murder because I worried him;\nand he\u2019d order it as easy as ordering his carriage.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou can\u2019t stop \u2018em,\u201d I said. \u201cThere\u2019s twenty-two other men besides\nme.\u201d I felt a little more \u2018ud set me screaming like a wired hare.\n\n\u2018\u201cUndoubtedly American,\u201d Talleyrand goes on. \u201cYou would gain\nsomething if you returned the ship--with a message of fraternal\ngood-will--published in the MONITEUR\u201d (that\u2019s a French paper like the\nPhiladelphia AURORA).\n\n\u2018\u201cA good idea!\u201d Boney answers. \u201cOne could say much in a message.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cIt might be useful,\u201d says Talleyrand. \u201cShall I have the message\nprepared?\u201d He wrote something in a little pocket ledger.\n\n\u2018\u201cYes--for me to embellish this evening. The MONITEUR will publish it\ntonight.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCertainly. Sign, please,\u201d says Talleyrand, tearing the leaf out.\n\n\u2018\u201cBut that\u2019s the order to return the brig,\u201d says Boney. \u201cIs that\nnecessary? Why should I lose a good ship? Haven\u2019t I lost enough ships\nalready?\u201d \u2018Talleyrand didn\u2019t answer any of those questions. Then Boney\nsidled up to the table and jabs his pen into the ink. Then he shies at\nthe paper again: \u201cMy signature alone is useless,\u201d he says. \u201cYou must\nhave the other two Consuls as well. Sieyes and Roger Ducos must sign. We\nmust preserve the Laws.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBy the time my friend presents it,\u201d says Talleyrand, still looking out\nof window, \u201conly one signature will be necessary.\u201d\n\n\u2018Boney smiles. \u201cIt\u2019s a swindle,\u201d says he, but he signed and pushed the\npaper across.\n\n\u2018\u201cGive that to the President of the Prize Court at Le Havre,\u201d says\nTalleyrand, \u201cand he will give you back your ship. I will settle for the\ncargo myself. You have told me how much it cost. What profit did you\nexpect to make on it?\u201d\n\n\u2018Well, then, as man to man, I was bound to warn him that I\u2019d set out\nto run it into England without troubling the Revenue, and so I couldn\u2019t\nrightly set bounds to my profits.\u2019\n\n\u2018I guessed that all along,\u2019 said Puck.\n\n     \u2018There was never a Lee to Warminghurst--\n     That wasn\u2019t a smuggler last and first.\u2019\n\nThe children laughed.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s comical enough now,\u2019 said Pharaoh. \u2018But I didn\u2019t laugh then. Says\nTalleyrand after a minute, \u201cI am a bad accountant and I have several\ncalculations on hand at present. Shall we say twice the cost of the\ncargo?\u201d\n\n\u2018Say? I couldn\u2019t say a word. I sat choking and nodding like a China\nimage while he wrote an order to his secretary to pay me, I won\u2019t say\nhow much, because you wouldn\u2019t believe it.\n\n\u2018\u201cOh! Bless you, Abbe! God bless you!\u201d I got it out at last.\n\n\u2018\u201cYes,\u201d he says, \u201cI am a priest in spite of myself, but they call me\nBishop now. Take this for my episcopal blessing,\u201d and he hands me the\npaper.\n\n\u2018\u201cHe stole all that money from me,\u201d says Boney over my shoulder. \u201cA Bank\nof France is another of the things we must make. Are you mad?\u201d he shouts\nat Talleyrand.\n\n\u2018\u201cQuite,\u201d says Talleyrand, getting up. \u201cBut be calm. The disease will\nnever attack you. It is called gratitude. This gentleman found me in the\nstreet and fed me when I was hungry.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI see; and he has made a fine scene of it, and you have paid him, I\nsuppose. Meantime, France waits.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh! poor France!\u201d says Talleyrand. \u201cGood-bye, Candide,\u201d he says to me.\n\u201cBy the way,\u201d he says, \u201chave you yet got Red Jacket\u2019s permission to\ntell me what the President said to his Cabinet after Monsieur Genet rode\naway?\u201d\n\n\u2018I couldn\u2019t speak, I could only shake my head, and Boney--so impatient\nhe was to go on with his doings--he ran at me and fair pushed me out of\nthe room. And that was all there was to it.\u2019 Pharaoh stood up and slid\nhis fiddle into one of his big skirt-pockets as though it were a dead\nhare.\n\n\u2018Oh! but we want to know lots and lots more,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018How you got\nhome--and what old Maingon said on the barge--and wasn\u2019t your cousin\nsurprised when he had to give back the BERTHE AURETTE, and--\u2019\n\n\u2018Tell us more about Toby!\u2019 cried Una.\n\n\u2018Yes, and Red Jacket,\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018Won\u2019t you tell us any more?\u2019 they both pleaded.\n\nPuck kicked the oak branch on the fire, till it sent up a column of\nsmoke that made them sneeze. When they had finished the Shaw was empty\nexcept for old Hobden stamping through the larches.\n\n\n\u2018They gipsies have took two,\u2019 he said. \u2018My black pullet and my liddle\ngingy-speckled cockrel.\u2019\n\n\u2018I thought so,\u2019 said Dan, picking up one tail-feather that the old woman\nhad overlooked.\n\n\u2018Which way did they go? Which way did the runagates go?\u2019 said Hobden.\n\n\u2018Hobby!\u2019 said Una. \u2018Would you like it if we told Keeper Ridley all your\ngoings and comings?\u2019\n\n\n\n\n\u2018Poor Honest Men\u2019\n\n\n     Your jar of Virginny\n     Will cost you a guinea,\n     Which you reckon too much by five shilling or ten;\n     But light your churchwarden\n     And judge it accordin\u2019\n     When I\u2019ve told you the troubles of poor honest men.\n\n     From the Capes of the Delaware,\n     As you are well aware,\n     We sail with tobacco for England--but then\n     Our own British cruisers,\n     They watch us come through, sirs,\n     And they press half a score of us poor honest men.\n\n     Or if by quick sailing\n     (Thick weather prevailing)\n     We leave them behind (as we do now and then)\n     We are sure of a gun from\n     Each frigate we run from,\n     Which is often destruction to poor honest men!\n\n     Broadsides the Atlantic\n     We tumble short-handed,\n     With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend,\n     And off the Azores,\n     Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs\n     Are waiting to terrify poor honest men!\n\n     Napoleon\u2019s embargo\n     Is laid on all cargo\n     Which comfort or aid to King George may intend;\n     And since roll, twist and leaf,\n     Of all comforts is chief,\n     They try for to steal it from poor honest men!\n\n     With no heart for fight,\n     We take refuge in flight,\n     But fire as we run, our retreat to defend,\n     Until our stern-chasers\n     Cut up her fore-braces,\n     And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men!\n\n     Twix\u2019 the Forties and Fifties,\n     South-eastward the drift is,\n     And so, when we think we are making Land\u2019s End,\n     Alas, it is Ushant\n     With half the King\u2019s Navy,\n     Blockading French ports against poor honest men!\n\n     But they may not quit station\n     (Which is our salvation),\n     So swiftly we stand to the Nor\u2019ard again;\n     And finding the tail of\n     A homeward-bound convoy,\n     We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men.\n\n     \u2018Twix\u2019 the Lizard and Dover,\n     We hand our stuff over,\n     Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when;\n     But a light on each quarter\n     Low down on the water\n     Is well understanded by poor honest men.\n     Even then we have dangers\n     From meddlesome strangers,\n     Who spy on our business and are not content\n     To take a smooth answer,\n     Except with a handspike...\n     And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!\n\n     To be drowned or be shot\n     Is our natural lot,\n     Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end--\n     After all our great pains\n     For to dangle in chains,\n     As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONVERSION OF ST WILFRID\n\n\n\n\nEddi\u2019s Service\n\n\n     Eddi, priest of St Wilfrid\n     In the chapel at Manhood End,\n     Ordered a midnight service\n     For such as cared to attend.\n     But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,\n     And the night was stormy as well.\n     Nobody came to service\n     Though Eddi rang the bell.\n\n     \u2018Wicked weather for walking,\u2019\n     Said Eddi of Manhood End.\n     \u2018But I must go on with the service\n     For such as care to attend.\u2019\n     The altar candles were lighted,--\n     An old marsh donkey came,\n     Bold as a guest invited,\n     And stared at the guttering flame.\n\n     The storm beat on at the windows,\n     The water splashed on the floor,\n     And a wet yoke-weary bullock\n     Pushed in through the open door.\n     \u2018How do I know what is greatest,\n     How do I know what is least?\n     That is My Father\u2019s business,\u2019\n     Said Eddi, Wilfrid\u2019s priest.\n\n     \u2018But, three are gathered together--\n     Listen to me and attend.\n     I bring good news, my brethren!\u2019\n     Said Eddi, of Manhood End.\n     And he told the Ox of a manger\n     And a stall in Bethlehem,\n     And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider\n     That rode to jerusalem.\n\n     They steamed and dripped in the chancel,\n     They listened and never stirred,\n     While, just as though they were Bishops,\n     Eddi preached them The Word.\n\n     Till the gale blew off on the marshes\n     And the windows showed the day,\n     And the Ox and the Ass together\n     Wheeled and clattered away.\n\n     And when the Saxons mocked him,\n     Said Eddi of Manhood End,\n     \u2018I dare not shut His chapel\n     On such as care to attend.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nThe Conversion of St Wilfrid\n\n\nThey had bought peppermints up at the village, and were coming home\npast little St Barnabas\u2019 Church, when they saw Jimmy Kidbrooke, the\ncarpenter\u2019s baby, kicking at the churchyard gate, with a shaving in his\nmouth and the tears running down his cheeks.\n\nUna pulled out the shaving and put in a peppermint. Jimmy said he was\nlooking for his grand-daddy--he never seemed to take much notice of his\nfather--so they went up between the old graves, under the leaf-dropping\nlimes, to the porch, where Jim trotted in, looked about the empty\nChurch, and screamed like a gate-hinge.\n\nYoung Sam Kidbrooke\u2019s voice came from the bell-tower and made them jump.\n\n\u2018Why, jimmy,\u2019 he called, \u2018what are you doin\u2019 here? Fetch him, Father!\u2019\n\nOld Mr Kidbrooke stumped downstairs, jerked Jimmy on to his shoulder,\nstared at the children beneath his brass spectacles, and stumped back\nagain. They laughed: it was so exactly like Mr Kidbrooke.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s all right,\u2019 Una called up the stairs. \u2018We found him, Sam. Does his\nmother know?\u2019\n\n\u2018He\u2019s come off by himself. She\u2019ll be justabout crazy,\u2019 Sam answered.\n\n\u2018Then I\u2019ll run down street and tell her.\u2019 Una darted off.\n\n\u2018Thank you, Miss Una. Would you like to see how we\u2019re mendin\u2019 the\nbell-beams, Mus\u2019 Dan?\u2019\n\nDan hopped up, and saw young Sam lying on his stomach in a most\ndelightful place among beams and ropes, close to the five great bells.\nOld Mr Kidbrooke on the floor beneath was planing a piece of wood, and\nJimmy was eating the shavings as fast as they came away. He never looked\nat Jimmy; Jimmy never stopped eating; and the broad gilt-bobbed pendulum\nof the church clock never stopped swinging across the white-washed wall\nof the tower.\n\nDan winked through the sawdust that fell on his upturned face. \u2018Ring a\nbell,\u2019 he called.\n\n\u2018I mustn\u2019t do that, but I\u2019ll buzz one of \u2018em a bit for you,\u2019 said Sam.\nHe pounded on the sound-bow of the biggest bell, and waked a hollow\ngroaning boom that ran up and down the tower like creepy feelings down\nyour back. Just when it almost began to hurt, it died away in a hurry of\nbeautiful sorrowful cries, like a wine-glass rubbed with a wet finger.\nThe pendulum clanked--one loud clank to each silent swing.\n\nDan heard Una return from Mrs Kidbrooke\u2019s, and ran down to fetch her.\nShe was standing by the font staring at some one who kneeled at the\nAltar-rail.\n\n\u2018Is that the Lady who practises the organ?\u2019 she whispered.\n\n\u2018No. She\u2019s gone into the organ-place. Besides, she wears black,\u2019 Dan\nreplied.\n\nThe figure rose and came down the nave. It was a white-haired man in\na long white gown with a sort of scarf looped low on the neck, one end\nhanging over his shoulder. His loose long sleeves were embroidered with\ngold, and a deep strip of gold embroidery waved and sparkled round the\nhem of his gown.\n\n\u2018Go and meet him,\u2019 said Puck\u2019s voice behind the font. \u2018It\u2019s only\nWilfrid.\u2019\n\n\u2018Wilfrid who?\u2019 said Dan. \u2018You come along too.\u2019\n\n\u2018Wilfrid--Saint of Sussex, and Archbishop of York. I shall wait till\nhe asks me.\u2019 He waved them forward. Their feet squeaked on the old\ngrave-slabs in the centre aisle. The Archbishop raised one hand with a\npink ring on it, and said something in Latin. He was very handsome, and\nhis thin face looked almost as silvery as his thin circle of hair.\n\n\u2018Are you alone?\u2019 he asked.\n\n\u2018Puck\u2019s here, of course,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Do you know him?\u2019\n\n\u2018I know him better now than I used to.\u2019 He beckoned over Dan\u2019s shoulder,\nand spoke again in Latin. Puck pattered forward, holding himself as\nstraight as an arrow. The Archbishop smiled.\n\n\u2018Be welcome,\u2019 said he. \u2018Be very welcome.\u2019\n\n\u2018Welcome to you also, O Prince of the church,\u2019 Puck replied.\n\nThe Archbishop bowed his head and passed on, till he glimmered like a\nwhite moth in the shadow by the font.\n\n\u2018He does look awfully princely,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Isn\u2019t he coming back?\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh yes. He\u2019s only looking over the church. He\u2019s very fond of churches,\u2019\nsaid Puck. \u2018What\u2019s that?\u2019\n\nThe Lady who practices the organ was speaking to the blower-boy behind\nthe organ-screen. \u2018We can\u2019t very well talk here,\u2019 Puck whispered. \u2018Let\u2019s\ngo to Panama Corner.\u2019\n\nHe led them to the end of the south aisle, where there is a slab of iron\nwhich says in queer, long-tailed letters: ORATE P. ANNEMA JHONE COLINE.\nThe children always called it Panama Corner.\n\nThe Archbishop moved slowly about the little church, peering at the old\nmemorial tablets and the new glass windows. The Lady who practises the\norgan began to pull out stops and rustle hymn-books behind the screen.\n\n\u2018I hope she\u2019ll do all the soft lacey tunes--like treacle on porridge,\u2019\nsaid Una.\n\n\u2018I like the trumpety ones best,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018Oh, look at Wilfrid! He\u2019s\ntrying to shut the Altar-gates!\u2019\n\n\u2018Tell him he mustn\u2019t,\u2019 said Puck, quite seriously.\n\nHe can\u2019t, anyhow,\u2019 Dan muttered, and tiptoed out of Panama Corner while\nthe Archbishop patted and patted at the carved gates that always sprang\nopen again beneath his hand.\n\n\u2018That\u2019s no use, sir,\u2019 Dan whispered. \u2018Old Mr Kidbrooke says Altar-gates\nare just the one pair of gates which no man can shut. He made \u2018em so\nhimself.\u2019\n\nThe Archbishop\u2019s blue eyes twinkled. Dan saw that he knew all about it.\n\n\u2018I beg your pardon,\u2019 Dan stammered--very angry with Puck.\n\n\u2018Yes, I know! He made them so Himself.\u2019 The Archbishop smiled, and\ncrossed to Panama Corner, where Una dragged up a certain padded\narm-chair for him to sit on.\n\nThe organ played softly. \u2018What does that music say?\u2019 he asked.\n\nUna dropped into the chant without thinking: \u2018\u201cO all ye works of the\nLord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever.\u201d We call\nit the Noah\u2019s Ark, because it\u2019s all lists of things--beasts and birds\nand whales, you know.\u2019\n\n\u2018Whales?\u2019 said the Archbishop quickly.\n\n\u2018Yes--\u201cO ye whales, and all that move in the waters,\u201d\u2019 Una\nhummed--\u2018\u201cBless ye the Lord.\u201d It sounds like a wave turning over,\ndoesn\u2019t it?\u2019\n\n\u2018Holy Father,\u2019 said Puck with a demure face, \u2018is a little seal also \u201cone\nwho moves in the water\u201d?\u2019\n\n\u2018Eh? Oh yes--yess!\u2019 he laughed. \u2018A seal moves wonderfully in the waters.\nDo the seal come to my island still?\u2019\n\nPuck shook his head. \u2018All those little islands have been swept away.\u2019\n\n\u2018Very possible. The tides ran fiercely down there. Do you know the land\nof the Sea-calf, maiden?\u2019\n\n\u2018No--but we\u2019ve seen seals--at Brighton.\u2019\n\n\u2018The Archbishop is thinking of a little farther down the coast. He means\nSeal\u2019s Eye--Selsey--down Chichester way--where he converted the South\nSaxons,\u2019 Puck explained.\n\n\u2018Yes--yess; if the South Saxons did not convert me,\u2019 said the\nArchbishop, smiling. \u2018The first time I was wrecked was on that coast. As\nour ship took ground and we tried to push her off, an old fat fellow of\na seal, I remember, reared breast-high out of the water, and scratched\nhis head with his flipper as if he were saying: \u201cWhat does that excited\nperson with the pole think he is doing.\u201d I was very wet and miserable,\nbut I could not help laughing, till the natives came down and attacked\nus.\u2019\n\n\u2018What did you do?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018One couldn\u2019t very well go back to France, so one tried to make them go\nback to the shore. All the South Saxons are born wreckers, like my own\nNorthumbrian folk. I was bringing over a few things for my old church at\nYork, and some of the natives laid hands on them, and--and I\u2019m afraid I\nlost my temper.\u2019\n\n\u2018It is said--\u2019 Puck\u2019s voice was wickedly meek--\u2018that there was a great\nfight.\u2019\n\nEh, but I must ha\u2019 been a silly lad.\u2019 Wilfrid spoke with a sudden thick\nburr in his voice. He coughed, and took up his silvery tones again.\n\u2018There was no fight really. My men thumped a few of them, but the tide\nrose half an hour before its time, with a strong wind, and we backed\noff. What I wanted to say, though, was, that the seas about us were full\nof sleek seals watching the scuffle. My good Eddi--my chaplain--insisted\nthat they were demons. Yes--yess! That was my first acquaintance with\nthe South Saxons and their seals.\u2019\n\n\u2018But not the only time you were wrecked, was it?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018Alas, no! On sea and land my life seems to have been one long\nshipwreck.\u2019 He looked at the Jhone Coline slab as old Hobden sometimes\nlooks into the fire. \u2018Ah, well!\u2019\n\n\u2018But did you ever have any more adventures among the seals?\u2019 said Una,\nafter a little.\n\n\u2018Oh, the seals! I beg your pardon. They are the important things.\nYes--yess! I went back to the South Saxons after twelve--fifteen--years.\nNo, I did not come by water, but overland from my own Northumbria, to\nsee what I could do. It\u2019s little one can do with that class of native\nexcept make them stop killing each other and themselves--\u2019 \u2018Why did they\nkill themselves?\u2019 Una asked, her chin in her hand.\n\n\u2018Because they were heathen. When they grew tired of life (as if they\nwere the only people!) they would jump into the sea. They called it\ngoing to Wotan. It wasn\u2019t want of food always--by any means. A man would\ntell you that he felt grey in the heart, or a woman would say that she\nsaw nothing but long days in front of her; and they\u2019d saunter away to\nthe mud-flats and--that would be the end of them, poor souls, unless one\nheaded them off. One had to run quick, but one can\u2019t allow people to\nlay hands on themselves because they happen to feel grey.\nYes--yess--Extraordinary people, the South Saxons. Disheartening,\nsometimes.... What does that say now?\u2019 The organ had changed tune again.\n\n\u2018Only a hymn for next Sunday,\u2019 said Una. \u2018\u201cThe Church\u2019s One Foundation.\u201d\n Go on, please, about running over the mud. I should like to have seen\nyou.