"I marvel Tom and Jenny Lavender doesn't make it up," said Persis
Fenton, as she laid the white cloth for supper on her little table.
"Here's Jenny got a fine sensible young woman, with God's grace in her
heart (more than ever I looked for), and Tom goes on living in that
cottage all by his self, and never so much as casts an eye towards her--
and that fond of her as he'd used to be, afore, too! Tony, man, don't
you think it's a bit queer?"
"I think," said old Anthony, looking up from his big Bible, which he was
reading by the fireside, "I think, Persis, we'd best leave the Lord to
govern His own world. He hasn't forgot that Tom's in it, I reckon, nor
Jenny neither."
"Well, no--but one'd like to help a bit," said Persis, lifting off the
pan to dish up her green pudding, which was made of suet and
bread-crumbs, marigolds and spinach, eggs and spice.
"Folks as thinks they're helping sometimes hinders," replied Anthony,
quietly taking off his great horn spectacles, and putting them away in
the case.
"Tell you what, Tony, I hate to see anything wasted," resumed Persis,
after grace had been said. "If there's only an end of thread over, I
can't abear to cast it away; I wind it on an old bobbin, thinking it'll
come in some time."
"The Lord never wastes nothing, wife," was Anthony's answer. "See how
He grows plants in void places, and clothes the very ruins with
greenery. It's always safe to trust Him with a man's life."
"Ay," half assented Persis, "but it do seem a waste like of them young
things' happiness."
"Where didst thou ever read in the Word, Persis, as happiness was the
first thing for a man to look to? The Lord's glory comes first, and
then usefulness to our fellows, a long way afore happiness. Bless the
Lord, He do make it happy work for man to seek His glory--and that's
what Tom doth. I'll trust the Lord to see to his happiness."
Just as the green puddings came out of the pan, Tom Fenton turned into
the lane leading up to his own home, having been engaged in delivering a
work-table that he had made for the Vicar's wife. It was a beautiful
day at the end of October, very warm for the time of year, and the sun
was near its setting. As Tom came to a turn in the lane, he saw a short
distance before him, up a bye-road which led past Farmer Lavender's
house, a solitary girlish figure, walking slowly, and now and then
stopping to gather something from the bank. A slight quickening of his
steps, and a turn into the bye-road, soon brought him up with the
solitary walker.
"Good even, Jenny!"
"Good even, Tom!"
For some seconds they walked abreast without any further speech. Then
Tom said--
"I've just been up to parson's."
"Oh, have you?" replied Jenny, a little nervously.
"Their Dorcas saith she's heard as Featherstone's back."
"Is he so?" said Jenny, in a still more constrained tone.
"Didn't like it in France, from what she heard."
"Very like not," murmured Jenny.
"He's got a place with Mr Chadderton--the young gentleman who was
married of late, and who's coming to live at Bentley Hall; so you're
like to see a bit of him again."
"I don't want to see him," said Jenny suddenly. "I'd as lief he didn't
come nigh me."
"You was used to like him middling well wasn't you, Jenny?"
Before Jenny could answer, the very person of whom they were speaking
appeared at a turn of the lane, coming towards them.
"Mrs Jenny Lavender, as I live!" said he. "Now, this is luck! I was
on my way to the farm--"
"With your back to it?" asked Tom.
Mr Featherstone ignored both Tom and the question.
"Mrs Jenny, since I had the delight of sunning myself in your fair
eyes, I have had the high honour of beholding His Most Gracious Majesty
King Charles, who was pleased to command me to deliver into your white
hands a jewel which His Majesty detached from his own hat. He--"
"Me!" exclaimed Jenny, in so astounded a tone as to remind Featherstone
that he was beginning his story at the wrong end.
"Oh, of course you know not," he said, a little put out, for his speech
had been carefully studied, though he had forgotten the peroration,
"that His Majesty is Will Jackson. I mean, Will Jackson was His
Majesty. At least--"
"Are you quite sure you know what you do mean, Mr Featherstone?"
demanded Tom. "Sounds as if you'd got a bit mixed up, like. Is it the
King you've seen, or is't Will Jackson?"
