Our Little Lady Part 8

Avice went to the door, unlatched it, and peered forth into the night.

"Yes, there seems to be no noise in the direction of your quarter now.

I think you will be safe. But if you feel uneasy, you can stay the night in this room."

"No, thank you," replied Hester gratefully. "I will not put you to that trouble. You have been very good to me. May the G.o.d of Israel bless you with His blessing!"

Avice felt rather uneasy. She had always been taught that Jews were idolaters, and she never imagined that Hester could be blessing her in the name of the one living G.o.d. She fancied that the benediction of some horrible Moloch was being called down upon her, and feared it accordingly. But she answered kindly, for unkindness was not in her simple, loving, G.o.d-fearing heart. Hester went out, and latched the door behind her.

"I am glad she is gone," said Bertha. "I could not feel easy while she was here. Yet I could not have borne to turn her away without asking you if you would take her in, Aunt. I hope we have not done wrong!"

"I hope not, indeed," replied Avice, who was not quite easy in her own mind. "I wonder why it should be so wrong to pity Jews, and be kind to them. It looks so different from all the other commands of our Lord."

Different, most truly! But such causes for wonder were likely to be frequent enough, so long as men allowed the traditions of men to run alongside of the infallible Word of G.o.d. And they had no power to read for themselves the real words of the Lord, who had said to the father of all Israel, "I will bless them that bless thee, and curse him that curseth thee."

But the influx of visitors was not yet over for the evening. Hester had not been gone long when a heavy rap came on the door. "Come in!" said Avice; and Uncle Dan appeared.

"Could you spare a chap a seat, think ye?" said he. "I've come for a bit o' peace. We've got thunder and lightning and rain up at smithy.

_She's_ thunder, and Ankaret's lightning, and Mildred's rain, for she's a-crying: and El'nor and me, we 're wet to skin wi' 't. So I put my cap on and come here to dry me a bit."

Avice laughed. "You're always welcome, Uncle Dan, and I hope you know it," said she. "Bertha, my maid, bake a short-cake for thy father.

There's enough warmth in the bake-stone."

"Short-cake's good," said Dan, "and I'll not go to deny it; but love and peace are better. _She_ can make short-cake wi' anybody. It's th' jam as goes wi' 't I don't like. She makes it so tart, and puts so much on.

Sure, if th' fire had went out, she'd easy bake a cake a-top of her temper, and so could Ankaret. Eh, it do take a whole hive of honey to sweeten some folks. There's bees in this world, for sure; but there's many a waps to every bee."

In the present day, "waps" is considered a vulgar way of p.r.o.nouncing the word; but it was correct English at the time of which I am writing.

"Wasp" is really the corrupt p.r.o.nunciation. In the same way, they said "claps" where we say "clasp."

"Uncle Dan, I sometimes wonder you do not come and live in Lincoln town."

"Dost thee? Think I haven't noise enough at smithy?"

"But I think you would make friends here, and find things pleasanter."

"Humph!" said Dan, laying a big, hardened brown hand upon each knee.

"It's very plain to me, Avice, as thou doesn't live in a house where everything thou does turns to hot water. Me make friends! She'd have 'em out o' th' door afore they'd a-comed in. They wouldn't come twice, I reckon--nay, they wouldn't. That'd be end o' my friend-making, Avice."

"Uncle Dan, did you never try standing up to Aunt Filomena?"

"Did I never try _what_? Ay did I, once--and got knocked down as sharp as ninepins. Standing up! I'd love to see thee try it. Thou'd not be right end up long."

Bertha had gone upstairs, or Avice perhaps would not have spoken so plainly, though the smith himself had long pa.s.sed the stage of ignoring his wife's failings in the presence of her children.

"But you are her husband, Uncle Dan."

"I reckon I know that Thou would, if she'd plucked as much of thy whiskers out as she has o' mine."

"And wives ought to obey their husbands."

"Thou'll oblige me by saying so to her, and I'll be glad to know if thou likes what thou'll get."

"You think she cannot be managed?"

"Not without one o' th' archangels likes to try. I'll not say he wouldn't be sorry at after."

"It does seem such a sad way for you to live," said Avice pityingly.

"Grin and bide," said Dan philosophically. "Grin while I can, and bide when I can't. But I'll tell thee what--if some o' them fighting fellows as goes up and down a-seeking for adventures, 'd just take off Ankaret and Mildred--well, I don't know about El'nor: she's been better o'

late--and eh, but they couldn't take Her, or I'd ha' given th' cow into th' bargain, and been right glad on't--and if me and Emma and Bertha could ha' settled down in a bit of a house somewhere, and been peaceable--Come, it's no use hankering over things as can't be.

Elsewise, I'd ha' said a chap might ha' had a bit o' comfort then."

"Uncle Dan, did you ever think of praying that Aunt Filomena might have a better temper?"

"Ever think of what?" demanded Uncle Dan in the biggest capitals ever seen on a placard.

"You know G.o.d could make her temper sweet, Uncle Dan."

"Thou believes that, does thou?"

"I do."

"So will I--when I see't. I reckon I'll have a rare capful o' larks by th' sky falling, first."

"The sky will fall some day, my son," said the voice of Father Thomas, behind Dan. His soft rap had been unheard through Dan's ba.s.s voice, and he had entered unperceived.

"Well, Father, you should know the rights on't," was Dan's answer, with a pull at his hair. "Being a priest, I reckon you're good friends wi'

th' angels and th' sky and all that sort of thing; but--I ask your pardon, Father, but She belongs to t'other lot, and you don't know her.

Eh, you don't, so!"

And with an ominous shake of his head, and a good-night to Avice and Bertha, Dan pa.s.sed out.

"Our Lord could do that, Father?" said Avice softly.

"Certainly, my daughter. 'Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He--in the heavens, and in the earth, and in the sea, and in all depths.'"

Father Thomas had not much of the Bible--only one Gospel and a Book of Psalms--but what he had he studied well. And one page of the Word of G.o.d will do a great deal for a man, with the Spirit of G.o.d to bring it home to a willing ear and a loving heart.

"May I pray for Aunt Filomena? I am so sorry for Uncle Dan. He is not a bad man, and she makes his home unbearable."

"G.o.d forgive her! By all means pray for both."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A SPICE OF PHILOSOPHY.

While Dan was thus detailing his troubles in Avice's kitchen, his daughter Emma was finis.h.i.+ng her day's work. She was apprenticed to an embroideress; for all kinds of embroidery were in much greater use then than now. There was no sort of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g except embroidery and fur; there were no such things as printed cottons; and not only ladies'