\u2019\n\n\u2018I dare say you would, and I really could run in those days. Ethelwalch\nthe King gave me some five or six muddy parishes by the sea, and the\nfirst time my good Eddi and I rode there we saw a man slouching\nalong the slob, among the seals at Manhood End. My good Eddi disliked\nseals--but he swallowed his objections and ran like a hare.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018For the same reason that I did. We thought it was one of our people\ngoing to drown himself. As a matter of fact, Eddi and I were nearly\ndrowned in the pools before we overtook him. To cut a long story short,\nwe found ourselves very muddy, very breathless, being quietly made fun\nof in good Latin by a very well-spoken person. No--he\u2019d no idea of\ngoing to Wotan. He was fishing on his own beaches, and he showed us the\nbeacons and turf-heaps that divided his land from the church property.\nHe took us to his own house, gave us a good dinner, some more than good\nwine, sent a guide with us into Chichester, and became one of my best\nand most refreshing friends. He was a Meon by descent, from the west\nedge of the kingdom; a scholar educated, curiously enough, at Lyons,\nmy old school; had travelled the world over, even to Rome, and was a\nbrilliant talker. We found we had scores of acquaintances in common. It\nseemed he was a small chief under King Ethelwalch, and I fancy the King\nwas somewhat afraid of him. The South Saxons mistrust a man who talks\ntoo well. Ah! Now, I\u2019ve left out the very point of my story. He kept a\ngreat grey-muzzled old dog-seal that he had brought up from a pup. He\ncalled it Padda--after one of my clergy. It was rather like fat, honest\nold Padda. The creature followed him everywhere, and nearly knocked down\nmy good Eddi when we first met him. Eddi loathed it. It used to sniff at\nhis thin legs and cough at him. I can\u2019t say I ever took much notice\nof it (I was not fond of animals), till one day Eddi came to me with\na circumstantial account of some witchcraft that Meon worked. He would\ntell the seal to go down to the beach the last thing at night, and\nbring him word of the weather. When it came back, Meon might say to his\nslaves, \u201cPadda thinks we shall have wind tomorrow. Haul up the boats!\u201d I\nspoke to Meon casually about the story, and he laughed.\n\n\u2018He told me he could judge by the look of the creature\u2019s coat and the\nway it sniffed what weather was brewing. Quite possible. One need\nnot put down everything one does not understand to the work of bad\nspirits--or good ones, for that matter.\u2019 He nodded towards Puck, who\nnodded gaily in return.\n\n\u2018I say so,\u2019 he went on, \u2018because to a certain extent I have been made a\nvictim of that habit of mind. Some while after I was settled at Selsey,\nKing Ethelwalch and Queen Ebba ordered their people to be baptized. I\nfear I\u2019m too old to believe that a whole nation can change its heart at\nthe King\u2019s command, and I had a shrewd suspicion that their real motive\nwas to get a good harvest. No rain had fallen for two or three years,\nbut as soon as we had finished baptizing, it fell heavily, and they all\nsaid it was a miracle.\u2019\n\n\u2018And was it?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018Everything in life is a miracle, but\u2019--the Archbishop twisted the heavy\nring on his finger--\u2018I should be slow--ve-ry slow should I be--to assume\nthat a certain sort of miracle happens whenever lazy and improvident\npeople say they are going to turn over a new leaf if they are paid for\nit. My friend Meon had sent his slaves to the font, but he had not come\nhimself, so the next time I rode over--to return a manuscript--I took\nthe liberty of asking why. He was perfectly open about it. He looked\non the King\u2019s action as a heathen attempt to curry favour with the\nChristians\u2019 God through me the Archbishop, and he would have none of it.\n\n\u2018\u201cMy dear man,\u201d I said, \u201cadmitting that that is the case, surely you, as\nan educated person, don\u2019t believe in Wotan and all the other hobgoblins\nany more than Padda here?\u201d The old seal was hunched up on his ox-hide\nbehind his master\u2019s chair.\n\n\u2018\u201cEven if I don\u2019t,\u201d he said, \u201cwhy should I insult the memory of my\nfathers\u2019 Gods? I have sent you a hundred and three of my rascals to\nchristen. Isn\u2019t that enough?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBy no means,\u201d I answered. \u201cI want you.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHe wants us! What do you think of that, Padda?\u201d He pulled the seal\u2019s\nwhiskers till it threw back its head and roared, and he pretended to\ninterpret. \u201cNo! Padda says he won\u2019t be baptized yet awhile. He says\nyou\u2019ll stay to dinner and come fishing with me tomorrow, because you\u2019re\nover-worked and need a rest.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI wish you\u2019d keep yon brute in its proper place,\u201d I said, and Eddi, my\nchaplain, agreed.\n\n\u2018\u201cI do,\u201d said Meon. \u201cI keep him just next my heart. He can\u2019t tell a lie,\nand he doesn\u2019t know how to love any one except me. It \u2018ud be the same if\nI were dying on a mud-bank, wouldn\u2019t it, Padda?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAugh! Augh!\u201d said Padda, and put up his head to be scratched.\n\n\u2018Then Meon began to tease Eddi: \u201cPadda says, if Eddi saw his Archbishop\ndying on a mud-bank Eddi would tuck up his gown and run. Padda knows\nEddi can run too! Padda came into Wittering Church last Sunday--all\nwet--to hear the music, and Eddi ran out.\u201d\n\n\u2018My good Eddi rubbed his hands and his shins together, and flushed.\n\u201cPadda is a child of the Devil, who is the father of lies!\u201d he cried,\nand begged my pardon for having spoken. I forgave him.\n\n\u2018\u201cYes. You are just about stupid enough for a musician,\u201d said Meon. \u201cBut\nhere he is. Sing a hymn to him, and see if he can stand it. You\u2019ll find\nmy small harp beside the fireplace.\u201d\n\n\u2018Eddi, who is really an excellent musician, played and sang for quite\nhalf an hour. Padda shuffled off his ox-hide, hunched himself on his\nflippers before him, and listened with his head thrown back. Yes--yess!\nA rather funny sight! Meon tried not to laugh, and asked Eddi if he were\nsatisfied.\n\n\u2018It takes some time to get an idea out of my good Eddi\u2019s head. He looked\nat me.\n\n\u2018\u201cDo you want to sprinkle him with holy water, and see if he flies up\nthe chimney? Why not baptize him?\u201d said Meon.\n\n\u2018Eddi was really shocked. I thought it was bad taste myself.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat\u2019s not fair,\u201d said Meon. \u201cYou call him a demon and a familiar\nspirit because he loves his master and likes music, and when I offer you\na chance to prove it you won\u2019t take it. Look here! I\u2019ll make a bargain.\nI\u2019ll be baptized if you\u2019ll baptize Padda too. He\u2019s more of a man than\nmost of my slaves.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOne doesn\u2019t bargain--or joke--about these matters,\u201d I said. He was\ngoing altogether too far.\n\n\u2018\u201cQuite right,\u201d said Meon; \u201cI shouldn\u2019t like any one to joke about\nPadda. Padda, go down to the beach and bring us tomorrow\u2019s weather!\u201d\n\n\u2018My good Eddi must have been a little over-tired with his day\u2019s work.\n\u201cI am a servant of the church,\u201d he cried. \u201cMy business is to save souls,\nnot to enter into fellowships and understandings with accursed beasts.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHave it your own narrow way,\u201d said Meon. \u201cPadda, you needn\u2019t go.\u201d The\nold fellow flounced back to his ox-hide at once.\n\n\u2018\u201cMan could learn obedience at least from that creature,\u201d said Eddi, a\nlittle ashamed of himself. Christians should not curse. \u2018\u201cDon\u2019t begin to\napologise Just when I am beginning to like you,\u201d said Meon. \u201cWe\u2019ll leave\nPadda behind tomorrow--out of respect to your feelings. Now let\u2019s go to\nsupper. We must be up early tomorrow for the whiting.\u201d\n\n\u2018The next was a beautiful crisp autumn morning--a weather-breeder, if I\nhad taken the trouble to think; but it\u2019s refreshing to escape from\nkings and converts for half a day. We three went by ourselves in Meon\u2019s\nsmallest boat, and we got on the whiting near an old wreck, a mile or\nso off shore. Meon knew the marks to a yard, and the fish were\nkeen. Yes--yess! A perfect morning\u2019s fishing! If a Bishop can\u2019t be a\nfisherman, who can?\u2019 He twiddled his ring again. \u2018We stayed there a\nlittle too long, and while we were getting up our stone, down came the\nfog. After some discussion, we decided to row for the land. The ebb was\njust beginning to make round the point, and sent us all ways at once\nlike a coracle.\u2019\n\n\u2018Selsey Bill,\u2019 said Puck under his breath. \u2018The tides run something\nfurious there.\u2019\n\n\u2018I believe you,\u2019 said the Archbishop. \u2018Meon and I have spent a good many\nevenings arguing as to where exactly we drifted. All I know is we found\nourselves in a little rocky cove that had sprung up round us out of the\nfog, and a swell lifted the boat on to a ledge, and she broke up beneath\nour feet. We had just time to shuffle through the weed before the next\nwave. The sea was rising. \u2018\u201cIt\u2019s rather a pity we didn\u2019t let Padda go\ndown to the beach last night,\u201d said Meon. \u201cHe might have warned us this\nwas coming.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBetter fall into the hands of God than the hands of demons,\u201d said\nEddi, and his teeth chattered as he prayed. A nor\u2019-west breeze had just\ngot up--distinctly cool.\n\n\u2018\u201cSave what you can of the boat,\u201d said Meon; \u201cwe may need it,\u201d and we\nhad to drench ourselves again, fishing out stray planks.\u2019\n\n\u2018What for?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018For firewood. We did not know when we should get off. Eddi had flint\nand steel, and we found dry fuel in the old gulls\u2019 nests and lit a\nfire. It smoked abominably, and we guarded it with boat-planks up-ended\nbetween the rocks. One gets used to that sort of thing if one travels.\nUnluckily I\u2019m not so strong as I was. I fear I must have been a trouble\nto my friends. It was blowing a full gale before midnight. Eddi wrung\nout his cloak, and tried to wrap me in it, but I ordered him on his\nobedience to keep it. However, he held me in his arms all the first\nnight, and Meon begged his pardon for what he\u2019d said the night\nbefore--about Eddi, running away if he found me on a sandbank, you\nremember. \u2018\u201cYou are right in half your prophecy,\u201d said Eddi. \u201cI have\ntucked up my gown, at any rate.\u201d (The wind had blown it over his head.)\n\u201cNow let us thank God for His mercies.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHum!\u201d said Meon. \u201cIf this gale lasts, we stand a very fair chance of\ndying of starvation.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cIf it be God\u2019s will that we survive, God will provide,\u201d said Eddi. \u201cAt\nleast help me to sing to Him.\u201d The wind almost whipped the words out of\nhis mouth, but he braced himself against a rock and sang psalms.\n\n\u2018I\u2019m glad I never concealed my opinion--from myself--that Eddi was\na better man than I. Yet I have worked hard in my time--very hard!\nYes--yess! So the morning and the evening were our second day on that\nislet. There was rain-water in the rock-pools, and, as a churchman, I\nknew how to fast, but I admit we were hungry. Meon fed our fire chip by\nchip to eke it out, and they made me sit over it, the dear fellows, when\nI was too weak to object. Meon held me in his arms the second night,\njust like a child. My good Eddi was a little out of his senses,\nand imagined himself teaching a York choir to sing. Even so, he was\nbeautifully patient with them.\n\n\u2018I heard Meon whisper, \u201cIf this keeps up we shall go to our Gods. I\nwonder what Wotan will say to me. He must know I don\u2019t believe in him.\nOn the other hand, I can\u2019t do what Ethelwalch finds so easy--curry\nfavour with your God at the last minute, in the hope of being saved--as\nyou call it. How do you advise, Bishop?\u201d \u2018\u201cMy dear man,\u201d I said, \u201cif\nthat is your honest belief, I take it upon myself to say you had far\nbetter not curry favour with any God. But if it\u2019s only your Jutish pride\nthat holds you back, lift me up, and I\u2019ll baptize you even now.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cLie still,\u201d said Meon. \u201cI could judge better if I were in my own\nhall. But to desert one\u2019s fathers\u2019 Gods--even if one doesn\u2019t believe in\nthem--in the middle of a gale, isn\u2019t quite--What would you do yourself?\u201d\n\n\u2018I was lying in his arms, kept alive by the warmth of his big, steady\nheart. It did not seem to me the time or the place for subtle arguments,\nso I answered, \u201cNo, I certainly should not desert my God.\u201d I don\u2019t see\neven now what else I could have said.\n\n\u2018\u201cThank you. I\u2019ll remember that, if I live,\u201d said Meon, and I must have\ndrifted back to my dreams about Northumbria and beautiful France, for\nit was broad daylight when I heard him calling on Wotan in that high,\nshaking heathen yell that I detest so.\n\n\u2018\u201cLie quiet. I\u2019m giving Wotan his chance,\u201d he said. Our dear Eddi ambled\nup, still beating time to his imaginary choir.\n\n\u2018\u201cYes. Call on your Gods,\u201d he cried, \u201cand see what gifts they will send\nyou. They are gone on a journey, or they are hunting.\u201d\n\n\u2018I assure you the words were not out of his mouth when old Padda shot\nfrom the top of a cold wrinkled swell, drove himself over the weedy\nledge, and landed fair in our laps with a rock-cod between his teeth. I\ncould not help smiling at Eddi\u2019s face. \u201cA miracle! A miracle!\u201d he cried,\nand kneeled down to clean the cod.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou\u2019ve been a long time finding us, my son,\u201d said Meon. \u201cNow\nfish--fish for all our lives. We\u2019re starving, Padda.\u201d\n\n\u2018The old fellow flung himself quivering like a salmon backward into the\nboil of the currents round the rocks, and Meon said, \u201cWe\u2019re safe. I\u2019ll\nsend him to fetch help when this wind drops. Eat and be thankful.\u201d\n\n\u2018I never tasted anything so good as those rock-codlings we took from\nPadda\u2019s mouth and half roasted over the fire. Between his plunges Padda\nwould hunch up and purr over Meon with the tears running down his face.\nI never knew before that seals could weep for joy--as I have wept.\n\n\u2018\u201cSurely,\u201d said Eddi, with his mouth full, \u201cGod has made the seal the\nloveliest of His creatures in the water. Look how Padda breasts the\ncurrent! He stands up against it like a rock; now watch the chain of\nbubbles where he dives; and now--there is his wise head under that\nrock-ledge! Oh, a blessing be on thee, my little brother Padda!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYou said he was a child of the Devil!\u201d Meon laughed. \u2018\u201cThere I\nsinned,\u201d poor Eddi answered. \u201cCall him here, and I will ask his pardon.\nGod sent him out of the storm to humble me, a fool.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI won\u2019t ask you to enter into fellowships and understandings with any\naccursed brute,\u201d said Meon, rather unkindly. \u201cShall we say he was sent\nto our Bishop as the ravens were sent to your prophet Elijah?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cDoubtless that is so,\u201d said Eddi. \u201cI will write it so if I live to get\nhome.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNo--no!\u201d I said. \u201cLet us three poor men kneel and thank God for His\nmercies.\u201d\n\n\u2018We kneeled, and old Padda shuffled up and thrust his head under Meon\u2019s\nelbows. I laid my hand upon it and blessed him. So did Eddi.\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd now, my son,\u201d I said to Meon, \u201cshall I baptize thee?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNot yet,\u201d said he. \u201cWait till we are well ashore and at home. No God\nin any Heaven shall say that I came to him or left him because I was wet\nand cold. I will send Padda to my people for a boat. Is that witchcraft,\nEddi?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhy, no. Surely Padda will go and pull them to the beach by the skirts\nof their gowns as he pulled me in Wittering Church to ask me to sing.\nOnly then I was afraid, and did not understand,\u201d said Eddi.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou are understanding now,\u201d said Meon, and at a wave of his arm off\nwent Padda to the mainland, making a wake like a war-boat till we lost\nhim in the rain. Meon\u2019s people could not bring a boat across for some\nhours; even so it was ticklish work among the rocks in that tideway.\nBut they hoisted me aboard, too stiff to move, and Padda swam behind us,\nbarking and turning somersaults all the way to Manhood End!\u2019\n\n\u2018Good old Padda!\u2019 murmured Dan.\n\n\u2018When we were quite rested and re-clothed, and his people had been\nsummoned--not an hour before--Meon offered himself to be baptized.\u2019\n\n\u2018Was Padda baptized too?\u2019 Una asked.\n\n\u2018No, that was only Meon\u2019s joke. But he sat blinking on his ox-hide in\nthe middle of the hall. When Eddi (who thought I wasn\u2019t looking) made a\nlittle cross in holy water on his wet muzzle, he kissed Eddi\u2019s hand. A\nweek before Eddi wouldn\u2019t have touched him. That was a miracle, if you\nlike! But seriously, I was more glad than I can tell you to get Meon. A\nrare and splendid soul that never looked back--never looked back!\u2019 The\nArch-bishop half closed his eyes.\n\n\u2018But, sir,\u2019 said Puck, most respectfully, \u2018haven\u2019t you left out what\nMeon said afterwards?\u2019 Before the Bishop could speak he turned to the\nchildren and went on: \u2018Meon called all his fishers and ploughmen and\nherdsmen into the hall and he said: \u201cListen, men! Two days ago I asked\nour Bishop whether it was fair for a man to desert his fathers\u2019 Gods\nin a time of danger. Our Bishop said it was not fair. You needn\u2019t shout\nlike that, because you are all Christians now. My red war-boat\u2019s crew\nwill remember how near we all were to death when Padda fetched them over\nto the Bishop\u2019s islet. You can tell your mates that even in that place,\nat that time, hanging on the wet, weedy edge of death, our Bishop, a\nChristian, counselled me, a heathen, to stand by my fathers\u2019 Gods. I\ntell you now that a faith which takes care that every man shall keep\nfaith, even though he may save his soul by breaking faith, is the faith\nfor a man to believe in. So I believe in the Christian God, and in\nWilfrid His Bishop, and in the Church that Wilfrid rules. You have been\nbaptized once by the King\u2019s orders. I shall not have you baptized again;\nbut if I find any more old women being sent to Wotan, or any girls\ndancing on the sly before Balder, or any men talking about Thun or Lok\nor the rest, I will teach you with my own hands how to keep faith with\nthe Christian God. Go out quietly; you\u2019ll find a couple of beefs on the\nbeach.\u201d Then of course they shouted \u201cHurrah!\u201d which meant \u201cThor help\nus!\u201d and--I think you laughed, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018I think you remember it all too well,\u2019 said the Archbishop, smiling.\n\u2018It was a joyful day for me. I had learned a great deal on that rock\nwhere Padda found us. Yes--yess! One should deal kindly with all the\ncreatures of God, and gently with their masters. But one learns late.\u2019\n\nHe rose, and his gold-embroidered sleeves rustled thickly.\n\nThe organ cracked and took deep breaths.\n\n\u2018Wait a minute,\u2019 Dan whispered. \u2018She\u2019s going to do the trumpety one. It\ntakes all the wind you can pump. It\u2019s in Latin, sir.\u2019\n\n\u2018There is no other tongue,\u2019 the Archbishop answered.\n\n\u2018It\u2019s not a real hymn,\u2019 Una explained. \u2018She does it as a treat after her\nexercises. She isn\u2019t a real organist, you know. She just comes down here\nsometimes, from the Albert Hall.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, what a miracle of a voice!\u2019 said the Archbishop.\n\nIt rang out suddenly from a dark arch of lonely noises--every word\nspoken to the very end:\n\n     \u2018Dies Irae, dies illa,\n     Solvet saeclum in favilla,\n     Teste David cum Sibylla.