The King's Daughters Part 9

Note 1. Peaked: Very thin and pinched-looking.

Note 2. Come up. An exclamation of surprise, then often used.

CHAPTER TEN.

BROUGHT OUT, TO BE BROUGHT IN.

Loud and full rang the volume of voices in the kitchen of the King's Head at Colchester, that winter evening. They did not stand up in silence and let a choir do it for them, while they listened to it as they might to a German band, and with as little personal concern. When men's hearts are warm with patriotism, or overflowing with loyalty, they don't want somebody else to sing _Rule, Britannia_, or _G.o.d Save the Queen_; the very enjoyment lies in doing it themselves. n.o.body would dream of paying another person to go to a party or to see a royal procession for him. Well, then, when we prefer to keep silent, and hear somebody sing G.o.d's praises instead of doing it ourselves, what can it mean except that our Hearts are not warm with love and overflowing with thankfulness, as they ought to be? And cold hearts are not the stuff that makes martyrs.

There was plenty of martyr material in the King's Head kitchen that night--from old Agnes Silverside to little Cissy Johnson; from the learned priest, Mr Pulleyne, to many poor men and women who did not know their letters. They were not afraid of what people would say, nor even of what people might do. And yet they knew well that it was possible, and even likely, that very terrible things might be done to them. Their feeling was,--Well, let them be done, if that be the best way I can glorify G.o.d. Let them be done, if it be the way in which I can show that I love Jesus Christ. Let them be done, if by suffering with Him I can win a place nearer to Him, and send a thrill of happiness to the Divine and human heart of the Saviour who paid His heart's blood to ransom me.

So the hymn was not at all too long for them, though it had fifteen verses; and the sermon was not too long, though it lasted an hour and a half. When people have to risk their lives to hear a sermon is not the time when they cry out to have sermons cut shorter. They very well knew that before another meeting took place at the King's Head, some, and perhaps all of them, might be summoned to give up liberty and life for the love of the Lord Jesus.

Mr Pulleyne took for his text a few words in the 23rd verse of the sixth chapter of Deuteronomy. "He brought us out from thence, that He might bring us in." He said to the people:--

"'He brought us out'--who brought us? G.o.d, our Maker; G.o.d, that loved the world. 'He brought us out'--who be we? Poor, vile, wicked sinners, worms of the earth, things that He could have crushed easier than I can crush a moth. From whence? From Egypt, the house of bondage; from sin, self, Satan--the only three evil things there be: whereby I mean, necessarily inwardly, utterly evil. Thence He brought us out. Friends, we must come out of Egypt; out from bondage; out of these three ill things, sin, and self, and Satan: G.o.d will have us out. He will not suffer us to tarry in that land. And if we slack [Hesitate, feel reluctant] to come out, He will drive us sharp thence. Let us come out quick, and willingly. There is nothing we need sorrow to leave behind; only the task-master, Satan; and the great monster, sin; and the slime of the river wherein he lieth hid, self. He will have at us with his ugly jaws, and bite our souls in twain, if we have not a care. Let us run fast from this land where we leave behind such evil things.

"But see, there is more than this. G.o.d had an intent in thus driving us forth. He did not bring us out, and leave us there. Nay, 'He brought us out that He might bring us in.' In where? Into the Holy Land, that floweth with milk and honey; the fair land where nothing shall enter that defileth; the safe land where in all the holy mountain nothing shall hurt nor destroy; His own land, where He hath His Throne and His Temple, and is King and Father of them that dwell therein. Look you, is not this a good land? Are you not ready to go and dwell therein? Do not the cl.u.s.ters of its grapes--the hearing of its glories--make your mouths water? See what you shall exchange: for a cruel task-master, a loving Father; for a dread monster, an holy City; for the base and ugly slime of the river, the fair paving of the golden streets, and the soft waving of the leaves of the tree of life, and the sweet melody of angel harps. Truly, I think this good barter. If a man were to exchange a dead rat for a new-struck royal, [see Note 1] men would say he had well traded, he had bettered himself, he was a successful merchant. Lo, here is worse than a dead rat, and better than all the royals in the King's mint. Will ye not come and trade?

"Now, friends, ye must not misconceive me, as though I did mean that men could buy Heaven by their own works. Nay, Heaven and salvation be free gifts--the glorious gifts of a glorious G.o.d, and worthy of the Giver.

But when such gifts are set before you but for the asking, is it too much that ye should rise out of the mire and come?

