Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 23

"G.o.d wot," saith _Father_. "I am not of His council-chamber. My Master's plain word is enough for me."

"One might think that a warning from beyond the grave should have so solemn an effect on a sinner."

"Nay, we be told right contrary. 'If they hear not _Moses_ and the prophets, neither will they believe though one rise from death again.'

How much rather when One hath risen from the dead, and they have refused to hear Him?"

Then arose Dr _Meade_, that was discoursing with _Mynheer_ of a corner, and prayers were had. After which a grace-cup, and then all took their leave, Master _Park_ being last to go as to come. And just ere he was through the door, saith _Austin_ to Aunt _Joyce_, a-laughing--

"You'll mind to let me know, Mistress _Joyce_, what the ghost saith to you. I can stand it second-hand, may-be."

"That's a jolly hearing, from one of the stronger s.e.x to one of the weaker!" quoth she. "Well said, thou mocking companion: I will give thee to wit--a piece of my mind, if no more."

_Christmas-Day_, of course, all to church: and in the even sat down to supper seventy-six, all but ourselves poor men and women and childre.

And two of the barons of beef, and six bowls of plum-porridge, and one hundred pies of divers kinds,--to say nought of lesser dishes, that _Milly_ counted up to eighty. Then after, snap-dragon, whereat was much mirth; and singing of _Christmas_ carols, and games with the childre.

And all away looking mighty pleased.

Daft _Madge_ would know of me if the angels lived o' plum-porridge. I told her I thought not so.

"It is like to be somewhat rare good," quoth she. "The Lord's so rich, look you,--main richer nor Sir _Aubrey_. If t' servant gives poor folk plum-porridge, what'll t' Master give?"

_Father_ answered her, for he was close by--

"'Fat things full of marrow, wines on the lees well refined.'"

"Eh, that sounds good!" saith she, a-licking of her lips. "And that's for t' hungry folk, Master?"

"It is only for hungry folk," saith he. "'Tis not thrown away on the full ones. 'Whosoever will, take,' saith the Lord, who gives the feast."

"Eh, then I shall get some!" saith she, a-laughing all o'er her face, as she doth when she is pleased at aught. "You'll be sure and let me know when 'tis, Master? I'll come, if 'tis snow up to t' knees all t' way."

"The Lord will be sure and let thee know, _Madge_, when 'tis ready,"

saith _Father_; for he hath oft said that little as poor _Madge_ can conceive, he is a.s.sured she is one of G.o.d's childre.

"Oh, if 'tis _Him_ to let me know, 't'll be all right," saith _Madge_, smiling and drawing of her cloak around her. "He'll not forget _Madge_--not He. He come down o' purpose to die for _me_, you know."

_Father_ saith, as _Madge_ trudged away in her clogs after old _Madge_, her grandmother--

"Ah, rich _Madge_--not poor! May-be thine shall be the most abundant entrance of any in this chamber."

I am at the end of my month, and as to-morrow I hand the book to _Helen_. But I dare not count up my two-pences, for I am feared they be so many.

Note 1. Complexion, at this date, signified temperament, not colour.

The Middle Age physicians divided the complexions of mankind into four-- the lymphatic, the sanguine, the nervous, and the bilious: and their treatment was always grounded on these considerations. Colour of skin, hair, and eyes, being considered symptomatic of complexion, the word was readily transferred from one to the other.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

AUNT JOYCE TACKLES A GHOST.

"'Twas but one little drop of sin We saw this morning enter in, And lo! at eventide the world is drowned."

Keble.

(_In Helen's handwriting_.)

SELWICK HALL, JANUARY YE IV.

Dear heart, but I ne'er thought our _Edith_ should have filled so much paper! Yet it doth seem me she is more livelier at writing than at household duties. I have watched her pen a-flying of a night (for she can write twice as fast as I, she writing of the new _Italian_ hand, and I but the old _English_) [Note 1] till I marvelled whate'er she found to say. And methinks she hath, likewise, a better memory than I, for I reckon I should have made some mighty blunder in all these long talks which she hath set down so pat.

I had no time to write afore to-day, nor much now: for o' New Year's Day had we all the childre of all the vicinage, and I were fair run off my feet, first a-making ready, and then a-playing games. Then was there a 'stowing away of such matter as should not be wanted again o' Twelfth Night. Trust me, but after Twelfth Night we shall have some jolly work!

Dear heart! but how much hath happed since the last line I writ in this book, and 'tis but two months gone. I do see, as saith the wise man, that we verily wit not what a day may bring forth.

Our _Milly_ is coming back something to her old self, though methinks she hath learned an hard lesson, and shall ne'er be so light and foolish as aforetime. I trust this is not unkindly to say, for in very deed I mean it not so. But more and more hear we of all sides touching this Master _Norris_ (as Aunt _Joyce_ saith is his true name), which doth plainly show him a right evil man, and that if our poor _Milly_ had trusted to his fair words, she should soon have had cause to repent her bitterly thereof. Why, there is scarce a well-favoured maid in all _Derwentdale_, nor _Borrowdale_, that hath not token to show of him, and an heap of besugared flatteries for to tell. Eh, but what an ill world is this we live in!--and how thankful should young maids be that have a good home to shelter them in, and a loving father and mother to defend them from harm! Trust me, but I never knew how ill place was the world.