\u2019\nThe Archbishop caught his breath and moved forward. The music carried on\nby itself a while.\n\n\u2018Now it\u2019s calling all the light out of the windows,\u2019 Una whispered to\nDan.\n\n\u2018I think it\u2019s more like a horse neighing in battle,\u2019 he whispered back.\nThe voice continued:\n\n     \u2018Tuba mirum spargens sonum\n     Per sepulchre regionum.\u2019\n\nDeeper and deeper the organ dived down, but far below its deepest note\nthey heard Puck\u2019s voice joining in the last line:\n\n     \u2018Coget omnes ante thronum.\u2019\n\nAs they looked in wonder, for it sounded like the dull jar of one of the\nvery pillars shifting, the little fellow turned and went out through the\nsouth door.\n\n\u2018Now\u2019s the sorrowful part, but it\u2019s very beautiful.\u2019 Una found herself\nspeaking to the empty chair in front of her.\n\n\u2018What are you doing that for?\u2019 Dan said behind her. \u2018You spoke so\npolitely too.\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t know... I thought--\u2019 said Una. \u2018Funny!\u2019\n\n\u2018\u2019Tisn\u2019t. It\u2019s the part you like best,\u2019 Dan grunted.\n\nThe music had turned soft--full of little sounds that chased each other\non wings across the broad gentle flood of the main tune. But the voice\nwas ten times lovelier than the music.\n\n     \u2018Recordare Jesu pie,\n     Quod sum causa Tuae viae,\n     Ne me perdas illi die!\u2019\n\nThere was no more. They moved out into the centre aisle.\n\n\u2018That you?\u2019 the Lady called as she shut the lid. \u2018I thought I heard you,\nand I played it on purpose.\u2019\n\n\u2018Thank you awfully,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018We hoped you would, so we waited. Come\non, Una, it\u2019s pretty nearly dinner-time.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nSong of the Red War-Boat\n\n\n     Shove off from the wharf-edge!  Steady!\n     Watch for a smooth!  Give way!\n     If she feels the lop already\n     She\u2019ll stand on her head in the bay.\n     It\u2019s ebb--it\u2019s dusk--it\u2019s blowing,\n     The shoals are a mile of white,\n     But (snatch her along!) we\u2019re going\n     To find our master tonight.\n\n          For we hold that in all disaster\n          Of shipwreck, storm, or sword,\n          A man must stand by his master\n          When once he had pledged his word!\n\n     Raging seas have we rowed in,\n     But we seldom saw them thus;\n     Our master is angry with Odin--\n     Odin is angry with us!\n     Heavy odds have we taken,\n     But never before such odds.\n     The Gods know they are forsaken,\n     We must risk the wrath of the Gods!\n\n     Over the crest she flies from,\n     Into its hollow she drops,\n     Crouches and clears her eyes from\n     The wind-torn breaker-tops,\n     Ere out on the shrieking shoulder\n     Of a hill-high surge she drives.\n     Meet her!  Meet her and hold her!\n     Pull for your scoundrel lives!\n\n     The thunder bellow and clamour\n     The harm that they mean to do;\n     There goes Thor\u2019s Own Hammer\n     Cracking the dark in two!\n\n     Close!  But the blow has missed her,\n     Here comes the wind of the blow!\n     Row or the squall\u2019ll twist her\n     Broadside on to it!---Row!\n\n     Hearken, Thor of the Thunder!\n     We are not here for a jest--\n     For wager, warfare, or plunder,\n     Or to put your power to test.\n     This work is none of our wishing--\n     We would stay at home if we might--\n     But our master is wrecked out fishing,\n     We go to find him tonight.\n\n          For we hold that in all disaster--\n          As the Gods Themselves have said--\n          A man must stand by his master\n          Till one of the two is dead.\n\n     That is our way of thinking,\n     Now you can do as you will,\n     While we try to save her from sinking,\n     And hold her head to it still.\n     Bale her and keep her moving,\n     Or she\u2019ll break her back in the trough...\n     Who said the weather\u2019s improving,\n     And the swells are taking off?\n\n     Sodden, and chafed and aching,\n     Gone in the loins and knees--\n     No matter--the day is breaking,\n     And there\u2019s far less weight to the seas!\n     Up mast, and finish baling--\n     In oars, and out with the mead--\n     The rest will be two-reef sailing...\n     That was a night indeed!\n          But we hold that in all disaster\n          (And faith, we have found it true!)\n          If only you stand by your master,\n          The Gods will stand by you!\n\n\n\n\n\nA DOCTOR OF MEDICINE\n\n\n\n\nAn Astrologer\u2019s Song\n\n\n     To the Heavens above us\n     Oh, look and behold\n     The planets that love us\n     All harnessed in gold!\n     What chariots, what horses,\n     Against us shall bide\n     While the Stars in their courses\n     Do fight on our side?\n\n     All thought, all desires,\n     That are under the sun,\n     Are one with their fires,\n     As we also are one;\n     All matter, all spirit,\n     All fashion, all frame,\n     Receive and inherit\n     Their strength from the same.\n\n     (Oh, man that deniest\n     All power save thine own,\n     Their power in the highest\n     Is mightily shown.\n     Not less in the lowest\n     That power is made clear.\n     Oh, man, if thou knowest,\n     What treasure is here!)\n\n     Earth quakes in her throes\n     And we wonder for why!\n     But the blind planet knows\n     When her ruler is nigh;\n     And, attuned since Creation,\n     To perfect accord,\n     She thrills in her station\n     And yearns to her Lord.\n\n     The waters have risen,\n     The springs are unbound--\n     The floods break their prison,\n     And ravin around.\n     No rampart withstands \u2018em,\n     Their fury will last,\n     Till the Sign that commands \u2018em\n     Sinks low or swings past.\n\n     Through abysses unproven,\n     And gulfs beyond thought,\n     Our portion is woven,\n     Our burden is brought.\n     Yet They that prepare it,\n     Whose Nature we share,\n     Make us who must bear it\n     Well able to bear.\n\n     Though terrors o\u2019ertake us\n     We\u2019ll not be afraid,\n     No Power can unmake us\n     Save that which has made.\n     Nor yet beyond reason\n     Nor hope shall we fall--\n     All things have their season,\n     And Mercy crowns all.\n\n     Then, doubt not, ye fearful--\n     The Eternal is King--\n     Up, heart, and be cheerful,\n     And lustily sing:\n     What chariots, what horses,\n     Against us shall bide\n     While the Stars in their courses\n     Do fight on our side?\n\n\n\n\nA Doctor of Medicine\n\nThey were playing hide-and-seek with bicycle lamps after tea. Dan had\nhung his lamp on the apple tree at the end of the hellebore bed in the\nwalled garden, and was crouched by the gooseberry bushes ready to dash\noff when Una should spy him. He saw her lamp come into the garden and\ndisappear as she hid it under her cloak. While he listened for her\nfootsteps, somebody (they both thought it was Phillips the gardener)\ncoughed in the corner of the herb-beds.\n\n\u2018All right,\u2019 Una shouted across the asparagus; \u2018we aren\u2019t hurting your\nold beds, Phippsey!\u2019\n\nShe flashed her lantern towards the spot, and in its circle of light\nthey saw a Guy Fawkes-looking man in a black cloak and a steeple-crowned\nhat, walking down the path beside Puck. They ran to meet him, and the\nman said something to them about rooms in their head. After a time they\nunderstood he was warning them not to catch colds.\n\n\u2018You\u2019ve a bit of a cold yourself, haven\u2019t you?\u2019 said Una, for he ended\nall his sentences with a consequential cough. Puck laughed.\n\n\u2018Child,\u2019 the man answered, \u2018if it hath pleased Heaven to afflict me with\nan infirmity--\u2019\n\n\u2018Nay, nay,\u2019 Puck struck In, \u2018the maid spoke out of kindness. I know that\nhalf your cough is but a catch to trick the vulgar; and that\u2019s a pity.\nThere\u2019s honesty enough in you, Nick, without rasping and hawking.\u2019\n\n\u2018Good people\u2019--the man shrugged his lean shoulders--\u2018the vulgar crowd\nlove not truth unadorned. Wherefore we philosophers must needs dress her\nto catch their eye or--ahem!---their ear.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what d\u2019you think of that?\u2019 said Puck solemnly to Dan.\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t know,\u2019 he answered. \u2018It sounds like lessons.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah--well! There have been worse men than Nick Culpeper to take lessons\nfrom. Now, where can we sit that\u2019s not indoors?\u2019\n\n\u2018In the hay-mow, next to old Middenboro,\u2019 Dan suggested. \u2018He doesn\u2019t\nmind.\u2019\n\n\u2018Eh?\u2019 Mr Culpeper was stooping over the pale hellebore blooms by the\nlight of Una\u2019s lamp. \u2018Does Master Middenboro need my poor services,\nthen?\u2019\n\n\u2018Save him, no!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018He is but a horse--next door to an ass, as\nyou\u2019ll see presently. Come!\u2019\n\nTheir shadows jumped and slid on the fruit-tree walls. They filed out of\nthe garden by the snoring pig-pound and the crooning hen-house, to the\nshed where Middenboro the old lawn-mower pony lives. His friendly eyes\nshowed green in the light as they set their lamps down on the chickens\u2019\ndrinking-trough outside, and pushed past to the hay-mow. Mr Culpeper\nstooped at the door.\n\n\u2018Mind where you lie,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018This hay\u2019s full of hedge-brishings.\n\n\u2018In! in!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018You\u2019ve lain in fouler places than this, Nick.\nAh! Let us keep touch with the stars!\u2019 He kicked open the top of the\nhalf-door, and pointed to the clear sky. \u2018There be the planets you\nconjure with! What does your wisdom make of that wandering and variable\nstar behind those apple boughs?\u2019\n\nThe children smiled. A bicycle that they knew well was being walked down\nthe steep lane. \u2018Where?\u2019 Mr Culpeper leaned forward quickly. \u2018That? Some\ncountryman\u2019s lantern.\u2019\n\n\u2018Wrong, Nick,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018\u2019Tis a singular bright star in Virgo,\ndeclining towards the house of Aquarius the water-carrier, who hath\nlately been afflicted by Gemini. Aren\u2019t I right, Una?\u2019 Mr Culpeper\nsnorted contemptuously.\n\n\u2018No. It\u2019s the village nurse going down to the Mill about some fresh\ntwins that came there last week. Nurse,\u2019 Una called, as the light\nstopped on the flat, \u2018when can I see the Morris twins? And how are\nthey?\u2019\n\n\u2018Next Sunday, perhaps. Doing beautifully,\u2019 the Nurse called back, and\nwith a ping-ping-ping of the bell brushed round the corner.\n\n\u2018Her uncle\u2019s a vetinary surgeon near Banbury,\u2019 Una explained, and if you\nring her bell at night, it rings right beside her bed--not downstairs\nat all. Then she \u2018umps up--she always keeps a pair of dry boots in the\nfender, you know--and goes anywhere she\u2019s wanted. We help her bicycle\nthrough gaps sometimes. Most of her babies do beautifully. She told us\nso herself.\u2019\n\n\u2018I doubt not, then, that she reads in my books,\u2019 said Mr Culpeper\nquietly. \u2018Twins at the Mill!\u2019 he muttered half aloud. \u201cAnd again He\nsayeth, Return, ye children of men.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018Are you a doctor or a rector?\u2019 Una asked, and Puck with a shout turned\nhead over heels in the hay. But Mr Culpeper was quite serious. He told\nthem that he was a physician-astrologer--a doctor who knew all about the\nstars as well as all about herbs for medicine. He said that the sun,\nthe moon, and five Planets, called Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, Saturn, and\nVenus, governed everybody and everything in the world. They all lived\nin Houses--he mapped out some of them against the dark with a busy\nforefinger--and they moved from House to House like pieces at draughts;\nand they went loving and hating each other all over the skies. If you\nknew their likes and dislikes, he said, you could make them cure your\npatient and hurt your enemy, and find out the secret causes of things.\nHe talked of these five Planets as though they belonged to him, or as\nthough he were playing long games against them. The children burrowed\nin the hay up to their chins, and looked out over the half-door at the\nsolemn, star-powdered sky till they seemed to be falling upside down\ninto it, while Mr Culpeper talked about \u2018trines\u2019 and \u2018oppositions\u2019 and\n\u2018conjunctions\u2019 and \u2018sympathies\u2019 and \u2018antipathies\u2019 in a tone that just\nmatched things.\n\nA rat ran between Middenboro\u2019s feet, and the old pony stamped.\n\n\u2018Mid hates rats,\u2019 said Dan, and passed him over a lock of hay. \u2018I wonder\nwhy.\u2019\n\n\u2018Divine Astrology tells us,\u2019 said Mr Culpeper. \u2018The horse, being a\nmartial beast that beareth man to battle, belongs naturally to the red\nplanet Mars--the Lord of War. I would show you him, but he\u2019s too near\nhis setting. Rats and mice, doing their businesses by night, come under\nthe dominion of our Lady the Moon. Now between Mars and Luna, the one\nred, t\u2019other white, the one hot t\u2019other cold and so forth, stands, as\nI have told you, a natural antipathy, or, as you say, hatred. Which\nantipathy their creatures do inherit. Whence, good people, you may both\nsee and hear your cattle stamp in their stalls for the self-same causes\nas decree the passages of the stars across the unalterable face of\nHeaven! Ahem!\u2019 Puck lay along chewing a leaf. They felt him shake with\nlaughter, and Mr Culpeper sat up stiffly.\n\n\u2018I myself\u2019 said he, \u2018have saved men\u2019s lives, and not a few neither, by\nobserving at the proper time--there is a time, mark you, for all\nthings under the sun--by observing, I say, so small a beast as a rat\nin conjunction with so great a matter as this dread arch above us.\u2019 He\nswept his hand across the sky. \u2018Yet there are those,\u2019 he went on sourly,\n\u2018who have years without knowledge.\u2019\n\n\u2018Right,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018No fool like an old fool.\u2019\n\nMr Culpeper wrapped his cloak round him and sat still while the children\nstared at the Great Bear on the hilltop.\n\n\u2018Give him time,\u2019 Puck whispered behind his hand. \u2018He turns like a\ntimber-tug--all of a piece.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ahem!\u2019 Mr Culpeper said suddenly. \u2018I\u2019ll prove it to you. When I was\nphysician to Saye\u2019s Horse, and fought the King--or rather the man\nCharles Stuart--in Oxfordshire (I had my learning at Cambridge), the\nplague was very hot all around us. I saw it at close hands. He who\nsays I am ignorant of the plague, for example, is altogether beside the\nbridge.\u2019\n\n\u2018We grant it,\u2019 said Puck solemnly. \u2018But why talk of the plague this rare\nnight?\u2019\n\n\u2018To prove my argument. This Oxfordshire plague, good people, being\ngenerated among rivers and ditches, was of a werish, watery nature.\nTherefore it was curable by drenching the patient in cold water, and\nlaying him in wet cloths; or at least, so I cured some of them. Mark\nthis. It bears on what shall come after.\u2019\n\n\u2018Mark also, Nick,\u2019 said Puck, that we are not your College of\nPhysicians, but only a lad and a lass and a poor lubberkin. Therefore be\nplain, old Hyssop on the Wall!\u2019\n\n\u2018To be plain and in order with you, I was shot in the chest while\ngathering of betony from a brookside near Thame, and was took by the\nKing\u2019s men before their Colonel, one Blagg or Bragge, whom I warned\nhonestly that I had spent the week past among our plague-stricken. He\nflung me off into a cowshed, much like this here, to die, as I supposed;\nbut one of their priests crept in by night and dressed my wound. He was\na Sussex man like myself.\u2019\n\n\u2018Who was that?\u2019 said Puck suddenly. \u2018Zack Tutshom?\u2019\n\n\u2018No, Jack Marget,\u2019 said Mr Culpeper.\n\n\u2018Jack Marget of New College? The little merry man that stammered so? Why\na plague was stuttering Jack at Oxford then?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018He had come out of Sussex in hope of being made a Bishop when the King\nshould have conquered the rebels, as he styled us Parliament men. His\nCollege had lent the King some monies too, which they never got again,\nno more than simple Jack got his bishopric. When we met he had had a\nbitter bellyful of King\u2019s promises, and wished to return to his wife and\nbabes. This came about beyond expectation, for, so soon as I could\nstand of my wound, the man Blagge made excuse that I had been among the\nplague, and Jack had been tending me, to thrust us both out from their\ncamp. The King had done with Jack now that Jack\u2019s College had lent the\nmoney, and Blagge\u2019s physician could not abide me because I would not\nsit silent and see him butcher the sick. (He was a College of Physicians\nman!) So Blagge, I say, thrust us both out, with many vile words, for a\npair of pestilent, prating, pragmatical rascals.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ha! Called you pragmatical, Nick?\u2019 Puck started up. \u2018High time Oliver\ncame to purge the land! How did you and honest Jack fare next?\u2019\n\n\u2018We were in some sort constrained to each other\u2019s company. I was for\ngoing to my house in Spitalfields, he would go to his parish in Sussex;\nbut the plague was broke out and spreading through Wiltshire, Berkshire,\nand Hampshire, and he was so mad distracted to think that it might even\nthen be among his folk at home that I bore him company. He had comforted\nme in my distress. I could not have done less; and I remembered that I\nhad a cousin at Great Wigsell, near by Jack\u2019s parish. Thus we footed it\nfrom Oxford, cassock and buff coat together, resolute to leave wars on\nthe left side henceforth; and either through our mean appearances, or\nthe plague making men less cruel, we were not hindered. To be sure, they\nput us in the stocks one half-day for rogues and vagabonds at a village\nunder St Leonard\u2019s forest, where, as I have heard, nightingales never\nsing; but the constable very honestly gave me back my Astrological\nAlmanac, which I carry with me.\u2019 Mr Culpeper tapped his thin chest. \u2018I\ndressed a whitlow on his thumb. So we went forward.\n\n\u2018Not to trouble you with impertinences, we fetched over against Jack\nMarget\u2019s parish in a storm of rain about the day\u2019s end. Here our roads\ndivided, for I would have gone on to my cousin at Great Wigsell, but\nwhile Jack was pointing me out his steeple, we saw a man lying drunk,\nas he conceived, athwart the road. He said it would be one Hebden, a\nparishioner, and till then a man of good life; and he accused himself\nbitterly for an unfaithful shepherd, that had left his flock to follow\nprinces. But I saw it was the plague, and not the beginnings of it\nneither. They had set out the plague-stone, and the man\u2019s head lay on\nit.\u2019\n\n\u2018What\u2019s a plague-stone?\u2019 Dan whispered.\n\n\u2018When the plague is so hot in a village that the neighbours shut the\nroads against \u2018em, people set a hollowed stone, pot, or pan, where such\nas would purchase victual from outside may lay money and the paper of\ntheir wants, and depart. Those that would sell come later--what will\na man not do for gain?---snatch the money forth, and leave in exchange\nsuch goods as their conscience reckons fair value. I saw a silver groat\nin the water, and the man\u2019s list of what he would buy was rain-pulped in\nhis wet hand.\n\n\u2018\u201cMy wife! Oh, my wife and babes!\u201d says Jack of a sudden, and makes\nuphill--I with him.\n\n\u2018A woman peers out from behind a barn, crying out that the village is\nstricken with the plague, and that for our lives\u2019 sake we must avoid it.\n\n\u2018\u201cSweetheart!\u201d says Jack. \u201cMust I avoid thee?\u201d and she leaps at him and\nsays the babes are safe. She was his wife.\n\n\u2018When he had thanked God, even to tears, he tells me this was not the\nwelcome he had intended, and presses me to flee the place while I was\nclean.\n\n\u2018\u201cNay! The Lord do so to me and more also if I desert thee now,\u201d I said.\n\u201cThese affairs are, under God\u2019s leave, in some fashion my strength.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, sir,\u201d she says, \u201care you a physician? We have none.