"'He brought them out, that He might bring them in.' He left them not in the desert, to find their own way to the Holy Land. Marry, should they ever have come there? I trow not. Nay, no more than a babe of a month old, if ye set him down at Bothal's Gate, could find his way to the Moot Hall. But He dealt not with them thus. He left them not to find their own way. He brought them, He led them, He showed them where to plant their feet, first one step, then another, as mothers do to a child when he learneth first to walk. 'As a nurse cherisheth her children,' the Apostle saith he dealt with his converts: and the Lord useth yet tenderer image, for 'as a mother comforteth her babe,' saith He, 'will I comfort you.' Yea, He bids the Prophet Esaias to learn them, 'line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little'--look you, how careful is G.o.d of His nurse-children. 'Feed My Lambs,' saith He: and lambs may not nibble so hard as sheep. They take not so full a mouthful; they love the short gra.s.s, that is sweet and easily cropped. We be all lambs afore we be sheep. Sheep lack much shepherding, but lambs yet more. Both be silly things, apt to stray away, and the wolf catcheth them with little trouble. Now, if a dog be lost, he shall soon find his way back; but a lamb and a babe, if they be lost, they are utterly lost; they can never find the way. Look you, the Lord likeneth His people to lambs and babes, these silly things that be continually lost, and have no wit to find the way. So, brethren, _He_ finds the way. He goeth after that which is lost, until He find it.

First He finds the poor silly lamb, and then He leadeth it in the way wherein it shall go. He 'brings us in' to the fair green pastures and by the still waters--brings us in to the safe haven where the little boats lie at rest--brings us in to the King's banquet-hall where the feast is spread, and the King Himself holdeth forth hands of welcome.-- He stretched not forth the cold sceptre; He giveth His own hand--that hand that was pierced for our sins. What say I? Nay, 'He shall gird Himself, and shall come forth and serve them'--so great honour shall they attain which serve G.o.d, as to have Him serve them.

"Now, brethren, is this not a fair lot that G.o.d appointeth for His people? A King to their guide, and a throne to their bed, and angels to their serving-men--verily these be folks of much distinction that be so served! But, look you, there is one little point we may not miss--'If we suffer, we shall reign.' There is the desert to be pa.s.sed. There is the Jordan to be forded. There is the cross to bear for the Master that bare the cross for us. Yea, we shall best bear our cross by looking well and oft on His cross. Ah! brethren, He standeth close beside; He hath borne it all; He knoweth where the nails run, and in what manner they hurt. Yet a little patience, poor suffering soul! yet a little courage; yet a little stumbling over the rough stones of the wilderness: and then the Golden City, and the royal banquet-hall, and the King that brought us out despite all the Egyptians, that brought us in despite all the dangers of the desert,--the King, our s.h.i.+eld, and Guide, and Father, shall come forth and serve us."

Old Agnes Silverside, the priest's widow, sat with her hands clasped, and her eyes fixed on the preacher. As he ended, she laid her hand upon Rose Allen's.

"My maid," she said, "never mind the wilderness. The stones be sharp, and the sun scorching, and the thirst sore: but one sight of the King in the Golden City shall make up for all!"

Note 1. Ten s.h.i.+llings; this was then the largest coin made.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

UNEXPECTED LODGINGS.

"Now then, who goes home?" cried the cheerful voice of Mrs Wade, when the sermon was over. "You, Mistress Benold?--you, Alice Mount?--you, Meg Thurston? You'd best hap your mantle well about your head.

Mistress Silverside, this sharp even: yon hood of yours is not so thick, and you are not so young as you were once. Now, Adrian Purcas, thee be off with Johnson and Mount; thou'rt not for my money. Agnes Love, woman, I wonder at you! coming out of a November night with no thicker a mantle than that old purple thing, that I'm fair tired of seeing on you.

What's that? 'Can't afford a new one?' Go to Southampton! There's one in my coffer that I never use now. Here, Doll! wherever is that lazy bones? Gather up thy heels, wilt thou, and run to my great oak coffer, and bring yon brown hood I set aside. Now don't go and fetch the red one! that's my best Sunday gear, and thou'rt as like to bring red when I tell thee brown as thou art to eat thy supper.--Well, Alice?"

"I cry you mercy, Hostess, for troubling of you; but Master and me, we're bidden to lie at the mill. Mistress Ewring's been that good; but there's no room for Rose, and--"

"Then Rose can turn in with Dorothy, and I'm fain on't if she'll give her a bit of her earnestness for pay. There's not as much lead to her heels in a twelvemonth as would last Doll a week.--So this is what thou calls a brown hood, is it? I call it a blue ap.r.o.n. Gramercy, the stupidness o' some folks!"

"Please you, Mistress, there was nought but that in the coffer."

"What coffer?"

"The walnut, in the porch-chamber."

"Well, if ever I did! I never spake a word of the walnut coffer, nor the porch-chamber neither, I told thee the great oak coffer, and that's in my chamber, as thou knows, as well as thou knows thy name's Dorothy.