Tom rather suspected that Featherstone was not quite sober. But he was,
though between annoyance and self-exaltation he was behaving rather
oddly.
"Look here!" he said angrily, holding out the diamond clasp. "Was Will
Jackson like to give me such as this for Mrs Jenny? I tell you, His
Majesty the King gave it me with his own hand."
Suddenly Tom's conscience spoke. "Are you acting like a Christian man,
Tom Fenton?" it said. "Have you any right to work Featherstone up into
a passion, however foolish he may have been? Is that charitable? is it
Christ-like?"
"Very good, Mr Featherstone," said Tom quietly.
"I ask your pardon, and I'll relieve you of my company. Good night--
Good night, Jenny."
Jenny could have cried with disappointment. She was afraid that Tom was
vexed with her, and wholly unwilling to be left to the society of
Featherstone. As to the diamond buckle, she did not half believe the
story. Tom's action, however, had its effect upon Featherstone.
"Don't you believe me, Mrs Jenny?" he said more gently. "I doubt I've
made a mess of my story, but 'tis really true. Will Jackson was the
King himself in disguise, and he bade me bring that to you, and tell you
that he entirely agreed with you that Will was an ill-looking fellow."
When Jenny really understood the truth, she was overwhelmed. Was it
possible that she had actually told King Charles to his face that she
considered him ugly? Of course she was pleased with the gift in itself,
and with his kindly pardon of her impertinence.
"But, eh dear!" she said, turning round the clasp, which flashed and
glistened as it was moved, "such as this isn't fit for the likes of me!"
Farmer Lavender was exceedingly pleased to see the clasp and hear its
story, and in his exultation gave Featherstone a general invitation to
"turn in and see them whenever he'd a mind."
"Why, Jenny!" cried Kate, "you'll have to hand that down to your
grandchildren!"
Jenny only smiled faintly as she went upstairs. She liked the clasp,
and she liked the gracious feeling which had sent it; but what really
occupied her more than either was a distressed fear that she had
offended Tom Fenton. He never came to the farm now. The only hope she
had of seeing him lay in an accidental meeting.
Sunday came, and Jenny dressed herself in the flowered tabby, tying her
tippet this time with blue ribbons. When she came into the kitchen
ready to go to church, her sister's eyes scanned her rather curiously.
"Why, Jenny, where's your clasp?"
"What clasp?" asked Jenny innocently. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
"What clasp!" repeated Kate, with a burst of laughter. "Why, the clasp
King Charles sent you, for sure. Have you got so many diamond clasps
you can't tell which it is?"
"Oh!--Why, Kate, I couldn't put it on."
"What for no? If a King sent me a diamond, I'd put it on, you take my
word for it!--ay, and where it'd show too."
"I'd rather not," said Jenny in a low voice. "Not for church, anyhow."
"Going to save it for your wedding-day?" Jenny felt very little
inclined for jests; the rather since she was beginning to feel extremely
doubtful if she would ever have any wedding-day at all. She felt
instinctively that a jewel such as King Charles's clasp was not fit for
her to wear. Tom would not like to see it, she well knew; he detested
anything which looked like ostentation. And, perhaps, Christ would not
like it too. Would it not interfere with the wearing of that other
ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, with which He desired His
handmaidens to adorn themselves? Jenny resolved that she would not put
on the clasp.
"No, Kate, I shouldn't like to wear it," she said quietly. "I've got it
put by safe, and you can see it whenever you have a mind: but it's best
there."
"Thou'rt right, my lass," said old Mrs Lavender.
"Well, I shouldn't like you to lose it, of course," admitted Kate.
Jenny fancied, and with a heavy heart, that Tom carefully avoided
speaking to her in the churchyard. Old Anthony and Persis had a kind
word for her, but though Tom went away in their company, carrying his
aunt's books, he never came up to speak with Jenny. It distressed her
the more because Kate said afterwards:
"Have you had words with Tom Fenton, Jenny? I asked him if he'd a
grudge against you, that he never spoke."