Nor did I ever truly conceive aforetime of Aunt _Joyce_. Methought that for her, being rich and well to do, the wheels of life had run rare smooth: and that 'twas but a short way to the bottom of her mind and heart. And all suddenly an hand uplifts the corner of a curtain that I had taken no note of, and lo! a mighty deep that I never guessed to be there. Is it thus with all folks, I do marvel?--and if we could look into the inwards of them that seem as though nought were in them, should we find great dreary caverns, or vast mines of wealth? Yet for all this is Aunt _Joyce_ ever bright and cheery, and ready to do all kindly service for whoso it be that needeth it. And 'tis harder to carry an heavy burden that it shall not show under your cloak, than to heave it up on your shoulder. I did alway love Aunt _Joyce_, but never better, methinks, than sithence I have known somewhat more of her inner mind.

Poor hasty spirits that we be, how do we misjudge other folk! But now I must tarry in my chronicling, for I hear _Anstace'_ voice below, and I reckon she is come to help in making ready for Twelfth Night.

SELWICK HALL, JANUARY YE VIII.

Well! Twelfth Night is o'er, and the most of things 'stowed away, and all come back to our common ways. Sixty-eight guests had we, grown folk and childre, and I shall not essay, as I see _Edith_ hath done rarely, to set down all their names; only there were most of those that come on _Christmas_ Eve, but not Dr _Meade_ and his folks, he being bidden of my Lord _Dilston_. Much merriment was there a-drawing of king and queen, and it o'er, behold, _Dudley Murthwaite_ was King, and _Mother_ was Queen. So _Father_ (which had drawn the Chamberlain) right courtlily hands _Mother_ up to the throne, that was set at the further end of the great chamber, all laughing rarely to see how well 'twas done: and _Martha Rigg, Agnes Benson, Gillian Armstrong_, and our _Milly_, that had drawn the Maids of Honour, did dispose themselves behind her. Aunt _Joyce_ was Mother of the Maids, and she said she would have a care to rule them with a rod of iron. So she armed her with the poker, and shaked it at each one that t.i.ttered, till the most were a-holding of their sides with laughter. _Jack Lewthwaite_ drew the Chancellor, and right well he carried him. Ere their Majesties abdicated, and the Court dispersed, had we rare mirth, for Aunt _Joyce_ laid afore the throne a 'plaint of one of her maids for treason, which was _Gillian_, that could no way keep her countenance: and 'twas solemnly decreed of their Majesties, and ratified of the Chancellor, that the said prisoner be put in fetters, and made to drink poison: the which fetters were a long piece of silver lace that had come off a gown of _Mother's_, and the poison a gla.s.s of syllabub, which Mr Chancellor brought to the prisoner, that screamed and begged for mercy, but had it not--and hard work had _Gillian_ to beg for mercy, for she was laughing till she could scarce utter no words. Howbeit, this o'er, all we gathered around the fire, and played at divers sitting games. And as we were in the midst of "I love my love," and had but just finished R,-- afore _Margaret Benson_, that was next, could begin with S,--behold, a strange voice behind, yet no strange one, crieth out loud and cheery--

"I love my love with an S, because she is sweet; I hate her with S, because she is sulky: I took her to the sign of the _s.h.i.+p_, and treated her to sprats and seaweed; her name is _Sophonisba Suckabob_, and she comes from _San Sebastian_."

Well, we turned round all and looked on him that had spoke, but in good sooth not one of us knew the bright fresh face, until _Mother_ cries out,--"_Ned_! _Ned_, my boy!" and then, I warrant you, there was some kissing and hand-shaking, ay, more than a little.

"Fleet ahoy!" saith _Ned_. "Haven't seen so many crafts in the old harbour, for never so long."

"Why, _Ned_, hast thou forgot 'tis Twelfth Night?" says _Milly_.

"So 'tis," quoth _Ned_. "Shall I dance you a hornpipe?"

So after all the greeting was done, _Ned_ sat down next to _Mother_: but we gat no further a-loving of our loves that night, for all wanted to hear _Ned_, that is but now come back from the _Spanish_ seas: and divers tales he told that were rare taking, and one or twain that did make my flesh creep: but truly his sea-talk is rare hard to conceive.

When all at once saith _Ned_:--

"Have you a ghost cruising these parts?"

"Eh, _Ned_, hast thou seen her?" cries _Austin Park_.

"Who's her?" saith _Ned_. "I've seen a craft with a white hull and all sails up, in the copse nigh old _Nanny's_."

"Couldst thou make it thy conveniency to speak _English, Ned_?" saith _Father_. "That is the language we talk in _Derwentdale_."

_Ned_ laughed, and saith, "I'll endeavour myself; but 'tis none so easy to drop it. Well, who or what is it?"

"'Tis a ghost," saith _Austin_; "and folks laughed at me when I said I had seen it: may-be they'll give o'er now."