Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 2

SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER YE II.

_Milly_ saith, and _Edith_ likewise, that I must needs set down somewhat touching all us,--who we be, and how many, and our names, and such like.

Truly, it seemeth me somewhat lost labour, if none but ourselves are to read the same. But as _Milly_ will have it the Queen's Majesty and all her Council shall be highly diverted thereby (though little, as methinks, they should care to know of us), I reckon, to please these my sisters, I must needs do their bidding.

We therefore, that dwell in _Selwick_ Hall, be Sir _Aubrey Louvaine_, the owner thereof (that is _Father_), and Dame _Lettice_ his wife, and us their daughters, _Helen, Milisent_, and _Editha_. Moreover, there is Aunt _Joyce Morrell_, that dwelleth in _Oxfords.h.i.+re_, at _Minster Lovel_, but doth once every five year tarry six months with us, and we with her the like: so that we see each the other once in every two or three years. 'Tis but a week Aunt _Joyce_ hath been hither, so all the six months be to run. And here I should note she is not truly our aunt, but _Father's_ cousin, her mother being sister unto his mother: but _Father_ had never no brother nor sister, and was bred up along, with these his cousins, Aunt _Joyce_ and Aunt _Anstace_, after whom mine eldest sister hath her name: but Aunt _Anstace_ hath been dead these many years, afore any of us were born. I would I had known her; for to hear them talk of her,--_Father_, and _Mother_, and Aunt _Joyce_,--I could well-nigh think her an angel in human flesh. Now, wherefore is it, for I have oft-times marvelled, that we speak more tenderly and reverently of folk that be dead, than of the living? Were I to die a young maid, should _Milly_ (that loves to mock me now) tell her children henceforward of their Aunt _Helen_, as though she had been somewhat better than other women? May-be. If we could only use folks we love, while they do live, with the like loving reverence as we shall do after they be dead, if we overlive them! Wherefore do we not so? We do seem for to forget then all that we loved not in them. Could we not essay to do the same a little sooner?

And when _Milly_ cometh hither in her reading, as sure as her name is _Milisent_, shall she say,--"Now, Mistress _Nell_, there you go, a-riding your high horse of philosophy! Prithee, keep to common earth."

Beside those I have named, in the house dwelleth Mynheer _Floris Stuyvesant_, a _Dutch_ gentleman that did flee from his country when the persecution was in _Holland_, eleven years gone: and _Father_, which had a little known him aforetime when he made the grand tour, did most gladly welcome him hither, and made him (of his own desire) governor to _Ned_ and _Wat_, our brothers. These our brothers dwell not now at home, for _Wat_ is squire unto my very good Lord of _Oxenford_, that is _Father's_ kinsman: and _Ned_ is at sea with Sir _Humphrey Gilbert_. We therefore see them but rarely. Then, beyond, there is likewise in the house Mistress _Elizabeth Wolvercot_, that is a cousin of _Mother_, whom all we do alway call Cousin _Bess_; she dwelleth with us at all times.

Also be _Kate_ and _Caitlin_, of whom I have aforetime spoken: and old _Matthias_, our serving-man; and the boy, _Adam_ o' Bill's o' old Mall's.

And here I should note that once were two of us more, _Aubrey_ and _Julian_: of whom _Aubrey_ died a babe, three years afore I was born, and _Julian_ a little maid of eleven years, between _Milly's_ birth and _Edith's_. I mind her well, for she was two years elder than I, so that I was nine years old when she departed; but _Milly_, that was only three, cannot remember her.

Our eldest of all, _Anstace_, is wife unto Master _Henry Banaster_, and dwelleth (as _Milly_ saith) next door, he having the estate joining _Father's_ own. She hath two children, _Aubrey_, that is of seven years, and _Cicely_, that is four; beside her eldest, _Lettice_, which did decease in the cradle.

I reckon I have told all now, without I name the cows, which be _Daisy_, and _Molly_, and _b.u.t.tercup_, and _Rose_, and _Ladybird_, and _June_; and the great house-dog, which is _Clover_; and the cat, which is a _Spanish_ cat [a tortoise-sh.e.l.l cat, then a rarity], her name _Hermosa_ (the which _Ned_ gave her, saying a _Spanish_ cat should have a _Spanish_ name, and _Hermosa_ signifieth beautiful in that tongue), but _Caitlin_ will make it _Moses_, and methinks she is called _Moses_ more than aught else. She hath two kits, that be parti-coloured like herself, their names (given of _Milly) Dan_ and _Nan_.

And now I feel well-nigh sure I have said all.

Nay, and forgat the horses! _Milly_ will laugh at me, for she dearly loveth an horse. We have six riding-horses, with two baggage-horses, but only four of them have names,--to wit, _Father's_, that is _Favelle_, because he is favel-colour [chestnut]; and _Mother's, Garnet_; and mine, _Cowslip_; and the last, that _Milly_ or _Edith_ doth commonly ride when we journey, is called _Starlight_.

And now I have verily told every thing.

(_At this point the handwriting of the chronicle changes_.)

'Tis not yet my turn to write, but needs must, or it shall cause me to split in twain with laughter. Here is our _Nell_, reckoning three times o'er that she hath told all, and finding somewhat fresh every time, and with all her telling, hath set down never a note of what we be like, nor so much as the colour of one of our eyes. So, having gat hold of her chronicle, I shall do it for her. I dare reckon she was feared it should cost her two pence each one. But nothing venture, nothing have; and _Mother_ laid down that we should write our true thoughts. So what I think shall I write; and how to make _Father's_ two pence rhyme with _Mother's_ avis.e.m.e.nt, I leave to Mistress _Nell_ and her philosophy.