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen, good people,\u201d said I, \u201cI must e\u2019en justify myself to you by my\nworks.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cLook--look ye,\u201d stammers Jack, \u201cI took you all this time for a crazy\nRoundhead preacher.\u201d He laughs, and she, and then I--all three together\nin the rain are overtook by an unreasonable gust or clap of laughter,\nwhich none the less eased us. We call it in medicine the Hysterical\nPassion. So I went home with \u2018em.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why did you not go on to your cousin at Great Wigsell, Nick?\u2019 Puck\nsuggested. \u2018\u2019tis barely seven mile up the road.\u2019\n\n\u2018But the plague was here,\u2019 Mr Culpeper answered, and pointed up the\nhill. \u2018What else could I have done?\u2019\n\n\u2018What were the parson\u2019s children called?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Elizabeth, Alison, Stephen, and Charles--a babe. I scarce saw them at\nfirst, for I separated to live with their father in a cart-lodge. The\nmother we put--forced--into the house with her babes. She had done\nenough.\n\n\u2018And now, good people, give me leave to be particular in this case. The\nplague was worst on the north side of the street, for lack, as I showed\n\u2018em, of sunshine; which, proceeding from the PRIME MOBILE, or source of\nlife (I speak astrologically), is cleansing and purifying in the highest\ndegree. The plague was hot too by the corn-chandler\u2019s, where they sell\nforage to the carters, extreme hot in both Mills, along the river, and\nscatteringly in other places, except, mark you, at the smithy. Mark\nhere, that all forges and smith shops belong to Mars, even as corn and\nmeat and wine shops acknowledge Venus for their mistress. There was no\nplague in the smithy at Munday\u2019s Lane--\u2019\n\n\u2018Munday\u2019s Lane? You mean our village? I thought so when you talked about\nthe two Mills,\u2019 cried Dan. \u2018Where did we put the plague-stone? I\u2019d like\nto have seen it.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then look at it now,\u2019 said Puck, and pointed to the chickens\u2019\ndrinking-trough where they had set their bicycle lamps. It was a rough,\noblong stone pan, rather like a small kitchen sink, which Phillips,\nwho never wastes anything, had found in a ditch and had used for his\nprecious hens.\n\n\u2018That?\u2019 said Dan and Una, and stared, and stared, and stared. Mr\nCulpeper made impatient noises in his throat and went on.\n\n\u2018I am at these pains to be particular, good people, because I would have\nyou follow, so far as you may, the operations of my mind. That plague\nwhich I told you I had handled outside Wallingford in Oxfordshire was\nof a watery nature, conformable to the brookish riverine country it bred\nin, and curable, as I have said, by drenching in water. This plague of\nours here, for all that it flourished along watercourses--every soul at\nboth Mills died of it,--could not be so handled. Which brought me to a\nstand. Ahem!\u2019\n\n\u2018And your sick people in the meantime?\u2019 Puck demanded. \u2018We persuaded them\non the north side of the street to lie out in Hitheram\u2019s field. Where\nthe plague had taken one, or at most two, in a house, folk would not\nshift for fear of thieves in their absence. They cast away their lives\nto die among their goods.\u2019\n\n\u2018Human nature,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018I\u2019ve seen it time and again. How did your\nsick do in the fields?\u2019\n\n\u2018They died not near so thick as those that kept within doors, and even\nthen they died more out of distraction and melancholy than plague. But\nI confess, good people, I could not in any sort master the sickness, or\ncome at a glimmer of its nature or governance. To be brief, I was flat\nbewildered at the brute malignity of the disease, and so--did what I\nshould have done before--dismissed all conjectures and apprehensions\nthat had grown up within me, chose a good hour by my Almanac, clapped\nmy vinegar-cloth to my face, and entered some empty houses, resigned to\nwait upon the stars for guidance.\u2019\n\n\u2018At night? Were you not horribly frightened?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018I dared to hope that the God who hath made man so nobly curious to\nsearch out His mysteries might not destroy a devout seeker. In due\ntime--there\u2019s a time, as I have said, for everything under the sun--I\nspied a whitish rat, very puffed and scabby, which sat beneath the\ndormer of an attic through which shined our Lady the Moon. Whilst I\nlooked on him--and her--she was moving towards old cold Saturn, her\nancient ally--the rat creeped languishingly into her light, and there,\nbefore my eyes, died. Presently his mate or companion came out, laid him\ndown beside there, and in like fashion died too. Later--an hour or\nless to midnight--a third rat did e\u2019en the same; always choosing the\nmoonlight to die in. This threw me into an amaze, since, as we know, the\nmoonlight is favourable, not hurtful, to the creatures of the Moon;\nand Saturn, being friends with her, as you would say, was hourly\nstrengthening her evil influence. Yet these three rats had been stricken\ndead in very moonlight. I leaned out of the window to see which of\nHeaven\u2019s host might be on our side, and there beheld I good trusty Mars,\nvery red and heated, bustling about his setting. I straddled the roof to\nsee better.\n\n\u2018Jack Marget came up street going to comfort our sick in Hitheram\u2019s\nfield. A tile slipped under my foot.\n\nSays he, heavily enough, \u201cWatchman, what of the night?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHeart up, Jack,\u201d says I. \u201cMethinks there\u2019s one fighting for us that,\nlike a fool, I\u2019ve forgot all this summer.\u201d My meaning was naturally the\nplanet Mars.\n\n\u2018\u201cPray to Him then,\u201d says he. \u201cI forgot Him too this summer.\u201d\n\n\u2018He meant God, whom he always bitterly accused himself of having\nforgotten up in Oxfordshire, among the King\u2019s men. I called down that\nhe had made amends enough for his sin by his work among the sick, but he\nsaid he would not believe so till the plague was lifted from \u2018em. He was\nat his strength\u2019s end--more from melancholy than any just cause. I have\nseen this before among priests and overcheerful men. I drenched him then\nand there with a half-cup of waters, which I do not say cure the plague,\nbut are excellent against heaviness of the spirits.\u2019\n\n\u2018What were they?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018White brandy rectified, camphor, cardamoms, ginger, two sorts of\npepper, and aniseed.\u2019 \u2018Whew!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018Waters you call \u2018em!\u2019\n\n\u2018Jack coughed on it valiantly, and went downhill with me. I was for the\nLower Mill in the valley, to note the aspect of the Heavens. My mind had\nalready shadowed forth the reason, if not the remedy, for our troubles,\nbut I would not impart it to the vulgar till I was satisfied. That\npractice may be perfect, judgment ought to be sound, and to make\njudgment sound is required an exquisite knowledge. Ahem! I left Jack and\nhis lantern among the sick in Hitheram\u2019s field. He still maintained\nthe prayers of the so-called Church, which were rightly forbidden by\nCromwell.\u2019\n\n\u2018You should have told your cousin at Wigsell,\u2019 said Puck, \u2018and Jack\nwould have been fined for it, and you\u2019d have had half the money. How did\nyou come so to fail in your duty, Nick?\u2019\n\nMr Culpeper laughed--his only laugh that evening--and the children\njumped at the loud neigh of it.\n\n\u2018We were not fearful of men\u2019s judgment in those days,\u2019 he answered. \u2018Now\nmark me closely, good people, for what follows will be to you, though\nnot to me, remarkable. When I reached the empty Mill, old Saturn, low\ndown in the House of the Fishes, threatened the Sun\u2019s rising-place. Our\nLady the Moon was moving towards the help of him (understand, I speak\nastrologically). I looked abroad upon the high Heavens, and I prayed the\nMaker of \u2018em for guidance. Now Mars sparkingly withdrew himself below\nthe sky. On the instant of his departure, which I noted, a bright star\nor vapour leaped forth above his head (as though he had heaved up his\nsword), and broke all about in fire. The cocks crowed midnight through\nthe valley, and I sat me down by the mill-wheel, chewing spearmint\n(though that\u2019s an herb of Venus), and calling myself all the asses\u2019\nheads in the world! \u2018Twas plain enough now!\u2019\n\n\u2018What was plain?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018The true cause and cure of the plague. Mars, good fellow, had fought\nfor us to the uttermost. Faint though he had been in the Heavens, and\nthis had made me overlook him in my computations, he more than any\nof the other planets had kept the Heavens--which is to say, had been\nvisible some part of each night wellnigh throughout the year. Therefore\nhis fierce and cleansing influence, warring against the Moon, had\nstretched out to kill those three rats under my nose, and under the nose\nof their natural mistress, the Moon. I had known Mars lean half across\nHeaven to deal our Lady the Moon some shrewd blow from under his shield,\nbut I had never before seen his strength displayed so effectual.\u2019\n\n\u2018I don\u2019t understand a bit. Do you mean Mars killed the rats because he\nhated the Moon?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018That is as plain as the pikestaff with which Blagge\u2019s men pushed me\nforth,\u2019 Mr Culpeper answered. \u2018I\u2019ll prove it. Why had the plague not\nbroken out at the blacksmith\u2019s shop in Munday\u2019s Lane? Because, as I\u2019ve\nshown you, forges and smithies belong naturally to Mars, and, for his\nhonour\u2019s sake, Mars \u2018ud keep \u2018em clean from the creatures of the Moon.\nBut was it like, think you, that he\u2019d come down and rat-catch in general\nfor lazy, ungrateful mankind? That were working a willing horse to\ndeath. So, then, you can see that the meaning of the blazing star above\nhim when he set was simply this: \u201cDestroy and burn the creatures Of the\nmoon, for they are the root of your trouble. And thus, having shown you\na taste of my power, good people, adieu.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018Did Mars really say all that?\u2019 Una whispered.\n\n\u2018Yes, and twice so much as that to any one who had ears to hear.\nBriefly, he enlightened me that the plague was spread by the creatures\nof the Moon. The Moon, our Lady of ill-aspect, was the offender. My own\npoor wits showed me that I, Nick Culpeper, had the people in my charge,\nGod\u2019s good providence aiding me, and no time to lose neither.\n\n\u2018I posted up the hill, and broke into Hitheram\u2019s field amongst \u2018em all\nat prayers.\n\n\u2018\u201cEureka, good people!\u201d I cried, and cast down a dead mill-rat which I\u2019d\nfound. \u201cHere\u2019s your true enemy, revealed at last by the stars.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNay, but I\u2019m praying,\u201d says Jack. His face was as white as washed\nsilver.\n\n\u2018\u201cThere\u2019s a time for everything under the sun,\u201d says I. \u201cIf you would\nstay the plague, take and kill your rats.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, mad, stark mad!\u201d says he, and wrings his hands.\n\n\u2018A fellow lay in the ditch beside him, who bellows that he\u2019d as soon die\nmad hunting rats as be preached to death on a cold fallow. They\nlaughed round him at this, but Jack Marget falls on his knees, and very\npresumptuously petitions that he may be appointed to die to save the\nrest of his people. This was enough to thrust \u2018em back into their\nmelancholy. \u2018\u201cYou are an unfaithful shepherd, jack,\u201d I says. \u201cTake a\nbat\u201d (which we call a stick in Sussex) \u201cand kill a rat if you die before\nsunrise. \u2018Twill save your people.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAye, aye. Take a bat and kill a rat,\u201d he says ten times over, like\na child, which moved \u2018em to ungovernable motions of that hysterical\npassion before mentioned, so that they laughed all, and at least\nwarmed their chill bloods at that very hour--one o\u2019clock or a little\nafter--when the fires of life burn lowest. Truly there is a time for\neverything; and the physician must work with it--ahem!--or miss his\ncure. To be brief with you, I persuaded \u2018em, sick or sound, to have\nat the whole generation of rats throughout the village. And there\u2019s a\nreason for all things too, though the wise physician need not blab \u2018em\nall. Imprimis, or firstly, the mere sport of it, which lasted ten days,\ndrew \u2018em most markedly out of their melancholy. I\u2019d defy sorrowful\njob himself to lament or scratch while he\u2019s routing rats from a rick.\nSecundo, or secondly, the vehement act and operation of this chase or\nwar opened their skins to generous transpiration--more vulgarly, sweated\n\u2018em handsomely; and this further drew off their black bile--the mother\nof sickness. Thirdly, when we came to burn the bodies of the rats,\nI sprinkled sulphur on the faggots, whereby the onlookers were as\nhandsomely suffumigated. This I could not have compassed if I had made\nit a mere physician\u2019s business; they\u2019d have thought it some conjuration.\nYet more, we cleansed, limed, and burned out a hundred foul poke-holes,\nsinks, slews, and corners of unvisited filth in and about the houses in\nthe village, and by good fortune (mark here that Mars was in opposition\nto Venus) burned the corn-handler\u2019s shop to the ground. Mars loves not\nVenus. Will Noakes the saddler dropped his lantern on a truss of straw\nwhile he was rat-hunting there.\u2019\n\n\u2018Had ye given Will any of that gentle cordial of yours, Nick, by any\nchance?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018A glass--or two glasses--not more. But as I would say, in fine, when we\nhad killed the rats, I took ash, slag, and charcoal from the smithy,\nand burnt earth from the brickyard (I reason that a brickyard belongs\nto Mars), and rammed it with iron crowbars into the rat-runs and buries,\nand beneath all the house floors. The Creatures of the Moon hate all\nthat Mars hath used for his own clean ends. For example--rats bite not\niron.\u2019\n\n\u2018And how did poor stuttering Jack endure it?\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018He sweated out his melancholy through his skin, and catched a\nloose cough, which I cured with electuaries, according to art. It is\nnoteworthy, were I speaking among my equals, that the venom of the\nplague translated, or turned itself into, and evaporated, or went away\nas, a very heavy hoarseness and thickness of the head, throat, and\nchest. (Observe from my books which planets govern these portions of\nman\u2019s body, and your darkness, good people, shall be illuminated--ahem!)\nNone the less, the plague, qua plague, ceased and took off (for we only\nlost three more, and two of \u2018em had it already on \u2018em) from the\nmorning of the day that Mars enlightened me by the Lower Mill.\u2019 He\ncoughed--almost trumpeted--triumphantly.\n\n\u2018It is proved,\u2019 he jerked out. \u2018I say I have proved my contention, which\nis, that by Divine Astrology and humble search into the veritable causes\nof things--at the proper time--the sons of wisdom may combat even the\nplague.\u2019\n\nH\u2019m!\u2019 Puck replied. \u2018For my own part I hold that a simple soul--\u2019\n\n\u2018Mine? Simple, forsooth?\u2019 said Mr Culpeper.\n\n\u2018A very simple soul, a high courage tempered with sound and stubborn\nconceit, is stronger than all the stars in their courses. So I confess\ntruly that you saved the village, Nick.\u2019\n\n\u2018I stubborn? I stiff-necked? I ascribed all my poor success, under God\u2019s\ngood providence, to Divine Astrology. Not to me the glory! You talk as\nthat dear weeping ass Jack Marget preached before I went back to my work\nin Red Lion House, Spitalfields.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh! Stammering Jack preached, did he? They say he loses his stammer in\nthe pulpit.\u2019\n\n\u2018And his wits with it. He delivered a most idolatrous discourse when the\nplague was stayed. He took for his text: \u201cThe wise man that delivered\nthe city.\u201d I could have given him a better, such as: \u201cThere is a time\nfor--\u201c\u2019\n\n\u2018But what made you go to church to hear him?\u2019 Puck interrupted. \u2018Wail\nAttersole was your lawfully appointed preacher, and a dull dog he was!\u2019\n\nMr Culpeper wriggled uneasily.\n\n\u2018The vulgar,\u2019 said he, \u2018the old crones and--ahem!---the children, Alison\nand the others, they dragged me to the House of Rimmon by the hand. I\nwas in two minds to inform on Jack for maintaining the mummeries of the\nfalsely-called Church, which, I\u2019ll prove to you, are founded merely on\nancient fables--\u2019\n\n\u2018Stick to your herbs and planets,\u2019 said Puck, laughing. \u2018You should\nhave told the magistrates, Nick, and had Jack fined. Again, why did you\nneglect your plain duty?\u2019\n\n\u2018Because--because I was kneeling, and praying, and weeping with the rest\nof \u2018em at the Altar-rails. In medicine this is called the Hysterical\nPassion. It may be--it may be.\u2019\n\n\u2018That\u2019s as may be,\u2019 said Puck. They heard him turn the hay. \u2018Why, your\nhay is half hedge-brishings,\u2019 he said. \u2018You don\u2019t expect a horse to\nthrive on oak and ash and thorn leaves, do you?\u2019\n\nPing-ping-ping went the bicycle bell round the corner. Nurse was coming\nback from the mill.\n\n\u2018Is it all right?\u2019 Una called.\n\n\u2018All quite right,\u2019 Nurse called back. \u2018They\u2019re to be christened next\nSunday.\u2019\n\n\u2018What? What?\u2019 They both leaned forward across the half-door. It could\nnot have been properly fastened, for it opened, and tilted them out with\nhay and leaves sticking all over them.\n\n\u2018Come on! We must get those two twins\u2019 names,\u2019 said Una, and they\ncharged uphill shouting over the hedge, till Nurse slowed up and told\nthem. When they returned, old Middenboro had got out of his stall, and\nthey spent a lively ten minutes chasing him in again by starlight.\n\n\n\n\n\u2018Our Fathers of Old\u2019\n\n\n     Excellent herbs had our fathers of old--\n     Excellent herbs to ease their pain--\n     Alexanders and Marigold,\n     Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane,\n     Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,\n     (Almost singing themselves they run)\n     Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you--\n     Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.\n     Anything green that grew out of the mould\n     Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.\n\n     Wonderful tales had our fathers of old--\n     Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars--\n     The Sun was Lord of the Marigold,\n     Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.\n     Pat as a sum in division it goes--\n     (Every plant had a star bespoke)--\n     Who but Venus should govern the Rose?\n     Who but Jupiter own the Oak?\n     Simply and gravely the facts are told\n     In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.\n\n     Wonderful little, when all is said,\n     Wonderful little our fathers knew.\n     Half their remedies cured you dead--\n     Most of their teaching was quite untrue--\n     \u2018Look at the stars when a patient is ill,\n     (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,)\n     Bleed and blister as much as you will,\n     Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.\u2019\n     Whence enormous and manifold\n     Errors were made by our fathers of old.\n\n     Yet when the sickness was sore in the land,\n     And neither planet nor herb assuaged,\n     They took their lives in their lancet-hand\n     And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!\n     Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door--\n     Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,\n     Excellent courage our fathers bore--\n     Excellent heart had our fathers of old.\n     Not too learned, but nobly bold,\n     Into the fight went our fathers of old.\n\n     If it be certain, as Galen says,\n     And sage Hippocrates holds as much--\n     \u2018That those afflicted by doubts and dismays\n     Are mightily helped by a dead man\u2019s touch,\u2019\n     Then, be good to us, stars above!\n     Then, be good to us, herbs below!