Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 22

"Nay, come closer," saith Sir _Robert_. "What shall hap in the next few reigns?"

"'I will overturn, overturn, overturn, until He come whose right it is: and I will give it Him.' There is our pole-star, _Robin_: and I see no other stars. 'This same _Jesus_ shall so come.' 'Even so, come, Lord _Jesus_!'"

"Yet may He not be said to 'come' by the Spirit shed abroad in the hearts of men, and so the world be regenerated?"

"Find that in G.o.d's Word, _Robin_, afore He comes, and I will welcome it with all my heart," answers _Father_. "I could never see it there. I see there a mighty spread of knowledge, and civility [civilisation], and communications of men--as hath been since the invention of printing, and may be destined to spread yet much further abroad. But knowledge is not faith, nor is civility _Christianity_. And, in fine, He is to come as He went. He did not go invisibly in the hearts of men."

"But 'the kingdom of G.o.d is within you.'"

"Ay, in the sense wherein the word is there used. The power of _Christ_, at that time, was to be a power over men's hearts, not an outward show of regality: but 'He shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go,' is a very different matter."

"Oh, of course we look for our Lord's advent in His own person," quoth Sir _Robert_: "but I cannot think He will come to a sin-stained earth.

It were not suitable to His dignity. The way of the Lord must be prepared."

"We shall see, when He comes," gently answereth _Father_. "But if He _had_ not deigned to come to a sin-stained earth, what should have come either of _Robin Stafford_ or of _Aubrey Louvaine_?"

SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER YE XXIII.

Four nights hath it taken me to write that last piece, for all the days have we been right busy making ready for _Christmas_. There be in the b.u.t.tery now thirty great spice-cakes, and an hundred mince pies, and a mighty bowl of plum-porridge [plum-pudding without the cloth] ready for the boiling, and four barons of beef, and a great sight of carrots and winter greens, and two great cheeses, and a parcel of sugar-candy for the childre, and store of sherris-sack and claret, and _Rhenish_ wine, and muscadel. As to the barrels of ale, and the raisins of _Corance_ [currants] and the apples, and the conserves and codiniac [quince marmalade], and such like, I will not tarry to count them. And to-day, and yet again it shall be to-morrow, have _Mother_ and Aunt _Joyce_, and we three maids, trudged all the vicinage, bidding our neighbours to the Hall on _Christmas_ Eve and for the even of _Christmas_ Day. And as to-night am I well aweary, for _Thirlmere_ side fell to my share, and I was this morrow as far as old _Madge's_ bidding her and young _Madge_, and that is six miles well reckoned. _Father_ saith alway that though it be our duty at all times, yet is it more specially at _Christmas_, to bid the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind: so we have them alway of _Christmas_ night, and of _Christmas_ Eve have we a somewhat selecter gathering, of our own kin and close friends and such like: only Master _Banaster_ and _Anstace_ come both times. Then on New Year's Day have we alway a great sort of childre, and merry games and music and such like. But the last night of the old year will _Father_ have no gatherings nor merrymaking. He saith 'tis a right solemn time; and as each one of us came to the age of fourteen years have we parted at nine o' the clock as usual, but not on that night for bed. Every one sitteth by him or herself in a separate chamber, with a Bible or some portion thereof open afore. There do we read and pray and meditate until half-past eleven, at which time all we gather in the great chamber. Then _Father_ reads first the 139th _Psalm_, and then that piece in the _Revelation_ touching all the dead standing afore G.o.d: and he prayeth a while, until about five minutes afore the year end. Then all gather in the great window toward _Keswick_, and tarry as still as death until Master _Cridge_ ring the great bell on _Lord_ Island, so soon as he hear the chimes of _Keswick_ Church. Then, no sooner hath the bell died away, which telleth to all around that the New Year is born, then _Father_ striketh up, and all we join in, the 100th _Psalm_-- to wit, "All people that on earth do dwell."

And when the last note of the _Amen_ dieth, then we kiss one another, and each wisheth the other a happy new year and G.o.d's blessing therein: and so away to bed.

I reckon I shall not have no time to write again until _Christmas_ Day is well over.

"_Father_," said I last night to him--we were us two alone that minute--"_Father_, do you love _Christmas_?"

He looked on me and smiled.

"I love to see my childre glad, dear maid," saith he: "and I love to feast my poor neighbours, that at other times get little feasting enough. But _Christmas_ is the childre's festival, _Edith_: for it is the festival of untroubled hearts and eyes that have no tears behind them. For the weary hearts and the tearful eyes the true feast is _Easter_. The one is a hope: the other is a victory. There are no clouds o'er the blue sky in the first: the storm is over, and the sun is out again, in the last. 'We believe in the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.' But we are apt to believe in the resurrection the most truly when the grave hath been lately open: and the life of the world to come is the gladdest thought to them for whom the life of the world that is seems not much to live for."

SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER THE XXVIII.

"Well, _Edith_," quoth Aunt _Joyce_ to me last night, "thou hast had a rare time of it!"

"I have, _Aunt_," said I: "yet I warrant you, I was not sorry to have _Sunday_ come at after."

Eh, but I was weary when I gat me abed on _Christmas_ night, and it were ten o'clock well told ere I so did. _Helen_ and _Milisent_ were later yet: but _Mother_ packed me off, saying that growing maids should not tarry up late: and when I found me withinside the blankets, I warrant you, but I was thankful!

I reckon, being now something rested, I must set down all that we did: and first for _Christmas_ Eve.

_Hal_ and _Anstace_ came early (their childre were bidden to _Keswick_ unto a childre's gathering): then about three o' the clock, Master and Mistress _Lewthwaite_, with _Alice, Nym, Jack_, and _Robin_ (and by the same token, _Nym_ played the despairing gallant that I could not choose but laugh, his hat awry and his ruff all o' one side, and a bombasted [padded] doublet that made him look twice his own size). And methought it a sore pity to miss _Blanche_, that was wont to be merriest of us all (when as she were in a good humour) and so _Alice_ said unto me, while the water stood in her eyes. A little while after come Doctor and Mistress _Meade_, and their _Isabel_: then old Mistress _Rigg_, and her three tall daughters, Mrs _Martha_, Mrs _Katherine_, and Mrs _Anne_: then Farmer _Benson_ and his dame, and their _Margaret_ and _Agnes_; and Master _Coward_, with their _Tom_ and _Susan_; and Master and Mistress _Armstrong_, with their _Ben_, _Nicholas_, and _Gillian_. Last of all come Master _Park_ and Master _Murthwaite_, both together, and their mistresses, with the young folk,--_Hugh_ and _Austin Park_, and _Dudley_, _Faith_, and _Temperance Murthwaite_. So our four-and-thirty guests, with ourselves, thirteen, made in all a goodly company of forty-seven.

First, when all were come in and had doffed their out-door raiment, and greeting over, we sat us down to supper: where one of the barons of beef, and plum-porridge, and apple-pies, and chicken-pies, and syllabub, and all manner of good things: but in very deed I might scarce eat my supper for laughing at _Nym Lewthwaite_, that was sat right over against me, and did scarce taste aught, but spent the time in gazing lack-a-daisically on our _Helen_, and fetching great sighs with his hand laid of his heart. Supper o'er, we first had snap-dragon, then hot c.o.c.kles, then blindman's buff, then hunt the weasel. We pausing to take breath at after, _Father_ called us to sing; so we gathered all in the great chamber, and first _Mynheer_ sang a _Dutch_ song, and then Sir _Robert_ and Mistress _Martin_ a rare part-song, touching the beauties of spring-time. Then sang Farmer _Benson_, Master _Armstrong_, and _Ben_ and _Agnes_, "The hunt is up," which was delightsome to hear.

Then Aunt _Joyce_ would sing "Pastime with good company," and would needs have _Milisent_ and me and _Robin Lewthwaite_ to help her. After this _Jack Lewthwaite_ and _Nick Armstrong_ made us to laugh well, by singing "The cramp is in my purse full sore." The music ended with a sweet glee of _Faith_ and _Temperance Murthwaite_ (something sober, but I know it liked _Father_ none the worse) and the old _English_ song of "Summer is yc.u.men in," sung of _Father_ and Sir _Robert_, our _Helen_, and _Isabel Meade_. Then we sat around the fire till rear-supper, and had "Questions and Commands," and cried forfeits, and wound up with "I love my love." And some were rare witty and mirthful in that last, particularly Sir _Robert_, who did treat his love to oranges and orfevery in the _Orcades_ [Hebrides] (and _Father_ said he marvelled how he gat them there), and Aunt _Joyce_, who said her love was _Benjamin Breakrope_, and he came from the Tower of _Babel_. Then, after that, fell we a-telling stories: and a right brave one of _Father_, out of one of his old Chronicles, how Queen _Philippa_ gat a pardon from her lord for the six gentlemen of _Calais_: and a merry, of Dr _Meade_, touching King _John_ and the Abbot of _Canterbury_, and the three questions that the King did ask at the Abbot's gardener (he playing his master), and the witty answers he made unto him. Then would Master _Armstrong_ tell a tale; and an awesome ghost-story it were, that made my flesh creep, and _Milisent_ whispered in mine ear that she should sleep never a wink at after it.

