Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 1

Joyce Morrell's Harvest.

by Emily Sarah Holt.

PREFACE.

Those to whom "Lettice Eden" is an old friend will meet with many acquaintances in these pages. The lesson is partly of the same type-- the difference between that which seems, and that which is; between the gold which will stand the fire, and the imitation which the flame will dissolve in a moment; between the true diamond, small though it be, which is worth a fortune, and the glittering paste which is worth little more than nothing.

But here there is a further lesson beyond this. It is one which G.o.d takes great pains to teach us, and which we, alas! are very slow to learn. "Tarry thou the Lord's leisure." In the dim eyes of frail children of earth, G.o.d's steps are often very slow. We are too apt to forget that they are very sure. But He will not be hurried: He has eternity to work in, "If we ask anything according to His will, He heareth us." How many of us, who fancied their prayers unheard because they could not see the answer, may find that answer, rich, abundant, eternal, in that Land where they shall know as they are known! Let us wait for G.o.d. We shall find some day that it was worth while.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE DWELLERS AT SELWICK HALL.

"He would be on the mountain's top, without the toil and travail of the climbing."--Tupper.

SELWICK HALL, LAKE DERWENt.w.a.tER, OCTOBER YE FIRST, MDLXXIX.

It came about, as I have oft noted things to do, after a metely deal of talk, yet right suddenly in the end.

Aunt _Joyce_, _Milly_, _Edith_, and I, were in the long gallery. We had been talking a while touching olden times (whereof Aunt _Joyce_ is a rare hand at telling of stories), and _Mother's_ chronicle she was wont to keep, and hath shown us, and such like matter. When all at once quoth _Edith_--

"Why should not _we_ keep a chronicle?"

"Ay, why not?" saith Aunt _Joyce_, busied with her sewing.

_Milly_ fell a-laughing.

"Dear heart, _Edith_, and what should we put in a chronicle?" saith she.

"'_Monday_, the cat washed her face. _Tuesday_, it rained.

_Wednesday_, _Nell_ made a tansy pudding. _Thursday_, I lost my temper.

_Friday_, I found it again. _Sat.u.r.day_, _Edith_ looked in the mirror, and Aunt _Joyce_ made an end of a piece of sewing.' Good lack, it shall be a rare jolly book!"

"Nay, I would never set down such stuff as that," answered _Edith_.

"Why, what else is there?" saith _Milly_. "We have dwelt hither ever since we were born, saving when we go to visit Aunt _Joyce_, and one day is the very cut of an other. Saving when Master _Stuyvesant_ came hither, nought never happened in this house since I was born."

"Would'st love better a life wherein matters should happen, _Milly_?"

saith Aunt _Joyce_, looking up at her, with a manner of face that I knew. It was a little mirthful, yet sorrowful withal.

"Ay, I would so!" quoth she.

"Child," Aunt _Joyce_ makes answer, "'happy is the man that hath no history.'"

"But things do happen, _Milly_," saith _Edith_. "Thou hast forgot _Anstace_ her wedding."

"_That_ something happening!" pouts _Milly_. "Stupid humdrum business!

Do but think, to wed a man that dwelleth the next door, which thou hast known all thy life! Why, I would as lief not be wed at all, very nigh."

"It seemed to suit _Anstace_," puts in _Edith_.

"Aught should do that."

"Ay," saith Aunt _Joyce_, something drily, "'G.o.dliness is great riches, if a man be content with that he hath.'" [Note 1.]

"Easy enough, trow, when you have plenty," quoth _Milly_.

"Nay, it is hardest then," saith she. "'Much would have more.'"

"What wist Aunt _Joyce_ thereabout?" murmurs _Milly_, so that I could just hear. "She never lacked nought she wanted."

"Getting oldish, _Milly_, but not going deaf, thank G.o.d," saith Aunt _Joyce_, of her dry fas.h.i.+on. "Nay, child, thou art out there. Time was when I desired one thing, far beyond all other things in this world, and did not get it."

"Never, _Aunt_?"

"Never, _Milly_." And a somewhat pained look came into her face, that is wont to seem so calm.

"What was it, Aunt _Joyce_, sweet heart?"

"Well, I took it for fine gold, and it turned out to be pinchbeck,"

saith she. "There's a deal of that sort of stuff in this world."

Methought _Milly_ feared to ask further, and all was still till _Edith_ saith--

"Would you avise us, Aunt _Joyce_, to keep a chronicle, even though things did not happen?"

"Things will happen, trust me," she made answer. "Ay, dear maids, methinks it should be profitable for you."

"Now, Aunt _Joyce_, I would you had not said that!"

"Why, _Milly_?"

"By reason that things which be profitable be alway dry and gloomsome."

"Not alway, _Lettice Eden's_ daughter."

I could not help but smile when Aunt _Joyce_ said this. For indeed, _Mother_ hath oft told us how, when she was a young maid like _Milly_, she did sorely hate all gloom and sorrowfulness, nor could not abide for to think thereon. And _Milly_ is much of that turn.

"Then which of us shall keep the grand chronicle?" saith _Edith_, when we had made an end of laughing.

"Why not all of you?" quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "Let each keep it a month a-piece, turn about."

"And you, Aunt _Joyce_?"

"Nay, I will keep no chronicles. I would not mind an' I writ my thoughts down of the last page, when it was finished."

"But who shall read it?" said I.