\n     We are afflicted by what we can prove;\n     We are distracted by what we know--\n     So--ah, so!\n     Down from your Heaven or up from your mould,\n     Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!\n\n\n\n\nSIMPLE SIMON\n\n\n\n\nThe Thousandth Man\n\n\n     One man in a thousand, Solomon says,\n       Will stick more close than a brother.\n     And it\u2019s worth while seeking him half your days\n       If you find him before the other.\n     Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend\n       on what the world sees in you,\n     But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend\n       With the whole round world agin you.\n\n     \u2018Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show\n       Will settle the finding for \u2018ee.\n     Nine hundred and ninety-nine of \u2018em go\n       By your looks or your acts or your glory.\n     But if he finds you and you find him,\n       The rest of the world don\u2019t matter;\n     For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim\n       With you in any water.\n\n     You can use his purse with no more shame\n       Than he uses yours for his spendings;\n     And laugh and mention it just the same\n       As though there had been no lendings.\n     Nine hundred and ninety-nine of \u2018em call\n       For silver and gold in their dealings;\n     But the Thousandth Man he\u2019s worth \u2018em all,\n       Because you can show him your feelings!\n\n     His wrong\u2019s your wrong, and his right\u2019s your right,\n       In season or out of season.\n     Stand up and back it in all men\u2019s sight--\n       With that for your only reason!\n     Nine hundred and ninety-nine can\u2019t bide\n       The shame or mocking or laughter,\n     But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side\n       To the gallows-foot--and after!\n\n\n\n\nSimple Simon\n\n\nCattiwow came down the steep lane with his five-horse timber-tug. He\nstopped by the wood-lump at the back gate to take off the brakes. His\nreal name was Brabon, but the first time the children met him, years and\nyears ago, he told them he was \u2018carting wood,\u2019 and it sounded so exactly\nlike \u2018cattiwow\u2019 that they never called him anything else.\n\n\u2018HI!\u2019 Una shouted from the top of the wood-lump, where they had been\nwatching the lane. \u2018What are you doing? Why weren\u2019t we told?\u2019\n\n\u2018They\u2019ve just sent for me,\u2019 Cattiwow answered. \u2018There\u2019s a middlin\u2019 big\nlog stacked in the dirt at Rabbit Shaw, and\u2019--he flicked his whip back\nalong the line--\u2018so they\u2019ve sent for us all.\u2019\n\nDan and Una threw themselves off the wood-lump almost under black\nSailor\u2019s nose. Cattiwow never let them ride the big beam that makes\nthe body of the timber-tug, but they hung on behind while their teeth\nthuttered.\n\nThe Wood road beyond the brook climbs at once into the woods, and you\nsee all the horses\u2019 backs rising, one above another, like moving stairs.\nCattiwow strode ahead in his sackcloth woodman\u2019s petticoat, belted at\nthe waist with a leather strap; and when he turned and grinned, his red\nlips showed under his sackcloth-coloured beard. His cap was sackcloth\ntoo, with a flap behind, to keep twigs and bark out of his neck. He\nnavigated the tug among pools of heather-water that splashed in their\nfaces, and through clumps of young birches that slashed at their legs,\nand when they hit an old toadstooled stump, they never knew whether it\nwould give way in showers of rotten wood, or jar them back again.\n\nAt the top of Rabbit Shaw half-a-dozen men and a team of horses stood\nround a forty-foot oak log in a muddy hollow. The ground about was\npoached and stoached with sliding hoofmarks, and a wave of dirt was\ndriven up in front of the butt.\n\n\u2018What did you want to bury her for this way?\u2019 said Cattiwow. He took his\nbroad-axe and went up the log tapping it.\n\n\u2018She\u2019s sticked fast,\u2019 said \u2018Bunny\u2019 Lewknor, who managed the other team.\n\nCattiwow unfastened the five wise horses from the tug. They cocked their\nears forward, looked, and shook themselves.\n\n\u2018I believe Sailor knows,\u2019 Dan whispered to Una.\n\n\u2018He do,\u2019 said a man behind them. He was dressed in flour sacks like the\nothers, and he leaned on his broad-axe, but the children, who knew all\nthe wood-gangs, knew he was a stranger. In his size and oily hairiness\nhe might have been Bunny Lewknor\u2019s brother, except that his brown eyes\nwere as soft as a spaniel\u2019s, and his rounded black beard, beginning\nclose up under them, reminded Una of the walrus in \u2018The Walrus and the\nCarpenter.\u2019\n\n\u2018Don\u2019t he justabout know?\u2019 he said shyly, and shifted from one foot to\nthe other.\n\n\u2018Yes. \u201cWhat Cattiwow can\u2019t get out of the woods must have roots growing\nto her.\u201d\u2019 Dan had heard old Hobden say this a few days before.\n\nAt that minute Puck pranced up, picking his way through the pools of\nblack water in the ling.\n\n\u2018Look out!\u2019 cried Una, jumping forward. \u2018He\u2019ll see you, Puck!\u2019\n\n\u2018Me and Mus\u2019 Robin are pretty middlin\u2019 well acquainted,\u2019 the man\nanswered with a smile that made them forget all about walruses.\n\n\u2018This is Simon Cheyneys,\u2019 Puck began, and cleared his throat.\n\u2018Shipbuilder of Rye Port; burgess of the said town, and the only--\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, look! Look ye! That\u2019s a knowing one,\u2019 said the man.\n\nCattiwow had fastened his team to the thin end of the log, and was\nmoving them about with his whip till they stood at right angles to it,\nheading downhill. Then he grunted. The horses took the strain, beginning\nwith Sailor next the log, like a tug-of-war team, and dropped almost to\ntheir knees. The log shifted a nail\u2019s breadth in the clinging dirt, with\nthe noise of a giant\u2019s kiss.\n\n\u2018You\u2019re getting her!\u2019 Simon Cheyneys slapped his knee. \u2018Hing on! Hing\non, lads, or she\u2019ll master ye! Ah!\u2019\n\nSailor\u2019s left hind hoof had slipped on a heather-tuft. One of the men\nwhipped off his sack apron and spread it down. They saw Sailor feel for\nit, and recover. Still the log hung, and the team grunted in despair.\n\n\u2018Hai!\u2019 shouted Cattiwow, and brought his dreadful whip twice across\nSailor\u2019s loins with the crack of a shot-gun. The horse almost screamed\nas he pulled that extra last ounce which he did not know was in him.\nThe thin end of the log left the dirt and rasped on dry gravel. The butt\nground round like a buffalo in his wallow. Quick as an axe-cut, Lewknor\nsnapped on his five horses, and sliding, trampling, jingling, and\nsnorting, they had the whole thing out on the heather.\n\n\u2018Dat\u2019s the very first time I\u2019ve knowed you lay into Sailor--to hurt\nhim,\u2019 said Lewknor.\n\n\u2018It is,\u2019 said Cattiwow, and passed his hand over the two wheals. \u2018But\nI\u2019d ha\u2019 laid my own brother open at that pinch. Now we\u2019ll twitch her\ndown the hill a piece--she lies just about right--and get her home by\nthe low road. My team\u2019ll do it, Bunny; you bring the tug along. Mind\nout!\u2019\n\nHe spoke to the horses, who tightened the chains. The great log half\nrolled over, and slowly drew itself out of sight downhill, followed by\nthe wood-gang and the timber-tug. In half a minute there was nothing to\nsee but the deserted hollow of the torn-up dirt, the birch undergrowth\nstill shaking, and the water draining back into the hoof-prints.\n\n\u2018Ye heard him?\u2019 Simon Cheyneys asked. \u2018He cherished his horse, but he\u2019d\nha\u2019 laid him open in that pinch.\u2019\n\n\u2018Not for his own advantage,\u2019 said Puck quickly. \u2018\u2019Twas only to shift the\nlog.\u2019\n\n\u2018I reckon every man born of woman has his log to shift in the world--if\nso be you\u2019re hintin\u2019 at any o\u2019 Frankie\u2019s doings. He never hit beyond\nreason or without reason,\u2019 said Simon.\n\n\u2018I never said a word against Frankie,\u2019 Puck retorted, with a wink at the\nchildren. \u2018An\u2019 if I did, do it lie in your mouth to contest my say-so,\nseeing how you--\u2019\n\n\u2018Why don\u2019t it lie in my mouth, seeing I was the first which knowed\nFrankie for all he was?\u2019 The burly sack-clad man puffed down at cool\nlittle Puck.\n\n\u2018Yes, and the first which set out to poison him--Frankie--on the high\nseas--\u2019\n\nSimon\u2019s angry face changed to a sheepish grin. He waggled his immense\nhands, but Puck stood off and laughed mercilessly.\n\n\u2018But let me tell you, Mus\u2019 Robin,\u2019 he pleaded.\n\n\u2018I\u2019ve heard the tale. Tell the children here. Look, Dan! Look,\nUna!\u2019---Puck\u2019s straight brown finger levelled like an arrow. \u2018There\u2019s\nthe only man that ever tried to poison Sir Francis Drake!\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, Mus\u2019 Robin! \u2018Tidn\u2019t fair. You\u2019ve the \u2018vantage of us all in your\nupbringin\u2019s by hundreds o\u2019 years. Stands to nature you know all the\ntales against every one.\u2019\n\nHe turned his soft eyes so helplessly on Una that she cried, \u2018Stop\nragging him, Puck! You know he didn\u2019t really.\u2019\n\n\u2018I do. But why are you so sure, little maid?\u2019 \u2018Because--because he\ndoesn\u2019t look like it,\u2019 said Una stoutly.\n\n\u2018I thank you,\u2019 said Simon to Una. \u2018I--I was always trustable-like\nwith children if you let me alone, you double handful o\u2019 mischief.\u2019 He\npretended to heave up his axe on Puck; and then his shyness overtook him\nafresh.\n\n\u2018Where did you know Sir Francis Drake?\u2019 said Dan, not liking being\ncalled a child.\n\n\u2018At Rye Port, to be sure,\u2019 said Simon, and seeing Dan\u2019s bewilderment,\nrepeated it.\n\n\u2018Yes, but look here,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018\u201cDrake he was a Devon man.\u201d The song\nsays so.\u2019\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd ruled the Devon seas,\u201d\u2019 Una went on. \u2018That\u2019s what I was\nthinking--if you don\u2019t mind.\u2019\n\nSimon Cheyneys seemed to mind very much indeed, for he swelled in\nsilence while Puck laughed.\n\n\u2018Hutt!\u2019 he burst out at last, \u2018I\u2019ve heard that talk too. If you listen\nto them West Country folk, you\u2019ll listen to a pack o\u2019 lies. I believe\nFrankie was born somewhere out west among the Shires, but his father\nhad to run for it when Frankie was a baby, because the neighbours was\nwishful to kill him, d\u2019ye see? He run to Chatham, old Parson Drake did,\nan\u2019 Frankie was brought up in a old hulks of a ship moored in the Medway\nriver, same as it might ha\u2019 been the Rother. Brought up at sea, you\nmight say, before he could walk on land--nigh Chatham in Kent. And ain\u2019t\nKent back-door to Sussex? And don\u2019t that make Frankie Sussex? O\u2019 course\nit do. Devon man! Bah! Those West Country boats they\u2019re always fishin\u2019\nin other folks\u2019 water.\u2019\n\n\u2018I beg your pardon,\u2019 said Dan. \u2018I\u2019m sorry.\n\n\u2018No call to be sorry. You\u2019ve been misled. I met Frankie at Rye Port when\nmy Uncle, that was the shipbuilder there, pushed me off his wharf-edge\non to Frankie\u2019s ship. Frankie had put in from Chatham with his rudder\nsplutted, and a man\u2019s arm--Moon\u2019s that \u2018ud be--broken at the tiller.\n\u201cTake this boy aboard an\u2019 drown him,\u201d says my Uncle, \u201cand I\u2019ll mend your\nrudder-piece for love.\u201d\n\n\u2018What did your Uncle want you drowned for?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018That was only his fashion of say-so, same as Mus\u2019 Robin. I\u2019d a\nfoolishness in my head that ships could be builded out of iron.\nYes--iron ships! I\u2019d made me a liddle toy one of iron plates beat out\nthin--and she floated a wonder! But my Uncle, bein\u2019 a burgess of Rye,\nand a shipbuilder, he \u2018prenticed me to Frankie in the fetchin\u2019 trade, to\ncure this foolishness.\u2019\n\n\u2018What was the fetchin\u2019 trade?\u2019 Dan interrupted.\n\n\u2018Fetchin\u2019 poor Flemishers and Dutchmen out o\u2019 the Low Countries into\nEngland. The King o\u2019 Spain, d\u2019ye see, he was burnin\u2019 \u2018em in those parts,\nfor to make \u2018em Papishers, so Frankie he fetched \u2018em away to our parts,\nand a risky trade it was. His master wouldn\u2019t never touch it while he\nlived, but he left his ship to Frankie when he died, and Frankie turned\nher into this fetchin\u2019 trade. Outrageous cruel hard work--on besom-black\nnights bulting back and forth off they Dutch roads with shoals on\nall sides, and having to hark out for the frish-frish-frish-like of a\nSpanish galliwopses\u2019 oars creepin\u2019 up on ye. Frankie \u2018ud have the tiller\nand Moon he\u2019d peer forth at the bows, our lantern under his skirts, till\nthe boat we was lookin\u2019 for \u2018ud blurt up out o\u2019 the dark, and we\u2019d lay\nhold and haul aboard whoever \u2018twas--man, woman, or babe--an\u2019 round we\u2019d\ngo again, the wind bewling like a kite in our riggin\u2019s, and they\u2019d drop\ninto the hold and praise God for happy deliverance till they was all\nsick.\n\n\u2018I had nigh a year at it, an\u2019 we must have fetched off--oh, a hundred\npore folk, I reckon. Outrageous bold, too, Frankie growed to be.\nOutrageous cunnin\u2019 he was. Once we was as near as nothin\u2019 nipped by a\ntall ship off Tergoes Sands in a snowstorm. She had the wind of us, and\nspooned straight before it, shootin\u2019 all bow guns. Frankie fled inshore\nsmack for the beach, till he was atop of the first breakers. Then he\nhove his anchor out, which nigh tore our bows off, but it twitched us\nround end-for-end into the wind, d\u2019ye see, an\u2019 we clawed off them sands\nlike a drunk man rubbin\u2019 along a tavern bench. When we could see, the\nSpanisher was laid flat along in the breakers with the snows whitening\non his wet belly. He thought he could go where Frankie went.\u2019\n\n\u2018What happened to the crew?\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018We didn\u2019t stop,\u2019 Simon answered. \u2018There was a very liddle new baby\nin our hold, and the mother she wanted to get to some dry bed middlin\u2019\nquick. We runned into Dover, and said nothing.\u2019\n\n\u2018Was Sir Francis Drake very much pleased?\u2019 \u2018Heart alive, maid, he\u2019d\nno head to his name in those days. He was just a outrageous, valiant,\ncrop-haired, tutt-mouthed boy, roarin\u2019 up an\u2019 down the narrer seas, with\nhis beard not yet quilted out. He made a laughing-stock of everything\nall day, and he\u2019d hold our lives in the bight of his arm all the\nbesom-black night among they Dutch sands; and we\u2019d ha\u2019 jumped overside\nto behove him any one time, all of us.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then why did you try to poison him?\u2019 Una asked wickedly, and Simon hung\nhis head like a shy child.\n\n\u2018Oh, that was when he set me to make a pudden, for because our cook was\nhurted. I done my uttermost, but she all fetched adrift like in the bag,\nan\u2019 the more I biled the bits of her, the less she favoured any fashion\no\u2019 pudden. Moon he chawed and chammed his piece, and Frankie chawed and\nchammed his\u2019n, and--no words to it--he took me by the ear an\u2019 walked\nme out over the bow-end, an\u2019 him an\u2019 Moon hove the pudden at me on\nthe bowsprit gub by gub, something cruel hard!\u2019 Simon rubbed his hairy\ncheek.\n\n\u2018\u201cNex\u2019 time you bring me anything,\u201d says Frankie, \u201cyou bring me\ncannon-shot an\u2019 I\u2019ll know what I\u2019m getting.\u201d But as for poisonin\u2019--\u2019 He\nstopped, the children laughed so.\n\n\u2018Of course you didn\u2019t,\u2019 said Una. \u2018Oh, Simon, we do like you!\u2019\n\n\u2018I was always likeable with children.\u2019 His smile crinkled up through the\nhair round his eyes. \u2018Simple Simon they used to call me through our yard\ngates.\u2019\n\n\u2018Did Sir Francis mock you?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018Ah, no. He was gentle-born. Laugh he did--he was always laughing--but\nnot so as to hurt a feather. An\u2019 I loved \u2018en. I loved \u2018en before England\nknew \u2018en, or Queen Bess she broke his heart.\u2019\n\n\u2018But he hadn\u2019t really done anything when you knew him, had he?\u2019 Una\ninsisted. \u2018Armadas and those things, I mean.\u2019\n\nSimon pointed to the scars and scrapes left by Cattiwow\u2019s great log.\n\u2018You tell me that that good ship\u2019s timber never done nothing against\nwinds and weathers since her up-springing, and I\u2019ll confess ye that\nyoung Frankie never done nothing neither. Nothing? He adventured and\nsuffered and made shift on they Dutch sands as much in any one month\nas ever he had occasion for to do in a half-year on the high seas\nafterwards. An\u2019 what was his tools? A coaster boat--a liddle box o\u2019\nwalty plankin\u2019 an\u2019 some few fathom feeble rope held together an\u2019 made\nable by him sole. He drawed our spirits up In our bodies same as a\nchimney-towel draws a fire. \u2018Twas in him, and it comed out all times\nand shapes.\u2019 \u2018I wonder did he ever \u2018magine what he was going to be? Tell\nhimself stories about it?\u2019 said Dan with a flush.\n\n\u2018I expect so. We mostly do--even when we\u2019re grown. But bein\u2019 Frankie, he\ntook good care to find out beforehand what his fortune might be. Had I\nrightly ought to tell \u2018em this piece?\u2019 Simon turned to Puck, who nodded.\n\n\u2018My Mother, she was just a fair woman, but my Aunt, her sister, she had\ngifts by inheritance laid up in her,\u2019 Simon began.\n\n\u2018Oh, that\u2019ll never do,\u2019 cried Puck, for the children stared blankly. \u2018Do\nyou remember what Robin promised to the Widow Whitgift so long as her\nblood and get lasted?\u2019 [See \u2018Dymchurch Flit\u2019 in PUCK OF POOK\u2019S HILL.]\n\u2018Yes. There was always to be one of them that could see farther through\na millstone than most,\u2019 Dan answered promptly.\n\n\u2018Well, Simon\u2019s Aunt\u2019s mother,\u2019 said Puck slowly, \u2018married the Widow\u2019s\nblind son on the Marsh, and Simon\u2019s Aunt was the one chosen to see\nfarthest through millstones. Do you understand?\u2019\n\n\u2018That was what I was gettin\u2019 at,\u2019 said Simon, \u2018but you\u2019re so desperate\nquick. My Aunt she knew what was comin\u2019 to people. My Uncle being a\nburgess of Rye, he counted all such things odious, and my Aunt she\ncouldn\u2019t be got to practise her gifts hardly at all, because it hurted\nher head for a week after-wards; but when Frankie heard she had \u2018em,\nhe was all for nothin\u2019 till she foretold on him--till she looked in\nhis hand to tell his fortune, d\u2019ye see? One time we was at Rye she come\naboard with my other shirt and some apples, and he fair beazled the life\nout of her about it.\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, you\u2019ll be twice wed, and die childless,\u201d she says, and pushes his\nhand away.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat\u2019s the woman\u2019s part,\u201d he says. \u201cWhat\u2019ll come to me-to me?\u201d an\u2019 he\nthrusts it back under her nose.\n\n\u2018\u201cGold--gold, past belief or counting,\u201d she says. \u201cLet go o\u2019 me, lad.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cSink the gold!\u201d he says. \u201cWhat\u2019ll I do, mother?\u201d He coaxed her like no\nwoman could well withstand. I\u2019ve seen him with \u2018em--even when they were\nsea-sick.\n\n\u2018\u201cIf you will have it,\u201d she says at last, \u201cyou shall have it. You\u2019ll do a\nmany things, and eating and drinking with a dead man beyond the world\u2019s\nend will be the least of them. For you\u2019ll open a road from the East\nunto the West, and back again, and you\u2019ll bury your heart with your best\nfriend by that road-side, and the road you open none shall shut so long\nas you\u2019re let lie quiet in your grave.\u201d\n\n\n[The old lady\u2019s prophecy is in a fair way to come true, for now the\nPanama Canal is finished, one end of it opens into the very bay where\nSir Francis Drake was buried. So ships are taken through the Canal, and\nthe road round Cape Horn which Sir Francis opened is very little used.]\n\n\n\u2018\u201cAnd if I\u2019m not?\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhy, then,\u201d she says, \u201cSim\u2019s iron ships will be sailing on dry land.\nNow ha\u2019 done with this foolishness. Where\u2019s Sim\u2019s shirt?