"What did he say?" asked Jenny quickly.
"He didn't say neither yea nor nay," answered Kate, laughing.
The afternoon brought several young people, and there was, as usual,
plenty of mirth and chatter. Jenny felt utterly out of tune for it, and
slipped out of the back door into the lane. She went slowly up, feeling
very low-spirited, and wondering what God was going to do with her.
When she came to the gate of the bean-field--the place where Tom had
overtaken her a few evenings before--she stopped, and resting her arms
upon the gate, watched the sun sinking slowly to the west. Thinking
herself quite alone, she said aloud, sorrowfully--"Oh dear! I wonder if
I've never done anything but make mistakes all my life!"
"Ay, we made one the other night, didn't we?" said a voice behind her.
Jenny kept her start to herself.
"Yes, we did, Tom," she replied soberly.
"I've made a many afore now," said Tom gravely.
"Not so many as me," answered Jenny, sorrowfully.
"Tell me your biggest, Jenny, and you shall hear mine."
"There's no doubt of that, Tom. The biggest mistake ever I made was
when I fancied God's service was all gloom and dismalness."
"Right you are, Jenny. That's about the biggest anybody can make. But
what was the second, now?"
"Oh look, Tom, those, lovely colours!" cried Jenny, suddenly seized with
a fervent admiration for the sunset. "Them red streaks over the gold,
and the purple away yonder--isn't it beautiful?"
"It is, indeed. But that second mistake, Jenny?"
"Nay, I was to hear your biggest, you know," said Jenny slily.
"Well, Jenny, the biggest mistake ever I made, next after that biggest
of all that you spoke of just now--was to fancy that I could forget
Jenny Lavender, my old love."
Two hours afterwards, the door of old Anthony's cottage opened about an
inch.
"Uncle Anthony, are you there?"
"Ay, lad. Come in, Tom."
"Don't want to come in. I only want to tell you that the Lord's given
me back the greatest thing I ever gave up for Him."
Old Anthony understood in a moment.
"Ay so, Tom? I'm fain for thee. And thou'lt be glad all thy life long,
my lad, that thou waited for the Lord to give it thee, and didn't snatch
it like out of His hand. We're oft like children, that willn't wait
till the fruit be ripe, but makes theirselves ill by eating it green.
And when folks does that, there's no great pleasure in the eating, and a
deal of pain at after."
"That's true. Well, good night, Uncle Anthony. I thought I'd just let
you know."
"I'm right glad to know it, my dear lad. Good night, and God bless
thee!"
It was not for nine years that the Lanes came back to Bentley Hall.
Their lives would have been in danger had they done so at an earlier
date. They came back with King Charles--when Oliver Cromwell was dead,
and his son Richard had shown himself unfit to govern, and a season of
general tumult and uncertainty had brought England into readiness to
accept any firm hand upon the helm, and an inclination to look longingly
to the son of her ancient Kings, as the one above all others given by
God to govern her. But she had made the terrible mistake of first
driving him away into lands where he found little morality and less
religion, and it was to her woeful hurt that he came back.
It was on a beautiful June evening that the Lanes returned to Bentley:
and the old master of the Hall only came back to die. Colonel Lane was
looking much older, and his mother was now an infirm old woman. Mrs
Jane, a blooming matron of thirty, came with her husband, Sir Clement
Fisher, of Packington Hall, Warwickshire, a great friend of her brother,
and like him an exile for the King.
Charles did not forget the service done him by the Lanes, nor leave it
unrewarded, as he did that of some of his best friends. He settled on
Lady Fisher an annuity of a thousand pounds, with half that sum to her
brother; and he presented Colonel Lane with his portrait, and a handsome
watch (a valuable article at that time), which he desired might descend
in the family, being enjoyed for life by each eldest daughter of the
owner of Bentley Hall. They are still preserved by the Lane family.