"Eh!" saith Farmer _Benson_, and fetched an heavy sigh: "ghosts be ill matter of an house."

"Saw you e'er a ghost, Farmer _Benson_?" saith _Dudley Murthwaite_.

"Nay, lad," quoth he: "I've had too much good daylight work in my time to lie awake a-seeing ghosts when night cometh."

"Ah, but I've seen a ghost," saith _Austin Park_.

"Oh, where?" cried a dozen together.

"Why, it was but night afore last," saith he, "up by the old white-thorn that was strake of the lightning, come two years last Midsummer, just at yon reach o' the lake that comes up higher than the rest."

"Ay, ay," saith Farmer _Benson_: "and what like were it, Master _Austin_?"

"A woman all in white, with her head cut off," quoth he.

"Said she aught to thee?"

"Nay, I gave her no chance; I took to my heels," quoth he.

"Now, _Austin_, that should I ne'er have done," saith Aunt _Joyce_, who believes in ghosts never a whit. "I would have stood my ground, for I did never yet behold a ghost, and would dearly love to do it: and do but think how curious it should be to find out what she spake withal, that had her head cut off."

"Mistress _Joyce_, had you found you, as I did, close to a blasted tree, and been met of a white woman with no head, I'll lay you aught you will you'd never have run no faster," saith _Austin_ in an injured tone.

"That should I _not_," quoth Aunt _Joyce_ boldly. "I shall win my fortune at that game, _Austin_, if thou deny not thy debts of honour.

Why, man o' life, what harm should a blasted tree do me? Had the lightning struck it that minute while I stood there, then might there have been some danger: but because the lightning struck it two years gone, how should it hurt me now? And as to a woman with no head, that would I tarry to believe till I had stripped off her white sheet and seen for myself."

"Eh, Mistress _Joyce_," cries old Mistress _Rigg_, "but sure you should never dare to touch a ghost?"

"There be not many things, save sin, Mistress _Rigg_, that I should not dare to do an' it liked me. I have run after a thief with a poker: ay, and I have handled a Popish catchpoll, in Queen _Mary's_ days, that he never came near my house no more. And wherefore, I pray you tell me, should I be more feared of a spirit without a body than of a spirit within the body?--_Austin_, if thou meet the ghost again, prithee bid her come up to _Selwick_ Hall and ask for _Joyce Morrell_, for I would give forty s.h.i.+llings to have a good talk with her. Only think, how much a ghost could tell a body!"

"Lack-a-day, Mistress _Joyce_, I'll neither make nor meddle with her!"

cries _Austin_.

"Poor weak soul!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. Whereat many laughed.

So, after a while, sat we down to rear-supper; and at after that, gathered in small groups, twos and threes and the like, and talked: and I with _Isabel Meade_, and _Temperance Murthwaite_, and _Austin Park_, had some rare merriment touching divers matters. When all at once I heard Aunt _Joyce_ say--

"Well, but what ill were there in asking questions of spirits, if they might visit the earth?"

"The ill for which _Adam_ was turned forth of _Eden_," saith _Father_: "disobedience to a plain command of G.o.d. Look in the xviii chapter of _Deuteronomy_, and you shall see necromancy forbidden by name. That is, communication with such as be dead."

"But that were for religion, Sir _Aubrey_," saith Master _Coward_.

"This, look you, were but matter of curiousness."

"That is to say, it was _Eva's_ sin rather than _Adam's_," _Father_ makes answer. "Surely, that which is forbid as solemn matter of religion, should be rather forbid as mere matter of curiousness."

"But was that aught more than a ceremonial law of the _Jews_, no longer binding upon _Christians_?" saith Sir _Robert_.

"Nay, then, turn you to _Paul's_ Epistle to _Timothy_," quoth _Father_, "where among the doctrines taught by them that shall depart from the faith, he doth enumerate 'doctrines of devils,'--or, as the _Greek_ hath it, of demons. Now these demons were but dead men, whom the _Pagans_ held to be go-betweens for living men with their G.o.ds. So this, see you, is a two-edged sword, forbidding all communication with the dead, whether as saints to be invoked, or as visitants to be questioned."

"n.o.body's like to question 'em save Mistress _Joyce_," saith Farmer _Benson_, of his husky voice, which alway soundeth as though he should have an ill rheum of his throat.

Aunt _Joyce_ laughed. "Nay, I were but joking," quoth she: "but I warrant you, if I meet _Austin's_ white woman without a head, I'll see if she be ghost or no."

"But what think you, Sir _Aubrey_--wherefore was such communication forbid?" saith Master _Murthwaite_.