Put that ap.r.o.n back where thou found it, and bring me the brown hood from the oak coffer. Dear heart, but she'll go and cast her eyes about for an oak hood in a brown coffer, as like as not! She's that heedless.

It's not for lack of wit; she could if she would.--Why, what's to be done with yon little sc.r.a.ps! You can never get home to Thorpe such a night as this. Johnson! you leave these bits o' children with me, and I'll send them back to you to-morrow when the cart goes your way for a load of malt. There's room enough for you; you'd all pack in a thimble, well-nigh.--Nay, now! hast thou really found it? Now then, Agnes Love, cast that over you, and hap it close to keep you warm. Pay! bless the woman, I want no pay! only some day I'd like to hear 'Inasmuch' said to me. Good even!"

"You'll hear that, Mistress Wade!" said Agnes Love, a pale quiet-looking woman, with a warm grasp of Mistress Wade's hand. "You'll hear that, and something else, belike--as we've heard to-night, the King will come forth and serve you. Eh, but it warms one's heart to hear tell of it!"

"Ay, it doth, dear heart, it doth! Good-night, and G.o.d bless thee!

Now, Master Pulleyne, I'll show you your chamber, an' it like you. Rose Allen, you know the way to Dorothy's loft? Well, go you up, and take the little ones with you. It's time for babes like them to be abed.

Doll will show you how to make up a bed for them. Art waiting for some one, Bessy?"

"No, Mistress Wade," said Elizabeth Foulkes, who had stood quietly in a corner as though she were; "but if you'd kindly allow it, I'd fain go up too and have a chat with Rose. My mistress gave me leave for another hour yet."

"Hie thee up, good maid, and so do," replied Mrs Wade cheerily, taking up a candlestick to light Mr Pulleyne to the room prepared for him, where, as she knew from past experience, he was very likely to sit at study till far into the night.

Dorothy lighted another candle, and offered it to Rose.

"See, you'll lack a light," said she.

"Nay, not to find our tongues," answered Rose, smiling.

"Ah, but to put yon children abed. Look you in the closet, Rose, as you go into the loft, and you'll see a mattress and a roll of blankets, with a canvas coverlet that shall serve them. You'll turn in with me."

"All right, Doll; I thank you."

"You look weary, Doll," said Elizabeth.

"Weary? Eh, but if you dwelt with our mistress, you'd look weary, be sure. She's as good a woman as ever trod shoe-leather, only she's so monstrous sharp. She thinks you can be there and back before you've fair got it inside your head that you're to go. I marvel many a time whether the angels 'll fly fast enough to serve her when she gets to Heaven. Marry come up but they'll have to step out if they do."

Rose laughed, and led the way upstairs, where she had been several times before.

Inns at that time were built like Continental country inns are now, round a square s.p.a.ce, with a garden inside, and a high archway for the entrance, so high that a load of hay could pa.s.s underneath. There were no inside stairs, but a flight led up to the second storey from the courtyard, and a balcony running all round the house gave access to the bedrooms. Rose, however, went into none of the rooms, but made her way to one corner, where a second steep flight of stairs ran straight up between the walls. These the girls mounted, and at the top entered a low door, which led into a large, low room, lighted by a skylight, and occupied by little furniture. At the further end was a good-sized bed covered with a patchwork quilt, but without any hangings--the absence of these indicating either great poverty or extremely low rank. There was neither drawers, dressing-table, nor washstand. A large chest beside the bed held all Dorothy's possessions, and a leaf-table which would let down was fixed to the wall under a mirror. A form in one corner, and two stools, made up the rest of the furniture. In a corner close to the entrance stood another door, which Rose opened after she had set up the leaf-table and put the candle upon it. Then, with Elizabeth's help, she dragged out a large, thick straw mattress, and the blankets and coverlet of which Dorothy had spoken, and made up the bed in one of the unoccupied corners. A further search revealed a bolster, but no pillows were forthcoming. That did not matter, for they expected none.

"Now then, children, we'll get you into bed," said Rose.

"Will must say his prayers first," said Cissy anxiously.

"Of course. Now, Will, come and say thy prayers, like a good lad."

Will knelt down beside the bed, and did as he was told in a shrill, sing-song voice. Odd prayers they were; but in those days n.o.body knew any better, and most children were taught to say still queerer things.

First came the Lord's Prayer: so far all was right. Then Will repeated the Ten Commandments and the Creed, which are not prayers at all, and finished with this formula:--

"Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Bless the bed that I lie on: Four corners to my bed, Four angels at their head; One to read, and one to write, And one to guard my bed at night.