A few days after the Lanes returned, Jenny Fenton stood washing and
singing in the back yard of the cottage. Tom's work-shed ran along one
side of it, and there he was carefully fitting the back of a chair to
its seat, while a younger Tom, and a still more youthful Joe, were as
diligently building a magnificent sailing-vessel in the corner. A woman
of middle age came up to the door, lifted her hand as if to knock,
stepped back, and seemed uncertain how to act. A child of six years
old, at that moment, ran round the cottage, and looked up in surprise at
the stranger standing before the door.
"Little maid, what is thy name?" said the stranger.
A little doubtful whether the stranger, who in her eyes was a very grand
lady, was about to hear her say her catechism, the small child put her
hands meekly together, and said--
"Molly, please."
"Molly what?" pursued the stranger, with a smile.
"Molly Fenton, please."
"That will do. Where's mother?"
"Please, she's a-washing at the back."
"Is that she that singeth?"
"Yes, that's her," returned Molly, carefully avoiding grammar.
The song came floating to them through the balmy June air.
"`O God, my strength, and fortitude,
Of force I must love Thee!
Thou art my castle and defence
In my necessity.'"
The strange lady sighed, much to Molly's perplexity; then she rapped at
the door. It was opened by Jenny, who stood with an inquiring look on
her face, which asked the visitor plainly to say who she was.
"You don't know me, then, Jenny Lavender?"
"No, Ma-- Dear heart! is it Mrs Millicent?"
"It is Millicent Danbury, Jenny. And I am Millicent Danbury still,
though you are Jenny Fenton."
"Pray you, come within, Mrs Millicent," said Jenny cordially. "I'm
right glad to see you. There's been a many changes since we met--Molly,
dust that chair, quick, and bring it up for the gentlewoman."
"Ay," said Millicent, with another sigh, as she sat down in the heavy
Windsor chair which it required all Molly's strength to set for her;
"there are many changes, Jenny, very many, since you and I lived
together at Bentley Hall."
"Not for the worser, are they?" replied Jenny cheerfully.
"Ah! I'm not so sure of that, Jenny," answered Millicent.
"Well, I'm nowise afeard of changes," said Jenny, in the same bright
tone. "The Lord means His people good by all the changes He sends.
Mrs Millicent, won't you tarry a while and sup your four-hours with
us?"
The meal which our ancestors called "four-hours" answered to our tea;
but tea had not yet been introduced into England, though it was very
soon to be so. They drank, therefore, either milk, or weak home-brewed
ale.
"With all my heart," was the reply, "if I'm not in your way, Jenny. You
are washing, I see."
"I've done for to-day, and Tom and me'll be as pleased as can be if
you'll take a bit with us, Mrs Millicent. Molly, child, fetch forth
the table-cloth, and get the salt-cellar, and then run and tell
father.--She's a handy little maid for her years," added Jenny, with
motherly pride.
Millicent smiled rather sadly. "You are a happy woman, Jenny!" she
said.
"Bless the Lord, so I am!" echoed Jenny. "It's the Lord's blessing
makes folks happy."
"Say you so?--then maybe that is why I am not," said Millicent, rather
bitterly. "I don't know much of the Lord."
"That's a trouble can be mended," said Jenny softly; "and you'll be main
glad when it is, take my word for it."
"I don't know how to set about it, Jenny."
"Why, dear heart! how do you set about knowing anybody? Go and see 'em,
don't you, and talk with 'em, and get 'em to do things for you? The
good Lord always keeps His door open, and turns away none as come."
At that moment Tom came in, with a hearty welcome to his guest. Jenny,
helped by Molly, bustled about, setting the table, and cutting bread and
butter, while Tom drew the ale; and they had just sat down when a little
rap came on the door.
"Anybody at home here?" asked a bright voice. Jenny knew it at once.
"O Mrs Jane!--I crave pardon, my Lady!--pray you come in, and do us the
honour to sit down in our house."