\u201d\n\n\u2018He couldn\u2019t fetch no more out of her, and when we come up from the\ncabin, he stood mazed-like by the tiller, playing with a apple. \u2018\u201cMy\nSorrow!\u201d says my Aunt; \u201cd\u2019ye see that? The great world lying in his\nhand, liddle and round like a apple.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhy, \u2018tis one you gived him,\u201d I says.\n\n\u2018\u201cTo be sure,\u201d she says. \u201c\u2018Tis just a apple,\u201d and she went ashore with\nher hand to her head. It always hurted her to show her gifts.\n\nHim and me puzzled over that talk plenty. It sticked in his mind quite\nextravagant. The very next time we slipped out for some fetchin\u2019 trade,\nwe met Mus\u2019 Stenning\u2019s boat over by Calais sands; and he warned us that\nthe Spanishers had shut down all their Dutch ports against us English,\nand their galliwopses was out picking up our boats like flies off hogs\u2019\nbacks. Mus\u2019 Stenning he runs for Shoreham, but Frankie held on a piece,\nknowin\u2019 that Mus Stenning was jealous of our good trade. Over by Dunkirk\na great gor-bellied Spanisher, with the Cross on his sails, came rampin\u2019\nat us. We left him. We left him all they bare seas to conquest in.\n\n\u2018\u201cLooks like this road was going to be shut pretty soon,\u201d says Frankie,\nhumourin\u2019 her at the tiller. \u201cI\u2019ll have to open that other one your Aunt\nforetold of.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThe Spanisher\u2019s crowdin\u2019 down on us middlin\u2019 quick,\u201d I says. \u201cNo odds,\u201d\n says Frankie, \u201che\u2019ll have the inshore tide against him. Did your Aunt\nsay I was to be quiet in my grave for ever?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cTill my iron ships sailed dry land,\u201d I says.\n\n\u2018\u201cThat\u2019s foolishness,\u201d he says. \u201cWho cares where Frankie Drake makes a\nhole in the water now or twenty years from now?\u201d\n\n\u2018The Spanisher kept muckin\u2019 on more and more canvas. I told him so.\n\n\u2018\u201cHe\u2019s feelin\u2019 the tide,\u201d was all he says. \u201cIf he was among Tergoes\nSands with this wind, we\u2019d be picking his bones proper. I\u2019d give my\nheart to have all their tall ships there some night before a north gale,\nand me to windward. There\u2019d be gold in My hands then. Did your Aunt say\nshe saw the world settin\u2019 in my hand, Sim?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYes, but \u2018twas a apple,\u201d says I, and he laughed like he always did\nat me. \u201cDo you ever feel minded to jump overside and be done with\neverything?\u201d he asks after a while.\n\n\u2018\u201cNo. What water comes aboard is too wet as \u2018tis,\u201d I says. \u201cThe\nSpanisher\u2019s going about.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI told you,\u201d says he, never looking back. \u201cHe\u2019ll give us the Pope\u2019s\nBlessing as he swings. Come down off that rail. There\u2019s no knowin\u2019 where\nstray shots may hit.\u201d So I came down off the rail, and leaned against\nit, and the Spanisher he ruffled round in the wind, and his port-lids\nopened all red inside.\n\n\u2018\u201cNow what\u2019ll happen to my road if they don\u2019t let me lie quiet in my\ngrave?\u201d he says. \u201cDoes your Aunt mean there\u2019s two roads to be found and\nkept open--or what does she mean? I don\u2019t like that talk about t\u2019other\nroad. D\u2019you believe in your iron ships, Sim?\u201d\n\n\u2018He knowed I did, so I only nodded, and he nodded back again. \u2018\u201cAnybody\nbut me \u2018ud call you a fool, Sim,\u201d he says. \u201cLie down. Here comes the\nPope\u2019s Blessing!\u201d\n\n\u2018The Spanisher gave us his broadside as he went about. They all fell\nshort except one that smack-smooth hit the rail behind my back, an\u2019 I\nfelt most won\u2019erful cold.\n\n\u2018\u201cBe you hit anywhere to signify?\u201d he says. \u201cCome over to me.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cO Lord, Mus\u2019 Drake,\u201d I says, \u201cmy legs won\u2019t move,\u201d and that was the\nlast I spoke for months.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why? What had happened?\u2019 cried Dan and Una together.\n\n\u2018The rail had jarred me in here like.\u2019 Simon reached behind him\nclumsily. \u2018From my shoulders down I didn\u2019t act no shape. Frankie carried\nme piggyback to my Aunt\u2019s house, and I lay bed-rid and tongue-tied while\nshe rubbed me day and night, month in and month out. She had faith in\nrubbing with the hands. P\u2019raps she put some of her gifts into it, too.\nLast of all, something loosed itself in my pore back, and lo! I was\nwhole restored again, but kitten-feeble.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhere\u2019s Frankie?\u201d I says, thinking I\u2019d been a longish while abed.\n\n\u2018\u201cDown-wind amongst the Dons--months ago,\u201d says my Aunt.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhen can I go after \u2018en?\u201d I says.\n\n\u2018\u201cYour duty\u2019s to your town and trade now,\u201d says she. \u201cYour Uncle he\ndied last Michaelmas and he\u2019ve left you and me the yard. So no more iron\nships, mind ye.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat?\u201d I says. \u201cAnd you the only one that beleft in \u2018em!\u201d\n\n\n\u2018\u201cMaybe I do still,\u201d she says, \u201cbut I\u2019m a woman before I\u2019m a Whitgift,\nand wooden ships is what England needs us to build. I lay on ye to do\nso.\u201d\n\n\u2018That\u2019s why I\u2019ve never teched iron since that day--not to build a\ntoy ship of. I\u2019ve never even drawed a draft of one for my pleasure of\nevenings.\u2019 Simon smiled down on them all. \u2018Whitgift blood is terrible\nresolute--on the she-side,\u2019 said Puck.\n\n\u2018Didn\u2019t You ever see Sir Francis Drake again?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018With one thing and another, and my being made a burgess of Rye, I never\nclapped eyes on him for the next twenty years. Oh, I had the news of\nhis mighty doings the world over. They was the very same bold, cunning\nshifts and passes he\u2019d worked with beforetimes off they Dutch sands,\nbut, naturally, folk took more note of them. When Queen Bess made him\nknight, he sent my Aunt a dried orange stuffed with spiceries to smell\nto. She cried outrageous on it. She blamed herself for her foretellings,\nhaving set him on his won\u2019erful road; but I reckon he\u2019d ha\u2019 gone that\nway all withstanding. Curious how close she foretelled it! The world in\nhis hand like an apple, an\u2019 he burying his best friend, Mus\u2019 Doughty--\u2019\n\n\u2018Never mind for Mus\u2019 Doughty,\u2019 Puck interrupted. \u2018Tell us where you met\nSir Francis next.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, ha! That was the year I was made a burgess of Rye--the same year\nwhich King Philip sent his ships to take England without Frankie\u2019s\nleave.\u2019\n\n\u2018The Armada!\u2019 said Dan contentedly. \u2018I was hoping that would come.\u2019\n\n\u2018I knowed Frankie would never let \u2018em smell London smoke, but plenty\ngood men in Rye was two-three minded about the upshot. \u2018Twas the noise\nof the gun-fire tarrified us. The wind favoured it our way from off\nbehind the Isle of Wight. It made a mutter like, which growed and\ngrowed, and by the end of a week women was shruckin\u2019 in the streets.\nThen they come slidderin\u2019 past Fairlight in a great smoky pat vambrished\nwith red gun-fire, and our ships flyin\u2019 forth and duckin\u2019 in again. The\nsmoke-pat sliddered over to the French shore, so I knowed Frankie was\nedgin\u2019 the Spanishers toward they Dutch sands where he was master. I\nsays to my Aunt, \u201cThe smoke\u2019s thinnin\u2019 out. I lay Frankie\u2019s just about\nscrapin\u2019 his hold for a few last rounds shot. \u2018Tis time for me to go.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNever in them clothes,\u201d she says. \u201cDo on the doublet I bought you to\nbe made burgess in, and don\u2019t you shame this day.\u201d\n\n\u2018So I mucked it on, and my chain, and my stiffed Dutch breeches and all.\n\n\u2018\u201cI be comin\u2019, too,\u201d she says from her chamber, and forth she come\npavisandin\u2019 like a peacock--stuff, ruff, stomacher and all. She was a\nnotable woman.\u2019\n\n\u2018But how did you go? You haven\u2019t told us,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018In my own ship--but half-share was my Aunt\u2019s. In the ANTONY OF RYE, to\nbe sure; and not empty-handed. I\u2019d been loadin\u2019 her for three days\nwith the pick of our yard. We was ballasted on cannon-shot of all three\nsizes; and iron rods and straps for his carpenters; and a nice passel of\nclean three-inch oak planking and hide breech-ropes for his cannon, and\ngubs of good oakum, and bolts o\u2019 canvas, and all the sound rope in the\nyard. What else could I ha\u2019 done? I knowed what he\u2019d need most after a\nweek\u2019s such work. I\u2019m a shipbuilder, little maid.\n\n\u2018We\u2019d a fair slant o\u2019 wind off Dungeness, and we crept on till it fell\nlight airs and puffed out. The Spanishers was all in a huddle over by\nCalais, and our ships was strawed about mending \u2018emselves like dogs\nlickin\u2019 bites. Now and then a Spanisher would fire from a low port, and\nthe ball \u2018ud troll across the flat swells, but both sides was finished\nfightin\u2019 for that tide.\n\n\u2018The first ship we foreslowed on, her breastworks was crushed in, an\u2019\nmen was shorin\u2019 \u2018em up. She said nothing. The next was a black pinnace,\nhis pumps clackin\u2019 middling quick, and he said nothing. But the third,\nmending shot-holes, he spoke out plenty. I asked him where Mus\u2019 Drake\nmight be, and a shiny-suited man on the poop looked down into us, and\nsaw what we carried.\n\n\u2018\u201cLay alongside you!\u201d he says. \u201cWe\u2019ll take that all.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201c\u2018Tis for Mus\u2019 Drake,\u201d I says, keeping away lest his size should lee\nthe wind out of my sails.\n\n\u2018\u201cHi! Ho! Hither! We\u2019re Lord High Admiral of England! Come alongside, or\nwe\u2019ll hang ye,\u201d he says.\n\n\u2018\u2019Twas none of my affairs who he was if he wasn\u2019t Frankie, and while he\ntalked so hot I slipped behind a green-painted ship with her top-sides\nsplintered. We was all in the middest of \u2018em then.\n\n\u2018\u201cHi! Hoi!\u201d the green ship says. \u201cCome alongside, honest man, and I\u2019ll\nbuy your load. I\u2019m Fenner that fought the seven Portugals--clean out of\nshot or bullets. Frankie knows me.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAy, but I don\u2019t,\u201d I says, and I slacked nothing.\n\n\u2018He was a masterpiece. Seein\u2019 I was for goin\u2019 on, he hails a Bridport\nhoy beyond us and shouts, \u201cGeorge! Oh, George! Wing that duck. He\u2019s\nfat!\u201d An\u2019 true as we\u2019re all here, that squatty Bridport boat rounds to\nacrost our bows, intendin\u2019 to stop us by means o\u2019 shooting.\n\n\u2018My Aunt looks over our rail. \u201cGeorge,\u201d she says, \u201cyou finish with your\nenemies afore you begin on your friends.\u201d\n\n\u2018Him that was laying the liddle swivel-gun at us sweeps off his hat an\u2019\ncalls her Queen Bess, and asks if she was selling liquor to pore dry\nsailors. My Aunt answered him quite a piece. She was a notable woman.\n\n\u2018Then he come up--his long pennant trailing overside--his waistcloths\nand netting tore all to pieces where the Spanishers had grappled, and\nhis sides black-smeared with their gun-blasts like candle-smoke in a\nbottle. We hooked on to a lower port and hung.\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, Mus\u2019 Drake! Mus\u2019 Drake!\u201d I calls up.\n\n\u2018He stood on the great anchor cathead, his shirt open to the middle, and\nhis face shining like the sun.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhy, Sim!\u201d he says. Just like that--after twenty year! \u201cSim,\u201d he says,\n\u201cwhat brings you?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cPudden,\u201d I says, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou told me to bring cannon-shot next time, an\u2019 I\u2019ve brought \u2018em.\u201d\n\n\u2018He saw we had. He ripped out a fathom and a half o\u2019 brimstone Spanish,\nand he swung down on our rail, and he kissed me before all his fine\nyoung captains. His men was swarming out of the lower ports ready to\nunload us. When he saw how I\u2019d considered all his likely wants, he\nkissed me again.\n\n\u2018\u201cHere\u2019s a friend that sticketh closer than a brother!\u201d he says.\n\u201cMistress,\u201d he says to my Aunt, \u201call you foretold on me was true. I\u2019ve\nopened that road from the East to the West, and I\u2019ve buried my heart\nbeside it.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI know,\u201d she says. \u201cThat\u2019s why I be come.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut ye never foretold this\u201d; he points to both they great fleets.\n\n\u2018\u201cThis don\u2019t seem to me to make much odds compared to what happens to a\nman,\u201d she says. \u201cDo it?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cCertain sure a man forgets to remember when he\u2019s proper mucked up with\nwork. Sim,\u201d he says to me, \u201cwe must shift every living Spanisher round\nDunkirk corner on to our Dutch sands before morning. The wind\u2019ll come\nout of the North after this calm--same as it used--and then they\u2019re our\nmeat.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAmen,\u201d says I. \u201cI\u2019ve brought you what I could scutchel up of odds and\nends. Be you hit anywhere to signify?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh, our folk\u2019ll attend to all that when we\u2019ve time,\u201d he says. He turns\nto talk to my Aunt, while his men flew the stuff out of our hold. I\nthink I saw old Moon amongst \u2018em, but he was too busy to more than\nnod like. Yet the Spanishers was going to prayers with their bells and\ncandles before we\u2019d cleaned out the ANTONY. Twenty-two ton o\u2019 useful\nstuff I\u2019d fetched him. \u2018\u201cNow, Sim,\u201d says my Aunt, \u201cno more devouring of\nMus\u2019 Drake\u2019s time. He\u2019s sending us home in the Bridport hoy. I want to\nspeak to them young springalds again.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut here\u2019s our ship all ready and swept,\u201d I says.\n\n\u2018\u201cSwep\u2019 an\u2019 garnished,\u201d says Frankie. \u201cI\u2019m going to fill her with devils\nin the likeness o\u2019 pitch and sulphur. We must shift the Dons round\nDunkirk corner, and if shot can\u2019t do it, we\u2019ll send down fireships.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI\u2019ve given him my share of the ANTONY,\u201d says my Aunt. \u201cWhat do you\nreckon to do about yours?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cShe offered it,\u201d said Frankie, laughing.\n\n\u2018\u201cShe wouldn\u2019t have if I\u2019d overheard her,\u201d I says; \u201cbecause I\u2019d have\noffered my share first.\u201d Then I told him how the ANTONY\u2019s sails was best\ntrimmed to drive before the wind, and seeing he was full of occupations\nwe went acrost to that Bridport hoy, and left him.\n\n\u2018But Frankie was gentle-born, d\u2019ye see, and that sort they never\noverlook any folks\u2019 dues.\n\n\u2018When the hoy passed under his stern, he stood bare-headed on the poop\nsame as if my Aunt had been his Queen, and his musicianers played \u201cMary\nAmbree\u201d on their silver trumpets quite a long while. Heart alive, little\nmaid! I never meaned to make you look sorrowful!\n\n\u2018Bunny Lewknor in his sackcloth petticoats burst through the birch scrub\nwiping his forehead.\n\n\u2018We\u2019ve got the stick to rights now! She\u2019ve been a whole hatful o\u2019\ntrouble. You come an\u2019 ride her home, Mus\u2019 Dan and Miss Una!\u2019\n\n\u2018They found the proud wood-gang at the foot of the slope, with the log\ndouble-chained on the tug.\n\n\u2018Cattiwow, what are you going to do with it?\u2019 said Dan, as they straddled\nthe thin part.\n\n\u2018She\u2019s going down to Rye to make a keel for a Lowestoft fishin\u2019-boat,\nI\u2019ve heard. Hold tight!\u2019\n\n\u2018Cattiwow cracked his whip, and the great log dipped and tilted, and\nleaned and dipped again, exactly like a stately ship upon the high seas.\n\n\n\n\nFrankie\u2019s Trade\n\n\n     Old Horn to All Atlantic said:\n       (A-hay O!  To me O!)\n     \u2018Now where did Frankie learn his trade?\n     For he ran me down with a three-reef mains\u2019le.\u2019\n     (All round the Horn!)\n\n     Atlantic answered: \u2018Not from me!\n     You\u2019d better ask the cold North Sea,\n     For he ran me down under all plain canvas.\u2019\n     (All round the Horn!)\n\n     The North Sea answered: \u2018He\u2019s my man,\n     For he came to me when he began--\n     Frankie Drake in an open coaster.\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018I caught him young and I used him sore,\n     So you never shall startle Frankie more,\n     Without capsizing Earth and her waters.\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018I did not favour him at all,\n     I made him pull and I made him haul--\n     And stand his trick with the common sailors.\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018I froze him stiff and I fogged him blind,\n     And kicked him home with his road to find\n     By what he could see of a three-day snow-storm.\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018I learned him his trade o\u2019 winter nights,\n     \u2018Twixt Mardyk Fort and Dunkirk lights\n     On a five-knot tide with the forts a-firing.\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018Before his beard began to shoot,\n     I showed him the length of the Spaniard\u2019s foot--\n     And I reckon he clapped the boot on it later.\n     (All round the Sands!)\n     \u2018If there\u2019s a risk which you can make\n     That\u2019s worse than he was used to take\n     Nigh every week in the way of his business;\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018If there\u2019s a trick that you can try\n     Which he hasn\u2019t met in time gone by,\n     Not once or twice, but ten times over;\n     (All round the Sands!)\n\n     \u2018If you can teach him aught that\u2019s new,\n       (A-hay O!  To me O!)\n     I\u2019ll give you Bruges and Niewport too,\n     And the ten tall churches that stand between \u2018em.\u2019\n     Storm along, my gallant Captains!\n       (All round the Horn!)\n\n\n\n\nTHE TREE OF JUSTICE\n\n\n\n\nThe Ballad of Minepit Shaw\n\n\n     About the time that taverns shut\n       And men can buy no beer,\n     Two lads went up by the keepers\u2019 hut\n       To steal Lord Pelham\u2019s deer.\n\n     Night and the liquor was in their heads--\n       They laughed and talked no bounds,\n     Till they waked the keepers on their beds,\n       And the keepers loosed the hounds.\n\n     They had killed a hart, they had killed a hind,\n       Ready to carry away,\n     When they heard a whimper down the wind\n       And they heard a bloodhound bay.\n\n     They took and ran across the fern,\n       Their crossbows in their hand,\n     Till they met a man with a green lantern\n       That called and bade \u2018em stand.\n\n     \u2018What are you doing, O Flesh and Blood,\n       And what\u2019s your foolish will,\n     That you must break into Minepit Wood\n       And wake the Folk of the Hill?\u2019\n\n     \u2018Oh, we\u2019ve broke into Lord Pelham\u2019s park,\n       And killed Lord Pelham\u2019s deer,\n     And if ever you heard a little dog bark\n       You\u2019ll know why we come here!\u2019\n\n     \u2018We ask you let us go our way,\n       As fast as we can flee,\n     For if ever you heard a bloodhound bay,\n       You\u2019ll know how pressed we be.\u2019\n\n     \u2018Oh, lay your crossbows on the bank\n       And drop the knife from your hand,\n     And though the hounds are at your flank\n       I\u2019ll save you where you stand!\u2019\n     They laid their crossbows on the bank,\n       They threw their knives in the wood,\n     And the ground before them opened and sank\n       And saved \u2018em where they stood.\n     \u2018Oh, what\u2019s the roaring in our ears\n       That strikes us well-nigh dumb?\u2019\n     \u2018Oh, that is just how things appears\n       According as they come.\u2019\n\n     \u2018What are the stars before our eyes\n       That strike us well-nigh blind?\u2019\n     \u2018Oh, that is just how things arise\n       According as you find.\u2019\n\n     \u2018And why\u2019s our bed so hard to the bones\n       Excepting where it\u2019s cold?