_Father_ is a gentleman of metely good height, and well-presenced, but something heavy built: of a dark brown hair, a broad white brow, and dark grey eyes that be rare sweet and lovesome. Of old time was he squire of the body unto my right n.o.ble Lord of _Surrey_, that was execute in old King _Henry's_ days. Moreover, he is of far kin (yet not so far, neither) unto my most worthy Lord of _Oxenford_. Now, sithence I am to write my thoughts, I must say that I would _Father_ had a better nose. I cannot speak very truth and set down that I did ever admire _Father's_ nose. But he hath good white teeth, and a right pleasant smile, the which go far to make amends for his nose.

_Mother_ was right fair when she was a young maid, and is none so ill now. She is graceful of carriage, very fair of complexion, and hath the sweetest, s.h.i.+ning golden hair was ever seen. Her eyes be pale grey [blue], right like the sky.

Of us three maids, _Edith_ is best-favoured, and all that see her do say she is right the very picture of _Mother_, when she was young. Next her am I; for though I say it, I am a deal fairer than either _Anstace_ or _Nell_, both which favour [resemble] _Father_, though _Nell_ is the liker, by reason she hath his mind as well as his face. Now, _Nell_ is all ways slower than _Edith_ and me, and nothing like so well-favoured.

But for beauty, the least I did ever see in any man is in Mynheer _Stuyvesant_, which hath a flat nose and a stoop in the shoulders, and is high and thin as a scarecrow. Cousin _Bess_ is metely well,--she is rosy and throddy [plump]. For Aunt _Joyce_, I do stand in some fear of her sharp speeches, and will say nought of her, saving that (which she can not deny) she hath rosy cheeks and dark brown hair (yet not so dark as _Father's_), and was, I guess, a comely young maid when she were none elder than we. As for _Ned_ and _Wat, Ned_ is the better-favoured, he having _Mother's_ nose and the rest of him _Father_; but _Wat_ (which favoureth _Mother_ of his colouring, yet is not so comely) a deal the courtlier.

Now when they shall all come to read this same, trow, shall they know their own portraits? or shall they every one cry out, "This is not me!"

So now I leave the rest to Mistress _Helen_, till it shall come to me next month, when I will say what I think yet again.

SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER YE V.

(_In Helen's handwriting_.)

Dear heart, but what hath _Milly_ been a-doing! I could not think last night where was my book, but I was rare sleepy, and let it a-be. And here this morrow do I find a good two pages all scribbled o'er of _Milly's_ writing. Well! 'tis not my fault, so I trust shall not be my blame.

And it is true, as _Milly_ saith, that she is better-favoured than I.

As for _Anstace_, I wis not, only I know and am well a.s.sured, that I am least comely of the four. But she should never have writ what she did touching _Father's_ nose, and if it cost me two pence, that must I say.

I do love every bit of _Father_, right down to the tip of his nose, and I never thought if it were well-favoured or no. 'Tis _Father_, and that is all for me. And so should it be for _Milly_,--though it be two pence more to say so.

SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER YE VI.

We had been sat at our sewing a good hour this morrow,--that is, _Mother_, and Aunt _Joyce_, and we three maids,--when all at once _Milly_ casts hers down with a sigh fetched from ever so far.

"Weary of sewing, _Milly_?" saith _Mother_ with a smile.

"Ay--no--not right that, _Mother_," quoth she. "But here have I been this hour gone, a-wis.h.i.+ng I had been a man, till it seemed me as if I could not abide for to be a woman no longer."

"The general end of impossible wishes," saith _Mother_, laughing a little.

"Well!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, a-biting off her thread, "in all my wis.h.i.+ng never yet wished I that."

"Wherefore is it, _Milly_?" saith _Mother_.

"Oh, a man has more of his own way than a woman," _Milly_ makes answer.

"And he can make some noise in the world. He is not tied down to stupid humdrum matters, such like as sewing, and cooking, and distilling, and picking of flowers, with a song or twain by now and then to cheer you.

A man can preach and fight and write books and make folk listen."

"I mis...o...b.. if thou art right, _Milly_, to say that a man hath the more of his own way always," saith _Mother_. "Methinks there be many women get much of that."

"Then a man is not tied down to one corner. He can go and see the world," saith _Milly_.

"In short," quoth Aunt _Joyce_, "the moral of thy words, Milly, is--'Untie me.'"

"I wish I were so!" mutters _Milly_.

"And what should happen next?" saith Aunt _Joyce_.

"Why, I reckon I could not do much without money," answereth _Milly_.

"Oh, grant all that," quoth Aunt _Joyce_,--"money, and leave, and all needed, and Mistress _Milisent_ setting forth to do according to her will. What then?"

"Well, I would first go up to _London_," saith she, "and cut some figure in the Court."

Aunt _Joyce_ gave a dry little laugh.

"There be figures of more shapes than one, _Milly_," saith she.

"Howbeit--what next?"

"Why, then, methinks, I would go to the wars."

"And bring back as many heads, arms, and legs, as thou tookest thither?"

"Oh, for sure," saith _Milly_. "I would not be killed."

"Just. Very well,--Mistress _Milisent_ back from the wars, and covered with glory. And then?"

"Well--methinks I would love to be a judge for a bit."

"Dry work," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "And then a bishop?"

"Ay, if you will."