"I'll do you more honour than that," said Lady Fisher comically, as she
came forward. "I'll eat that bread and butter, if you'll give it me,
for I have been a great way afoot, and I am as hungry as a hunter."
"I pray you take a chair, madam, and do us so much pleasure," said
smiling Jenny. "I have here in the oven a cake but just ready to come
forth, made the Princess Elizabeth's way, His Majesty's sister, and I
shall be proud if your ladyship will taste it."
"I'll taste it vastly, if I get the chance," said Lady Fisher, laughing,
as Jenny took her cake out of the oven.
The Princess Elizabeth was that young gentle girl who had died a
prisoner at Carisbrooke Castle, a few years after her father's murder,
her cheek resting on the little Bible which had been his last gift. Her
cake was a rich plum-cake, made with cream, eggs, and butter.
"Did you get your other honour, Jenny?" asked Lady Fisher, as she helped
herself to the cake.
"Madam?" asked Jenny, in some doubt.
"Why, the jewel His Majesty sent you. I was something inclined to doubt
Featherstone might forget it."
"Oh yes, madam, I thank you for asking, I have it quite safe. It was a
vast surprise to me, and most kind and gracious of His Majesty."
"Well, now I think it was very ungracious in His Majesty," said Lady
Fisher, laughing. "I am sure he ought to have sent it to Millicent
here, who reckoned him a Roundhead and an assassin to boot, if he meant
to show how forgiving he could be to his enemies."
"Oh!" cried Millicent, clasping her hands, "shall I ever forget how the
dear King took me by the hand? To think of having touched the hand of
His Sacred Majesty--"
"Hold, Millicent! that's a new story," said Lady Fisher. "Last time I
heard you tell it, that horrid creature, Will Jackson, only offered to
take you by the hand. Has he got it done by now?"
Millicent looked slightly confused, but speedily recovered herself.
"O madam, I think he touched me. I do think I had the honour of
touching His Gracious Majesty's little finger, I really do!"
"Really do, by all means, if it makes you happier; _I've_ no objection.
Jenny, I shall eat up all your cake. It is fit to be set before the
Queen. Millicent, I wonder you can find in your heart to wash your
hands."
"Oh, but I _had_ washed them, madam, before I knew," answered Millicent
regretfully.
"Well, I hope you had," answered Lady Fisher, "seeing there lay nine
years betwixt. Heigh ho! time runs away, and we with it. Seems pity,
doesn't it!"
"Depends on where we're running to," replied Tom, who had entered
unseen. "Children that's running home, when they know their father's
got a fine present for them, isn't commonly feared of getting there too
soon."
"But how if folks don't know, Tom?" suggested Jenny, and Millicent's
eyes reflected her query.
"My dear," answered Tom humbly, "it's not for the likes of me to speak
afore such as her Ladyship. But I know what my dear old Uncle Anthony
was wont to say: `The only way to be certain you're on the way Home is
to make sure that you are going to your Father; and to do that you must
go with Him.' And I doubt if he'd speak different, now that he's got
Home."
"Ay, I suppose we would all like to have God go with us," said Lady
Fisher gravely.
"Madam, saving your presence, Uncle was used to say there's a many would
like vastly well to have God go with them, that isn't half so ready to
get up and go with God. David spake well when he said, `Make _Thy_ way
plain before my face.' The Lord's way is the sure and safe way, and
'tis the only one that leads Home."
"I think, Jenny, you _are_ a happy woman," said Lady Fisher, an hour
later, as she took her leave. Tom had gone back to his work-shed.
"Good night; God be with you."
"I am that, Madam, the Lord be praised," answered Jenny. "But the Lord
is to be praised for it, for I've done nought all my life but make
mistakes, until He took hold of me and put me right."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: That part of the story which relates to King Charles and the Lane
family is quite true, with the exception of a few small details.
Authorities differ as to whether the King and Mrs Jane rode to Trent
House alone, or accompanied by the persons mentioned. Lord Wilmot
followed them the whole time, at a safe distance.