\u2019\n     \u2018Oh, that\u2019s because it is precious stones\n       Excepting where \u2018tis gold.\n\n     \u2018Think it over as you stand\n       For I tell you without fail,\n     If you haven\u2019t got into Fairyland\n       You\u2019re not in Lewes Gaol.\u2019\n\n     All night long they thought of it,\n       And, come the dawn, they saw\n     They\u2019d tumbled into a great old pit,\n       At the bottom of Minepit Shaw.\n\n     And the keepers\u2019 hound had followed \u2018em close\n       And broke her neck in the fall;\n     So they picked up their knives and their cross-bows\n       And buried the dog.  That\u2019s all.\n\n     But whether the man was a poacher too\n       Or a Pharisee so bold--\n     I reckon there\u2019s more things told than are true,\n       And more things true than are told.\n\n\n\n\nThe Tree of Justice\n\nIt was a warm, dark winter day with the Sou\u2019-West wind singing through\nDallington Forest, and the woods below the Beacon. The children set\nout after dinner to find old Hobden, who had a three months\u2019 job in\nthe Rough at the back of Pound\u2019s Wood. He had promised to get them a\ndormouse in its nest. The bright leaf Still clung to the beech coppice;\nthe long chestnut leaves lay orange on the ground, and the rides were\nspeckled with scarlet-lipped sprouting acorns. They worked their way by\ntheir own short cuts to the edge of Pound\u2019s Wood, and heard a horse\u2019s\nfeet just as they came to the beech where Ridley the keeper hangs up the\nvermin. The poor little fluffy bodies dangled from the branches--some\nperfectly good, but most of them dried to twisted strips.\n\n\u2018Three more owls,\u2019 said Dan, counting. \u2018Two stoats, four jays, and a\nkestrel. That\u2019s ten since last week. Ridley\u2019s a beast.\u2019\n\n\u2018In my time this sort of tree bore heavier fruit.\u2019 Sir Richard\nDalyngridge reined up his grey horse, Swallow, in the ride behind them.\n[This is the Norman knight they met the year before in PUCK OF POOK\u2019S\nHILL. See \u2018Young Men at the Manor,\u2019 \u2018The Knights of the Joyous Venture,\u2019\nand \u2018Old Men at Pevensey,\u2019 in that book.] \u2018What play do you make?\u2019 he\nasked.\n\n\u2018Nothing, Sir. We\u2019re looking for old Hobden,\u2019 Dan replied.\u2019He promised to\nget us a sleeper.\u2019\n\n\u2018Sleeper? A DORMEUSE, do you say?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, a dormouse, Sir.\u2019 \u2018I understand. I passed a woodman on the low\ngrounds. Come!\u2019 He wheeled up the ride again, and pointed through an\nopening to the patch of beech-stubs, chestnut, hazel, and birch that\nold Hobden would turn into firewood, hop-poles, pea-boughs, and\nhouse-faggots before spring. The old man was as busy as a beaver.\n\nSomething laughed beneath a thorn, and Puck stole out, his finger on his\nlip.\n\n\u2018Look!\u2019 he whispered. \u2018Along between the spindle-trees. Ridley has been\nthere this half-hour.\u2019\n\nThe children followed his point, and saw Ridley the keeper in an old dry\nditch, watching Hobden as a cat watches a mouse.\n\n\u2018Huhh!\u2019 cried Una. \u2018Hobden always \u2018tends to his wires before breakfast.\nHe puts his rabbits into the faggots he\u2019s allowed to take home. He\u2019ll\ntell us about \u2018em tomorrow.\u2019\n\n\u2018We had the same breed in my day,\u2019 Sir Richard replied, and moved off\nquietly, Puck at his bridle, the children on either side between the\nclose-trimmed beech stuff.\n\n\u2018What did you do to them?\u2019 said Dan, as they repassed Ridley\u2019s terrible\ntree.\n\n\u2018That!\u2019 Sir Richard jerked his head toward the dangling owls.\n\n\u2018Not he!\u2019 said Puck. \u2018There was never enough brute Norman in you to hang\na man for taking a buck.\u2019\n\n\u2018I--I cannot abide to hear their widows screech. But why am I on\nhorseback while you are afoot?\u2019 He dismounted lightly, tapped Swallow\non the chest, so that the wise thing backed instead of turning in the\nnarrow ride, and put himself at the head of the little procession. He\nwalked as though all the woods belonged to him. \u2018I have often told my\nfriends,\u2019 he went on, \u2018that Red William the King was not the only Norman\nfound dead in a forest while he hunted.\u2019\n\n\u2018D\u2019you mean William Rufus?\u2019 said Dan.\n\n\u2018Yes,\u2019 said Puck, kicking a clump of red toad-stools off a dead log.\n\n\u2018For example, there was a knight new from Normandy,\u2019 Sir Richard went\non, \u2018to whom Henry our King granted a manor in Kent near by. He chose\nto hang his forester\u2019s son the day before a deer-hunt that he gave to\npleasure the King.\u2019\n\n\u2018Now when would that be?\u2019 said Puck, and scratched an ear thoughtfully.\n\n\u2018The summer of the year King Henry broke his brother Robert of Normandy\nat Tenchebrai fight. Our ships were even then at Pevensey loading for\nthe war.\u2019\n\n\u2018What happened to the knight?\u2019 Dan asked.\n\n\u2018They found him pinned to an ash, three arrows through his leather coat.\nI should have worn mail that day.\u2019\n\n\u2018And did you see him all bloody?\u2019 Dan continued.\n\n\u2018Nay, I was with De Aquila at Pevensey, counting horseshoes, and\narrow-sheaves, and ale-barrels into the holds of the ships. The army\nonly waited for our King to lead them against Robert in Normandy, but\nhe sent word to De Aquila that he would hunt with him here before he set\nout for France.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why did the King want to hunt so particularly?\u2019 Una demanded.\n\n\u2018If he had gone straight to France after the Kentish knight was killed,\nmen would have said he feared being slain like the knight. It was\nhis duty to show himself debonair to his English people as it was De\nAquila\u2019s duty to see that he took no harm while he did it, But it was\na great burden! De Aquila, Hugh, and I ceased work on the ships, and\nscoured all the Honour of the Eagle--all De Aquila\u2019s lands--to make a\nfit, and, above all, a safe sport for our King. Look!\u2019\n\nThe ride twisted, and came out on the top of Pound\u2019s Hill Wood. Sir\nRichard pointed to the swells of beautiful, dappled Dallington, that\nshowed like a woodcock\u2019s breast up the valley. \u2018Ye know the forest?\u2019\nsaid he.\n\n\u2018You ought to see the bluebells there in Spring!\u2019 said Una. \u2018I have\nseen,\u2019 said Sir Richard, gazing, and stretched out his hand. \u2018Hugh\u2019s\nwork and mine was first to move the deer gently from all parts into\nDallington yonder, and there to hold them till the King came. Next, we\nmust choose some three hundred beaters to drive the deer to the stands\nwithin bowshot of the King. Here was our trouble! In the mellay of a\ndeer-drive a Saxon peasant and a Norman King may come over-close to each\nother. The conquered do not love their conquerors all at once. So we\nneeded sure men, for whom their village or kindred would answer in life,\ncattle, and land if any harm come to the King. Ye see?\u2019\n\n\u2018If one of the beaters shot the King,\u2019 said Puck, \u2018Sir Richard wanted to\nbe able to punish that man\u2019s village. Then the village would take care\nto send a good man.\u2019\n\n\u2018So! So it was. But, lest our work should be too easy, the King had done\nsuch a dread justice over at Salehurst, for the killing of the Kentish\nknight (twenty-six men he hanged, as I heard), that our folk were half\nmad with fear before we began. It is easier to dig out a badger gone to\nearth than a Saxon gone dumb-sullen. And atop of their misery the\nold rumour waked that Harold the Saxon was alive and would bring them\ndeliverance from us Normans. This has happened every autumn since\nSantlache fight.\u2019\n\n\u2018But King Harold was killed at Hastings,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018So it was said, and so it was believed by us Normans, but our Saxons\nalways believed he would come again. That rumour did not make our work\nany more easy.\u2019\n\nSir Richard strode on down the far slope of the wood, where the trees\nthin out. It was fascinating to watch how he managed his long spurs\namong the lumps of blackened ling.\n\n\u2018But we did it!\u2019 he said. \u2018After all, a woman is as good as a man to\nbeat the woods, and the mere word that deer are afoot makes cripples and\ncrones young again. De Aquila laughed when Hugh told him over the list\nof beaters. Half were women; and many of the rest were clerks--Saxon and\nNorman priests.\n\n\u2018Hugh and I had not time to laugh for eight days, till De Aquila,\nas Lord of Pevensey, met our King and led him to the first\nshooting-stand--by the Mill on the edge of the forest. Hugh and I--it\nwas no work for hot heads or heavy hands--lay with our beaters on the\nskirts of Dallington to watch both them and the deer. When De Aquila\u2019s\ngreat horn blew we went forward, a line half a league long. Oh, to see\nthe fat clerks, their gowns tucked up, puffing and roaring, and the\nsober millers dusting the under-growth with their staves; and, like as\nnot, between them a Saxon wench, hand in hand with her man, shrilling\nlike a kite as she ran, and leaping high through the fern, all for joy\nof the sport.\u2019 \u2018Ah! How! Ah! How! How-ah! Sa-how-ah!\u2019 Puck bellowed\nwithout warning, and Swallow bounded forward, ears cocked, and nostrils\ncracking.\n\n\u2018Hal-lal-lal-lal-la-hai-ie!\u2019 Sir Richard answered in a high clear shout.\n\nThe two voices joined in swooping circles of sound, and a heron rose out\nof a red osier-bed below them, circling as though he kept time to the\noutcry. Swallow quivered and swished his glorious tail. They stopped\ntogether on the same note.\n\nA hoarse shout answered them across the bare woods.\n\n\u2018That\u2019s old Hobden,\u2019 said Una.\n\n\u2018Small blame to him. It is in his blood,\u2019 said Puck. \u2018Did your beaters\ncry so, Sir Richard?\u2019\n\n\u2018My faith, they forgot all else. (Steady, Swallow, steady!) They forgot\nwhere the King and his people waited to shoot. They followed the deer to\nthe very edge of the open till the first flight of wild arrows from the\nstands flew fair over them.\n\n\u2018I cried, \u201c\u2018Ware shot! \u2018Ware shot!\u201d and a knot of young knights new from\nNormandy, that had strayed away from the Grand Stand, turned about, and\nin mere sport loosed off at our line shouting: \u201c\u2018Ware Santlache arrows!\n\u2018Ware Santlache arrows!\u201d A jest, I grant you, but too sharp. One of our\nbeaters answered in Saxon: \u201c\u2018Ware New Forest arrows! \u2018Ware Red William\u2019s\narrow!\u201d so I judged it time to end the jests, and when the boys saw my\nold mail gown (for, to shoot with strangers I count the same as war),\nthey ceased shooting. So that was smoothed over, and we gave our beaters\nale to wash down their anger. They were excusable! We--they had\nsweated to show our guests good sport, and our reward was a flight\nof hunting-arrows which no man loves, and worse, a churl\u2019s jibe over\nhard-fought, fair-lost Hastings fight. So, before the next beat, Hugh\nand I assembled and called the beaters over by name, to steady them. The\ngreater part we knew, but among the Netherfield men I saw an old, old\nman, in the dress of a pilgrim.\n\n\u2018The Clerk of Netherfield said he was well known by repute for twenty\nyears as a witless man that journeyed without rest to all the shrines of\nEngland. The old man sits, Saxon fashion, head between fists. We Normans\nrest the chin on the left palm. \u2018\u201cWho answers for him?\u201d said I. \u201cIf he\nfails in his duty, who will pay his fine?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWho will pay my fine?\u201d the pilgrim said. \u201cI have asked that of all the\nSaints in England these forty years, less three months and nine days!\nThey have not answered!\u201d When he lifted his thin face I saw he was\none-eyed, and frail as a rush. \u2018\u201cNay, but, Father,\u201d I said, \u201cto whom\nhast thou commended thyself-?\u201d He shook his head, so I spoke in Saxon:\n\u201cWhose man art thou?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI think I have a writing from Rahere, the King\u2019s jester,\u201d said he\nafter a while. \u201cI am, as I suppose, Rahere\u2019s man.\u201d\n\n\u2018He pulled a writing from his scrip, and Hugh, coming up, read it.\n\n\u2018It set out that the pilgrim was Rahere\u2019s man, and that Rahere was the\nKing\u2019s jester. There was Latin writ at the back.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat a plague conjuration\u2019s here?\u201d said Hugh, turning it over.\n\u201cPum-quum-sum oc-occ. Magic?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBlack Magic,\u201d said the Clerk of Netherfield (he had been a monk at\nBattle). \u201cThey say Rahere is more of a priest than a fool and more of a\nwizard than either. Here\u2019s Rahere\u2019s name writ, and there\u2019s Rahere\u2019s red\ncockscomb mark drawn below for such as cannot read.\u201d He looked slyly at\nme.\n\n\u2018\u201cThen read it,\u201d said I, \u201cand show thy learning.\u201d He was a vain little\nman, and he gave it us after much mouthing.\n\n\u2018\u201cThe charm, which I think is from Virgilius the Sorcerer, says: \u2018When\nthou art once dead, and Minos\u2019 (which is a heathen judge) \u2018has doomed\nthee, neither cunning, nor speechcraft, nor good works will restore\nthee!\u2019 A terrible thing! It denies any mercy to a man\u2019s soul!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cDoes it serve?\u201d said the pilgrim, plucking at Hugh\u2019s cloak. \u201cOh, man\nof the King\u2019s blood, does it cover me?\u201d\n\n\u2018Hugh was of Earl Godwin\u2019s blood, and all Sussex knew it, though no\nSaxon dared call him kingly in a Norman\u2019s hearing. There can be but one\nKing.\n\n\u2018\u201cIt serves,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cBut the day will be long and hot. Better rest\nhere. We go forward now.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNo, I will keep with thee, my kinsman,\u201d he answered like a child. He\nwas indeed childish through great age.\n\n\u2018The line had not moved a bowshot when De Aquila\u2019s great horn blew for a\nhalt, and soon young Fulke--our false Fulke\u2019s son--yes, the imp that\nlit the straw in Pevensey Castle [See \u2018Old Men at Pevensey\u2019 in PUCK OF\nPOOK\u2019S HILL.]--came thundering up a woodway.\n\n\u2018\u201cUncle,\u201d said he (though he was a man grown, he called me Uncle),\n\u201cthose young Norman fools who shot at you this morn are saying that\nyour beaters cried treason against the King. It has come to Harry\u2019s long\nears, and he bids you give account of it. There are heavy fines in his\neye, but I am with you to the hilt, Uncle!\u201d \u2018When the boy had fled back,\nHugh said to me: \u201cIt was Rahere\u2019s witless man that cried, \u2018\u2019Ware Red\nWilliam\u2019s arrow!\u2019 I heard him, and so did the Clerk of Netherfield.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen Rahere must answer to the King for his man,\u201d said I. \u201cKeep him by\nyou till I send,\u201d and I hastened down.\n\n\u2018The King was with De Aquila in the Grand Stand above Welansford down in\nthe valley yonder. His Court--knights and dames--lay glittering on the\nedge of the glade. I made my homage, and Henry took it coldly. \u2018\u201cHow\ncame your beaters to shout threats against me?\u201d said he.\n\n\u2018\u201cThe tale has grown,\u201d I answered. \u201cOne old witless man cried out,\n\u2018\u2019Ware Red William\u2019s arrow,\u2019 when the young knights shot at our line. We\nhad two beaters hit.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI will do justice on that man,\u201d he answered. \u201cWho is his master?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHe\u2019s Rahere\u2019s man,\u201d said I.\n\n\u2018\u201cRahere\u2019s?\u201d said Henry. \u201cHas my fool a fool?\u201d\n\n\u2018I heard the bells jingle at the back of the stand, and a red leg waved\nover it; then a black one. So, very slowly, Rahere the King\u2019s jester\nstraddled the edge of the planks, and looked down on us, rubbing his\nchin. Loose-knit, with cropped hair, and a sad priest\u2019s face, under his\ncockscomb cap, that he could twist like a strip of wet leather. His eyes\nwere hollow-set.\n\n\u2018\u201cNay, nay, Brother,\u201d said he. \u201cIf I suffer you to keep your fool, you\nmust e\u2019en suffer me to keep mine.\u201d\n\n\u2018This he delivered slowly into the King\u2019s angry face! My faith, a King\u2019s\njester must be bolder than lions!\n\n\u2018\u201cNow we will judge the matter,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cLet these two brave\nknights go hang my fool because he warned King Henry against running\nafter Saxon deer through woods full of Saxons. \u2018Faith, Brother, if thy\nBrother, Red William, now among the Saints as we hope, had been timely\nwarned against a certain arrow in New Forest, one fool of us four would\nnot be crowned fool of England this morning. Therefore, hang the fool\u2019s\nfool, knights!\u201d \u2018Mark the fool\u2019s cunning! Rahere had himself given us\norder to hang the man. No King dare confirm a fool\u2019s command to such a\ngreat baron as De Aquila; and the helpless King knew it.\n\n\u2018\u201cWhat? No hanging?\u201d said Rahere, after a silence. \u201cA\u2019 God\u2019s Gracious\nName, kill something, then! Go forward with the hunt!\u201d\n\n\u2018He splits his face ear to ear in a yawn like a fish-pond. \u201cHenry,\u201d says\nhe, \u201cthe next time I sleep, do not pester me with thy fooleries.\u201d Then\nhe throws himself out of sight behind the back of the stand.\n\n\u2018I have seen courage with mirth in De Aquila and Hugh, but stark mad\ncourage of Rahere\u2019s sort I had never even guessed at.\u2019\n\n\u2018What did the King say?\u2019 cried Dan.\n\n\u2018He had opened his mouth to speak, when young Fulke, who had come into\nthe stand with us, laughed, and, boy-like, once begun, could not check\nhimself. He kneeled on the instant for pardon, but fell sideways,\ncrying: \u201cHis legs! Oh, his long, waving red legs as he went backward!\u201d\n\n\u2018Like a storm breaking, our grave King laughed,--stamped and reeled\nwith laughter till the stand shook. So, like a storm, this strange thing\npassed!\n\n\u2018He wiped his eyes, and signed to De Aquila to let the drive come on.\n\n\u2018When the deer broke, we were pleased that the King shot from the\nshelter of the stand, and did not ride out after the hurt beasts as Red\nWilliam would have done. Most vilely his knights and barons shot!\n\n\u2018De Aquila kept me beside him, and I saw no more of Hugh till evening.\nWe two had a little hut of boughs by the camp, where I went to wash me\nbefore the great supper, and in the dusk I heard Hugh on the couch.\n\n\u2018\u201cWearied, Hugh?\u201d said I.\n\n\u2018\u201cA little,\u201d he says. \u201cI have driven Saxon deer all day for a Norman\nKing, and there is enough of Earl Godwin\u2019s blood left in me to sicken at\nthe work. Wait awhile with the torch.\u201d\n\n\u2018I waited then, and I thought I heard him sob.\u2019\n\n\u2018Poor Hugh! Was he so tired?\u2019 said Una. \u2018Hobden says beating is hard\nwork sometimes.\u2019\n\n\u2018I think this tale is getting like the woods,\u2019 said Dan, \u2018darker and\ntwistier every minute.\u2019 Sir Richard had walked as he talked, and though\nthe children thought they knew the woods well enough, they felt a little\nlost.\n\n\u2018A dark tale enough,\u2019 says Sir Richard, \u2018but the end was not all black.\nWhen we had washed, we went to wait on the King at meat in the great\npavilion. Just before the trumpets blew for the Entry--all the guests\nupstanding--long Rahere comes posturing up to Hugh, and strikes him with\nhis bauble-bladder.\n\n\u2018\u201cHere\u2019s a heavy heart for a joyous meal!\u201d he says. \u201cBut each man must\nhave his black hour or where would be the merit of laughing? Take a\nfool\u2019s advice, and sit it out with my man. I\u2019ll make a jest to excuse\nyou to the King if he remember to ask for you. That\u2019s more than I would\ndo for Archbishop Anselm.\u201d\n\n\u2018Hugh looked at him heavy-eyed. \u201cRahere?\u201d said he. \u201cThe King\u2019s jester?\nOh, Saints, what punishment for my King!\u201d and smites his hands together.\n\u2018\u201cGo--go fight it out in the dark,\u201d says Rahere, \u201cand thy Saxon Saints\nreward thee for thy pity to my fool.\u201d He pushed him from the pavilion,\nand Hugh lurched away like one drunk.\u2019\n\n\u2018But why?\u2019 said Una. \u2018I don\u2019t understand.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah, why indeed? Live you long enough, maiden, and you shall know the\nmeaning of many whys.\u2019 Sir Richard smiled. \u2018I wondered too, but it was\nmy duty to wait on the King at the High Table in all that glitter and\nstir.\n\n\u2018He spoke me his thanks for the sport I had helped show him, and he had\nlearned from De Aquila enough of my folk and my castle in Normandy to\ngraciously feign that he knew and had loved my brother there. (This,\nalso, is part of a king\u2019s work.) Many great men sat at the High\nTable--chosen by the King for their wits, not for their birth. I have\nforgotten their names, and their faces I only saw that one night.\nBut\u2019--Sir Richard turned in his stride--\u2018but Rahere, flaming in black\nand scarlet among our guests, the hollow of his dark cheek flushed with\nwine--long, laughing Rahere, and the stricken sadness of his face when\nhe was not twisting it about--Rahere I shall never forget.\n\n\u2018At the King\u2019s outgoing De Aquila bade me follow him, with his great\nbishops and two great barons, to the little pavilion. We had devised\njugglers and dances for the Court\u2019s sport; but Henry loved to talk\ngravely to grave men, and De Aquila had told him of my travels to the\nworld\u2019s end. We had a fire of apple-wood, sweet as incense,--and the\ncurtains at the door being looped up, we could hear the music and see\nthe lights shining on mail and dresses.\n\n\u2018Rahere lay behind the King\u2019s chair. The questions he darted forth at me\nwere as shrewd as the flames. I was telling of our fight with the apes,\nas ye called them, at the world\u2019s end. [See \u2018The Knights of the Joyous\nVenture\u2019 in PUCK OF POOK\u2019S HILL.] \u2018\u201cBut where is the Saxon knight that\nwent with you?\u201d said Henry. \u201cHe must confirm these miracles.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHe is busy,\u201d said Rahere, \u201cconfirming a new miracle.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cEnough miracles for today,\u201d said the King. \u201cRahere, you have saved\nyour long neck. Fetch the Saxon knight.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cPest on it,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cWho would be a King\u2019s jester? I\u2019ll bring\nhim, Brother, if you\u2019ll see that none of your home-brewed bishops taste\nmy wine while I am away.\u201d So he jingled forth between the men-at-arms at\nthe door.\n\n\u2018Henry had made many bishops in England without the Pope\u2019s leave. I know\nnot the rights of the matter, but only Rahere dared jest about it. We\nwaited on the King\u2019s next word.\n\n\u2018\u201cI think Rahere is jealous of you,\u201d said he, smiling, to Nigel of Ely.\nHe was one bishop; and William of Exeter, the other--Wal-wist the Saxons\ncalled him--laughed long. \u201cRahere is a priest at heart. Shall I make him\na bishop, De Aquila?\u201d says the King.\n\n\u2018\u201cThere might be worse,\u201d said our Lord of Pevensey. \u201cRahere would never\ndo what Anselm has done.\u201d\n\n\u2018This Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, had gone off raging to the Pope\nat Rome, because Henry would make bishops without his leave either. I\nknew not the rights of it, but De Aquila did, and the King laughed.\n\n\u2018\u201cAnselm means no harm. He should have been a monk, not a bishop,\u201d said\nthe King. \u201cI\u2019ll never quarrel with Anselm or his Pope till they quarrel\nwith my England. If we can keep the King\u2019s peace till my son comes to\nrule, no man will lightly quarrel with our England.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAmen,\u201d said De Aquila. \u201cBut the King\u2019s peace ends when the King dies.\u201d\n\n\u2018That is true. The King\u2019s peace dies with the King. The custom then is\nthat all laws are outlaw, and men do what they will till the new King is\nchosen.\n\n\u2018\u201cI will amend that,\u201d said the King hotly. \u201cI will have it so that\nthough King, son, and grandson were all slain in one day, still the\nKing\u2019s peace should hold over all England! What is a man that his mere\ndeath must upheave a people? We must have the Law.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cTruth,\u201d said William of Exeter; but that he would have said to any\nword of the King.\n\n\u2018The two great barons behind said nothing. This teaching was clean\nagainst their stomachs, for when the King\u2019s peace ends, the great barons\ngo to war and increase their lands. At that instant we heard Rahere\u2019s\nvoice returning, in a scurril Saxon rhyme against William of Exeter:\n\n     \u2018\u201cWell wist Wal-wist where lay his fortune\n     When that he fawned on the King for his crozier,\u201d\n\nand amid our laughter he burst in, with one arm round Hugh, and one\nround the old pilgrim of Netherfield.\n\n\u2018\u201cHere is your knight, Brother,\u201d said he, \u201cand for the better disport of\nthe company, here is my fool. Hold up, Saxon Samson, the gates of Gaza\nare clean carried away!\u201d\n\n\u2018Hugh broke loose, white and sick, and staggered to my side; the old man\nblinked upon the company.\n\n\u2018We looked at the King, but he smiled.\n\n\u2018\u201cRahere promised he would show me some sport after supper to cover his\nmorning\u2019s offence,\u201d said he to De Aquila. \u201cSo this is thy man, Rahere?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cEven so,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cMy man he has been, and my protection he\nhas taken, ever since I found him under the gallows at Stamford Bridge\ntelling the kites atop of it that he was--Harold of England!\u201d\n\n\u2018There was a great silence upon these last strange words, and Hugh hid\nhis face on my shoulder, woman-fashion.\n\n\u2018\u201cIt is most cruel true,\u201d he whispered to me. \u201cThe old man proved it\nto me at the beat after you left, and again in our hut even now. It is\nHarold, my King!\u201d\n\n\u2018De Aquila crept forward. He walked about the man and swallowed.\n\n\u2018\u201cBones of the Saints!\u201d said he, staring.\n\n\u2018\u201cMany a stray shot goes too well home,\u201d said Rahere.\n\n\u2018The old man flinched as at an arrow. \u201cWhy do you hurt me still?\u201d he said\nin Saxon. \u201cIt was on some bones of some Saints that I promised I would\ngive my England to the Great Duke.\u201d He turns on us all crying, shrilly:\n\u201cThanes, he had caught me at Rouen--a lifetime ago. If I had not\npromised, I should have lain there all my life. What else could I have\ndone? I have lain in a strait prison all my life none the less. There is\nno need to throw stones at me.\u201d He guarded his face with his arms, and\nshivered. \u201cNow his madness will strike him down,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cCast out\nthe evil spirit, one of you new bishops.\u201d\n\n\u2018Said William of Exeter: \u201cHarold was slain at Santlache fight. All the\nworld knows it.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI think this man must have forgotten,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cBe comforted,\nFather. Thou wast well slain at Hastings forty years gone, less three\nmonths and nine days. Tell the King.\u201d\n\n\u2018The man uncovered his face. \u201cI thought they would stone me,\u201d he said.\n\u201cI did not know I spoke before a King.\u201d He came to his full towering\nheight--no mean man, but frail beyond belief.\n\n\u2018The King turned to the tables, and held him out his own cup of wine.\nThe old man drank, and beckoned behind him, and, before all the Normans,\nmy Hugh bore away the empty cup, Saxon-fashion, upon the knee.\n\n\u201cIt is Harold!\u201d said De Aquila. \u201cHis own stiff-necked blood kneels to\nserve him.\n\n\u201cBe it so,\u201d said Henry. \u201cSit, then, thou that hast been Harold of\nEngland.\u201d\n\n\u2018The madman sat, and hard, dark Henry looked at him between half-shut\neyes. We others stared like oxen, all but De Aquila, who watched Rahere\nas I have seen him watch a far sail on the sea.\n\n\u2018The wine and the warmth cast the old man into a dream. His white head\nbowed; his hands hung. His eye indeed was opened, but the mind was\nshut. When he stretched his feet, they were scurfed and road-cut like a\nslave\u2019s.\n\n\u2018\u201cAh, Rahere,\u201d cried Hugh, \u201cwhy hast thou shown him thus? Better have\nlet him die than shame him--and me!\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cShame thee?\u201d said the King. \u201cWould any baron of mine kneel to me if I\nwere witless, discrowned, and alone, and Harold had my throne?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNo,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cI am the sole fool that might do it, Brother,\nunless\u201d--he pointed at De Aquila, whom he had only met that day--\u201cyonder\ntough Norman crab kept me company. But, Sir Hugh, I did not mean to\nshame him. He hath been somewhat punished through, maybe, little fault\nof his own.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cYet he lied to my Father, the Conqueror,\u201d said the King, and the old\nman flinched in his sleep.\n\n\u2018\u201cMaybe,\u201d said Rahere, \u201cbut thy Brother Robert, whose throat we purpose\nsoon to slit with our own hands--\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHutt!\u201d said the King, laughing. \u201cI\u2019ll keep Robert at my table for\na life\u2019s guest when I catch him. Robert means no harm. It is all his\ncursed barons.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cNone the less,\u201d said Rahere, \u201cRobert may say that thou hast not always\nspoken the stark truth to him about England. I should not hang too many\nmen on that bough, Brother.\u201d \u2018\u201cAnd it is certain,\u201d said Hugh, \u201cthat\u201d--he\npointed to the old man--\u201cHarold was forced to make his promise to the\nGreat Duke.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cVery strongly, forced,\u201d said De Aquila. He had never any pride in the\nDuke William\u2019s dealings with Harold before Hastings. Yet, as he said,\none cannot build a house all of straight sticks.\n\n\u2018\u201cNo matter how he was forced,\u201d said Henry, \u201cEngland was promised to my\nFather William by Edward the Confessor. Is it not so?\u201d William of Exeter\nnodded. \u201cHarold confirmed that promise to my Father on the bones of the\nSaints. Afterwards he broke his oath and would have taken England by\nthe strong hand.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cOh! La! La!\u201d Rahere rolled up his eyes like a girl. \u201cThat ever England\nshould be taken by the strong hand!\u201d\n\n\u2018Seeing that Red William and Henry after him had each in just that\nfashion snatched England from Robert of Normandy, we others knew not\nwhere to look. But De Aquila saved us quickly.\n\n\u2018\u201cPromise kept or promise broken,\u201d he said, \u201cHarold came near enough to\nbreaking us Normans at Santlache.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cWas it so close a fight, then?\u201d said Henry.\n\n\u2018\u201cA hair would have turned it either way,\u201d De Aquila answered. \u201cHis\nhouse-carles stood like rocks against rain. Where wast thou, Hugh, in\nit?\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cAmong Godwin\u2019s folk beneath the Golden Dragon till your front gave\nback, and we broke our ranks to follow,\u201d said Hugh.\n\n\u2018\u201cBut I bade you stand! I bade you stand! I knew it was all a deceit!\u201d\n Harold had waked, and leaned forward as one crying from the grave.\n\n\u2018\u201cAh, now we see how the traitor himself was betrayed!\u201d said William of\nExeter, and looked for a smile from the King.\n\n\u2018\u201cI made thee Bishop to preach at my bidding,\u201d said Henry; and turning\nto Harold, \u201cTell us here how thy people fought us?\u201d said he. \u201cTheir sons\nserve me now against my Brother Robert!\u201d\n\n\u2018The old man shook his head cunningly. \u201cNa--Na--Na!\u201d he cried. \u201cI know\nbetter. Every time I tell my tale men stone me. But, Thanes, I will tell\nyou a greater thing. Listen!\u201d He told us how many paces it was from some\nSaxon Saint\u2019s shrine to another shrine, and how many more back to the\nAbbey of the Battle.\n\n\u2018\u201cAy,\u201d said he. \u201cI have trodden it too often to be out even ten paces.\nI move very swiftly. Harold of Norway knows that, and so does Tostig my\nbrother. They lie at ease at Stamford Bridge, and from Stamford Bridge\nto the Battle Abbey it is--\u201d he muttered over many numbers and forgot\nus.\n\n\u2018\u201cAy,\u201d said De Aquila, all in a muse. \u201cThat man broke Harold of Norway\nat Stamford Bridge, and came near to breaking us at Santlache--all\nwithin one month.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cBut how did he come alive from Santlache fight?\u201d asked the King. \u201cAsk\nhim! Hast thou heard it, Rahere?\u201d \u201cNever. He says he has been stoned too\noften for telling the tale. But he can count you off Saxon and Norman\nshrines till daylight,\u201d said Rahere and the old man nodded proudly.\n\n\u2018\u201cMy faith!\u201d said Henry after a while. \u201cI think even my Father the Great\nDuke would pity if he could see him.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cHow if he does see?\u201d said Rahere.\n\n\u2018Hugh covered his face with his sound hand. \u201cAh, why hast thou shamed\nhim?\u201d he cried again to Rahere.\n\n\u2018\u201cNo--no,\u201d says the old man, reaching to pluck at Rahere\u2019s cape. \u201cI am\nRahere\u2019s man. None stone me now,\u201d and he played with the bells on the\nscollops of it.\n\n\u2018\u201cHow if he had been brought to me when you found him?\u201d said the King to\nRahere.\n\n\u2018\u201cYou would have held him prisoner again--as the Great Duke did,\u201d Rahere\nanswered.\n\n\u2018\u201cTrue,\u201d said our King. \u201cHe is nothing except his name. Yet that name\nmight have been used by stronger men to trouble my England. Yes. I must\nhave made him my life\u2019s guest--as I shall make Robert.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI knew it,\u201d said Rahere. \u201cBut while this man wandered mad by the\nwayside, none cared what he called himself.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cI learned to cease talking before the stones flew,\u201d says the old man,\nand Hugh groaned.\n\n\u2018\u201cYe have heard!\u201d said Rahere. \u201cWitless, landless, nameless, and, but\nfor my protection, masterless, he can still make shift to bide his doom\nunder the open sky.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cThen wherefore didst thou bring him here for a mock and a shame?\u201d\n cried Hugh, beside himself with woe.\n\n\u2018\u201cA right mock and a just shame!\u201d said William of Exeter.\n\n\u2018\u201cNot to me,\u201d said Nigel of Ely. \u201cI see and I tremble, but I neither\nmock nor judge.\u201d  \u201cWell spoken, Ely.\u201d Rahere falls into the pure fool\nagain. \u201cI\u2019ll pray for thee when I turn monk. Thou hast given thy\nblessing on a war between two most Christian brothers.\u201d He meant the war\nforward \u2018twixt Henry and Robert of Normandy. \u201cI charge you, Brother,\u201d he\nsays, wheeling on the King, \u201cdost thou mock my fool?\u201d The King shook his\nhead, and so then did smooth William of Exeter.\n\n\u2018\u201cDe Aquila, does thou mock him?\u201d Rahere jingled from one to another,\nand the old man smiled.\n\n\u2018\u201cBy the Bones of the Saints, not I,\u201d said our Lord of Pevensey. \u201cI know\nhow dooms near he broke us at Santlache.\u201d\n\n\u2018\u201cSir Hugh, you are excused the question. But you, valiant, loyal,\nhonourable, and devout barons, Lords of Man\u2019s justice in your own\nbounds, do you mock my fool?\u201d\n\n\u2018He shook his bauble in the very faces of those two barons whose names\nI have forgotten. \u201cNa--Na!\u201d they said, and waved him back foolishly\nenough.\n\n\u2018He hies him across to staring, nodding Harold, and speaks from behind\nhis chair.\n\n\u2018\u201cNo man mocks thee, Who here judges this man? Henry of\nEngland--Nigel--De Aquila! On your souls, swift with the answer!\u201d he\ncried.\n\n\u2018None answered. We were all--the King not least--over-borne by that\nterrible scarlet-and-black wizard-jester.\n\n\u2018\u201cWell for your souls,\u201d he said, wiping his brow. Next, shrill like a\nwoman: \u201cOh, come to me!\u201d and Hugh ran forward to hold Harold, that had\nslidden down in the chair.\n\n\u2018\u201cHearken,\u201d said Rahere, his arm round Harold\u2019s neck. \u201cThe King--his\nbishops--the knights--all the world\u2019s crazy chessboard neither mock nor\njudge thee. Take that comfort with thee, Harold of England!\u201d\n\n\u2018Hugh heaved the old man up and he smiled.\n\n\u2018\u201cGood comfort,\u201d said Harold. \u201cTell me again! I have been somewhat\npunished.\u201d \u2018Rahere hallooed it once more into his ear as the head\nrolled. We heard him sigh, and Nigel of Ely stood forth, praying aloud.\n\n\u2018\u201cOut! I will have no Norman!\u201d Harold said as clearly as I speak now,\nand he refuged himself on Hugh\u2019s sound shoulder, and stretched out, and\nlay all still.\u2019\n\n\u2018Dead?\u2019 said Una, turning up a white face in the dusk.\n\n\u2018That was his good fortune. To die in the King\u2019s presence, and on the\nbreast of the most gentlest, truest knight of his own house. Some of us\nenvied him,\u2019 said Sir Richard, and fell back to take Swallow\u2019s bridle.\n\n\u2018Turn left here,\u2019 Puck called ahead of them from under an oak. They\nducked down a narrow path through close ash plantation.\n\nThe children hurried forward, but cutting a corner charged full-abreast\ninto the thorn-faggot that old Hobden was carrying home on his back.\n\u2018My! My!\u2019 said he. \u2018Have you scratted your face, Miss Una?\u2019\n\n\u2018Sorry! It\u2019s all right,\u2019 said Una, rubbing her nose. \u2018How many rabbits\ndid you get today?\u2019\n\n\u2018That\u2019s tellin\u2019!\u2019 the old man grinned as he re-hoisted his faggot. \u2018I\nreckon Mus\u2019 Ridley he\u2019ve got rheumatism along o\u2019 lyin\u2019 in the dik to see\nI didn\u2019t snap up any. Think o\u2019 that now!\u2019\n\nThey laughed a good deal while he told them the tale.\n\n\u2018An\u2019 just as he crawled away I heard some one hollerin\u2019 to the hounds\nin our woods,\u2019 said he. \u2018Didn\u2019t you hear? You must ha\u2019 been asleep\nsure-ly.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, what about the sleeper you promised to show us?\u2019 Dan cried.\n\n\u2018\u2019Ere he be--house an\u2019 all!\u2019 Hobden dived into the prickly heart of the\nfaggot and took out a dormouse\u2019s wonderfully woven nest of grass and\nleaves. His blunt fingers parted it as if it had been precious lace, and\ntilting it toward the last of the light he showed the little, red, furry\nchap curled up inside, his tail between his eyes that were shut for\ntheir winter sleep.\n\n\u2018Let\u2019s take him home. Don\u2019t breathe on him,\u2019 said Una. \u2018It\u2019ll make him\nwarm and he\u2019ll wake up and die straight off. Won\u2019t he, Hobby?\u2019\n\n\u2018Dat\u2019s a heap better by my reckonin\u2019 than wakin\u2019 up and findin\u2019 himself\nin a cage for life. No! We\u2019ll lay him into the bottom o\u2019 this hedge.\nDat\u2019s jus\u2019 right! No more trouble for him till come Spring. An\u2019 now\nwe\u2019ll go home.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nA Carol\n\n\n     Our Lord Who did the Ox command\n     To kneel to Judah\u2019s King,\n     He binds His frost upon the land\n     To ripen it for Spring--\n     To ripen it for Spring, good sirs,\n     According to His word;\n     Which well must be as ye can see--\n     And who shall judge the Lord?\n\n     When we poor fenmen skate the ice\n     Or shiver on the wold,\n     We hear the cry of a single tree\n     That breaks her heart in the cold--\n     That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs,\n     And rendeth by the board;\n     Which well must be as ye can see--\n     And who shall judge the Lord?\n\n     Her wood is crazed and little worth\n     Excepting as to burn\n     That we may warm and make our mirth\n     Until the Spring return--\n     Until the Spring return, good sirs,\n     When people walk abroad;\n     Which well must be as ye can see--\n     And who shall judge the Lord?\n\n     God bless the master of this house,\n     And all that sleep therein!\n     And guard the fens from pirate folk,\n     And keep us all from sin,\n     To walk in honesty, good sirs,\n     Of thought and deed and word!\n     Which shall befriend our latter end--\n     And who shall judge the Lord?","title":"Rewards and Fairies","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":72603}